Hey Bonny!! I saw you wanted to play a game, so how does this sound for a drabble? Dragon! Yoongi (or Kookie since I know he's your guy) x Fairy! Reader?? Idk if you've written fairies before, but I know you've done dragons! 💜🤍
I have a dragon kook x fairy reader on my patreon as early access, so I'll make this one yoongi!
-----------------
Yoongi
Hidden in the woods
Dragons are rather social creatures- but when a young Dragonblood named Yoongi fails to find a partner while all his friends and family have moved way past those events already, he isolates himself, believing he might just be destined to be a loner. But maybe, he was just impatient.
Tags/Warnings: Dragon hybrid!Yoongi, Fairy!Reader, strangers to ???, reader is described as short oops, SFW
Wordcount: 1.6k (it was supposed to be a Drabble... oops)
♥━━━━━━━━━━•.♡.•━━━━━━━━━━━━♥
“You rarely visit these days.”
His mothers words still echo in his mind as he tries to find a new composition on his piano that doesn’t sound like everything he’s already put out. Of course he hasn’t visited- with his brother’s twins constantly around, he’s always reminded of how far ahead everyone around him is, while he’s yet to find his first real love. He’s thirty, for god’s sake- and yet all he has is his house, a stable career as a musician, and a lot on his mind.
All his friends are married. Some have kids, others are busy preparing for the day they’ll have them. He feels out of place.
Yoongi has made peace with the fact that he’ll be the uncle to all of them, the one guy who never really seems to be happy about anything, never has a family of his own. It’s alright.
He sighs, loudly, gripping his hair for a second in frustration. This is stupid- why is he having an artist’s block right now of all times? People are waiting for something new, especially after he’s already taken a break to help his creativity. And yet, it did nothing- except for giving him a little bit more room to breathe and most of all move out of his apartment and into his new house near the woods. It’s nice here- about half an hour away from the bustling neon city he’s used to after years of living there, and also a bit more distance from his family and friends. A newfound excuse for when they ask him once more where he’s been.
The doorbell rings, attracting his attention. He’s not awaiting any guests or packages- who could it be?
Via the camera installed he can see that there’s a person he doesn’t know at the door- you're rather short, but visibly curious, looking around for any signs of life inside his home, and for a short moment, he sees them;
Delicate little slightly translucent wings. Pointy ears, tilted a bit downwards.
A fairy.
As he opens the door, you seem startled for a second or two, taking a step back, before you speak. “Oh, hello!” You greet him. “I was just about to ask- do you have uh.. Jungkook’s number?” You wonder, and he becomes hostile, crossing his arms. “A coworker of mine, Jimin, said you have it. I’m sorry I’m just, you know, showing up here like that-”
The door closes. But despite what he was expecting, you just ring the doorbell again- and again, until he opens.
“Okay, as I was trying to explain before you so rudely interrupted me-” You tease a little, arms now crossed as well as your wings flap around a bit. “-tell him at least that I need his help fixing my washing machine. He broke it and left the crime scene for me to find, and that’s, pardon my language-” You lean in a bit as if you’re about to tell Yoongi something secret, “-pretty crappy behavior.”
Yoongi stares you down for a moment, before he speaks.
“That’s it?” He asks, and you nod. “Why don’t you ask Jimin for Jungkook’s number?” He wonders, not entirely convinced. Jungkook is pretty much a magnet for people no matter what gender, and the worst part about it is that many if not most always try and get to him through Yoongi.
No one’s ever interested in him. Only his friends, or the things he can provide.
“Cause Jimin doesn’t have it either!” You whine, stomping your leg on the ground in agony. “Listen, I don’t know how to fix it and my bathroom smells like a laundromat already, my coffee machine is also broken and my script has been rejected for the third time, I really need some good news. Please?” You ask, and Yoongi contemplates.
“What if I fix it?” He asks, and your eyes begin to sparkle, wings lifting to flutter in excitement. It’s like in this very moment, he can hear the keys of his piano chime, creating a new piece in his mind.
“You can?!” You ask, stepping closer.
“Probably. Where do you even live?” He asks, before you point towards the woods.
“I live in the woods, pretty much. It’s not that far.” You say, and Yoongi sighs, looking back inside his house. It’s not like he’s going to get anything done either way, so who cares? It might take his mind off of things for a moment or two-
So a few hours later, he’s in your house, enjoying some hot coffee from your machine, which he’d fixed as well while he was at it. Well, fixed is a strong word- he pretty much just explained how it properly worked to you. It was working just fine- you just lost the manual and couldn’t figure it out on your own.
“I always thought dragons were scarier.” You say suddenly, opening a pack of cookies to put in the middle of your wooden coffee table. “You’re really nice. Tall, and a bit gloomy looking, but very nice.” You say, sitting down on the couch next to him, legs pulled up towards you.
He’s noticed something glittering all over the small house- like sparkling glitter, but much finer, and barely noticeable. Looking closer to his pants, he notices it there as well- and even after a brush with his hand, it sticks to his fingers now.
“Oh- I’m sorry! It keeps getting everywhere, especially now.. Wait- I have like, a plastic thing-” You hurry, getting up to search for something in a drawer close by your TV. “Ah, there!” You say, giving him the lint-roller. “It’s one designed for fairy dust. I’m sorry, I should’ve thought about that..” You say, but for some odd reason, he declines.
“It’s fine.” He denies. “Doesn’t bother me.” he tells you, and again, you look at him like he’s just told you the earth is flat after all.
but it truly doesn’t bother him. It would, technically, if he was anywhere else. But right now, in this moment, he couldn’t be any more indifferent towards the ‘mess’ you leave sticking to his clothes and skin.
As soon as he’s back home, the sight of your sparkling smile is still in his mind, as his feet almost automatically move towards his piano, where he sits down, and presses a record button to play something new. The melody has been stuck on repeat in his head the entire way back home through the thick snow, like his imagination was finally finding color again.
But it’s different from what he usually creates.
This piece is playful almost, intriguing. It’s a little hesitant, like someone holding back a thought itself just to not indulge too much in a fantasy they’re already creating in their mind. Fluttering notes interrupt these parts however, sneaking in with excitement and curiosity, trying their best to convince the player to let themselves go.
And Yoongi does, as he finishes the piece, and leans back in his chair, recording finished before his phone chimes with a message.
“You left your scarf at my place!” Is what you tell him.
“I’ll get it tomorrow.” He texts you back.
“I could make us dinner?” You question.
He contemplates, finger hovering over the virtual keyboard of his phone, before he begins to write his answer. Fluttering touches of his fingers moving with a hint of excitement, fine fairy dust on the skin of his hands shimmering in the setting sun dipping everything in a golden glow.
Summary: What begins as a simple favor for your best friend Namjoon soon pulls you into the rhythms of Yoongi’s life—afternoons spent caring for his son, late nights filled with candid conversations, and a connection neither of you thought you needed. You’re just fresh out of a long-term relationship with an ex who didn’t want a family with you, so did you really just stumble into a life you’ve always dreamed of? (Thank god Namjoon isn’t the only one who’s clumsy.)
Alternatively: It’s 2025 and BTS is prepping for their comeback. All members seem to have gained muscle weight from their time at camp. But Min Yoongi has gained a different kind of weight—an 8-pound baby and a fuck-load of responsibility. (Thank god you’re there to help him.)
Genre: Fluff, Angst, Smut, idol!au, Acquaintances to Lovers, Reader is Namjoon’s bestie
Warnings: Yoongi is a DILF (!!!) That’s it.
Chapter warnings: GRAB YOUR TISSUES!, this bitch is a whole ass kdrama episode and it’s gonna hurt before it gets better, happy ending tho!, themes of self-loathing, anxiety, and depression (MC), severe postpartum depression (not MC), it’s monsoon season and namgi don’t like umbrellas, (____) in the rain cliche scene, NAMTIDDIES because I can’t help myself, lastly… watch me morph this into another workplace romance/co-workers to lovers story lmao (real)
Word count: ~7k
Posting date: November 21, 2024
Notes: This is inspired by an ask/prompt sent by @yoongznme.
I am a clown 🤡 and a liar 🤥 From pretending this is a two-shot, then a three-shot. It has become a chaptered series, atp. There is a part 4 in the works and I fully intend to end it there, but again, I may have just jinxed myself. Anyway! Enjoy, my lovelies~ 💕
Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Masterlist
“She’s Haneul’s mom.”
The words hit you like a punch to the gut.
“What?”
“Sung Kyung and Yoongi… they’ve been good friends for years,” Namjoon explains quickly, his tone almost apologetic. “I didn’t think they were dating. But yeah, she’s his mom. She left for months and when she came back, she'd already given birth.”
You feel like the ground has been ripped out from under you. What Namjoon said made no sense. You clutch the edge of the counter, your mind racing. “What do you mean she left…?” You have never been more confused in your entire life.
Namjoon sighs. “I don’t know all the details. You know hyung, he tells you what he thinks you need to know. The rest, he keeps to himself. But I do know they did the paternity tests and everything, and Haneul’s his, theirs.”
Theirs. It’s easier if Namjoon just slices your heart open at this rate.
He places a tentative hand on your shoulder. “It’s better to hear it straight from Yoongi-hyung, since you guys are, you know.”
“I– I don’t know. I don’t know what we are,” you say, leaning your weight sideways against the wall to steady yourself.
Get a grip. It’s Haneul’s day.
Namjoon stands to shield you from the rest, in case anybody chances to look your way. You probably look like you’re about to puke. You definitely feel like it.
“Joonie…” Your voice is small when you ask, “Do you think she wants to come back now?”
Namjoon lifts his shoulder, lets it sag, “I don’t know. Maybe. She wouldn’t be here otherwise.”
Your chest tightens, a wave of insecurity crashing over you. Of course, she would want to come back now. She’s beautiful, successful, everything you’re not. And most importantly, she’s Haneul’s mother. That’s the kicker. How can you compete with that?
Spoiler alert: you can’t.
When you step back into the living room, the first thing you notice is Yoongi’s mom. She’s standing off to the side, her lips pressed into a thin line as she glares at Sung Kyung from across the room with a mixture of disapproval and barely-contained irritation.
“She shouldn’t be here,” she says quietly, her voice cold and clipped.
“Eomma,” Yoongi grits.
“She abandoned Haneul, Yoongi,” his mom hisses, her tone sharper now. “And she thinks she can just come here like nothing happened?”
Yoongi sighs, his hand briefly brushing his mother’s arm in a silent plea for calm. “Not here, eomma. Please. It’s Haneul’s birthday. Don’t make a scene.”
Of course he is siding with her.
You’re unable to tear your eyes away from Sung Kyung. How can she look so beautiful even if she looks miserable? She exchanges a few more quiet words with Yoongi near the door, her expression alternating between frustration and what looks like regret. You can’t hear what they’re saying, but you catch the way Yoongi’s shoulders stiffen, the way his jaw tightens as she reaches out to brush his arm. You see Yoongi nod, and you’re so curious, what is he agreeing to?
Finally, after what feels like an eternity, she leaves. The door is closed, but for sure this chapter isn’t. Not even close.
You entertain yourself by watching some of the BTS members play some video games. Their antics, as funny as they are, don’t really register. Your laughs are hollow, mind totally elsewhere. It’s a while before Yoongi finally finds you, after he disappeared to his studio after Sung Kyung left and went MIA for half an hour or so.
He corners you near the snack table as you pretend to be engrossed in arranging leftover cupcakes.
“Hey,” he says softly, touching your arm lightly.
You turn to face him, your smile brittle. “Hey. How’s everything going?”
“Can we talk?”
You nod, following him toward the hallway, away from the laughter and chatter. The noise completely fades as you enter his soundproof studio and he turns to face you.
He exhales deeply, running a hand through his hair. “I wanted to talk to you,” he says carefully, like he’s choosing every word with precision.
“About Sung Kyung.” you offer. He nods, shoulders visibly tense. “Yeah. And Haneul.”
The mention of Haneul makes your chest tighten, but you steady yourself, waiting for him to continue.
“She and I… we were close for a long time,” he begins, his gaze dropping to the floor. “And yeah, there was a point where I thought it was going somewhere. But then she just… disappeared.”
“Disappeared?”
“She left Korea. No warning, no explanation. Just… ghosted.” He shrugs. “I didn’t know where she went or why. She didn’t contact me for months.”
“And then one day,” he continues, “she called. Told me she just gave birth to a son. That it was mine.”
The words hang between you, heavy and jarring. You don’t say anything, letting him get it all out.
“She didn’t tell me she was pregnant,” he says, shaking his head as if he still can’t believe it. “I literally only found out after he was born.”
You feel a pang of sympathy, but then you’re also feeling angry at Sung Kyung. “Why did she wait so long to tell you?”
“She said she didn’t want to burden me. I was already doing my military service and I had that thing… that case. She thought she could handle it on her own.” He looks up at you then, his eyes dark and conflicted. “But after she had him… she couldn’t. She fell into really severe postpartum depression and some other health issues, basically telling me she was diagnosed unfit to take care of him.”
Your throat tightens, and you clasp your hands together to keep them from shaking. “So you stepped in.”
He nods, “I didn’t have a choice. Haneul needed someone, and I couldn’t—I wouldn’t turn my back on him. He’s my son. It was confirmed by a paternity test.”
“And now she’s back,” you say, more a statement than a question.
“Yeah,” he says quietly, dragging a hand down his face. “She says she’s better. That she wants to be in his life now. That she can be. And honestly… I don’t know what to do.”
You study him for a moment, your emotions warring between compassion and your own sense of inadequacy. “What do you want, Yoongi? Not for her, not for Haneul. What do you want?”
“I don’t know,” he admits, gnawing his lip before he says, “I just… I want to do what’s right for Haneul.”
The words cut deeper than you expected, but you force a small smile, nodding as if they don’t sting. “That makes sense.”
Yoongi takes a step closer as he studies your face. “But what about you?” he asks, his voice almost too gentle. “How are you feeling about all this?”
The sincerity in his question takes you off guard, and for a moment, you’re tempted to tell him everything. The ache in your chest, the jealousy you hate admitting to, the fear of losing whatever connection the two of you have built. But instead, you plaster on a smile, shoving all those emotions into a corner of your mind.
“I’m fine,” you say lightly. “It’s Haneul’s birthday. That’s what matters.”
Yoongi doesn’t look convinced, his gaze lingering on you as if he’s trying to read the truth in your expression. But after a moment, he nods, letting it drop. “Okay.”
Finally, you glance at the door, forcing yourself to straighten up. “We should probably get back to the party.”
“Yeah,” Yoongi says, stepping aside to let you pass. But as you reach for the door, his voice stops you.
“Thank you,” he says quietly.
You turn back, your brows furrowing. “For what?”
“For everything,” he says, his eyes filled with something you can’t quite name.
You don’t know how to respond, so you just nod. Because his words—why did it feel like a goodbye?
The rest of the party passes in a blur. You keep smiling, keep laughing, keep pretending everything is fine. You stand by as Yoongi helps Haneul blow out his single candle, snapping pictures of his chubby hands smashing into the frosting.
You’re wiping stray frosting from Haneul’s cheek when you glance at him and for a split second, you see her. Sung Kyung’s face is right there, faint but unmistakable, in the shape of his eyes and the curve of his brows.
The realization hits you like a freight train. You freeze, the cloth clutched in your hand, staring at this beautiful baby boy who isn’t yours. Who will never be yours.
It’s too much. You set the muslin down, excusing yourself to the kitchen with a muttered, “I’ll grab more drinks.”
You don’t even make it to the fridge. You stand there by the counter, gripping its edge as you force yourself to breathe, to keep the tears at bay. You’ve never felt more out of place in your life.
Namjoon finds you a few moments later, leaning against the doorway with a quiet, watchful look. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t ask if you’re okay. He just stays there, close but not too close, his presence steady and silent. You appreciate him for that—for knowing exactly what you need when you’re unraveling. He’s your best friend after all.
But even his quiet support isn’t enough to keep the emotions at bay.
Across the room, Yoongi’s eomma catches your eye. There’s something pitying in the glances she throws your way, a faint furrow of her brow that makes you want to sink into the floor. You had the feeling she knows there’s something between you and Yoongi, but now… now it feels like she’s seeing through you, like she knows exactly how small you’re starting to feel.
Because the truth is, you’re nothing.
You’re not Haneul’s mom. You’re not Yoongi’s girlfriend. You’re just someone who helps out when it’s convenient, and now that they have a nanny, you’re not even that. And it hurts. God, it hurts because you thought—maybe foolishly, maybe selfishly—that you were becoming something more. That you were becoming someone to them. That, maybe, you were becoming a family.
But now, as you stand there watching Yoongi carry Haneul to his room, barely sparing you a glance, the truth sinks in like a stone in your chest. You’re not someone. You’re a placeholder. A stand-in.
And pretty soon, just like Jiyong, they’re going to discard you. Because that’s what always happens. You’re always easy to leave behind. Always replaceable. Always useless.
The thought claws at you, and you suddenly can’t breathe. You grab your things and run. The cool night air stings your skin, but it’s nothing compared to the ache in your chest.
The tears come before you can stop them, hot and angry and full of every ounce of self-loathing you’ve tried to bury.
You glance back at the building. Maybe for the last time. You’re on the outside now—of course you are. You’ve been on the outside this entire time.
Namjoon must have noticed you were gone because he texted shortly after:
Namjoon: You okay?
Namjoon: Don’t worry, I told them you weren’t feeling well. Go home and rest. Text me when you’re there.
That night, you ignored Yoongi’s call. You stared at the screen as his name lit up, your finger hovering over the answer button before you let it ring out. He left a voicemail. You deleted it without listening.
The next morning, you wake up to another call from him. This time, he doesn’t leave a voicemail. Instead, he sends a message.
Yoongi: Can I come over?
You stare at the text for a long time, your stomach twisting with guilt and anger and sadness. Finally, you type out a single word:
You: No
You throw your phone face-down on the couch, ignoring the way it buzzes again and again and again.
For the next few days, you ghost him.
It wasn’t easy. Every time your phone buzzes, you feel a pang of guilt, a deep ache that gnaws at your resolve. But you can’t bring yourself to answer. You need time. You need to figure out where you stood in all of this.
His messages come sporadically at first:
Yoongi: Hey, can we talk?
Yoongi: I don’t know what I did wrong, but I want to fix it.
Yoongi: Please. Just let me know you’re okay.
You delete most of them without reading too much into them. But then he starts sending pictures.
The first was of Haneul, grinning in his chair, wearing the capybara slippers you’d gifted him for his birthday.
Yoongi: Haneul misses you
The next day, another photo. This time, Haneul was lying on his playmat, still wearing the slippers, holding onto Bora.
Yoongi: Still missing you
Each message chips away at your resolve, but the one that breaks you comes Thursday evening:
A short video clip. In it, Haneul is sitting on the floor, babbling as he clutches Bora. And then, clear as day, he says it:
“Sa-ra.”
Your heart twists painfully. It’s clipped, but it’s unmistakably sarang. Your term of endearment for him, the nickname you’d called him since he started smiling every time he heard it. He’d never been able to say it back—not until now.
And Yoongi knows exactly what he is doing, sending this to you.
You stare at the screen for what feels like an eternity, leaving the video on loop, before finally opening your call log. His name was right at the top, of course. You hit the call button, your hands trembling as you bring the phone to your ear.
“Hello?” Yoongi’s voice comes through almost immediately.
You exhale shakily. “Hi.”
There was a pause. Then he speaks again, and you can hear his vulnerability. “I didn’t think you’d call back.”
You close your eyes, trying to steady yourself. “How could I ignore that video? Haneul… he said sarang.”
“Yeah, he’s been saying it non-stop since yesterday.”
You swallowed hard, gripping the phone tighter. “Yoongi… about… us.”
“Mmh?” He didn’t interrupt, didn’t rush you. He just waited.
“I’ve been thinking,” you began. “Haneul deserves to have a complete family. He deserves to know his mom, to have her in his life. If—if that’s what you both want.”
Yoongi was quiet for a long moment before he finally responded. “But… he needs you, too.”
Before you can back out, “Yoongi, I need space,” you say finally, your voice trembling.
There was a pause, and when he spoke again, his voice was quiet. “Okay.”
It wasn’t a protest. It wasn’t an argument. Just… okay. It’s the most ‘Yoongi’ reaction to things, and you hate it. You hate it so much.
You hang up, staring at the screen until it goes dark. Your chest felt heavy, your heart splintering in ways you didn’t know it could.
You’d told him you needed space and he said okay. The truth is, when you said space, you just wanted him to make room for you. To assure you that you belong with them. That there is a seat, warm and yours. But he didn’t.
You miss Yoongi so much it feels like a physical ache. But it’s not just him. You miss Haneul’s face, his giggles, his sleepy weight in your arms.
Namjoon has been doing his best to check in. He sends you UberEats nearly every other day, a steady stream of meals you barely touch. The one time he came over, unannounced, he walked into what could only be described as a disaster.
“Jesus Christ,” Namjoon muttered, kicking a stray box out of his way as he entered your apartment. The laundry basket was overflowing, your trash can piled up. You were in a 2-day old shirt, hair a rat’s nest, and you’re slouched on the couch with an empty brain.
Namjoon stared at you, his disappointment radiating off him. “Y/N, you can’t keep doing this to yourself.”
“I’m fine,” you lied, barely looking at him.
He scoffed. “Fine? You look like you’ve been run over by a truck. Twice.”
“So dramatic.” You rolled your eyes, but the truth of his words stung.
Namjoon crouched in front of you, placing his hands on your knees. “Move in with me for now. You know I have the space. You can’t stay here like this. It’s not healthy.”
“I’m not moving in with you, Joon,” you said, shaking your head. “I’m not your charity case.”
He sighed, rubbing his temples. “You’re not a charity case. You’re my best friend. And I’m not gonna sit back and watch you drown in your own misery.”
“I’m not gonna live in your and Soyeon’s sex den,” you snapped unnecessarily.
Namjoon just looked at you, shook his head, before he flopped beside you on the couch. He fed you, forced you to go take a shower, and watched some shitty reality show with you. He eventually left, though you could feel the weight of his disappointment long after the door shut behind him. If he only knew how thankful you were of those visits.
A week later, you find yourself standing in front of Yoongi’s apartment. You didn’t plan this. You don’t even know what you’re hoping to achieve by being here. All you know is that the ache of missing them—missing him—has become unbearable.
You knock on the door before you can second-guess yourself.
Mrs. Kwon opens it, her expression immediately uneasy. “Y/N,” she says, her tone cautious. “You should come back another time.”
“Why?” you ask, your voice sharper than you intended.
She hesitates, her lips pressing into a thin line. “It’s just… not a good time.”
“I need to see them,” you insist, stepping forward.
“My dear girl, please listen—”
But you’re already past her, your determination overriding her warnings.
When you step into the living room–
Fuck.
There she is. Sung Kyung, sitting on the floor with Haneul in her lap, holding a plush toy you don’t recognize. She’s smiling at him, her voice soft as she tries to coax him into playing with it. Adding salt to the wound–Bora, the capybara plush you gave Haneul, is discarded carelessly in the corner near the diaper pail.
Your heart stops, and before you can control yourself, you take a step back, your movement catching Sung Kyung’s attention. She looks up, confused. She doesn’t know you, why would she?
Yoongi’s voice comes from behind you, and you turn to see him emerging from his studio, his brows furrowed in confusion. “Who rang the—”
His eyes widen when he sees you, but you’re already moving, your feet carrying you toward the door in a blind rush.
“Wait—Y/N!”
You barely hear him as you bend down and snatch Bora from the floor. Haneul’s voice suddenly cuts through the air, his tiny, excited voice calling out, “Sa-ra! Sa-ra!”
Tears blur your vision as you wrench the door open and run, Yoongi’s voice calling after you, but you don’t stop.
It’s raining when you step outside. Great, because this day couldn’t get any worse. The cold droplets soak through your clothes almost instantly. You don’t have an umbrella, but you don’t give a shit. Tears stream down your face mixing with the rain.
You don’t know how far you get before you feel it—a warmth against your back, arms wrapping around you tightly.
Yoongi’s voice cracks as he says your name, his rain-soaked body like a furnace against your shivering frame. “Please.”
He sounds like he is begging, but why? What is he asking? What does he want from you?
You shake your head, your voice breaking. “This was a mistake. I shouldn’t have come.”
“Then why did you?” he asks, his tone desperate, his chest heaving as he pulls you tighter.
“Because I thought… I thought I had a place here. But I’m such a fucking idiot.”
“Don’t say that,” he pleads, his voice barely audible over the rain as he turns you to face him. His hands come up to cradle your face. He was starting to shake too, the pads of his fingers damp against your skin. His eyes search yours, desperate, and before you can stop him—or yourself—he closes the space between you and kisses you.
Against the pouring rain, your lips press against each other, clumsy, shaky, unexpectedly urgent. His lips move like he’s trying to say all the things he can’t find the words for, like this is his only way to make you understand. And for a second, maybe a minute, maybe more, you let him.
You feel his ragged breaths as he licks into your mouth, his hair brushing your temple, droplets trailing down your skin. His hand slides from your cheek to the nape of your neck, fingers threading gently through your wet hair. It’s tender and fierce all at once, like he’s afraid you might vanish if he lets go.
But there is a tinge of bitterness cutting through the taste of his kiss. This isn’t enough—not to fix everything, not to erase the doubt clawing at the edges of your mind. Not to prevent the new thoughts from worming its way inside.
Sung Kyung is in his apartment right now. So maybe it’s not just about Haneul anymore. Maybe they’re reconciling. Trying to sort out their own feelings that they put on ice. Yoongi did say he thought their relationship was going somewhere.
God, you do not want to be some homewrecker. You cannot do that to Haneul. Weakly you try to pull back.
But Yoongi doesn’t let you. His lips chase yours, teeth gently sinking into your plush and you’re unable to stifle the moan from your mouth at the delicious sting. You open up to him, lips sliding against his as his other hand grips your waist now, pulling you closer until you can really feel the heat of his body through the drenched fabric of his clothes. The world feels like it’s spinning, everything is blending into a dizzying blur, and you don’t know how to stop it.
Your hand hovers at his chest, not pushing him away but not pulling him closer either. Your heart is screaming to hold on just a little longer. But your head is telling you—
“No,” you whisper, breaking away as quickly as you can without slipping on the slick ground. Your chest heaves as you clutch Bora tighter against you.
Yoongi stands frozen, his lips parted as if he’s about to speak, his dark eyes locked on yours. The rain clings to his lashes, his hair plastered to his forehead, and for a moment, he looks completely lost.
“I can’t do this, Yoongi,” you choke out, your voice shaking. “I just… I can’t.”
And before he can stop you, you turn and run again, your feet splashing through puddles as you make your way to the nearest bus stop. By some miracle, you make your way home in one piece. Barring one vital organ that’s discarded somewhere in Hannam.
My tea's gone cold, I'm wondering why I
Got out of bed at all
The morning rain clouds up my window
And I can't see at all
And even if I could, it'd all be gray
But your picture on my wall
It reminds me that it's not so bad, it's not so bad
- Stan, Eminem
Your apartment is cold and quiet, the soft patter of rain against the windows the only sound. The mug of tea on your table has long since gone cold, untouched, as you sit curled up on the couch, staring at that grainy selca Yoongi sent you weeks ago.
You’re startled out of your thoughts by the sound of the door opening. Namjoon steps in, shaking off the rain and holding a grocery bag in one hand, his hoodie slung over his shoulder. He’s soaked to the bone, but he flashes you his dimples anyway.
“You know,” he starts, setting the bag on the counter, “for someone who always claims they’re fine, you sure as hell don’t look it.”
“Don’t start, Joon,” you mumble, pulling the blanket tighter around yourself.
Namjoon ignores you, glancing around the apartment with a disapproving look. “Seriously? It still looks like you just moved in. No decorations, no warmth. This part could be a photo wall or something…”
You roll your eyes. “Alright, Mr. Art influencer.”
“I need a dry shirt,” he says, gripping the edge of his tee and pulling it up and over his head without fanfare.
You’ve never felt attracted to your best friend in any physical or sexual way ever (seriously, ew), but you can appreciate a good physique when you see one.
“Wow, Joonie, are your tiddies getting bigger?” you say as you stand to find a shirt for him from your makeshift closet.
“You’re an idiot.”
Before you can respond, the doorbell rings. Namjoon straightens, wiping his hands on his pants. “You expecting someone?”
You shake your head.
Namjoon strides to the door, glancing through the peephole with a tsk before pulling it open. He doesn’t seem to care that he’s shirtless, which would be awkward enough if it were anyone else standing there.
But it’s Yoongi.
Yoongi stands in the hallway, his expression strained, his eyes immediately scanning the room behind Namjoon until they land on you, curled on the couch. You clutch the t-shirt you were about to lend Namjoon tighter against your chest, unsure whether to feel relief, anger, or the painful longing that’s been gnawing at you for days.
“I need to talk to her,” Yoongi says, his voice calm but heavy with emotion.
Namjoon steps into the doorway, crossing his arms as he blocks the entrance. “Maybe not today, hyung.”
Yoongi’s jaw tightens, but he doesn’t flinch. “I have to. I need to explain.”
Namjoon doesn’t budge, his voice soft but firm. “Sorry, hyung. Not after everything.”
Yoongi’s eyes flick to you again, desperate. “I just… fuck,” He swallows hard, his voice breaking slightly. “I can’t let her think she doesn’t matter to me. She does. More than anyone.”
Namjoon hesitates for the first time, glancing back at you. His expression softens briefly, but when he turns to Yoongi again, it’s your voice that responds.
“Yoongi.” Your voice is quiet, but it cuts through the tension like a blade. Both men turn to you, and the hope that flashes across Yoongi’s face makes your lungs shrivel.
You grip the fabric in your hands tighter, willing yourself to stay firm. “You should go.”
Yoongi’s lips part as if to argue, but the look in your eyes silences him. He nods once, slowly, his expression crumbling for just a moment before he turns away.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers, his voice so soft you almost don’t hear it.
Namjoon watches him for a moment longer before stepping back into the apartment and shutting the door.
The first step is always the hardest.
Namjoon didn’t sugarcoat anything when he told you to get your shit together. “I love you,” he said bluntly after Yoongi left that rainy night, “but you’re the only one who can pull yourself out of this. No one else is coming to save you. Not me. Not Jiyong. Not Yoongi. Just you.”
You hated hearing it, but he was right.
So you took the first step: you called a therapist. Twice a week, you sat in that tiny, clinical room and talked about everything you’d buried for years. The abandonment issues you’d carried since childhood. The shame you felt after your relationship with Jiyong fell apart. The way you constantly give pieces of yourself to others, just like you did with Haneul and Yoongi, leaving nothing for yourself. Thinking that’s okay.
Session by session, the fog began to lift. Slowly, you started to understand that happiness couldn’t come from someone else, no matter how deeply you loved them. It had to come from you—built piece by piece, nurtured, protected.
You realized that loving yourself wasn’t selfish. It was necessary. And for the first time in months, you began to believe you were worthy of it.
At home, you started small. One night, you finally tackled the pile of laundry that had been haunting you for weeks. Another night, you scrubbed down the kitchen until the counters gleamed. And then one weekend, you went to IKEA and bought a bed frame—not just a functional one, but a beautiful one that made you feel excited to wake up in the mornings.
You even hung up paintings on the walls, little pops of color that made the apartment feel like it was actually yours. Namjoon gave you some from his collection, too.
Running sucks, but it became your nightly ritual. At first, it was hard. Your legs ached, and your lungs burned. But the more you pushed yourself, the better it felt—the rush of endorphins, the rhythm of your feet hitting the pavement, the way your thoughts quieted for just a little while.
Bit by bit, you started to feel lighter. Like you were shedding layers of weight you didn’t even realize you were carrying.
And then there was Yoongi.
He was still a constant name on your phone, though the tone of his messages had shifted over time. At first, his texts were full of apologies and pleas for a second chance:
Yoongi: I know I messed up. Please let me make it right.
Yoongi: I’m sorry for everything. I hate that I hurt you.
Yoongi: I need you, Y/N. I should have told you sooner.
Yoongi: Can I come over? I really want to explain everything.
Yoongi: I’m an idiot.
Yoongi: I’ll wait for you. Just tell me when you’re ready to talk.
Then came the texts about Haneul:
Yoongi: Haneul misses you. Not to one-up my own kid, but I miss you more.
Yoongi: Han said your name today. He kept pointing at the door like he was waiting for you to walk in.
Yoongi: I bought him a new Bora. This giraffe is lame. [image attached]
Yoongi: Han’s been carrying Bora 2.0 everywhere. He even tried to feed it rice last night.
And now, weeks later, his messages had settled into something different.
Yoongi: I was in the studio all day, and Hobi made me take a break. We ended up eating too much fried chicken and now I have a zit.
Yoongi: How was your run today? Namjoon says you’re joining a mini marathon. Good luck!
Yoongi: Still have boxes of Silver Moon tea. It’s too bougie for my ghetto taste buds. Lmk if you want it.
Yoongi: Actually, no need. I'll send it thru Namjoon.
Yoongi: I fucked up the choreography to our new track at Mubank today like an amateur. I hope you didn’t get to watch it.
They were simple, almost mundane. But Yoongi’s texts had a way of hitting you square in the chest. You think back to that conversation in his home, the one where he admitted how lonely he sometimes felt—how he wished for someone to talk to about the little things, the big milestones, everything in between. Someone to share life with. And now, with every message he sends, it feels like he’s choosing you.
Even though weeks have passed without seeing him, he’s still there. Reaching out. Trying to stay connected. Even when you never reply.
But his messages have become tiny bursts of dopamine in your otherwise quiet days. You’re both surprised and relieved he hasn’t stopped trying, that he hasn’t grown tired of pouring himself into the void of your Kakao.
Namjoon told you recently that Yoongi and Sung Kyung have started co-parenting Haneul. She gets supervised visits twice a month. At first, the green-eyed monster threatened to come out. But your best friend tells you that Yoongi never wanted to rekindle anything with Sung Kyung, which gave you some peace. Maybe if you’d been braver back then, you could’ve asked Yoongi yourself. Maybe if Yoongi had been better at communicating, he would have told you then it wouldn’t have felt like such an uphill climb.
But, he was also having such a difficult time, sorting through his own circumstances. And your insecurities at the time were too heavy, too overwhelming to sift through. You probably wouldn’t have believed him then. The progress you’ve made now—to love yourself first—feels hard-won and necessary. And maybe Yoongi also needed to go on a journey to really know what he wants for him and Haneul.
You’ve come to realize through all this that you don’t really hate Sung Kyung. Maybe you were angry on behalf of Yoongi and Haneul for all the secrets she kept, for the ways her choices hurt them both. There was even a night when you found yourself doing a Naver search on postpartum depression. You hadn’t understood how debilitating it could be, how it could turn even the strongest person into a shell of themselves. It didn’t excuse everything, but it gave you perspective, especially as you battle your own demons.
Still, as you journey forward, there are moments when you imagine the “what ifs” with Yoongi, if Sung Kyung hadn't showed up that day. Sometimes, late at night, your mind drifts back to him. You replay his kiss, remembering the way it felt, the way he tasted. You can still conjure the image of his face under the rain, the way he looked at you in that fleeting, heart-wrenching moment.
You wonder if he thinks about it, too. You know he’s waiting. You just hope that when you’re finally ready to let him back in, he’ll still be there—on the other side, willing to try again.
One evening, Namjoon called, his tone unusually excited. “Hey, I’ve got something for you.”
“No, I don’t need more lube, I’m stocked,” you joked, just to be a piece of shit.
“Shut up and listen,” he said, laughing. “Hybe’s opening a daycare for employees’ kids. They need someone to run it. You’re perfect for this.”
Your stomach flipped. “What? Joonie, I don’t even—”
“Don’t even try to argue,” he interrupted. “You have a degree in early childhood education. You love kids. This was your literal job in the states. C’mon, this is made for you.”
“What if I’m not ready?”
Namjoon sighed. “You are. I’ve seen how much work you’ve been putting in. You’re stronger than you think. Just… apply. The worst they can do is say no.”
You’re quiet, so he added. “...and they won’t. I’ll have each member of Bangtan sign a recommendation letter for you.”
“You’re too much, Joonie,” you laugh. But you surely won’t put it past him to do that. “But ok, I’ll apply.”
So you did. And a week later, you got the call.
Your first day at Hybe’s daycare center feels like a dream you didn’t know you had. The space is beautiful—sunlight streams through floor-to-ceiling windows, casting a warm glow over the colorful toys, tiny tables, and pastel murals. There are only three kids who pre-registered, but you were expecting more to walk in.
Namjoon is there, truly your ride or die, sitting casually on your desk with his ever-supportive grin. “You nervous?”
“Nope,” you say, trying to sound confident. But the way your voice wavers gives you away.
Namjoon chuckles. “Relax. You’re going to crush this.”
Before you can respond, the door swings open, and in walks Hobi with Yunjin and their toddler, Jeongyeon. The little girl looks adorable in her sunflower-patterned overalls, her tiny pigtails bobbing as she walks toward the play area.
“Jeongyeon, say hi to teacher Y/N,” Yunjin says, gently guiding her forward.
“Hi!” Jeongyeon squeaks.
You crouch down to her level. “Hi, Jeongyeon! You’re gonna have so much fun today.”
“First kid of the day, ayeeee!" Hobi says, high-fiving Yunjin, before she runs to Jeongyeon who is mounting the toy pony. Then he turns to you, “Congratulations, Y/N.”
Just as they’re leaving, Namjoon nudges you. “By the way, did you know there’s a capybara mascot today?”
“What?” you blink, confused.
Before Namjoon can explain, something soft and warm suddenly envelops you in a hug. You turn to see a capybara mascot wrapping its plush arms around you, its giant head tilted adorably to the side.
“What the…” You laugh, surprised, grasping its arm. “Hybe really went all out, huh?”
Namjoon smirks. “Of course. First-day activations are a big deal here. And look at that, your favorite animal. What a coincidence.”
You grin, stepping back to look at the mascot. “Guess I’m a little biased, but this might be the cutest thing ever.”
The mascot gives you an exaggerated thumbs-up.
Shortly, Haneul arrives. The moment you see him toddling through the door, all your nerves, all the weight you’d carried for weeks—gone. There’s no ache, no tension. Just pure, uncomplicated happiness.
His nanny, a kind older woman, walks him in, holding his hand as he peers curiously around the room.
Haneul bounds toward you giggling, his gummy smile stretching wide as he lets go of the nanny’s hand and waddles toward you.
“Hi, sarang,” you say, crouching down to scoop him into your arms. He smells like baby lotion and sunshine, and your chest feels full as he buries his face in your shoulder. “I missed you.”
You glance toward the door, your eyes darting around instinctively, but there’s no sign of Yoongi. A small pang of disappointment settles in your stomach before you shake it off. He’s probably holed up in his studio, working on something brilliant. It would have been nice to see him though.
The capybara mascot wanders over, drawing Haneul’s attention instantly. His eyes light up as he points at it, giggling.
“Appa!” Haneul says excitedly, punching the knee of the mascot with his tiny fists.
You laugh, brushing a hand through his soft hair. “That’s not your appa, Haneul. He’s probably in one of the big studios upstairs working very hard right now.”
The mascot gives you a pat on the head, and something about its movements feels oddly familiar. But you don’t dwell on it, too caught up in Haneul’s delighted squeals as the mascot does a little dance for him. It sure loves to shake its ass.
For the rest of the morning, you’re in your element, guiding the kids through activities, wiping tears, and singing songs during circle time. Every so often, Haneul points at the mascot and calls out “Appa!” again, and you can’t help but laugh.
And if the capybara mascot seems to hover a little longer around Haneul, or if it lingers near you whenever there’s a chance, well… you just chalk it up to coincidence.
(One day, much later, you’ll find out the truth. But for now, you’re content not knowing.)
That night, your phone buzzes in your pocket, and you pull it out to find another message from Yoongi.
Yoongi: Congratulations on your first day!
You stare at the screen, your thumb hovering over the keyboard. For the first time in weeks, as you look at your thread of messages from him, you let yourself smile—a small, cautious smile, but a smile nonetheless. And for the first time in months of radio silence, you type up your first reply to him.
You: Thanks, Yoongi. I’m really happy. :)
His reply came almost immediately.
Yoongi: You deserve it
And it may have taken a while, but you finally believe that. So you decide you are also finally ready to do this.
You: Can we talk?
Yoongi: giv me 10 mins im cming overr
:)
A/N:
Alright!! Wheeeew! You good? How are you feeling?!?!? As usual, please sound off in the comments. 💕
I just want to say that am so proud of this chapter. I think I wrote my best, angst work here. Plus - Kissing in the rain? Namtiddies? A taste of smau? Hee hee. 🤗
If you make it to here, thank you so so much for reading this story, you lovely, beautiful, human! xo
Part 4 is coming uppp and it’s gonna be a doozy~ 🤭
P.S. As some of y’all know I am a mom and I have experienced post-partum depression before. It was nowhere near the severity of how it is depicted here (a condition that is grave and rare because the character also has other mental struggles), but I empathize. I cannot imagine being truly unfit to care for my own baby. So I request that we do not vilify L&L! LSK. She fucked up real baddd, she could’ve involved Yoongi earlier, etc etc but again she is trying to do better. Plusss, it needs to be said, she does not want Yoongi. Gasp. Y’all can rest easy. He’s yours! 💕
& If you want to read more of my work, please check out my masterlist.
& If you enjoy my work and want to buy me a ko-fi, I'd appreciate it.
title: minted (explicit)
pairing: street king!yoongi x street cart vendor!reader
rating/genre: explicit (18+) ; angst , suspense , smut ; haegeum au , gang au
summary: all you do is wake up, sell your fruit on the dusty streets below your flat, and go to sleep. but everything changes when a customer you always look forward to seeing turns out to be dangerous. really, really dangerous.
note: again, this wasn't on the docket for 2024 until i saw one (1) mint yoongi edit on my pinterest feed💀 anyways, this is dedicated to hali @sailoryooons for ur belated bday, nary @joonary for being a cutie pie and letting me adopt the tangerine cart girl idea in general, and luce @minttangerines for ur url and for being a wonderful friend. love you all!
warnings: this series may not be for everyone, language, violence, weapons (guns/knives/chopsticks/etc.), blood/wounds mentions, drugs, alcohol, murder, gang activity, poor reader is just trying to get through the day, mint!yoongi, haegeum!yoongi, tatted!yoongi, his eyebrow is pierced, tension, slow burn, choking, reader suffers from “my cabbages” levels of disaster, slight e2l, fight sequences, multiple future explicit scenes, yoongi deserves his own warning, chains but who is ever ever shocked, graphic depictions of violence
drop date: august 5th, 2024, 9:03pm est
word count: 9.4k aiyaaa✌
mood playlist: here
—
—
Ever since you could remember, gang activity in your town has run unchecked.
Anything goes. Rough fights out of nowhere, car chases busting streets, or even random delinquents snatching food on the run, dust kicking up onto stock they left behind.
And out of all the districts, yours is begrudgingly the second worst.
Why? You still aren’t completely sure. But you do know that the darkest is reserved for the underbelly that only slithers in rumors. A place in which you will never find yourself.
But you do wonder what must happen there to warrant the winning title because each day here is a battle to keep yourself afloat.
All you do is sell fruit. Why are you fighting for your life every week? Why can’t you exchange goods for money in peace? If you could compare it to the movies you grew up watching on an outdated television, it’s a grungy reflection of the wild west.
But through all the shit you’ve chosen to endure, at least one person is always kind enough to buy his wares and go.
And today is no different.
You still don’t know his name. But you yearn to. Because his hair is the color of magic and rebellion, and his tattoos really set off that bright mop of locks.
If those lethal, piercing eyes weren’t enough.
When he lifts three long digits, it takes all your strength to nod and get his purchase together. This is the part that never changes, either.
Just like always. One, three, or five fingers for tangerines. Never two, never four, and never any other fruits.
It’s charming, in a way. As if he’s more particular than most about what he wants—a trait elusive to many.
Like clockwork, you would hand his order over in thin plastic, and he would walk away to hitch a ride on a passing cart. Just like he does right now with a lazy gait, white tee billowing from his jeans.
Another day. Another exchange.
In the wavy heat of summer, you sigh. Wondering if anything is ever going to change, and if you would ever get to know more about your most frequent, most mysterious patron.
After a while, you do try talking to him.
Those looks of confusion slowly turn into little hums or grunts, then into single words that keep you going for days. Even though you rarely hear it, his voice is just as attractive as he is.
One day, you offer him a plantain, handing it over and telling him it’s on the house.
“Thanks,” he says amongst the clinks and conversations of the street, pocketing the food away.
When he does, you see a flash of black metal, and you already know what he’s carrying. You’re used to seeing all sorts of those around nowadays. In this district, you’d be shocked if he didn’t have an arsenal on his person while traveling through.
Besides. Even you have a couple collecting dust in your own flat, handed down by extended family but never used.
“If you ever need anything other than tangerines,” you start with a point to his pants, “Please buy those instead.”
He’s unmoving. Blinks are all you get so you have no choice but to explain,
“I’m so tired of eating them with everything.”
When he huffs in amusement, your heart flutters thrice. There’s no reason for a sheen of sweat and sticky mint locks to be so deadly.
“Then eat something else,” is all the stranger advises before walking off.
Well.
Even though you don’t have much of a choice, the guy does have a point. You wouldn’t be shocked in the slightest if his aim’s just as straightforward as his wit.
Once one exchange lasts longer than a sentence, the two of you start little conversations during his visits. Which prove more fatal than normal since he’d rest his tattoos on the top shelf of your cart.
From what you can make out, there are creatures stretching in beautiful teal and vivid orange, and even striking white on his other arm. They ripple so well with his veins, a canvas that sways and hypnotizes with every drum of his fingers.
You know what they symbolize, though it’s unique to have all of them together.
Taboo, even.
But you can’t hold back your admiration because of the sheer beauty. What would they feel like if you just…
“You always stare this long?”
Shit. “Oh, sorry. I just… I rarely see anyone’s ink up close.”
To your dismay, he takes his arm back. “I don’t have a lot of time today, princess.”
“Right, sorry. Hold on,” you respond, cringing hard at blurting two apologies in a ten second span.
Meanwhile, your way too handsome regular cocks a brow, clearly comfortable making you squirm as you hand over his bag.
Effortless. In your chaotic life, It’s almost intoxicating feeling someone this resolute in their whole demeanor. If only you could be so commanding and assured one day.
But here you stand instead, pretending to count fruit you one hundred percent know the stock of already. “Your art is really nice, by the way,” you admit to your inventory. “All the high-powers. I like what you picked.”
“Didn’t choose these.”
Ah. Way to assume things.
Raising your head, you make to apologize a third time.
But he’s already retreating with his tangerines, hand stuffed in a pocket and beautiful waves a little less vibrant than you recall.
“What.”
“I worry sometimes.”
His gaze lifts. “About me?”
“Yeah.”
You don’t know why you choose to say that of all things. But it’s honest. You always wonder about him and think about the weapon in his jeans. Does he use it? Does he ever need to?
Maybe you should pick up a hobby or two.
Fingers resting dangerously close, he asks with a tilt of his head, “What would you do, doll? If something happened to someone like me.”
Someone like him? What does that mean?
Great. Now you have even more to wonder about, as if he knew that was your exact predicament.
You stare, roaming along his arms before meeting his eyes—almost. “Find someone else to buy my tangerines.”
Huffing, his brows tick up with his mouth. “I respect that.” His attention doesn’t leave your face as he slowly takes his purchase. “See ya.”
“Bye,” you whisper back, watching him go. More thoughts and concerns bouncing around your mind in the sticky heat of midday.
These little nicknames he’s using also aren’t helping your issue in the slightest.
It starts when you hear shouting from a block down.
“Here they come!”
“Bunch of idiots this time.”
“What do you mean this time?”
Rough raiders this early? They should know it’s almost time for Dragon’s sweep. Bold.
After you hear the telltale yells, clanks, and bangs, your section of the street braces for impact.
And it swoops in like a whirlwind, ruffians tearing through, pillaging and stealing and swiping goods into thick woven baskets.
Baskets? The usual suspects always carry leather bags. You assume because of their sturdiness and inconspicuous nature, but what do you really know.
Here it goes again.
As your fruit is taken right from your cart, you sink to your toes, mourning the regular loss of your menu.
No use fighting. Like every other time, you all let it happen because there’s no point in trying to protect anything that isn’t valuable. Perishables and small homemade goods aren’t worth getting gutted over. Truly, the worst losses you suffer are when—
Your cart shifts violently before thieves topple it over, cracking one of your wheels and splitting the wooden boards in three places.
Springing to your feet, you douse the perpetrators in anger, “What the hell!”
“Oh, this was yours?” Someone chides while his cronies run past. “Thanks for the oranges, love!”
“They’re tangerines!” you correct at his retreating back, kicking your cart before yelping at your bad decision. “Damn it…”
Back to your knees you go. Head drooping, arms encircling, and disappointment pooling around like a shadow.
More shouts and feet in the road rampage through. Then it gets quieter. And quieter.
Then it’s done.
After silence swells in the wake of chaos, groans start making their way down the street.
“What’d they get from you this time,” you ask your neighbor, a charming old man selling anything from bowls to wide, round frying pans.
Looking over his little wreckage, he blinks hard. “They got my woks. Nothing as bad as yours. You okay?”
Walking over to help clean his mess up first, you bend down with a sigh, “I’ll be alright. But it still sucks.. My poor tangerines..”
“I’m sorry.”
“Not much to do about it now,” you resign, all your energy taken from you, too.
A little bit of time passes as you complete your usual round of help, though this raid was worse than others. As they all give their thanks, you keep thinking about how to make the whole situation better. Moreso for them than you because you’ve always been one of the least vulnerable ones on the block.
“You should find another place to sell, dear.”
In disagreement, you slip into a saddened smile. “I can’t leave you guys,” you explain to the lady you’re holding pails for. “Who will help clean everything up?”
“Don’t underestimate your elders now.”
“Fair,” you respond through a chuckle, handing her one of the metal buckets. “If only better protection was an option around here.”
“You know the rules,” another shop owner drones through lingering spices, “Dragon won’t protect us if it isn’t in their own interests.”
Unfortunately, he’s right. Every single raid that hasn’t coincided with a gang sweep goes overlooked. Even the city police don't bother coming down your street anymore, which is another issue in itself.
If only Tiger or Crane had been the high-powers in place instead.
At least they seem to be more fair.
After you finish helping, you finally venture back to your own cart, realizing that the trek is a lot further than you thought.
Did you really walk so far this time? The damage was dealt for much more than a block at this point.
Not like you need to sprint back, though. What’s left to steal? Everything you got swept into those woven containers.
Still so odd…
But not as odd as the sight that greets you on your return.
Because instead of seeing your wreckage of a cart tilted and abysmal, it’s upright and being mended.
By none other than your favorite set of hands.
What the hell? What’s he doing here? You quite literally have nothing to give so there’s no reason for him to spare a second at your broken stand.
Fast-walking, you hastily try to halt his help, “Oh, shit, you don’t have to—”
“Course I don’t.”
That shuts you up. In your split second of silence, you note with agony that his hair is messily tied in a minted bun. Are his sleeves bunched at his biceps, too? Great. What were you even telling him again?
Ah, yes. You were telling this mystery of a man that he doesn’t have to literally put your stand back together. “Seriously, I got it.”
“Don’t sweat it.”
“But it’s my cart, I don’t need your—”
With one look over his shoulder, your mouth snaps shut. And suddenly can’t move to argue again.
What the hell is up with today?
Forget all that. What’s he doing? At least you’re familiar with all the shop owners and vendors on your block, though you can’t say you wouldn’t do the same thing for someone you don’t know. But this guy has always been so standoffish and barely approachable. So how is he lending both hands to help you right now?
Whatever. If he’s gonna be as stubborn as this heat, you can be, too.
Scanning the area for scattered tools, you find a sun-warmed hammer and get to work, fixing one end of the cart while he works on the other. When you feel his gaze on your working shoulder, it takes massive strength to ignore him—even if you wanna know what his issue is and why he smells really, really good this afternoon.
Looks like you need more nails for this board to fit. When your eyes find a couple on the ground, you clinch a second piece between your teeth while hammering in the first.
Sounds stop at your side, but you wait until you pluck the metal nail from your mouth and stamp it in to look over.
Oh. He’s eyeing the hammer. Not you. Obviously.
You wordlessly hand it over, arm slicked with exertion. Because after the day you’ve had, you don’t feel like everything needs a spoken sentence attached.
It takes the guy a bit to take it from you, but when he does, he holds your stare. “Thanks.”
You simply nod, eyes sticking to him as he works on the tattier side wait it looks almost new. Better than it has in a very long time. Did he really get that much done in the time you were gone? There’s been great care taken during his repair if that’s the case.
Hmm. You finally learn something about your favorite customer. Maybe he’s just been a mechanic or carpenter this whole time?
Contemplative, you get up on sore legs to walk to your cooler—something thankfully missed by the rough raiders. Digging through the clinkage, you retrieve a local beer you recently procured from the restaurant across the street.
It’s not much. Absolute bottom shelf. But it’s all you got other than a few pieces of oni-coin, so he’s gonna have to deal with it.
When you offer the glass, your regular eyes it for a moment. More than enough time for you to get a good look at his striking floral top.
Well. Mechanic and carpenter are out of the question because that one piece of clothing looks more expensive than your entire apartment building.
Who even is this guy? Now you feel destitute handing him something so cheap.
Just when you think he’s gonna refuse, he takes the beer and smoothly shucks it open, suddenly making you wonder how a bracelet can do that and why it was so attractive.
God. You need to walk straight to the nearest inlet stream and dunk your head right in.
“Thank you,” you whisper, gulping at his full swigs. “You really didn’t have to do all this.”
“Got some time to kill,” he shrugs. Standing, the man takes another sip, peering along the street with sunlit eyes. With the bottle near his mouth, he murmurs, “You really need to set up somewhere else, doll. This street’s turning into a hot spot.”
Squinting up at the long lines of clothes and curtains floating in the breeze, you sigh at the building nearest. “I live close,” you sulk. “And this is the easiest place to get to.”
Those are excuses. Just tell him the real reason you won’t venture out and plop yourself somewhere more profitable. Well, maybe not all of the reasons, but the main one.
Leaning back on your cart, you stare at the loose dirt, swiping some with your shoes. “Maybe I’m just used to it at this point.”
He won’t respond. Or he’ll respond in his own way, which is mostly silence.
But a bright strand falls over his face before he hums, “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
Many people have warned you at this point. It’s basically your stubborn and spiteful nature that’s making you stay in the first place. Why would you move when you chose to be here? Why leave a place you actively choose to call home?
Fighting spirit quelled, you nod right to your stand as you count what’s salvageable. “I know, but I like it here.” When he lifts an unbelieving brow, you look away. “It’s true. But trust me, if there was a way to just make it all stop, I’d take it.”
He takes another swig, both of you looking into the street and watching things slowly get back to normal pace. Adults and kids alike are back to wandering around, buying what’s left and offering condolences.
“I’m not fixing another cart,” your patron turned repairman grunts, motioning to your wheel as he steps back. “So don’t fuck this one up.”
Huh? It wasn’t your fault! All the accidents and chaos that blow through aren’t something you can control oh he’s grinning. Why is he grinning? Why do you feel hot all over?
His teeth shine in daylight. “I’m messing with you.”
Ah.
This version of him is not good for you at all.
When he starts to walk away, you blurt out a quick, “Wait!”
Shit! Why did you do that? What are you possibly supposed to say right now? All you wanted was to see him a little longer… And while staring at his backside would be more than enough, you kinda wanted to actually talk.
What do you do? He stopped; he’s waiting.
And he looks impatient as hell.
Snapping into action, you round your cart and trot over, offering your name as if you didn’t just give up where you lived.
Then—without thinking—you ask for his with the most curious, innocent, “What’s yours?”
Silence has never been so booming.
In the dusty swirls of your street, you wait with a back that’s getting sweatier and colder with each passing second.
Was that not okay to ask? Did you fuck up with a single question?
Perfect. You just blew your one good thing about being out here. Wincing, you crush your words so hard you think your teeth will break into dust, drifting off into the very breeze wafting his striking locks.
After a condescending puff, he only smirks.
Then he takes one step. And another. And another.
The air around you melts, weighing on your shoulders while lighting them aflame all at once. It’s a feeling you can’t describe to anyone else, because they would just need to stand next to this man to believe it.
Checking to see if the street is clear, your best customer leans over. Slowly. Purposefully. “Yoongi,” he offers with a voice so handsome you’ll think about it for days. “But don’t fucking tell anyone.”
Oh.
Why did… you kinda like that?
Blinking, you swallow. “I won’t.”
This is when he’s supposed to just leave. He’d walk away, bag swinging with his strides. But ever keeping you on your sore toes, the man just chuckles low before rasping out the most devilish sentence in existence,
“Always took you for a good girl.”
Then he backs away, turning on his heel and leaving you a statue in the street.
Yoongi.
For a hardened soul, his name is so…
Tender.
For the next sixty days, you don’t get ransacked once.
But there’s also been no sight of Yoongi.
As the weeks trudge by, you can’t decide which outcome is worse.
The skies are magnificent today. But obviously at a molten price.
“Thank you for trying,” you say to a lovely wares owner before venturing back out into simmering streets. Exhaling, you wipe sweat from your brow, squinting before choosing to walk left or right.
Left seems promising.
You’ve been searching for hours now, perusing through shops, checking out vendors both nice and catty. But after a whole day’s search, you still haven’t found what you’re looking for.
It’s nothing urgent or pressing. But you would at least like to be prepared.
Since your initial mission is a bust, hopefully your next one makes up for it before you melt right into gravel and dirt.
Find a meal.
Walking along the busy roads, you pass a few options and keep them in mind, making sure to greet a fellow tangerine cart vendor with a smile. Hopefully they do well today.
A couple steps further, a giant cooler catches your eye. Seafood of all types lie inside along cubes of ice, and you weigh the pros and cons of smelling like fish just to have a cool head.
But before you can make any choices, the smell of spices and hearty soup softly pull your feet inside the restaurant nearby.
What’s here? Noodles? You’re always down for that. Apparently even in scorching weather.
After ordering, you take your seat at a random middle table in a chair facing the entrance.
Always facing the entrance.
Damn. You really need to accomplish what you set out to do. But sunset is fast approaching these days, and you aren’t anywhere close to home. All you have time for now is eating and heading out.
The service here is quick, at least. You’re already thanking the owner for sliding a bowl in front of your sweaty form.
With a head full of thoughts, you stare into nothing, stirring your noodles and waiting for the heat to die down.
Maybe you should’ve just walked a shorter distance and checked the shops you originally wanted to browse. If things went to plan, you could’ve been back by now, freshly showered and curling up on a worn down bed.
But instead, your feet are sore, your head is anything but washed, and you have to trek home empty-handed—on the first day off you’ve had in months.
Defeated, you sigh, going back to your bowl and watching sliced vegetables swirl in aromatic broth.
At least the food in this area seems good. And the fading decor really adds to the…
Ambiance.
Wait.
Dragons. A lot of them.
You can’t pull your eyes away from the crew walking in, bringing heat from the sweltering sun in their eyes and donning their telltale, striking teal.
But you can only kid yourself for so long because the one that truly has your gaze tethered is the man in front. The one you haven’t seen in weeks. The one looking right back at you with a visage so shadowed you feel like moving tables to let him pass.
…Yoongi?
His jacket. The colors.
He’s in Dragon?
Suddenly his hair makes terrifying sense.
As his guys stalk through, you swallow hard, not expecting to see him and having no earthly idea what to do with this harrowing information. There are so many thoughts overlapping each other that they all amalgamate into one huge batch of sludge.
Aren’t you smack dab in Crane territory? There’ve been white suits peppering the streets everywhere.
So what the hell is Dragon doing here?
From the slight confusion pinching his forehead, you know Yoongi didn’t expect to see you, either. Which makes it even weirder when he slowly takes your chopsticks right from your fingers.
Hold on, what—
“What are you—”
A lone, long digit over lips is the only response you get, silencing you immediately before you whip your head around to watch him rush past.
All of them waste no time tearing up the stairs, a myriad of blues blending with gritty paint and smoke.
And just like that, your reunion is over.
Home. You need to go home. Leave, leave, leave, because something is bound to be going down upstai—
A thud faintly shoots out into the staircase, and you spin around again in your chair, eyes snapping to the ceiling.
Shit.
Even though you’re on high alert, you realize with a quick sweep that no one else is noticing. Or moving. Or even paying attention to anything else but their own company.
Does no one else care about the commotion? Do hits happen in this area that often?
Mind running, you can’t decide what to do. Because even though Yoongi’s guys have plenty of weapons, he clearly had nothing since he needed to borrow your damn eating utensils.
Another crash rains dust on conversations around your shoulders, causing you to look up one last time.
Go home, go home, go home. In what universe would Yoongi himself ever need your help here?
With one more look at your noodles, you curl your lips before biting a side.
Already yelling at yourself for choosing to book it towards the back staircase.
Shit shit shit this is so stupid. This is probably the worst decision you’re gonna make in your life.
But your gut is churning thinking about Yoongi. Even a seasoned swordsman needs expertise to wield mere chopsticks and win.
Fuck, if you succeeded in your search today, you probably could’ve been a little more useful.
Swiping your own set of red from a nearby cup, you hightail it up, slowing as you round a corner and immediately hear multiple clangs and scuffles beyond the last turn.
Stop. You can go back. You can still turn around and go home.
An inhale.
Your feet propel you up and into a dark hall. As you slowly slide along the wall, your gut churns and churns. At a bang, you crouch with a skipped beat of your heart.
This is really, really dumb. But you can’t stop yourself and you have no clue why.
Nothing happens around you. So you keep going. With each careful slide of your foot, you get closer and closer to the noise.
Approaching the corner, you very slowly stick your head out for a peek.
And it’s pure commotion. Pure chaos. Holy shit, what is going on?
Fuck, there’s already a body lying limp on the floor meters away—
Your chopsticks. You wanna hurl.
But a man flies out of a room ahead before he grips and wrestles with another, and you reel yourself back to avoid being seen by either one.
Where is Yoongi? Is he okay? Did he leave already?
You give one more peek, scanning the long raucous corridor as swift as you can to see any sign of.. Mint.
He’s still here. How’s he just walking so nonchalant as his crew fucks shit up? Crap, he just went into a room and out of sight.
“Where’d they go?”
“Upstairs!”
Fuck, that was in the restaurant! Get up get up you have no choice but to hide now.
With pounding steps, you rush forward and book it, entering a large room to dive behind some steel shelving and large, woven baskets right as more Dragons come in behind with fists clenched.
Breathe. Steady. Calm the fuck down.
The grunts rush to the hallway to join the fray, and you wait in the now pungent solitude of your room. With only a still body to accompany you.
What do you do? What even can you do?
Just as nerves grip your stomach like a vice, Yoongi strides into the open area, heading right for the exit and not even sparing his kill a glance.
Go. Go now. Why can’t you move? Why aren’t your hands letting go of your cold confinement? It smells like death and blood and you need to leave with the only person you know—or don’t—so why can’t your feet just fucking—
Someone else slithers into the room. A man in brown with a knife. A knife, a knife, a knife he’s getting faster and Yoongi doesn’t hear him the guy is too quiet fuck! “Yoongi!”
It all happens before your brain can paint the bloody picture. Shooting out from your hiding spot, you race towards the assassin, slamming into their lanky build just in time.
Both of you topple to the ground, your target roaring in pain and twisting like hell to fight back fuck you didn’t get him how you needed to he’s got you—
Pain erupts in your hip as you’re grabbed, the room spinning as you’re thrown to the side and your ear hitting concrete right before chopsticks ping down. Thinking quick, you knee the guy as hard as you can, scrambling to finish the job because if you don’t, you’re gone gone gone.
“Bitch!” Your opponent clutches your shirt right as you reach for the nearest red pair, seizing your throat right as you grip and swing them around to stab the other side of his neck with a yell.
Luckiest timing of your life.
“Hng!” Fuck, he’s still holding down hard and choking, choking, squeezing. “Fuck you!”
Fight back. Keep the weapon inside he’s too strong finish him finish him.
Darkness. Ink drops in water. Your vision taints as your grip loosens, and you can only hope that Yoongi got away safe. He had to. At least you… Were able to do…
This one thing…
…
Oxygen and life rush back into your lungs, color burning through your esophagus as you gasp for sweet sweet air. Right as you come to, all you witness is the heavy heel of a boot twisting the forearm latched onto you.
And when the shoe leaves your vision. Lifeless eyes stare back.
Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck that was close. Oh god. You actually did it. Oh fuck.
Coughing, you rush up as you get tugged and pulled right against chains and embroidery, your ears ringing with a gravelly command and glass breaking in the nearby corridor,
“Don’t say my fuckin’ name so loud.”
“Excuse me?”
Yoongi roughly lets you go before pinning you with pure anger. Not to say thank you. Not to tell you any words of gratitude at all. The only other thing he finds the need to say is simply,
“You shouldn’t be up here.”
What the fuck. You just murdered someone for him and this is all you get? Eyes welling, you feel your body slick and sticky with crimson when you turn, coughing and spitting out regret before you wheeze, wheeze, wheeze, “That’s—that’s all you have to say?”
Dread swirls around your stomach like poison.
But the sternness from before completely vanishes as Yoongi lifts your chin. His eyes scan your throat and chest, and you rip your head away from his touch because he is not excused just yet.
“It’s not mine,” you snap, knowing exactly what he’s looking for and what you must look like to him. Dirty. Gross. Certainly a far image from the girl selling tangerines.
But your face is gently held again, and somehow this softer turn carries more strength to swivel you forward.
Why is Yoongi still looking? Now he’s holding your gaze as if he’s never seen you before. What’s that about? You’re still the same, the same, the same.
…Are you?
More crashes and shots are heard down the hall, and Yoongi snaps his head up in an instant.
God, you smell. You reek. Your nose is tainted and your hands even more so. There’s no way he’s gonna have anything to do with you now.
But you get the shock of the century when the man commands you to come along. “Let’s go.”
Absolutely not. This is all you got in you for a lifetime. “What? No, no, no. No way, I’m going home.”
“And they’ll follow you the whole way back.”
“I—I didn’t mean to—”
Shots ring out before grunts barrel out into the short hallway. All of them piling out from crevasses and hidden passages.
You give one more look at the two men now crumpled on the ground, bile rising up and threatening to spill.
“Tough shit, princess. You did, now live with it.”
Live with it. How poetic.
You were protecting him. You did what you had to do. But you have blood on your hands again and now Yoongi will see you as something else besides a fucking street vendor.
“Are you coming or not?”
You’re gonna puke your guts out.
With a stilted cry, you bend to snatch your weapons up yet again—gagging at the squelches and much deeper red—before following Yoongi’s long steps.
Your hands. They’re shaking so bad you can’t even pocket the chopsticks properly. But you finally get them down, crushing your palms and squeezing just to stop them from rattling.
When you wait behind Yoongi checking the corner, you turn around to make sure you aren’t being followed. And seeing the hallway still a moving mass of broken glass and hard swings, you think you’re safe.
The stairs feel so different on the way down. Is that because you feel completely changed? There’s no coming back from this. Another side of you died right alongside those two people upstairs.
No time to think about that. You have to follow his lead. And he’s slowing down why is he slowing down?
Oh. Normal. Be normal to not garner suspicion. You have to do the same.
Wait. You can’t go down there with a shirt full of stained evidence! Grabbing him and pulling back, you whisper, “Yoongi—”
His growl is so fierce your head spins, “What the fuck did I say about my n—”
“My clothes,” you panic. “I can’t.”
Yoongi gives you a quick look before gripping the duffle strap. Brows lowered, he grits out while dumping it, “Lose the shirt.”
“What?”
“Do it.”
“Where’d he go?”
“It’s gone!”
Your heads snap up before you lock eyes. And he doesn’t need to say anything to show you what he’s thinking behind those minted bangs.
As you hastily strip, your brain works in weird ways. Instead of processing how you very much need to hurry the fuck up, you lament the bra of choice today. And how sweaty you look. Because of course those are your thoughts of choice right now.
Something’s dumped on you before your shirt hits the ground, and you think about its warmth before you realize exactly what’s on your shoulders. “You sure?”
He’s already heading down. Oh god. You’re really putting this on shit shit shit.
You’re quick to slip into the material before checking for your chopsticks, rushing down the rest of the stairs to meet him. Nerves firing on all cylinders, you follow Yoongi out of the restaurant with a single, disturbing thought.
This is going too well.
But you’re passing tables, you’re walking by the fish display, don’t fucking sob you’re out in the street now.
Relax. You’re walking. His white tee is flawless and people have no clue you left a bloody shirt on a stairwell. Don’t fucking cry.
But suddenly.
Shouting erupts behind you both, just as a cop car rolls past the restaurant only to get surrounded.
And with one look back, your brain freezes. Right before Yoongi sounds a little too delighted to say something so foreboding,
“Looks like you’re in it now.”
Adrenaline spikes as you burst into motion. Hot summer air stings your lungs as legs propel you forward, with nothing in sight except for your partner in high crime.
Yoongi’s right.
You’re in it now.
And just like the delinquents that you despise, the two of you both kick up dust on the run.
You’re really doing this.
Holy shit, you’re really doing this and there’s no waking up, no jolting awake, no pinching yourself to know that it’s all a dream. The only thing pinching is your sides, fresh stings of karma with each heavy footstep through crowded streets, buildings, levels, wherever the fuck you go.
At least Yoongi is commanding as he leads you through the city—clearly from a heap of experience. Though rattled, you follow him with more adrenaline than questions. Because running is all you know. Run, run, run, escaping is your only objective and you cannot let up even once.
Your feet pelt down a staircase before you leap onto a disposal bin, impact denting as you follow Yoongi’s long strides across the colorful tops. Shouts and metal pings echo behind you as your chasers catch up, and you grit your teeth so hard they rattle as you jump to alley ground. “Fuck!”
Searing, searing pain rushes through your legs as you twist and wind through busy corridors, squeezing into the gaps Yoongi finds as he barrels in front.
“Get back here!”
“You fuckers!”
Who’s following you? Are they even Crane? You don’t see a shred of white on their clothes at all so are they working for some random guy Yoongi stole from?
When you watch him turn at the shouting, all thoughts vanish as your gut churns.
He’s grinning.
You just killed someone for him. And he probably has more blood on his hands than you can imagine.
And he’s… enjoying this?
You feel sick, mind blazing with a million red warning signs. How could you ever have had feelings for h—
You bounce off a passerby as you run, grunting at the sudden pain in your shoulder when another person rams into your back and topples you over, dirt scraping into your palms and knees.
Shit shit shit it’s so dusty on the ground and all you see are traveling shoes where are you? Where is he did he leave did he even see you fall? It’s too condensed here there’s no way he’s not taking the next chance to disappear.
Forget all of that, they’re coming. The chasers are coming and you see them see you down get up get up get up what the fuck get up now.
Ripping out a groan, you rush to your feet as soon as someone swoops in, bashing someone right behind you with someone’s crate of fruit.
Yoongi? He waited for you?
“Go!”
Both of you hightail it with you now in the lead, and your eyes buzz as you slip through holes in the crowd. Left, left, right, around, left again, between.
An intersection ahead. Yes. Lose everyone in the vehicle traffic or hitch a ride with a stranger. Fascinating how the survival tactics that spawn from your block develop in real time on the run.
Almost there, almost there, almost there—fuck!
Whiffing in front of your nose, a metal weapon smacks the ground at your toes.
Flailing, you dodge the next swing, ducking before you see a black duffle smack your assailant in the face.
Keep going. Finish him and get away. As Yoongi shifts left, you lunge forward, sending a swift punch to the guy’s ribs that hurt like hell goddamn oh fuck someone brought a knife!
“Yoongi!” Just as the surrounding civilians yell and clear out, you rush toward his aid before you’re tackled, air whooshing out of your lungs as your back pummels into gravel. Fuck fuck fuck this masked woman also has a dagger. A thick one. Don’t let her win don’t let her win hold on for dear fucking life.
Did you think you’d find yourself in a grudge match to keep metal from sinking into your chest today? No. Ever? Also no.
Your arms are shaking. Shots ring out. Sweat is your enemy. The street is in uproar. Where’s Yoongi did he hear you? Fuck, the metal tip is pricking you now this is—
Mercifully, your attacker yelps as something slams into her side, dark brown clothes crumpling before you’re hoisted upward and dragged back into the crowd.
“Let me go or I’ll kick your ass—”
“You good?”
Oh, it’s Yoongi. Again. Okay. Eyes swirling, you lock onto the gun held flush in his other hand before you nod. “I—I think so—”
“Then keep up.”
Winding between people, you’re only focused on getting away. But when you catch glimpses of him, he’s back to his glint. He’s exhilarated.
If only you were both doing anything else. If only you weren’t so queasy and guilty and loathing of your own self.
Right as you finally burst into bustling traffic, Yoongi boldly stops a taxi at its hood, motioning you to follow him inside.
Shocked but head reeling, you open the door closest to your sweaty legs and slide in.
And before you can even greet the shouting driver, Yoongi pulls you to his side and rushes something out in your ear,
“Kiss me.”
“I said get out!”
“What?”
“Come here.”
You’ve kissed before. Not many times, but enough to know that this man knows what the fuck he’s doing because you feel like your soul just abandoned you to exist in this car forever. You don’t know why this is happening or where this came from, but his lips feel as soft as his name and as deadly as the gun he’s pulling on your driver—
“Han Station,” he drawls, halting time and space. “Or your papers are burned by morning.”
Oh.
You were just… Oh.
Lips puffed and head swirling, you sit frozen in your spot, marinating in the realization that the best kiss of your life was a mere distraction. And as you watch Yoongi keep his aim straight, you assume he probably didn’t even think much of it, either.
“…I thought you looked familiar,” the driver slowly grits, hands gripping his wheel before he shakes his head. “You’re a little far from home.”
You think that’s all he’s gonna say. But his eyes are sharp in the rear view mirror, knowing a gun is pointed straight at his dome. “Aren’t you.”
What is he getting at you need to leave fast—
“Agust.”
…Huh?
Agust?
This is the first time you feel a heartbeat against your arm, and you hold a breath as Yoongi tightens his fingers on the gun.
When he doesn’t reply, the car fills to the brim with tension, and you feel crushed by its liquid weight.
Don’t you have to go? Aren’t you in a chase? Are you getting a little too hot?
When you go to slide to your own side of the car for some space, the hand around your shoulder squeezes.
And you’re more confused, exhausted, and thrown off than ever.
“Han Station,” is all Yoongi—Agust?—repeats, voice ice. “Now.”
To which the taxi driver stares, standing his ground until he breaks eye contact first to obey.
“Fuckin’ Dragons and their useless whores.”
Oh, fuck that.
Before you can lunge forward to outright strangle the man, Yoongi does something that has your eyes magnifying into saucers and hands shooting up to your mouth.
He fires the gun straight at the man’s thigh, yelps leaving both the driver's throat and yours holy fuck!
“You bastard—”
“You’ll live. Drive.”
“Fucking—fuck!”
The car shifts through traffic, swerving left and right and cutting off slower vehicles. When force smushes you closer into Yoongi’s side, you can’t help but notice how fit he is, and how calm he’s being despite the whole chase. Despite that spike in adrenaline. Despite blowing a hole in a stranger’s leg for six words.
He also feels really, really good against your side, but you can’t let that matter anytime soon. There’s absolutely no way you can let this dangerous man in, especially after this entire nightmare of a day.
So you swallow, trying to compartmentalize because you’ll reach insanity if you don’t.
Does anyone out there know you took a life minutes ago? Or hours ago? You just kissed a criminal five and a half minutes ago. Would they care about that, too?
The window is suddenly much more interesting than any of your wandering, slingshot thoughts.
Wait. It’s very pretty in this area, and you finally can tell some semblance of where you are. Because you only know of one part of the city that looks like this, and it’s deep in Crane territory.
Did you both really make it this far?
Carefully tended to, it’s a lot greener on the sidewalks, and more open on the roads. And it’s on one of these roads that you finally notice the sunset, gold accents shining on sleek street signs and the tops of buildings that seem much more at rest than you do.
Rest. Sleep. Home.
With the luck you’re having, it would be a miracle and a half to reach even one of the three.
Did you get followed? You don’t know how much longer you can run, so you really fucking hope not.
“Almost there,” Yoongi whispers, voice scratching your ear in the worst and best ways. “When we get out, move your ass.”
When you watch the wary, heavy breathing driver in his rear view mirror, you bite out, “I know how to get out of a car, thanks.”
“Just listen to me.”
“Why?”
“Do you trust me?”
“No.”
That came out quicker than you could stop it. But Yoongi only lets silence come between you before he squeezes your shoulder. When he speaks, you can hear how carved out his smirk is without even seeing it,
“Good girl.”
And you spoke the truth. It wouldn’t have come out so fast if it weren’t. But you know to at least follow his advice here because he’s kept you alive thus far. He didn’t need to drag you out and protect you the whole way, so it’s not like he would steer you wrong here. Right?
Right?
“Here,” Yoongi orders before the car slows to a stop.
That wasn’t so bad. You can get out normally now so why did Yoongi say—
Right as your foot hits ground, the taxi peels out, forcing you to throw yourself out of the side before the rest of your body leaves with it.
Fucking hell that hurt what the fuck was that for?
Dirt and dust coats your tongue before you do anything to spit it out. Saliva rushes from your glands as you cough and hack, all while feeling every muscle group in your body begging to not stand up.
But you feel rough, commanding hands on your arms. “You good?”
“Yeah—”
“Then get up. Get up.”
Straining and wincing like hell, you follow Yoongi’s lead yet again. Because you hear cars rolling up with bad intentions and that means you have to sprint again.
What the fuck did Yoongi steal? And how the hell are these guys still on your tail? Their resources have got to be as good as Crane’s and yet, they don’t feel the same at all.
You’re hobbling, but you’re going. You’re rushing. You’re going to get through this alive.
Instead of heading into the underground, you find yourself ascending a flight of steps. Rumbles and rattles hit your ears as you realize exactly what kind of station this is—one you haven’t seen anywhere in your district.
Han Station is a floating railway?
Holy shit, where are you?
Yoongi skids around a corner before you plant hard to stop yourself, only to see him clash with someone before something connects right with your stomach, and you crumple before you feel a solid hit to your head.
Oh.
The world spins and moves as you hear vibrations, slowed sounds that could be shouts. Gunshots? Or maybe songs? You don’t truly know but your head is aching—
Your arm rushes up to block something before your body follows, and you scream before gripping whatever you can and flipping a whole body forward.
Reality crashes back into your ears as you snap out of your head.
You haven’t had to do that maneuver in forever. Was muscle memory more than enough?
“Come on!”
Go. Go, follow him, both of you need to get to the rail shit it’s leaving!
The blaring reverberates through the air, pinging off metal and wheels screeching on the track lines as you bolt for the open doors.
Mid-stride, Yoongi swings to look at the people barreling up the stairs. “One more time: do you trust me?”
“No!”
“Good”—his hands grip your waist—“Jump!”
Head empty, you leap onto the railcar right as it starts to pick up speed, and you watch in horror as Yoongi empties his clip behind him until he can’t anymore.
“Yoo—” Fuck, what was his name? He seems to not prefer the one you call him and that has to be for good reason. What was it?
You’re leaving. He’s gritting his teeth while hitting the bottom of his gun but he needs to get up! What was his fucking name!
“Agust!”
Yoongi finally whips his head around, dashing to the end of the train and straining to carry the duffle.
He needs to launch it or leave it behind. There’s no way he’s not being weighed down so hard. “Here!” you yell, knowing that look is only reserved for people he doesn’t want to trust. It’s normal. But it still stings. “Hurry up!”
After one more second, he swings it around and flings, leaping onto the side handrail after you get blasted by the bag holy fuck that hurt.
He was running with this the whole time? No wonder his shoulders are so cut this is heavy.
Straining, you peek out into the wind, seeing Yoongi holding on and scooting along thin steprails towards your awaiting hands.
Shit, this is dangerous. Buildings and the city below fly by, and a parallel train whooshes and roars past as you finally tug him inside with shaky wheezes.
Just like that.
You made it out.
What the fuck. You did it. No one else was able to get onto the train. You’re safe for now.
Finally, finally, finally able to breathe.
But goddamn, you both stand out like blood on a blank page.
As you struggle to fully stand, you notice everyone else on the train—well-kept, carrying themselves in sleek linens and lush outfits, hair done beautifully and to perfection.
Which makes it unsurprising that plenty of them regard the pair of you with suspicion and morbid curiosity. While intrigue covers the one with an unfairly handsome face, zings of jealousy and judgment fire your way.
You feel so out of place. You are so out of place. But that doesn’t give anyone the right to look at you like filth. The words from the taxi driver pierce your brain again, and you feel rage and pain bubble up to your tongue,
“Anyone got something they wanna sa—”
But Yoongi does something that has your brain chemistry altering because he casually bends a knee in front of you while holding the top rail, forcing you back into the side of the train car and only seeing his jewelry.
When your eyes snap to his, he regards you before peering outside. “Stop,” he mutters. “You're causing a scene.”
“Me?” Oh, he has some nerve. “What did I do, you’re the one—”
“Quiet.”
Ridiculous. Huffing, you let disagreement tug your lips while joining him in watching the world go by.
Realizing with a pang that you are probably never getting back home. You’re never gonna see your favorite neighbor with his woks and caterpillar eyebrows. All the produce you were planning to sell will only succumb to mold and time.
Your tangerines…
When a tear falls, it glints in your reflection before quickly being swiped away.
No. Don’t do any of that here where people can see—where he can see. No one will know what the hell you just went through today. Be normal, strong, normal.
The ride lasts a little longer, with people coming and going during each stop. When there are seats open, neither you nor Yoongi move to take them. The two of you stay glued where you stand.
Silent, together, and covered in hidden blood.
The next stop seems to be in a quieter sector of the city. All around you are buildings you’ve never seen before stretching miles into the sky, and the streets are so neatly paved you’re convinced they’re fake.
“This is us,” Yoongi whispers, hand guiding your hip to move toward the doors.
Skin scorching under his touch, you can only nod.
Where are you now? Where are you getting off?
You both exit the train with a few others, and you watch with heightened curiosity as they carry satchels and wear shoes that look horribly uncomfortable. As you move down the steps, you keep craning your neck to take everything in, and more questions fill your head than answers.
But the truth remains even as you and Yoongi stop in front of your destination.
You cannot run anymore. Even if more of whoever those guys were showed up, you may just choose to sit down instead of take another stride. Besides, your body is still running a thousand steps even though you haven’t moved since getting on the train anyway. After today, the chase may never stop.
“We’ll stay here.”
We? Stay?
“Here? This place is…” You keep peering up and up, the top of the building so high your neck hurts. It’s so foreign and magical your only adjective is a quiet, “Nice.”
At your side, Yoongi seems annoyed when he asks, “Expect something different?”
“Yeah, like… I dunno, a secret lair or something.”
Air whooshes from his nostrils, but there’s a stark absence of a smile. Looking up at the building, too, he explains something that you’ve never heard of before,
“We’re in a grey zone. No one will follow us here.”
Right. Because that somehow makes sense to regular civilians like you. Because you are one, are one, are one. “Allegedly,” you scoff, not knowing what to believe anymore.
Yoongi pauses before heading up, and his agreement makes you look. “Allegedly.”
Mm.
After taking the tiny steps to the entrance, you wonder what he must be thinking bringing your haphazard look in tow.
Because he could’ve left you behind at any point in time. But he didn’t. What does that mean? Why is he keeping you alive and at his side?
While you’re taking in the opulent and vast lobby, Yoongi guides you toward the front desk, shifting the duffle on his shoulder.
This place is gorgeous. Nothing like you’ve ever seen. How were they able to install a waterfall in a building? What kind of money does this so-called grey zone have?
Yoongi nods toward the concierge, who quickly nods back and scurries away and into a room.
If you weren’t so tired, you could probably make something of that exchange. But you are very much exhausted so frankly, you don’t give a shit right now.
Although. You do give a shit about the fingers suddenly interlacing with your own. As your hand is held, you shoot your best client a look so potent he stares back. “What now,” you snip, question low and dripping with distrust.
Unfazed, Yoongi slowly pulls you into his side, a steady hand coming up to wrap around your tired hips. So nonchalant, so lax, so confusing as he murmurs,
“Just wanted to.”
Your heart trips into the next beat.
On sore legs, you wait until the concierge comes back with a key, eyes swiping over you as if they finally noticed your existence. Which seems to perplex them as they hand over the metal device.
And Yoongi just takes it, not a word said before he directs you across the lobby to what look like elevators.
Even these look fancy as fuck. Wherever you are and whatever this place is, you feel even more out of place than on that judgy train.
A hotel worker bows before he motions to the opening doors. “Nice to see you again,” he murmurs to the ground, seemingly expecting the same non-response given to the front desk. “Would you like the usual, Mister—”
“No,” Yoongi clips him off. “Not this time.”
“Understood.”
Brows pinched, you’re starting to get a weird feeling.
How does everyone know Yoongi so well here? He said this was a grey zone, which you’d think would be akin to a neutral or non-threatening one. So why does it feel like he’s got this area on lock? Who exactly are you getting into an elevator with?
…Who exactly did you save?
Yoongi was right when he said you’re in it now. But faced with more questions surrounding him than anything or anyone else, you’re starting to wonder what pit of hell you dropped yourself into.
Especially after catching the look of utter panic from the serviceman.
Right before sliding doors shut the world out.
—
—
⟶ what do we feel! | 🥢 join the taglist 🥢 | masterlist
a/n: thank you all for being so patient as i work through this! it was originally supposed to be a oneshot, but i like, need characters to get to know and learn about one another before heading into spice lmao. I NEED PLOT OK. THERE WILL BE LOTS OF SMUT I PROMISE DSHFKDSF we just gotta get through the slow burn first >:))
a/n 2: if there's something you liked about this or a line/scene/whatever thing you enjoyed, feel free to let me know! feedback is never expected, but always appreciated. if the interest level is high, that adds motivation like no other. thank you all for reading!
++
feedback box:
⇥ of course, any reblogs/comments/messages are appreciated!
⇥ for the ones that are too shy to reblog with a review, comment on this, or send a message, i went ahead and made another anonymous form where you can send in what you think!
⇥ no emails collected, no need to put in a username. it’s literally just a comment dropbox :D feedback can be as short/sweet or as long as you’d like!
⇥ here!
++
more links:
⇥ masterlist
⇥ minted masterlist (coming soon!)
Synopsis: You are the complete opposite of Yoongi... And he can't get you out of his head.
Warnings: Unprotected sex, masturbation.
Words: 5k.
ko-fi ☕
Now he's thinkin' 'bout me every night, oh
Is it that sweet? I guess so
You liked pink, feeling the morning sun caress your skin as you went for your morning run. Your favorite coffee was with milk, you enjoyed pop music, your shoes were always soft and colorful, perfectly matching the delicate bows adorning your wavy hair.
Yoongi was the complete opposite. He preferred black. At night, he went out to drink whiskey, finding comfort in the smooth burn of the drink. In the mornings, it was pure coffee, without the addition of milk or sugar, just the invigorating bitterness to awaken his senses. Ink stained his skin, almost covering it completely, each drawing telling a story he kept to himself.
He couldn't understand where that attraction to You came from. He spent hours thinking about pink bows, something he had never done before. It all started three months ago, when you walked into the bar accompanied by some people he already knew. The moment your eyes met his, it was as if a magnet drew him to you. Throughout the night, even as he tried to disguise it, it was difficult for Yoongi to look away.
He mentally thanked his friend when he called his group to join them, even though there was no direct interaction between you.
After 10 minutes, he watched you, laughing at everything that was happening, engaging in lively conversations with the group.
After that encounter, things went from bad to worse for Yoongi. He was never one to get emotionally involved with anyone, preferring casual or no-strings-attached relationships. However, your presence stirred something within him in a way he couldn't understand. You were everything he avoided: outgoing, funny, sweet, the type of girl who seemed destined for a conventional life, marrying some heir who majored in business at Harvard and now works at a major Wall Street investment firm.
In that regard, he wasn't wrong. Yoongi, after that night, didn't make any advances since he discovered during the conversation that you were committed and that your boyfriend couldn't attend because he was tired, having recently been promoted. Nevertheless, he couldn't help but think about you, even when he tried to keep his distance.
Say you can't sleep, baby, I know
That's that me, espresso
The second time you guys met, during a game night, or as they call it when the real goal is just to drink, Taehyung asks about your boyfriend. Yoongi continues to pour whiskey pretending not to hear..You respond that he's not coming because he's been really busy lately and quickly try to change the subject by letting out your classic laughs. 'What a surprise,' Tae whispers while sending only an eye roll. You listen, ignoring afterwards. However, Yoongi realizes that something isn't right in your reaction.
During the small party, as he scans the room, most people are standing around smoking or chatting, and the lights are partially dimmed, emitting only a kind of light that slowly changes colors. He notices two shadows in a corner near the kitchen and quickly realizes it's you and Jimin talking. From the movements and body language, he can see your expression of disappointment, with a look of indignation that he can't ignore. It's not sadness, but rather a clear disappointment that hangs over you.
Min rises from the couch, deliberately ignoring the tempting gestures of the redhead seeking his attention. With determined steps, he crosses the room, passing by everyone without exchanging a word, and ascends the stairs towards the balcony on the upper floor of the house. His steps echo softly through the hallway as he approaches the open area of the balcony, where the night breeze welcomes him.
Upon reaching the balcony, Min takes a deep breath of the cool night air before reaching for his pack of cigarettes and lighter. He eagerly seeks nicotine, longing to find brief relief from the tensions surrounding him.
The glass door is open, inviting him to enter. He settles into one of the chairs, immersing himself in his own thoughts, when he notices someone approaching and sitting beside him. He recognizes the presence without needing to check.
"Can I have one?" The question is simple but loaded with meaning. Min needs no more than that to understand. Without uttering a word, he extends the cigarette along with the lighter, sharing the gesture in silent understanding
"Someone asked about you yesterday," Jungkook, a guy who recently started working at the same bar as Yoongi, said casually as the two of them organized the glasses to open the establishment.
Jungkook, the youngest among the staff, was still attending university, carving out his path for the future. The guy had moved to the capital in a rush, without having had time to plan properly. Now, he found himself dependent on his parents for expenses, which made him feel like a burden on his shoulders. Determined to become more independent and relieve the financial burden on his family, Jungkook began looking for part-time jobs or ones that were only on weekends, which led him to Hoseok, who introduced him to the opportunity to work at the bar.
The next morning was just another ordinary workday for Yoongi. As he organized the glasses, his mind wandered among the bar's tasks.
"Someone asked about me?" Yoongi asked, trying to disguise his interest, but his curiosity was evident in his tone of voice.
"Yes, it was a girl," Jungkook replied, grabbing more glasses to organize. "She seemed interested in getting to know you better."
A shiver ran down Yoongi's spine. Was it her? Was she finally showing some interest? He couldn't help but feel a mixture of hope and anxiety.
"Do you know her name?" Yoongi asked, trying to sound casual.
Jungkook thought for a moment before responding. "I think it was... Yuna? Yeah, I think that was it."
The excitement on his face quickly faded, turning into a bored expression. He remembered her, the redhead, she was very pretty, but his mind was already made up.
Jungkook noticed, but chose to stay silent about it, quickly changing the subject and focusing on Hoseok's birthday that would take place at the bar in a month.
I can't relate to desperation
My "give a fucks" are on vacation
And I got this one boy and he won't stop calling
When they act this way, I know I got 'em
The third time he saw you... Well... He wasn't sure if he really saw you or if it was just his mind conjuring up your image. It was late at night, during his off-duty hours, and Yoongi was outside a liquor store, along with some customers who had become closer to him. The night was too hot to stay indoors, so he decided to accept one of their invitations to hang out. Let's just say it was just for drinking and smoking outside some liquor store downtown.
After many bottles, including one being accidentally dropped on the ground, he looked at a corner and there you were, or at least he thought it was you. You were wearing a blue dress that reached mid-thigh, adorned with a large bow of the same color adorning your hair from behind.
Suddenly, everything flooded back into his mind, as if a wave of memories hit him, turning into a tangled mess of soft colors, filled with smiles and shared moments, as if he were reliving a scene from a romantic movie. Among the flashes of memory, images of cute teddy bears and affectionate gestures emerged.
It seemed incredibly real, but it all happened so fast. He began to doubt his own sanity, something he had been doing for some time, and the idea of going after to find out who that person was came to his mind. Under the influence of the adrenaline that alcohol provided, he began to seriously consider the possibility of acting, taking advantage of the fact that nobody he was with knew you. This propelled him to overcome his shyness and hesitation, especially in front of the common circle of friends you shared.
One of the friends, probably taller and louder, nudged him on the shoulder with a wide smile. "Hey, Min! What are you staring at so intently? If you keep frowning like that, you'll get more wrinkles."
Yoongi shook his head, trying to play it off. "No, it's nothing. Just... I think I saw someone familiar over there on the corner."
The friend laughed, patting the pale man's back. "Ah, okay, we get it. Let's focus on the bottles, alright?"
Yoongi just nodded, but deep down, the glimpse he had of the figure on the corner continued to echo in his mind, like a soft melody he couldn't forget.
Walked in and dream came trued it for ya
Soft skin and I perfumed it for ya
"Please, Madonna is a queen," you declare to Jimin with conviction as you both enter the venue, amidst a lively debate about pop divas worthy of a Twitter thread.
"Not just a queen, she's a goddess, along with Cher, baby," Jimin backs up his argument.
The bar belonged to Yoongi, and it was a cozy yet stylish establishment tucked away in a trendy corner of the city. The entrance greeted patrons with a neon sign flickering with warm hues, drawing them into a world where music and conversation flowed freely. Inside, dim lighting cast a soft glow over plush velvet couches and rustic wooden tables, creating an atmosphere that was both inviting and intimate. The walls were adorned with vintage posters of iconic musicians and artists, adding a touch of nostalgia to the modern ambiance. Behind the sleek bar counter, shelves lined with an impressive array of spirits and liquors glimmered under the spotlights, inviting guests to indulge in their favorite drinks. As you and Jimin settled into your seats, the sound of laughter and the clinking of glasses filled the air.
The noise of the music in the bar was loud, but not loud enough to prevent Yoongi from hearing your voice as you entered the establishment. His eyes locked onto you, dressed in a pink dress that hugged your curves irresistibly, outlining each contour with elegance. The suggestive neckline added a touch of boldness, leaving anyone who looked at you drooling with admiration. Your hair cascaded over your shoulders, framing a delicately made-up face that exuded confidence and charm. You seemed like a vision of pure sophistication and sensuality, and a subtle hint of jealousy struck Yoongi, though it was something he would never admit out loud.
Finally, it was Hoseok's birthday party, and the bar was packed, considering he was so sociable, seemingly friends with half the city. Yoongi didn't know even 20% of the people there, but he had let his friend invite whoever he wanted as a gift.
As a way to not make it too obvious that he had a crush on you, Yoongi kept himself busy with party duties. He served drinks, helped set up with Jungkook and Taehyung, who, by some miracles, actually started to pitch in... More often than not, they ended up hindering rather than helping.
As they worked on the preparations, Yoongi occasionally cast furtive glances in your direction, observing your movements and conversations with the other guests.
He found himself looking at you again, chatting animatedly with Jimin. You whispered to each other and glanced around, seemingly engaged in a private conversation that no one else could hear. His attention was soon taken when the music stopped, and he saw the guest of honor for the night on the small stage used for live music nights.
"I'm glad everyone's here and I want to thank you all, but especially Yoongi," Hoseok pointed to the dark corner of the bar where his friend was busy making drinks. When Yoongi realized that all eyes were on him, he felt a warmth creeping up his cheeks. But what really embarrassed him was noticing that you were watching him with your big eyes and a smile that made your face glow. "He provided this exclusive space for us. This party would have been impossible without you, brother."
He definitely wasn't used to being the center of attention, and the sensation made him uncomfortable.
As the party was in full swing, a sweet pop song started playing, and that's when he noticed the commotion around him. You were closer to him, and he didn't know how that happened, but something slipped from your lips as you stared into his eyes:
"Oh, he looks so cute wrapped 'round my finger."
You put the straw to your lips and gave him a slight smile. Before he realized it, you had vanished into the crowd.
But this empty space didn't remain so for long. Jimin, the guy he always saw you with everywhere. Something Yoongi suspected at first until he realized, through social media, that besides you being really friends, the guy with the big lips and cute smile had a girlfriend who strangely looked a lot like him. Jimin also got closer to Yoongi a bit before you showed up. He was friendly, not always, but had an aura of a playful boy.
"You got the message, right?" Jimin stopped in front of Yoongi and said this with a somewhat arrogant smile on his face as he nodded toward the upstairs, which not ironically was where Yoongi kept a second home when he wanted to escape from the world or felt too tired to go to his luxury apartment. The older man returned the smile, not wanting to show that he was lost.
"What are you two up to?"
"Why would we be up to anything?"
"You know you're always involved in something, right?" Yoongi raised his left eyebrow slightly as he questioned.
"Are we communicating in questions now?" Jimin repeated the act.
Yoongi remained silent, just waiting for the next response.
"Uh, I'm just getting things done here," he spoke again, pointing to Yoongi's house with his head. Jimin was already pushing him towards the stairs, not allowing Yoongi to think things through. "I need you to grab JK's bag, he left it there."
"Why is his bag in my house?"
"I don't know, just go already."
Yoongi climbed the stairs, trying to go unnoticed, a bit suspicious about what was going on. As he entered through the wooden door, he found the place completely silent and everything in place, the small living room and kitchen were in perfect order, with no sign of anything suspicious. He decided to turn back and return, but before he could do that, a loud noise coming from the bathroom made him freeze in place.
"That's a heavy door," the unmistakable female voice reached his ears, and in seconds, he understood all the strangeness that had occurred downstairs. You appeared in the hallway leading to the bedroom, perfect as always, but stumbling a bit with your tall white boots, most likely due to the force of the door.
Yoongi quickly turned around trying to leave the place unnoticed, but when he tried to open the door, it was locked from the outside. He mentally cursed Jimin for whatever the hell he was trying to do. He turned his gaze to you.
"Uh," he cleared his throat, trying to get your attention. Your surprised expression gave away that something was wrong, but he could see a hint of shyness glimmering in your eyes.
"Yoo-o-ngi?" You cleared your throat, still a bit incredulous. "Is something wrong? I needed to wash my hands. You know? Drinks, dancing, spilled... Jungkook told Jimin and that you authorized me to come here because of the bathroom line... Um, that's it, I guess?" It was like a meltdown, you spoke hurriedly in seconds, Yoongi barely caught on. That nervousness had an explanation.
What Yoongi didn't know was that you were enchanted by his figure, the way he remained mysterious, his large and firm hands holding the whiskey glass... Yoongi was far from the type of guy you were used to dating and attracting, but people like him were your ideal type of guy, the one you imagined before falling asleep or when watching a romantic comedy. It wasn't just a crush, you genuinely had developed an admiration for him in this short period of time. His organization and the way he fought for his goals were like a moment of silence in the daily chaos.
It was difficult for you to find a moment to talk to him because it seemed like the only thing he knew how to do was work. Besides, it would be strange to show up alone at his bar, right?
But it was becoming complicated to hide when you two met. Most of your friends had already noticed your glances, you weren't someone who could pretend. Now, in front of him, alone in a place illuminated only by the moonlight, it was difficult to hide.
"Jungkook didn't warn you, did he? I'm sorry, I-I..."
"Y/N," Yoongi's voice echoed through the hallway, sending a shiver down your spine. Your eyes met in the dim light, sparking with palpable tension. You held your breath, feeling a wave of desire course through your body. Yoongi's intense gaze pinned you in place, as if you were ensnared in a spell. You could feel the electricity in the air, the attraction pulsing between them like an invisible current. Your lips parted, ready to form words that were never spoken, but the sound died in your throat. You couldn't decipher what he was feeling.
"Just shut up," that wasn't what you expected. "I think I know exactly what's going on."
The tone of voice used left you feeling flushed, it was embarrassing. You tried to ignore all the reactions of your body and began to think about the events. And when you realized the plot, all your eyebrows raised and your cheeks violently reddened in understanding.
Jimin had convinced you to make a move today.
"The plan is easy." He spoke with calculated confidence, as if conducting a masterclass. The images on the TV screen flickered, displaying a variety of suggestive outfits. "You throw him some charm, something subtle but not too subtle, it needs to be teasing but not overly, something like a discreet invitation," Jimin explained, sliding the slides skillfully.
"I'll choose the clothes that please me," you retorted, with a tone of disapproval.
"Your clothes already have a vibe of another reserved, so it's all right," he replied with a mischievous smile. "Continuing, second step: you'll touch up your makeup in the bathroom upstairs. You know how it is, at these parties the main bathroom always gets crowded. Are you understanding?"
"Yes, Professor Park," you replied, feeling somewhat frustrated. "But why do I need to touch up my makeup?"
"Think with me, Y/N," Jimin said, adopting a persuasive tone. "That will probably happen after a while. I want to make sure that, by the time he sees you and you talk, you look absolutely stunning." You trusted Jimin's guidance, even if the reasoning behind it didn't make much sense.
"So, I'll lead the conversation with him and keep him around. When you come back, you'll be ready. You'll throw the charm, disappear, and then come back triumphant," Jimin concluded, outlining the plan with unwavering confidence.
Your hand automatically hits your forehead. You felt a little humiliated, especially considering his strange reaction.
"Yoongi, what did he tell you to come up here?" You don't look at him, avoiding any proximity.
"Does that really matter?" He was in front of you, making it impossible to look away. He saw you biting your lips in a moment of pure impulsivity, and that aroused him to the true Yoongi, the guy who doesn't need to woo someone, he fucks without a care.
He leans towards you, his lips meeting yours. His lips were soft, but you could hardly feel them, due to the force with which he grabbed your waist with one hand and the other behind your head, pulling your hair slightly. Their bodies pressed against each other, seeking relief for the tension that had built up between them.
You moaned in the form of a sigh, and he let out a arrogant chuckle in the middle of the kiss.
"Y/N... We haven't even started and you're already moaning like this?" Yoongi didn't want an answer, but he leaned back slightly from your face, pulling your hair again, this time with force, forcing you to look at him. He took advantage of your stretched neck to lick it up to your ear.
"So needy," he put his tongue back into your mouth.
Suddenly, Yoongi returned to what he was before he met you. The arrogance was in the air. You could only moan and murmur.
When one of his hands slipped between your legs, you choked in the middle of the kiss, stopping in alarm, but that didn't discourage Yoongi, who continued to move his fingers lightly over your panties.
Your mouths were close to each other, but remained separated, so close that Yoongi could feel your breath hitting his lips. Some strands of saliva still connected you. The older man's movements began to get faster, his reactions were making you embarrassed, you were about to climax without him even having touched you properly. A finger slipped into your wet hole.
"Yoongi," you were in ecstasy, broken, looking at his face, eyebrows furrowed, eyes closed, and mouth slightly open. You felt his breath close to yours, sighing, but without touching, it was a tease. Yoongi's hand slid to your jaw and held it firmly. He knew you were close by the pulsation of your pussy and the grip on his fingers.
"Yoongi... I'm going to cum, please don't stop, please," you whimpered as the tingling began from inside your belly, he kept up the pace; it was so wet there.
"Yes, fuck, cum on my fingers," that was enough.
And so you did, in small gasps and with tightly closed eyes, you melted over him, almost falling to the ground.
You barely noticed when he put you on top of the kitchen table and, with a gentle push, laid you down, pulling up your dress to your waist. Yoongi's large rings made contact with the warm skin of your belly, bringing more sighs.
Yoongi looked into your eyes asking for permission, receiving only a pleading look to continue. You threw your head back, completely lying down. It was only possible to hear the metallic sound of the belt being opened and a light sound of his pants falling to his ankles. Peeking, you came across the most promiscuous scene you had ever seen. Yoongi looking directly at your pussy still covered by panties, with his lips between his teeth, while he masturbated lightly. He grunted like an animal before approaching.
He pushes the panties aside and slowly slides into you, earning a dragged moan from you. He takes advantage of his position and, running his hand over the outside of your thighs, he pulls you closer, returning to vigorously swinging his hips towards you.
His breathing becomes heavier as Yoongi's gaze fixates on the action that is taking place. He is ignoring everything as if that were the only thing that mattered, just listening to the sound of their skins colliding.
"Don't stop," your voice comes out in a whisper, knowing that he is close to climaxing. The movements accelerate more than possible, and Yoongi's voice becomes a tangle of grunts and sighs until he buries himself deep inside you.
You feel every movement of his, every part of him inside you, an overwhelming sensation that makes your whole body tremble. Your breathing becomes heavy, your heart beats irregularly, and the heat between you is palpable, enveloping you in an intense aura of desire and passion.
The last thing you remember is him with you in the shower, bathing you while you played around like two idiots. The hot water running down your naked bodies, the laughter echoing in the small space of the bathroom. Shortly after, without even bothering to dry off, you both fall onto the bed, your bodies still wet, but your hearts filled with an intense and profound connection.
Jimin would be punished for lying.
Is it that sweet? I guess so
That's that me, espresso
Two men were inside a large black car parked in front of the bar across the street. The party had ended an hour ago, nearly 7 a.m., but they remained there for an important reason.
"Did it work?" The man with large eyes asks.
"Believe me, I don't give it five months for Y/N to show up with a grumpy mini-Min ready to cry on my shoulder," he says, taking another sip from the cold beer can, taken from Yoongi's special stock, but he knew he deserved it, as they had taken care of the place and closed after the party.
"Anyway, I hadn't even noticed... This... um... thing they have... Jimin, when you wanted to talk to me, I thought it was about Yuna," the other comments.
"Haha, that was a lie. She's obviously attractive. I just wanted to test him a little before leaving my best friend in his hands," Jimin says naturally, gesturing with his hand to support his own plan.
"Lie?" Jungkook turns his body fully towards Jimin, with his eyebrows deeply furrowed and his arms open in indignation.
Jimin puts his hand on his shoulder and follows his gaze to the second floor of the establishment.
"You know, a good cupid needs to ensure all possibilities." Jimin checks his phone one last time before leaving, and only one notification catches his attention.
"Your NETFLIX login is no longer available. Would you like to sign in with another account?"
A scream was heard throughout the neighborhood.
Hello everyone. Just popping in to let you know that next week I'll be posting the second chapter of Get This Man <3.
Pairing: Yoongi x f!Reader (What the Moon Saw universe)
Genre: drabble; non-idol AU; friends to lovers; childhood friends, angst
Summary: Life moves on. The moon blooms and wilts. The tide sinks away from the sands and returns with new waters. Yoongi stays.
Content warnings: PG rating, but ALL my content is off-limits to minors; drinking and drunkenness (set in a cantina); cigarette smoking; Yoongi gets hit on; longing and pining; sad Yoongi 😔; some ogling of a minor female character by Hoseok; reference to the death of a minor character; allusions to domestic violence; allusions to semi-homelessness; allusions to casual sexual encounters; this is just pure angst, honestly.
Word Count: ~1600
Author's Note: This has been sitting in my WIP folder, and in the wee hours of the morning last week I sat in a hospital cafeteria and with the shittiest cup of coffee I've ever tasted and finished it up. Poor, sweet Yoongi . These two are my comfort couple and coming back to them has a way of reminding me that "nobody knows how the story ends - live the day, do what you can."*
As always, if no one has told you today, please know that you're loved, and worthy of love! 🧜♀️💜
*"Nobody Knows", the Lumineers
"Alright, old buddy, what's got you down?"
The slim, dark-haired young man slid into the booth across from Yoongi. The older man's eyes softened slightly, and his mouth quirked up into a small smile as he regarded his companion over a swig of Pacifico.
"Who says I'm down?" he asked in a mildly affronted tone, drawing a hand over his beer-slicked lips.
The other man's mouth broke into a toothy smile, his lips pulling into a heart-shaped grin as he let out a boisterous peal of laughter.
"You never call these days unless you are," he rejoined, grabbing a foggy acrylic standee from the center of the table and squinting at its small list of beverages. "Geez, they really don't have much of a selection here, do they?"
Yoongi snorted.
"Since when are you an alcohol connoisseur? You don't even drink, Hoba."
"I do too!"
A waitress sidled up to their table and slid a food menu in front of Hoseok, who trailed wide eyes up her tattooed arm to her bright blue pixie cut with a thick swallow.
"Our mango ahi tacos are on special tonight," she hummed with a wink.
The young man's ears flushed a bright shade of crimson as he stammered something about passing on the food but wondering if they had any ciders. She pocketed her tongue in her cheek as she flicked her eyes to Yoongi.
"You hungry?" she asked, cocking an eyebrow and tilting a hip clad in low-slung cargo pants and a studded belt in his direction. Yoongi looked up at her and shook his head, taking another sip of beer.
"Hm, damn shame," she hummed, flicking her eyes over him a last time before sauntering back to the bar.
Hoseok tracked her every move with a slack jaw, craning his neck to watch her slip through the kitchen door before turning his face - features, still frozen in lascivious astonishment - back to his friend.
"Holy shit, hyung," he murmured, covering his mouth with both hands, "You could see her nipple piercings right through her shirt!"
Yoongi grunted in assent, trailing a cloudy gaze over the table's waxy surface as he picked at the bottle's damp label.
"You gonna get her number?"
"What?" Yoongi shifted in his seat, eyes refocusing on his friend.
Hoseok sighed.
"Nope, you're not. How long's it been, hyung?"
Yoongi glanced down at his beer again, then raised it to his lips and drained the bottle.
Jung Hoseok had met Yoongi the summer between freshman and sophomore year of high school. He had attached himself instantly to the older boy, an unusual experience for Yoongi, who was used to people as sunny as Hoseok steering clear of his little storm cloud. He was one of the few friends from those days that Yoongi still called up, on occasion. One of the few who knew the context of his life - the sandy paths on which he'd come of age...what he'd found there, and what he'd lost.
"Don't, Hoba," Yoongi murmured lowly, his voice suddenly thick in his throat.
Hoseok hummed, lips pulled into a thin line. The waitress returned with a hard cider, a Pacifico, and a plate of nachos they hadn't ordered. While Hoseok changed shades like a chameleon on a tomato and attempted to stammer his thanks, Yoongi cast his eyes out the window.
The sun was hanging low in the sky, the gulls pushing their yellow legs from weathered wooden perches to soar beyond the edge of the pier and into the little golden space between the fading light and sparkling waters. The sandy beach stretched around the edge of a rising rockface, dappled with lush green ice plant and yellow sea asters, a few miles to the north. Around the other side of the stony promontory was a place Yoongi knew well. The shore there drew inward and curved into another swell of land as the cliff rose; near its highest stretch an old wooden stairway weaving down its face.
Tucked away to the side of those stairs was a ledge - a few meters wide and about as deep - that jutted out as the cliff sloped down to its base. It was smooth and fairly even, nearly level with the closest steps; a perfect little hideaway barely visible from above or below. Perfect for two children to sit, huddled against the rock, as they whispered their dreams and fears; for a boy and a girl to hold each other through nights that couldn't be spent at homes far less warm and gentle than each other's arms; for a young man and woman to give themselves to one another at last and too late.
It was where Yoongi had sat utterly broken, on the last morning of a summer ten years past, his head tilted back against the stone as he wept up to the sky, praying to any god that would listen that you would run fast and run far - that you would finally spread full your beautiful wings...that you would forget him.
But Yoongi never forgot you. Not one word that you spoke, not one touch of your gentle fingers or your soft lips.
He had left the ledge that day, but he had carried you with him - down the beach and back into the horrid little shack where three nights later Yoongi's father hit him for the very last time. Yoongi had carried you with him to the doorstep, as he threw the man out into the dirt. Then he had carried you with him to every couch and car and dingy apartment that served as a night's shelter until he had saved up enough for a little place of his own; had carried you around with the tools and lumber as he spent long, hot days building the tiny workshop beside it. And he had carried you, on a some miserable nights, into the beds of strangers - who, through no fault of their own, could never ever compare.
"My dad died," Yoongi said drawing his eyes away from the window. He said it with a quiet simplicity that he seemed to embody more and more with age.
Hoseok looked up from the plate of nachos, mouth full. He looked as if he were sorry, but didn't want to say that. Instead he got up and slid onto Yoongi's bench of the booth, gently shoving the older man over to stay flush with his side. Yoongi wouldn't usually tolerate that sort of closeness, but with Hoseok it was different. Hoseok knew.
"How's your mom?" he asked softly.
Yoongi nodded.
"She's okay. She's taking it better than me, actually. Already talking about leaving."
"Are you going to?"
"What?"
"Leave?"
Hoseok's voice sounded hopeful. Yoongi's right hand slipped instinctively into his jacket pocket, slender fingers curling around a little whittling knife with a pink heart painted on its handle.
"I don't think so, Hoba."
The younger man sighed through his nose. He was quiet for a long moment before turning to his friend.
"I got an offer from a high school in down south, I start there in the fall."
Yoongi raised his gaze, his small smile affectionate and his eyes soft. He wouldn't let the sadness reach them - he'd learned how to push it away.
"They'll be lucky to have you," he murmured sincerely.
Yoongi was used to people moving on. Everyone did...everyone but him. While the world turned, Yoongi stayed.
"Someday, you need to leave, hyung,” Hoseok urged him quietly. “She's out there somewhere living her life. She'd want you to live yours too."
At the mention of you, Yoongi felt his heart squeeze and ten years of carrying your memory well up and into his throat.
Hoseok clapped a hand onto Yoongi's back, and raised the cider to his lips.
Hoseok knew, but he didn’t understand. No one ever seemed to.
As the cantina closed its door for the night, Yoongi ushered a stumbling Hoseok into the back of a cab.
"You're nah coming?" the younger man slurred as Yoongi stood and moved to shut the door.
He shook his head.
"Gonna walk. Goodnight, Hoba," Yoongi gave his friend a little endeared crook of his mouth before closing the cab door and tapping the back of the car as it rolled away from the pier.
Pulling a pack of Marlboros from his pocket, he watched the cab's red taillights fade into the evening blue. Yoongi lit a cigarette and turned to walk the path that wove along the edge of the cliffs. While he walked he wondered about you. He wondered if you were safe, if you smiled and laughed. He wondered if there was someone who made your eyes sparkle and your smile shy, someone with whom you could share your joys and sorrows. Yoongi wondered if you had found a home.
The moon had risen to meet the stars when he reached the little stairway. He gingerly descended its rungs - neglected of repair and worn with their years - until he reached it, the little ledge in the moonlight. He stepped onto its smooth surface, the rickety railing long fallen away, and sinking down he closed his eyes.
The full bright moon washed over him, and for a moment, Yoongi felt it understood. It had seen, after all.
It had seen the boy and the girl and what they had become for each other. It had seen you give Yoongi a home, and it had watched him, in return, teach you to fly - to fly far away.
But Yoongi carried you with him. After all, you were his home, where else would he go? As the wind whipped up off the sea and swept around him, whispering of another summer's end, the moon watched Yoongi stay another season. And if it could have seen his heart, it would have watched him go to it's little window, and, as the darkness fell, light a lamp to shine out across the sea.
The moon heard Yoongi pray that you'd never return.
this was requested by 🦬 anon but they didn't specify anything
thinking about yoongi who can cum just from eating you out.
he's already hard when he gets home, he's been thinking about you all day, and he's about ready to lose his goddamn mind.
he walks into the bedroom and sees the light on in the bathroom, sighing in relief he walks over and pulls the door open with no warning. you jump in surprise from where you're doing your skincare and yelp when he spins you around and lifts you up to sit on the counter.
"yoon-" the look he gives you shuts you up and makes your panties wet.
he doesn't bother removing the flimsy material, and instead just moves it to the side, wasting no time in picking a stripe up your cunt.
"oh fuck"
min yoongi eats pussy like a man starved. like he'll never get to have you like this again.
he's alternating between licking and sucking, nudging your clit with his nose and then he shoves two of his thick fingers into your pussy with no warning. you yelp, he just pushes himself closer, groaning when your hands find his hair.
"yoongi yoongi fuck yoongi" you're fucked out, thighs shaking around his head and ankles locking behind him. he grunts at the force of your heel between his shoulder blades and grazes his teeth along your clit in retaliation.
"shit yoongi im gonna cum" your a babbling mess and his cock is leaking in his pants.
he pulls back just enough to blow cold air on your clit, and then he's sucking on it just as fast as he pulled away and that's it. you're done for. your hands tighten in his hair, his fingers working against your walls and his tounge helping you through your high.
he presses the heel of his palm against his cock once, and you tug his hair to push his nose into your clit again, and he cums in his pants, grunting deeply and pulling his face away from your cunt to breathe through his orgasm.
panting, and on shakey legs, he moves to turn on the taps to the bath, before coming over to you and placing his face in your neck.
In the Margins (a s f)
⊹₊⋆ You weren’t sure what he would look like. His writing made you think of a cabin nestled among tall pines, a well-worn cardigan, a scotch neat, and a wistful wisp of smoke seeping into the air from the bowl of an unattended tobacco pipe. What stands before you now is a studio apartment in the city, cigarette butts, coffee stains, and a scowl. There’s definitely been a mistake.
Fix You (f a)
⊹₊⋆ When you take in a stray cat, you have no idea he’s secretly a hybrid trying to escape his past. Can you help him heal?
desolate (a f s)
⊹₊⋆ you just wanted a cute little normal cat to keep you company. so you're not really sure how you ended up with the grumpiest hybrid on earth that seems hellbent on making your life difficult.
One Shots
Set Me Free (a f)
⊹₊⋆ Tired of being told how to live his life and unsure of where he stands in the world, Yoongi--your soulmate--yearns to be free. When you give him what he wants, it causes a rift in your relationship that seems irreparable. 12 years later, you find him back in your life. Can you mend your relationship? Do you even want to?
back-burner (a f s)
⊹₊⋆ sometimes you felt like you were the back-burner of a two-decade-long friendship. how could you ever compete?
Love Language (a s f)
⊹₊⋆ Your boyfriend obviously loves you, but his silence has you questioning if he *wants* you. If you could only get past your damn insecurities maybe you could appreciate what you have.
27 Phone Numbers (f)
⊹₊⋆ Yoongi has gone through twenty-seven phone numbers over the last ten years, and you haven’t changed yours since high school.
sweetner (f s)
⊹₊⋆ You used to know how he sounded when you were wrapped around him, but circumstances have pulled you apart and sent you scattering in opposite directions. Feelings shouldn't reappear so easily by simple words, but when you find yourselves in the same place once again, this is exactly what happens.
One Chance (f)
⊹₊⋆ A musical genius, a guy with a bad reputation, your assigned partner for your final project. And the last thing you ever would have expected.
Seasons Change (a s)
⊹₊⋆ Min Yoongi and you, through the seasons, break up and come back together. Nobody said love was easy.
All That Holly, Jolly Sh*t (a f s)
⊹₊⋆ You haven’t seen or heard from Yoongi since he broke your heart five years ago, laying out a logical list of reasons why you were better off breaking up. When a Christmas Eve blizzard traps you together for the night, you have no choice but to examine how few of those reasons are still true. And if they’re not… where does that leave you?
Now We Reign (a s f)
⊹₊⋆ when working on a collab together makes you and Min Yoongi seek comfort with the other, you discover there’s more to life than loneliness. Only, hurdles mark your path in Min Yoongi’s life, and it’s unclear what the outcome will be. Will you be destroyed by him and his world, or will you learn to reign over it, together with him?
take five (a f)
⊹₊⋆ you're min yoongi's nurse and you have a crush on him, and he gives you five chances to ask him out - he never said anything about accepting though.
The Final - Day 02 (s)
⊹₊⋆ You've been Yoongi's go-to companion for the past few years, well aware that's all you were going to be. Despite your very real, growing feelings for the rapper, you took what you could get every time. Now, you're backstage at day two of the final leg of his tour when another member takes an interest in you. Will it be enough to make Yoongi realize he's got competition?
hello soulmate (f)
⊹₊⋆ your first day on the job doesn't turn out the exact way you envisioned
Sugar Rush Ride (s)
⊹₊⋆ You produced a song based on your hidden desires for your fellow producer and promised yourself that tonight, things would change. You were done pining after him, but then he arrived at the listening party.
fuck being friends (a f s)
⊹₊⋆ as if watching the guy you were hopelessly in love with hook up with another girl each weekend wasn’t enough, he also happened to be your best friend, making things extra complicated. and it only gets worse and worse once he finds you crying in the bathroom at a party one night.
Take One (s f)
⊹₊⋆ There are three things which Yoongi was certain of. One, he was a big star in his field of work. Two, he had a huge cock, one to rival many of the largest names in his industry. Three, he can only find pleasure these days in written word.
Illicit Favors (f s)
⊹₊⋆ When your editor tells you to re-write the chapters of your book because the sex scenes are weak, suggesting you write them from experience, what do you do when you lack any kind of sexual experiences in general? You go to your friend and ask him for help with it.
Bet On It (s)
⊹₊⋆ What's a little wager between enemies? How about if it's your body on the line?
subscribed (s f)
⊹₊⋆ you find out that youtube isn’t the only site he uses to satisfy his subscribers. what do you do with that information?
01: Winter (5k words) | read on ao3
02: Spring (6k words) | read on ao3
03: Summer (7k words) | read on ao3
04: Fall (13k words) | read on ao3
Total Word Count: 41k words
Summary
You weren’t sure what he would look like. His writing made you think of a cabin nestled among tall pines, a well-worn cardigan, a scotch neat, and a wistful wisp of smoke seeping into the air from the bowl of an unattended tobacco pipe. What stands before you now is a studio apartment in the city, cigarette butts, coffee stains, and a scowl. There’s definitely been a mistake.
Genres: Writer AU / Writer!Yoongi / Editor!You / Editor!Reader / New Relationship / Fluff / Smut / Angst / Humor / Songfic (takes inspiration from Dear My Friend by Agust D)
Rating: 18+ / Explicit / Mature
Pairings: Yoongi x Reader
Content Warnings: E2F2L, slooooooooooow burn, soft smut / hard smut (but not til last chapter), references to hard drug use and death, consummate professional Namjoon, clumsy Namjoon, so just Namjoon, essentially Pied Piper Jungkook, LITERARY YOONGI, BRATTY YOONGI (@sugabratt), DISGUSTED YOONGI, if you don’t want to fall deeper in love with Yoongi, don’t read this.
Influences: You’ve Got Mail, High Fidelity, @gukslut’s Cream and Sugar, The Bell Jar, Gilmore Girls, Alex & Emma, DayofKaryn’s tweet about Yoongi’s flirting, Paris When it Sizzles, The Way We Were, Cold War, Runaway Bride, @agata’s post about bts as folklore songs
Min Yoongi is, despite his looks and quiet nature, a very kind person. Or at least, that's what some very selected people will tell, if one was to ask them.
His tail softly sways behind him as he keeps an eye on the main operational panel in front of him, while you watch. His cat-like ear snaps a bit irritated at something- when his eyes turn towards you, glaring. “can you.. stop staring?” He requests, and you nod, instead turning to look out the large window of the spaceship instead. You’re quiet, but not mute- having talked to him quite a bit before. Maybe you simply don’t speak much, or don’t put much value in.. smalltalk.
That’s fine by him. He doesn’t either.
He's found you- or rather, you found him- just hours earlier at an outpost, asking him to take you along to another location in exchange for a small amount of money. Where he went next you didn't care- you only needed a ride to get around, most likely used to this kind of life, since you'd obviously chosen him very specifically amongst all the other options at the bustling restaurant.
In hindsight, it made sense that you approached him despite his grim appearance- he was the shortest and least threatening looking species in that restaurant at the time, and was also one of the only one's there without any company at all. You're clearly smart about this whole process of finding a ride from one place to another-
otherwise, you wouldn't have lived like this for so long, having done this for years, according to you.
“There is.. Food over there. If you’re hungry.” He tells you, and you look over to spot the metal trunk in a corner, before you nod at him, not moving at all however.
“I’m not.” You answer, though your stomach growls as if to disagree, making you clearly a bit ashamed of it, eyes widening at being betrayed by your own body like this.
“Just eat. I wouldn’t offer it if I didn’t want to give it to you.” He mumbles to himself, resuming his task of checking the ship’s systems again while you stay seated where he’d last told you to sit. You still won’t move, and he’s unsure why not- but he’s also aware that he shouldn’t get too invested in you. You’re gonna be dropped off next stop, and that’s gonna be it- which is for the best, because getting involved with humans is never a very good idea.
And he’s also still on a mission to get his revenge- and secure his place in the foodchain, to be no longer seen as nothing but a docile little pet. A mission that might as well kill him- and if he can avoid pulling anyone down with him, he surely will.
When he notices your eyes blinking longer and longer, he walks to fetch a sleeping bag from one of the other metal trunk in the corner, to offer it to you. “Sleep. It’ll still be a few more hours until we’ve reached the next outpost.” He says, and you take the sleeping bag from him with a thankful nod, before you spread it out right on the floor where you sit, to crawl into it and lay down. He has a suspicion what your way of earning money had been until now, but with your behavior so obvious, it’s very clear to him now.
It makes him upset. The fact that you’ve been driven so far just to somehow survive.
Either way, he stays awake to both keep himself safe just incase he’s misjudged you and your intentions, and to make sure the old and very small spaceship keeps it’s course as it sometimes tends to deviate over time due to the old navigation system. And yeah, maybe he also can’t help his instincts as well-
Unintentionally guarding you while you sleep, eyes always checking up on you any time you move in your sleep.
Min Yoongi was born on Zoldos- a small, cold and relatively poor planet, which had been industrialized for ages. He remembers his father making toys out of junk he found while working at the metal factory each day, turning trash into small spaceships for Yoongi to play with.
Most of his time however was spent with his mother, and the many children she’d foster over the years of his childhood- many of them he’d see as his sisters, as all of them would be girls given up by their families, since in his culture, they’re said to just be expensive and too much work to raise. Maybe this way of growing up, helping his mother with the young kids every day while she taught him everything he needed for his future, made him into the man he is today.
His father had always been described as ‘unusually soft’ compared to what is usually expected and seen in his kind- Xaqal people tending to be combative, easily irritated, and quick to escalate situations into physical violence to defend themselves from others. But his father was already uninterested in any of the usual past-time activities his coworkers would indulge in, like underground fighting, or gambling- rather spending his free time home with his son, foster children and partner, which was unusual in itself. Usually, partners of his kind don’t stay together after their children learn how to walk- but Yoongi remembers that even when his mother passed, his father would continue to live at the same house, to find new homes for the remaining children, before he moved away as well once Yoongi decided to leave the planet.
Yoongi is still in contact with his father, and doesn’t believe that he should’ve been raised any different than how he was.
But his now rather soft and kind character comes with a price to pay- with most people on other planets not taking too kindly to him and his friendly nature at first. Friendships don’t pay your bills after all, so the first lesson the young man had to learn back then, was to toughen up, and start thinking of only yourself first and foremost. Getting attached to others was a risk to take, and would most likely end in a burden one might think of unnecessary.
Even so, Yoongi has made friends along the way. From a very, very charismatic guy named Seokjin and his mother on Cryon, or the stoic and self-admitted younger ‘Asshole’ human-Bolku hybrid going by the name of Jungkook. But other than that, he keeps himself independent- away from others.
However, for some reason, he’s now sitting with you on a bench on the outpost while his spaceship is being refueled, having bought you some warm food to eat, despite your active arguments against that. Maybe because you’re obviously in need of protection, or because you’re not a threat whatsoever- but he feels like he should at least make sure you’ll be okay on this outpost, before he’ll leave you here.
Deep down, he knows it’s not the question if you end up getting into a situation where you’ll be killed- but more so, when.
“What are... your capabilities?” Yoongi asks after a moment, watching your hands as they tear apart a piece of bread to dip it into your hot soup he bought. A warm and filling meal was a good idea to him, since it’ll keep you energized for longer than just a snack or fast food.
You look up at him, caught off guard, as you swallow down, thinking.
“Hm..” You hum as you think. “I.. Can read maps pretty well. And I’m good at cleaning.” You say. “But I could probably learn other things pretty quickly, if needed. It depends on the job I could get.” You explain, and Yoongi nods.
“So if you had to learn about another species’ health and how to care for it, you could learn quickly?” He asks, and you nod.
“If.. Given enough recourses to teach myself.” You mumble, continuing to eat. He’s getting the feeling you’ve not had a filling meal in a while with how eager you are to finish all of it.
“I will not offer you monetary compensation.” He says, and at that, you look up again. “But instead a place to sleep, regular food, and.. Basic protection.” Yoongi explains to you, and at that, you instantly nod.
“I can do anything!” You chirp, desperate- and he carefully pushes you back down by your shoulder, calming you down again. “Really-”
“I believe you.” He nods. “But Be aware that I am not just some traveler.” He remarks, and you nod.
“I understand.” You say.
“Hm. If that’s the case-” He starts, looking over to a small shop that sells different electronics. “-I’ll get the necessary equipment to finalize our agreement. Stay here- and don’t talk to anyone.” He commands, and you nod, continuing to eat while he gets up to walk into the shop.
Many of the people inside this shop are wearing the distinctive blinking tiny tracker around their necks- either from a simple leather collar, something more sleek like a silver hoop, or even one with a chain. It’s to be expected, as most of what is sold here is equipment for ‘personnel’, as it’s called across the galaxy, after the term ‘slave’ had been outlawed and categorized as a slur.
Yoongi can feel the eyes on him, since the tall, green-skinned lady at the counter most likely waiting just like the rest of them for another person to follow him to buy equipment for him, as it’s normal for his kind- but the second he picks out a combination of a tracker, and EID tag, and a simple, silver collar that wouldn’t stain or sit too tight around your neck, people become interested.
“Size is a bit small for you, kitty.” The alien woman giggles, scanning the items to add the price of everything together. “You know how to set the EID up?” She says, clicking at the end of her sentences a foreign tone, similar to an insect.
“I know how it works.” He tells her, voice stable and monotone, something he taught himself to never give away any sign of his actual emotions. Because showing them will show weakness- and Yoongi needs to keep up an appearance of indifference at all times, just so people can never quite figure him out.
People naturally fear the unknown, down the line, no matter the species.
“Alright. Just out of curiosity though..” She says, clicking sounding again as she narrows her dark eyes at him while he pays. “...who the hell wants to be under the command of a Xaqal?” She says, some people in the small store giggling to themselves as if a joke had been told.
“Someone who will live a fairly comfortable life from now on.” He simply answers, payment confirmed by her system, before he takes the bag of items, and leaves- gazes following him long after he exited the store.
He’s relieved to still find you right where he left you, no one seemingly having tried to take you away, or worse yet- so he taps your shoulder to gain your attention, nodding towards his ship in the distance. “Let’s go. I need to set up your EID after we take off.” He says, and you nod, getting up to follow him.
“Are- are you sure I’m a good choice?” You ask, walking after him like some lost pet, eager to keep up with his rather fast pace. For a Xaqal, he’s surprisingly tall- not quite as tall as some of the other human’s you’ve met, which normally are considered a shorter species, but also not as short as some of the Xaqals you’ve seen in the past.
“Are you trying to sway my mind?” He wonders, opening the cargo door to his spaceship, before he climbs in- noticing how you don’t follow. So he walks back, and has to swallow down a laugh- because you clearly struggle to somehow pull yourself up on the iron steps, which are too high off the ground for you to properly reach with your legs. “...well, at least you won’t take up too much space on the ship.” He mumbles to himself, before he holds onto one of the metal handles on the sides, before he pulls you up by your arm so that you can make it onto the steps, able to finally climb inside.
He’ll adjust the steps in the future. Maybe add one. Or rather three.
Back in the main navigation center of the ship, where your sleeping bag is still laying in front of the front windows, you sit down right there, as if you’ve accepted this spot as your place to exist.
The ship calms after it breaks orbit, softly flying through the empty space while Yoongi sets up the EID tag for you. The electronic identification device opens a new window on his control panel as he places it on the scanner he has, asking for him to input the necessary information- and he looks over at you, where you sit, looking out the window.
“Once I set this up, it can’t just be undone.” He tells you, and you snap your head towards him, before you nod. “Alright.” He mumbles putting in his own information and ID number as your set ‘Employer’- scanning the chip placed onto the bone of his forearm, before he waves you over. “Put your arm here.” He tells you, and you do- though nothing is scanned at all, no matter how you twist or turn your arm. Yoongi’s brows furrow. “Where’s your ID-chip?” He asks, and you perk up, before you turn around, pointing somewhat to a spot on your back.
“My spine- it should be between my shoulders.” You say.
“Spine?” He mumbles, unsure. The spine is not a good spot to place an ID chip, no matter how small it is- it could still dislodge and get in between important nerves or even the vertabrae, causing damage that would be potentially fatal. “Why is it there?” He asks, picking up the scanner to run it over your back- a beep signalling that the chip had been found, and sucessfully read by the device.
“As far as I know, most humans and Yon get it there, because its harder to get out.” You explain, having turned around to curiously watch Yoongi tap away all the info into your future identification. “Because, you know, Humans and Yon are popular Personnel. People would just chop their arms off and exchange it for a prosthetic later after they'd take them and put them up for sale. So to combat that, we get the chip on the spine instead.” You say, and Yoongi cringes to himself, realizing now why he sees so many humans and Yon people with a prosthetic.
“I’ll research any risks to make sure you’re not doing any tasks that might end up immobilizing you.” He mumbles as he finishes up the settings, the red blinking light on the EID tag turning a steady green, signalling that it’s ready to be worn.
“Oh, don’t worry. The chip is attached to the bone, so it doesn’t move.” You inform him, and that reassures him quite a bit, as he nods, and uses quite a lot of force to clip the tag onto the silver collar- metal snapping into place, making it hard to get it off again.
“Alright. Come here.” He tells you, and you almost proudly stand straight, offering your neck to him as he clips the collar around you- electronic lock clicking shut, never to open again for anyone else but him. “Is that alright?” He asks, and you nod, while he tests- slipping two fingers between the metal and your neck, just to make sure it’s not too tight. “Alright.”
“Alright.” You mirror, getting only a mild reaction from him.
“I’ll order some books and electronic information devices for you to study. We’ll pick them up at the next outpost.” He informs you, and you nod, taking this as a signal that you’ve been dismissed- so you walk back to the sleeping bag, sitting down on it to look out the window again.
“Can I.. sleep a bit?” You wonder, and Yoongi nods.
“I don’t need you right now, so you can rest.” He accepts, and at that, you eagerly crawl into the sleeping bag again to sleep once more, giving him a moment to think about what he’d just done.
He blames his instincts, the fact that his kind lives in groups and usually prefers company at all times. Maybe it’s the fact that he actually does need someone to be able to help take care of his health if a job went south. Or maybe, he just can’t shed the way he’s been raised, even though he’s not that kind person anymore. Even still, he feels odd, looking at you asleep in front of those large windows.
Like he just got himself entangled into something a lot more complicated than he believes right now.
summary: you and your mom have been living in her new boyfriend's house for a couple of weeks. it's a little hard adapting to living there but on a weekend your mom is out of town and you've invited a guy to the house for a quick and disappointing hookup, yoongi lets you know he's more than willing to help you out.
warnings: [just for the teaser] brief sexual encounter with another guy, bad sex, age gap, kind of dubious consent, yoongi kiiiiiiind of manipulates reader
wordcount: 1.5k (just the teaser)
drop date: not really sure but it will probably drop next month
note: hey :) this is my next fic !!! i'm super excited for this one. i'm still working on basic needs part 3 though, just be patient
-
-
-
you still get lost in this house, you realize you do when you stop by the middle of one of the hallways in complete confusion because you don’t even know where the office is.
it’s normal to need time to adapt to a new place, you already knew that when you moved with your mom into her new boyfriend, but two weeks have passed since you moved to this house and you’ve lost even the way back to your room now.
it’s only when you hear the noise of a keyboard that you turn to the end of the hallway to the right and see light coming from a room with the door just a little open. that’s the office.
you walk down the hallway hesitantly and knock two times on the door, only opening it all the way when you hear that deep voice saying ‘come in’.
“hi,” you say quietly as you stand by the door. yoongi is working but he takes a break from all of the papers on his desk and his computer to look up at you and take his glasses off. “i- i’m sorry, am i bothering?”
“no, don’t worry,” he seems shakes his head and smiles sweetly at you. “is everything okay?”
“yeah, everything is okay... i just wanted to ask you something.” you bite your lower lip, already sensing the negative response coming.
“sure, what is it?” yoongi leans back on his chair and crosses his arms.
“my mom never lets me bring anyone home, so now that she’s not here for the weekend... i was wondering if you would let me bring someone in, since this is your house.” you let it out as fast as you can, like ripping off a bandage.
“you wanna bring someone over,” yoongi nods slowly to himself as if he’s processing what you just told him so you hum in affirmation. “a friend?” he tilts his head to the side a little, as if he’s testing you.
“uh, well...” you feel your cheeks burn and he seems to get it right away.
“your mom warned me as soon as she left that you would try to sneak someone in.” he says and that’s when you know you’re done.
“okay.” you say quietly, your shoulders dropping in disappointment.
but yoongi speaks again, “he can come over.”
you look up again with wide eyes and see that he has a smile on his face. “really?” you ask in disbelief. you really expected him to say no.
“sure, but don’t cause any trouble.” he warns and you nod immediately.
“thank you, yoongi oppa.” you bow before turning around again and walking out of the office.
it turns out not being that good of an idea to bring the boy you’ve been talking to for a few days over to this house.
“fuck yeah...” the boy hovering over you groans as he keeps fucking you at a way too rough pace for your liking, not hurting you but straight up not making you feel good. “does that feel good baby?” he mutters against your ear and you almost want to laugh but you just fake a moan before saying, “yeah.”
he obviously comes on your stomach and just starts getting dressed again, like sex is over as soon as he comes. he doesn’t even stay, just leaves you there alone feeling completely dirty and empty. and it’s not the first time you have a sex experience as bad as this one, in fact, all of your sexual encounters with guys always end like this.
you only get up from the bed when you decide that you have to at least clean his now drying cum from your stomach. you clean it with some wipes but you still feel dirty, so after putting on an old big shirt and some sweatshorts you walk out of your room and make your way to the closest bathroom with the intention of taking a quick shower.
but just as you turn to the next hallway you stomp against someone’s chest.
“woah, careful.” yoongi’s voice makes you step back and look up at him.
“sorry...” you mumble and quickly look down again in embarrassment because you probably still look a little fucked out.
“did your friend leave already?” yoongi asks, not showing any interest in wanting to walk away so you sigh and look up again, nodding in response. “are you okay?”
your heart starts racing with how he’s looking at you, like he’s analyzing every detail on your expression.
“yeah, yeah. i’m okay.” you nod anxiously and almost flinch when he reaches out to you with his hands, putting the back of it against your forehead.
“do you have a fever?” yoongi asks with a little frown, like he’s actually worried, but you catch the way his lips curl into a little smirk as soon as you’re about to panic.
he’s teasing you. of course he knew what you’ve been doing.
“please don’t tell my mom.” you say as he drops his hand from your forehead. he smiles.
“brat can’t go a day without having a cock inside,” he chuckles and your mouth opens for you to say something but you’re left completely speehless because never in a million years you would’ve expected him to speak like that to you. “don’t think i don’t notice when you sneak boys inside my house. you were nice for asking this time, though. didn’t expect you to.”
“i...” words don’t even leave your mouth, so shocked that he knows everything.
“was it worth it at least?” he lifts one of his eyebrows and tilts his head in a way that has your body feeling hot for some reason. “was he good to you?” he asks again.
“no.” you speak so quietly it’s barely a whisper.
“did you cum?”
“no,” you shake your head, not being able to tear your eyes away from him as if you’re under a spell. “i... never do. they always finish and leave.” you mutter with so much embarrasment that you wanna die, but the words come out much more easily than you would’ve expected.
“mh... i know.” the tone in his voice is so low.
you don’t even notice he’s walking closer to you until you can almost feel his breath hitting your face. after taking two steps back to get away from him, you hit the wall. he takes the last couple of steps to you until he has you cornered between the wall and his body.
“now tell me why i shouldn’t tell your mom, huh?” yoongi hums.
you look down, too embarrassed to look into his eyes now. “please, don’t tell her.” you mutter and a gasp escapes your throat when you feel a finger under your chin, lifting your head up to look at him again.
“say please one more time.” his entire aura is so intimidating that you feel your whole body shaking. he’s never been so close to you.
“please...” you look up at him with big eyes, those use to work.
yoongi exhales through his nose and your proximity to him lets you notice the way his jaw clenches.
“i won’t tell her,” he says and you sigh in relief, throwing your head back against the wall. “i’ll keep your secret if you keep ours.” you flinch when you feel fingertips running up your bare thigh.
“ours?”
he doesn’t reply but you don’t have a chance to ask him again because his lips are on yours.
a moan escapes your mouth and he follows with a grunt as one of his arms wraps around your waist, pulling you flat against his body. his other hand, the one he was touching your thigh with, goes up to your ass and squeezes it. you whine against his lips because his hand feels so big, so good.
your mind is so dizzy and your legs are starting to shake because it is a good fucking kiss and the way he’s holding you makes you feel amazing, but something inside your brain makes you snap back to reality. you’re kissing your mom’s boyfriend, a man who’s 22 years older than you.
you put your hands on his chest and push him back a little. “oppa...” you pant, trying to catch your breath, and look down to his chest to avoid his gaze.
“mh?” he brings the hand on your ass to your lower back, keeping you close to him.
“why did you do that?” you say and he only chuckles, so low.
“why did i do what?”
“kiss me... and- and touch me.” you explain with a shaky voice.
“mh?” yoongi hums again and leans down, stealing another kiss from your lips that makes you forget what you were talking about. “touch you?” he asks, so close to your lips.
he smiles when you try to chase his lips. “touch me.” you repeat, not even conscious of what you’re saying.
“want me to touch you?” yoongi’s hands go to your waist, holding you by your sides.
something inside you is yelling at you, begging you to go back to your room. but you nod at yoongi’s question, earning a smile from him that feels like a reward.
“come with me, sweetheart.” he’s suddenly taking a step back and offering you his hand to hold, waiting for you to make a decision.
yousharknotpass
tangentwithtanner
gamechangershow
gummygunk
