sir or ma’am that yandere!idol post fed me… absolutely immaculate. breathtaking. stunning. beautiful. it was so good 😩 is there a part 2 planned? 👀
Thank you, dear friend~ Ask, and you shall receive~ 🌹✨ Though it’s more of a drabble, a little glimpse into the aftermath’s tale… the story continues, softly and sweetly unfolding~ 💘📖
Part 1
***
Yandere!Idol who finally managed to bring you back. Even though you aren't his manager anymore, he still makes sure you're right beside him. Every concert, shoot, you need to be in his presence or else he'll crash out. His team knows better than to question why you're always backstage, even though it's no longer your job. You're his grounding force, his muse, his obsession. He’s perfected the art of smiling at cameras while clutching your hand backstage like his life depends on it.
Yandere!Idol who books hotels with only one room and sends all your clothes ahead of time, tailored to your size. "You’re more comfortable here, right?" he asks, even as you sit stiffly on the plush hotel bed. You know better than to say no. His voice is sugar, but his grip when you tried to leave last time still burns in your memory.
Yandere!Idol who has a secret room in his penthouse filled with memories of you—your old ID badge, your coffee cups, even the contract you signed when you first took him in. He visits it late at night, fingers tracing the edges of your handwriting like it’s sacred. It’s his sanctuary, his church. He whispers to the walls like you’re still there, telling you how much he loves you, how much it hurt when you left. If anyone else saw it, they’d be horrified but to him, it’s proof of how deep his devotion runs.
Yandere!Idol who answers interview questions with vague references to “someone special,” eyes flicking toward where you're hidden just out of frame. The interviewer jokes, the fans swoon, but only you know the threat behind that smile. He’s reminding you—you belong to him. He’s not afraid to tell the world, even if they don’t know it’s you.
Yandere!Idol who has a private room in every venue now. Not for him, for you. It’s always stocked with your favorite snacks, a cozy blanket, and a screen so you can watch him perform live. He says it’s so you’re comfortable, but the lock on the outside of the door tells a different story.
Yandere!Idol who writes songs about you. Not sweet love songs, possessive ones, masked by poetic metaphors. His fans call it “artsy” and “deep.” But you know every lyric is a cage, a warning, a vow. He plays them louder when you get quiet, like he’s reminding you how far he’d go to keep you.
Yandere!Idol who threatens to self-sabotage his career if you ever try to leave again. He says it casually, like it’s just another line in a song. “If you walk out, I’ll walk into traffic.” The worst part is—he means it. You’ve seen the look in his eyes when he says these things. And so you stay. Not because you want to… but because you’re afraid of what he might do if you don’t.
Yandere!Idol who changes the lyrics of his live performances to include little lines only you would recognize. At first, it was sweet—references to your favorite flower, a nickname only he used. But now, it’s warnings. Veiled threats. “Run again, and I’ll chase you down.” He sings them with a smile so dazzling that no one notices the cruelty laced between the melodies.
Yandere!Idol who drugged himself on purpose just to have an excuse to collapse on stage, forcing the staff to call you in. He knew you’d come. You always do when it’s urgent. When you arrive, he’s pale, sweating, but smiling—high off the chaos he created. “See?” he breathes as you kneel beside him, trembling. “You do still care.” You realize too late it wasn’t an accident. He planned this. For days. Just to feel your hands on him again.
Yandere!Idol who faked a scandal to get transferred back under your management. He sabotaged himself—deliberately leaked a photo, twisted the narrative, made sure the blame landed just enough to cause panic but not ruin. Now the company doesn’t trust him with anyone else. Only you could “keep him stable.” He smiles in the boardroom as they assign you back. You don’t smile back. You know you’ve just been caged again.
Yandere!Idol who built a soundproof room in his home, just in case you “start acting stubborn again.” He shows it to you during a tour of his luxury house. Smiles like it’s an inside joke. "For emergencies," he says. There's no windows. Only a bed. Chains hidden under it. He doesn’t touch you, not yet—but his implication is clear. He’s already thought about locking you away. And he would—if you ever tried to leave again.
Yandere!Idol who hired private investigators to track you daily, and sends you photos whenever you ignore his texts. He doesn’t even try to hide it. You miss one call, and suddenly your phone lights up with pictures—your walk home, your grocery trip, a shot of you looking out your window just last night. He messages after, “Pretty when you’re alone. But prettier when you're with me. Come back. Now.” And just like that, the fear claws at your throat again.
Yandere!Idol who gifts you a necklace with a tiny lock, whispering, “Now, you’re mine forever.” It’s pretty—delicate, almost beautiful. But it’s a cage, wrapped in silver. When you try to take it off, it won’t budge. He laughs softly, tracing your jaw with a finger. “You wanted to leave once. Now, you’re locked in. And I have the key.” The cold bite of metal against your skin feels like the last thread of hope snapping.
Thinking about Rafayel who is beauty, intensity, messiness and everything in between. He’s a force of nature that takes what you hide and brings it into the light, then wraps it around you like it’s sacred. With him, you don’t just feel seen - you feel like you’re being studied by someone who already knows the ending and still wants to watch every scene unfold.
He’s chaos and calm, contradiction and clarity. And somehow, it all makes sense. Because when he looks at you, he doesn’t just look - he beholds. With the intensity of someone who’s starved, and the patience of someone who wants to memorize every detail.
Rafayel floods constantly, and so does his love for you. He drowns the doubt and critical voices in your head so thoroughly that you sometimes forget another version of you ever existed.
He doesn’t just tell you you’re beautiful - he knows you are, as if anything less would be a betrayal of truth itself. It’s never performative, never conditional. His eyes hold you like you’re the only thing anchoring him to this world, and maybe you are. He gives without asking, offers without waiting. His affection is a constant, not a reward you have to earn.
With him, you never feel like you have to carry the entire world alone. He insists on sharing the weight. And when you spiral, he doesn’t try to stop it - he leans in. Lets you be absurd, disorganized, overly poetic. He listens to every wild detour of your mind like it’s the most fascinating tale he’s ever heard, because to him, it is. When your words fail, his don’t. He fills the silence with gentleness, with laughter, with love.
Rafayel is expressive in a way that shakes you. There’s no filter - his thoughts spill out like his brushstrokes on a canvas, messy and brilliant and unexpected. This unfiltered honesty extends to how he sees you. He observes everything: the hesitation in your voice, the subtle shift in mood, the glance you don’t realize you’ve given.
He asks you to speak clearly, but even when you can’t, he listens anyway. He reads the in-between. And you never have to wonder what he feels - he tells you boldly, beautifully, sometimes ridiculously. You always know where you stand: with both feet planted in the center of his universe.
He empowers you in a way you’ve never felt before. Not by reminding you of who you are, but by making you forget you were ever someone else. The way he speaks about you, to you, over and over like a chant, like a fire-lit vow - it pushes all the old noise out of your head. He doesn’t want you smaller or quieter. He wants you wild and loud and whole. And that wrecks you.
Rafayel dreams with you - not idle fantasies, but the kind of dreams that consume and rewrite reality. He gives your restless thoughts a ground, not a cage, and builds countless mosaics from them. His idea of love isn’t quiet or hidden. It’s center stage, arms wide, declared without shame. He wants the world to know that you’re the reason he creates, the reason he breathes.
He loves with every fiber of his being. With him, you’re not adored - you’re worshiped. He doesn’t simply reach for you. He gives himself over, willingly, desperately, already half-unraveled by the thought of you. There’s no holding back, no calculation. When you touch the center of him, he doesn’t flinch. He exhales and comes undone. For you. With you.
And there are moments - quiet, rare, devastating moments - when he’s raw. When all his shields drop, you see the ache underneath, deep in his soul. Centuries of searching, the fear that love might slip away again, the weight of lifetimes spent longing. Those old wounds that came from losing you before, from watching civilizations rise and fall while carrying the memory of what was lost. In those moments, he doesn’t need to speak. You feel it all crashing into you like a wave - the depth of what it means to find someone again after so much emptiness.
With you, he shows the parts he usually hides behind theatrical charm: the emotional depth, the chaotic passion, the need to be both seen and safe. And with him, you can be all of it too. No performance, no shame.
Just you and him, as you are.
When Rafayel whispers, “You make everything worth it,” you believe him. Because he’s not just your love. He’s your tide, what your soul has been calling for.
Aaaah aaaah this ch!! So many special moments. Here we go, as always I appreciate any reading and comments but I 1,000% understand that these are loooong posts lol (this one might beeee particularly long lolol) 👑🤍🌳
Of course Éowyn is like I'M FINE LEMME FIGHT 😅 Such an interesting debate between her and the Warden on deeper matters. The latter is pretty much a pacificist; "the world is full enough of hurts and mischances without wars to multiply them" (and from his perspective, having seen the physical harm war can bring, it absolutely makes sense). Éowyn comes from the perspective of sometimes it's necessary to defend yourself; "would you have the folk of Gondor gather you herbs only, when the Dark Lord gathers armies?" (and yeah, her personal desire for valor I'm sure plays into her view here 😅). [Also YAS the gender norm flip there BOOM]
She wants to speak with the Steward of the City for permission to leave the Houses of Healing (and she's clear that it's not that they're not a place to be 💙...there is a true kindness to her, I swear!); "I cannot lie in sloth, idle, caged. I looked for death in battle. But I have not died, and battle still goes on." Faramir: ...hey, it's actually not up to me, I'm supposed to be healing too 😅.
And then eeeee some kind of love at first sight 😍🥰 "He looked at her, and being a man whom pity deeply stirred, and it seemed to him that her loveliness amid her grief would pierce his heart. And she looked at him and saw the grave tenderness in his eyes, and yet knew, for she was bred among men of war, that here was one whom no rider of the Mark would outmatch in battle." He *would* see her deep emotion, and she *would* see the strength, yet care. Beautiful characterization 😍🥰
They talk further and he sort of levels with her further; hey, we must both wait until they say we're ready, and you may yet get your chance to die in battle (she sees it as then having "both peace and honour"...wow, revealing of her psychology, 😩💔). "But as he looked at her it seemed to him that something in her softened, as though a bitter frost were yielding at the first faint presage of Spring. A tear sprang in her eye and fell down her cheek, like a glistening raindrop. Her proud head drooped a little." ...it is the pain underneath her fire 😭. She makes a simple request, and he grants it: for her room to look eastward. Sometimes it really is those simple things we want (and cough sometimes it's all women want, something simple that can make a big difference, but are called "hysterical"...she is every woman who ever has...thankfully she has found a man like Faramir who will listen 🥲💙).
Heheheeee I love Faramir and Merry chatting, and the former is like "bro, I need to know *everything* about her" 😅. They start daily walks 🥲 and the Warden has hope that they'll heal 🥲💙. The starry mantle!! Which was Faramir's mother's (Finduilas)!!! Uggggh my heart.
Faramir: "[These seven days] have brought me both a joy and a pain that I never thought to know. Joy to see you; but pain, because now the fear and doubt of this evil time are grown dark indeed. Éowyn, I would not have this world end now, or lose so soon what I have found." *gushes*...I think this is why so many readers just find him so romantic, like the ideal man 😅 he plays no games; "hey I like you", but a lot more poetically...BOOM. Anywho! 😅 Éowyn is still caught in her depression 😩 (yeah I'll call it that); "I stand upon some dreadful brink, and it is utterly dark in abyss before my feet, but whether there is any light behind me I cannot tell...I wait for some stroke of doom." ...omg 💔😭. Faramir counters with more hope; essentially, that they don't know if light or darkness will reign supreme, yet that he does "not believe that any darkness will endure!" "....and he stooped to kiss her brow". EEEE!!!
Also the Númenor dream!! And the note in the Akallabêth that Númenoreans could commune with their ancestors....omg is he tapping into that here?! Also that JRRT said "I think Faramir is me" and he is the one having the dream...which JRRT, and his son, had...THE LAYERS!!! Daaaammnn might need to be an essay topic 😅...also potentially fic territory, brain is currently exploding 🤯 ....anywho, like RIGHT after that the Eagle flying in with the song sharing the news that Sauron has been overthrown. Their fate does not have to be Númenor's. AAAAAAH.....AAAAAH. Just. Omg. The things you can see anew as you go back to this text!!
Oooh getting basically juicy with Faramir saying the thing re how she's felt about Aragorn...but he also sees how she is conflicted because she IS also developing feelings for him (she's getting there 🙂↕️ he fell first and...potentially harder? Lol). She says "speak plainer!"...him: "ok I will"..."and I love you. Once I pitied your sorrow. But now, were you sorrow less, without fear of any lack, were you the blissful Queen of Gondor, still I would love you. Éowyn, do you not love me?" He PLAYS 👏🏻 NO 👏🏻 GAMES 👏🏻.
"Then the heart of Éowyn changed, or else at last she understood it. And suddenly her winter passed, and the sun shone on her." She sees the healer in herself (will die on the hill that the healer and warrior: part of her at all times...it's just what she can see and feel at particular times, is the difference), and it is HER healing. AAAAH once again, the layers!! (Also, I could be talking nonsense, a lot of this is just coming to me now and some of it might not be super supported, lol...definitely open to being challenged!). Anywho, hehe I also love how she's like "you sure you want this wild woman of the North and what people will say about that?" Faramir: "I'm sure"...then he kisses her, not caring who might see. MELTAGE. PEAK ROMANCE. He says she's healed; at least to a certain extent, I don't think he's wrong. And now she doesn't want to leave the city 🥲🥺🥰
The city's healing, the life and happiness and growth 🥲 so special. Definitely a sense of darkness passed: "and when the sun rose in the clear morning above the Mountains in the East, upon which shadows lay no more, then all the bells rang, and all the banners broke and flowed in the wind"...so simple, yet so so evocative. That is what Aragorn comes into, truly noble with his green eagle jewel and, yep, the Elendilmir ("star upon his forehead"), posse in tow (including Éomer, Gandalf, Imrahil, and the four hobbits). Then we shift POV to chatty Ioreth (I love her), sharing her commentary on what's happening with her cousin...next with Faramir stepping forward to bring the crown of Eärnur (the last King of Gondor, before the Stewards stepped in). She is the everyday Gondorian, and I think meaningful that ~ at least for a moment ~ we see all this through her eyes 💙
"Here is Aragorn, son of Arathorn, chieftain of the Dúnedain of Arnor, Captain of the Host of the West, bearer of the Star of the North, wielder of the Sword Reforged, victorious in battle, whose hands bring healing, the Elfstone, Elessar of the line of Valandil, Isildur's don, Elendil's son of Númenor. Shall he be king and enter the City and dwell there?" ....all "cried yea with one voice". Aragorn sings Elendil's Oath. And requests that Frodo brings him the crown, and that Gandalf place it upon his head: "for he has been the mover of all that has been accomplished, and this is his victory." I just need to leave that right there. Like. ‼️‼️‼️‼️ THE EPIC...but also the quiet nobility in Aragorn's humility and generosity, recognizing the contributions of others to this day. Beautiful. 🥺💙
Then, for a second time (the first being looking upon the Argonath...wait, am I missing any of those occurrences? Hmmm...), he suddenly appears transformed to be notably kingly: "But when Aragorn arose all that beheld him gazed in silence, for it seemed to them that he was revealed to them now for the first time. Tall as the Sea Kings of old, he stood above all that were near; ancient of days he seemed and yet in the flower of manhood; and wisdom sat upon his brow, and strength and healing were in his hands, and a light was about him." I repeat, THE EPIC...and the strength and healing together, the balance of seemingly opposing forces (or maybe they're not so opposed...something to chew on there for sure, just as with Farowyn 🥰). I love also that it is Faramir saying "behold the King!": the not only willing, but *enthusiastic* passing on of power 💙👏🏻 (quite the contrast with his father 🤪).
Aragorn shows the healing in his kingliness through a healing of rifts and hurts between peoples, it feels like to me, to start: making peace with the Easterlings and Haradrim (which they also had to come to him for...two-way street), giving the "slaves of Mordor" (yes that's what they are 🗣️) their own Eastern lands. And Beregond, cleverness along with his mercy: things are such that he has to send him away from the city, but also that he can go with Faramir and serve him, whom he committed the acts in question to defend. It's just perfect 💙
Aragorn has the Fellowship stick around because he wants them to be there for his wedding (we later learn) 🥺🥺🥺🥺 so special (and a Minas Tirith Fellowship dinner is on on my fic list...just them hanging, eating, and talking through some of what's happened and what's to come 🙂↕️✍🏻). Gandalf: let Aragorn keep his secret 😅 Frodo wants to see Bilbo and get back home, but Gandalf urges patience, reminding him that because so much has happened it seems like a lot of time has passed, but it hasn't really (time can be relative and how it feels subjective in that way, for sure!).
Gandalf brings Aragorn to a high mountain path where he can see his whole realm, and notes his responsibility: "the Third Age of the world is ended, and the new Age is begun; and it is your task to order its beginning and to preserve what may be preserved." Aragorn seems to understand that Gandalf's influence and aid is coming to an end ("my work is finished"), but struggling a bit at the moment with letting him go (of course, that's quite human....King, but still human); "I know it well, dear friend, but I would still have your counsel." He seems to be waiting for a sign that the life in his line can continue, that he and his heirs can take on the "burden" of leadership of men, as Gandalf puts it...and they find it 🙂↕️
They find the sapling of the line of Nimloth eeee!! And omg omg omg this has been making my brain go insane: "but this is an ancient hallow, and ere the kings failed or the Tree withered in the court, a fruit must have been set here." ....WHO DONE IT. ‼️‼️‼️. I like to think it was a WOMAN 💅🏻(yes, fic brain has been buzzzzzing with possibilities there). Anywho, that is the sign of life he needed, and heeeeeere's Arwen Evenstar. "And Frodo when he saw her come glimmering in the evening, with stars on her brow and a sweet fragrance about her, was moved with great wonder, and he said to Gandalf: 'at last I understand why we have waited! This is the ending. Now not day only will be beloved, but night too shall be beautiful and blessed and all its fear pass away'." If that ain't Tolkienian, the light and dark how they both endure, and in that can be beauty and hope...idk what is 💙💙💙
→ Trope(s): club owner, selling pictures, drug use, forbidden romance, dark, slow-burn, seductive, mafia
→ Rating: mature/explicit (this is mature/explicit content, so you have been warned.)
→ warnings + triggers: girl-on-girl ( kissing, heavy making out, grinding) , police , selling drugs, mafia, fight, blood
→ Word count: 6K
→ Author’s note:
Escapism is a dark romance—intense, poetic, and deeply atmospheric. It explores desire, deception, and the pull of the forbidden.
This story is also written by two authors. Both working on the two couple. Please read with caution. For those who stay, welcome to a world where love and darkness intertwine.
SONGS:
The bass was so deep it felt like it throbbed under the skin, a pulse of its own, crawling through the marble floors and velvet walls. Smoke hung thick in the air, laced with perfume and something electric—desire maybe, or danger. Bodies moved like waves beneath the strobing crimson lights, slick with sweat, caught between beats and illusions. Everything inside Kitty Gang shimmered with temptation.
She threw herself onto one of the blood-red leather couches in the lounge, limbs heavy and hair wild, a sheen of sweat glistening on her collarbone. Her black mini dress clung to her skin like ink, the silver chains around her thighs glinting under the flickering light. Her chest rose and fell rapidly—she had danced for what felt like hours.
Moon was exhausted, glowing, alive.
Above her, on the balcony of the VIP lounge, Jimin stood behind the railing, a drink dangled lazily in one hand, his other resting in his pocket. His dark shirt clung to his lean frame; sleeves rolled up just enough to show his veins. His eyes shifted from her to the crowd. Tonight, Kitty Gang didn’t have any supplies, only booz and alcholo. Jimin had something new coming from his deal with Diego later tonight.
Moon’s head lolled to the side, a dazed smile on her lips. Her eyes caught the warm gaze of a young woman sitting nearby—Cho, one of the dancers. Moon sat up slowly, her eyes heavy-lidded, her fingers brushing her hair behind her ear as she tilted her head, studying Cho with a kind of drunken fascination, lips slightly parted.
Cho smiled shyly, clearly unsure whether Moon was teasing or flirting. But then Moon leaned in, and her lips met Cho’s.
It was soft. A gentle press—testing. Cho gasped into the kiss, startled for only a second before responding with equal heat. Her hand slipped behind Moon’s neck, fingers curling into her hair, guiding the angle of the kiss. Moon moaned softly against her mouth as her leg locked around Cho’s thigh and she grinded against it.
The friction sent shockwaves through both of them. Cho’s head fell back, exposing her throat, her moans soft and shaky, like they were being drawn out of her unwillingly. Moon’s lips trailed down her neck, kissing and sucking on the softness of her skin. “Mmm,” Cho moaned as Moon’s hands gripped her thigh, pulling her closer as she continued to grind agasint her.
She rose onto her knees and straddled Moon. Her legs slid on either side, caging her in and her red dress hiked up to her hips. The fabric barely covered anything now. Moon bit down on her lip as Cho rocked forward, grinding down onto her. Her head fell back against the leather couch and her fingers twitched on Cho’s skin.
Cho’s movements were slow and delicious, her hips circling, grinding with intent, teasing Moon, dragging the friction. “Fuck,” Moon breathed out as she licked her lips. She looked up at Cho, her hair framed her face, a few strands falling in her face. Moon reached to cup her cheek with one hand while the other was gluded to her hip guding her back and forth. She tugged her face down towards hers and kissed her again, her tongue slipping into her mouth.
Moon moaned into her mouth, her hand dropped from her face, slipping under the hem of Cho’s dress, feeling the bare skin of her thighs, her ass—gripping her, urging her closer. “You done this before?” Cho smirked agasint her lips, and Moon shook her head. “I know you’re dating my Boss, but fuck, you taste so good.”
“Yeah?” Moon arched a brow as she kissed her neck, and Cho nodded. Moon pushed her own hips up to meet Cho’s rhythm. The friction was hot, and her body arched into it, grinding up as Cho rolled her hips again and slowly.
Cho giggled as she tilted Moon’s chin and kissed her neck while cupping her breast through the fabric of her dress. “Wider,” she whispered against her skin, and Moon’s legs opened wider, needing more of the friction.
Cho’s core dragged against hers, their panties clinging to them like a second skin, damp, wet and delicate and almost useless. “Fuck, that feels…” Moon breathed.
“Mmm, you’re so wet baby,” Cho moaned. She pressed her hips down, making Moon feel every aching inch of contact. Every movement of her hips sent another ripple of pleasure through Moon.
Cho stopped for a moment. She reached for the glass of champage and took a sip before she placed it back down and turned to Moon. She gripped the back of Moon’s hair, tilted her head back and Moon’s lips parted as she gasped. Cho brought her mouth down closer to her and poured the sip she took into Moon’s mouth and kissed her, tongue slipping in, brushing agasint Moon’s. Cho’s core throbbed. She wanted to make Moon come.
Cho rocked harder, slower, then faster again, lost in the rhythm of it. Moon’s moans were soft and broken, slipping past her lips between gasps. Her stomach tightened as she drew Cho closer.
A slow, rising burn that spread through her body in waves, deep and molten, stealing the breath from her lungs. Her hips froze mid-grind, her lips parted, her brows furrowed as her whole body tensed—then melted. She moaned into Cho’s mouth breathlessly, body twitching with the aftershocks, pleasure flooding every inch of her.
Cho smirked as Moon cupped her face and kissed her again, but when they broke the kiss, Jimin now stood in front of them.
The strobe lights cut through the haze, casting flickers of gold and red across his face, but the shadows never left him. His eyes were locked on Moon – the girl draped on the couch like sin incarnate.
Cho got, adjusting the hem of her dress with a smirk still tugging at the corner of her lips, like she’d just stepped off a runway instead of someone’s lap. No guilt. No shame. Just a quiet kind of satisfaction. She didn’t glance at Jimin. She didn’t need to and walked away, hips swaying to the music, melting back into the crowd like she’d only stopped by for a smoke and a good time.
And Jimin’s eyes were locked on Moon the entire time. Not in anger. Not even in disappointment. Jealousy, yes—but the kind that curled around his ribs like silk ribbons set on fire. It wasn’t the possessive kind that came with shouting or storming out. It was an inferno behind glass.
She was looking at him now. Her body still spread across the couch, dress pushed upwards and a flushed face. Moon looked like sin wrapped in velvet. She didn’t sit up. Didn’t flinch. Her fingers toyed lazily with the silver moon chain around her thigh, her lips still parted from the kiss like she was still tasting Cho’s mouth on hers and didn’t mind that he’d seen it. She looked amused and playful.
Yet, there was a twitch in his jaw, a pulse in his neck, betraying his calm demenour. Jimin stepped even closer. He could feel the heat radiating off her, the subtle tremor of her body as she remained so effortlessly composed. He leaned in slightly, his face right in front of hers. "You don’t care that I saw that, Moon?" he murmured, his voice thick with jealousy.
Moon tilted her head. “You look like you want to murder someone.”
He lifted his glass, swirling the amber liquor inside. “Depends,” he said, voice low. “Was it worth the show?”
Moon's lips curved. “If I say yes, will you punish me?”
Jimin let out a slow exhale through his nose, the kind that looked like a sigh but felt more like restraint. “You really want to test me tonight, huh?”
“You didn’t seem to mind watching.” She spoke. “Not angry, are you?” There was a sweetness to her voice laced with. A challenge.
Jimin’s eyes narrowed, and his lips curled into something that wasn’t quite a smile. He took another step forward, his presence towering over her like a storm waiting to break. His jaw tightened, the tension in his body palpable. “Angry doesn’t even begin to cover it,” he murmured, his voice dangerously low, almost dark with the weight of his emotions. “Watching you with someone else...” He let the words trail off for a moment. “It doesn’t sit right with me.” Jimin’s hand moved to her waist, pulling her close as if he couldn’t stay away any longer. “You’re mine, babygirl.”
As the night continued, Kitty Gang had never been cleaner. No powders exchanged hands in back hallways. No pills slipped beneath tongues. Jimin had ordered the floors scrubbed, the glasses polished, the security tripled. Not because they feared the law—but because tonight, a different kind of business was on the table. For once, in a long while, the club breathed easy.
To Yoongi’s right Kim Namjoon sat dressed in deep navy, eyes scanning the room like a chessboard. His presence was calm but not soft—there was steel beneath the silk. He was just the consigliere, the mind behind the movement but a man who understood the law well enough to bend it without ever breaking it. When emotion clouded the room, Namjoon cleared it. He was logic made flesh.
On Jimin’s left, Kim Taehyung and Kim SeokJin, cousins. His fingers tapping his glass to the rhythm of the beat. And Jin, who had known Yoongi the same amount of time as Namjoon sat leaning back into the leather of the sofa.
Across from them, Jung Hoseok leaned back with one arm draped along the booth’s curve. Street-born. He handled mostly the Latin territories like second nature and spoke Spanish better than most native speakers. He was their link to the street, the language of the people.
And then, youngest—Jeon Jungkook.
"Control over a demographic isn't a small thing," Namjoon spoke. "Diego’s territory is already hot. But his shipments—those are untouchable. Untouched by the usual market. We’re talking about a gold mine here, but we have to tread carefully. Make sure we don’t upset the balance. If we give him control, we get access to everything premium. Whatever the rest of the world can’t touch."
"What do we get out of it?" Jin asked, his voice deep and familiar, a trace of humor in his tone as he leaned back against the booth.
Everyone turned their heads to Jimin. "We get access to Diego’s shipments—everything he’s holding back,” he said. “Whatever he has that no one else can touch. The kind of things that could make us untouchable, not just in Seoul.”
“Globally,” Namjoon finished, and Jimin nodded.
“And what if it’s too risky?” Taehyung asked.
Namjoon let out a soft sigh. "It is risky, yes,” he said. “But if we don’t get our hands on it, someone else will and they can buy power with the money they will make.”
Jungkook, leaned in slightly. "When do they drop by?”
They exited to the back of the club, the music dulling behind them like a heartbeat slipping into stillness. The alley was narrow, lit only by the moody wash of sodium vapor and the lazy flicker of a faulty bulb. It smelled of old rain and oil-stained pavement, that distinctive scent of a city that never truly dries.
A black van pulled in without headlights. It didn’t need them. The men inside knew exactly where they were going. No horns. No announcements. Just the soft creak of brakes, the mechanical click of doors unlatching, and then the cargo emerged—neat, disciplined, businesslike.
Silver briefcases, the kind that held cash with such numbers that they were hard to even say. No words exchanged. Just glances, nods. One of Diego’s men, face half-shadowed beneath a cap, lifted a hand in greeting. Another opened the crate. Inside, rows of small, tightly packed plastic bags. It wasn’t street trash. This was premium, the kind of product you didn’t find unless you were invited into the room where such things were whispered.
Jungkook banged his fist on the door to Kitty Gang and men dressed in black walked out. They took off quietly, disappearing downside streets and into vehicles already waiting, each heading to a destination – Busan, Daegu, Incheon and a few other districts in Seoul.
They returned inside and the pulse of the chaos wrapped around them once more. They walked back to their table in the VIP section—its surface now dressed not in liquor or crystal ashtrays, but in something far more precious. ten small, clear bags sat in a row beneath the golden glow of a downlight, their contents fine and pale, glittering faintly like powdered pearls. They didn’t hide it. No need to. This wasn’t for sale. Not yet. This was display. Art.
Jimin leaned forward, fingers barely grazing the edge of the glass tabletop as if it were sacred. “Look at that,” he murmured. “It’s like snow that knows its worth.”
Jungkook whistled under his breath. “Diego wasn’t exaggerating.” He opened a swizzels mega dust and poured some into his mouth, the soure lemon flavour caught him off guard. He didn’t expect for it to be this strong. He placed the straw down on the table and didn’t touch it again.
Namjoon’s phone went off and he stood up from the table, exiting the building to answer the caller.
Hoseok frowed as he looked at the bags, his head dipped slighly to the side, and he reached for one. He held it up and saw that there was an empty bag stuck to it. “This one wanted to join the big boys,” he laughed as he pulled apart. “Refined through three filters,” he continted, refering to the other bags. “Costs more to produce than some entire businesses make in a year.”
Then, the atmosphere shifted—like tension before the thunderstorm. The low hum of the bass that had vibrated through the club’s walls fell silent. The vibrant, intoxicating lights dimmed, flickering as if the electricity itself felt the change and the bright lights came on. And the club's front doors slamming open with a force that seemed too deliberate.
“This is the police! Everybody remain where you are!”
Police officers—scores of them wearing bulletproof entered Kitty Gang. Their boots clacked against the polished floor as they filed in with military precision, making the floor beneath their feet tremble. The air in the club thickened with the weight of their presence, a rush of panic clinging to the space like smoke. But that panic didn’t touch the men at the table.
Hoseok quickly grabbed the bags off the table and sprinted to Moon and Rachel, making sure not to bump into anyone due to the ocean of people running around. “You two,” he said, his voice low, but edged with authority as he stuffed the bags in their bras. “Blend in with the crowd. Don’t look back. Go.” Moon and Rachel blinked, their eyes wide as they looked at him, not understanding what was going but they nodded with pale faces and did as they were told.
“Move it!” the officers yelled at people. “Everybody out! Now!”
Yoongi sat still, his back relaxed against the leather booth, his eyes unreadable as the room began to churn with the presence of the law. Beside him, Jimin didn’t flinch, his fingers still resting lightly on the edge of his glass, as though nothing had changed. Jin’s eyes shifted to the member for a second before he stood up and belded with the crowd of people. Jungkook kicked Taehyung under the table and flicked his eyes down to the table, and the empty palstic bag Hoseok had laughed at earlier was right in front of him as well as the straw of swizzles mega dust from that Jungkook did not like. He reached out and poured it quickly into the bag before sealing it closed. It was a perfect cover, the colour matching so precisely that it would pass unnoticed in the chaos.
“Namjoon,” Jin called out once he made out of the club. His voice was slightly breathless from running and urgent. “The police.”
“Oh, for fuck's sake,” Namjoon wanted to facepalm himself. “I leave for a few minutes.”
But back inside, Jimin, Hoseok, Jungkook, Taehyung and Yoongi shared a glace as the crowd funneled out, high heels clacking on the floor and murmured panic. But not from them. The five men who remained behind, untouched by the chaos. No sweat on their brows. No urgency in their limbs. They moved with the elegance of men who had done this dance before. Not cowboys. Not gangsters.
Gentlemen.
Yoongi stood up, one hand in his pocket and the other held his glass of whiskey. Hoseok leaned against the column nearest the bar, head tilted like he was contemplating the playlist, not the raid. His hands slipped into his pockets as he nodded to a passing officer with a smile so subtle it was nearly saintly.
Taehyung also stood up and was now standing near the velvet rope at the entrance of the VIP stairwell, fingers brushing the hem of his blazer as he stretched.
And then, Jimin stood, slowly, like a prince rising from his throne, but his hand also casually reached for the bag Taehyung had crafted—Swizzles Mega Dust disguised in the plastic bag. He cleared his throat and walked around to stand in front of Jungkook, passing the plastic smoothly behind his back, letting it fall into Jungkook’s waiting palm like a coin into a well and he stood up with a sigh.
“Eveing gentlemen,” Jimin smiled at the police officers. He walked down the steps and towards the open lounge area of the club.
And so the game began withJungkook, and the officers didn’t even glance at him as he paced toward the bar.
He passed by Yoongi—barely a brush of shoulders—and the bag was gone. Yoongi rolled his wrist behind his back, concealing it like sleight of hand, then walked past Hoseok near the pillar.
“You gentlemen sure do know how to make an entrance,” Jimin said, voice low and laced with amusement.
Hoseok peeled off from the wall, yawning as though mildly inconvenienced, and took the plastic bag from Yoongi mid-motion. He strolled toward the lounge’s far corner, passing Taehyung, who was just about to tuck his hand in his pocket before he took it from Hoseok.
“We have a warrant to search the premises,” the lead officer said. His voice held that tone every one of them hated—the thin veil of legal righteousness layered over something darker. Political. Personal.
“What’s the warrant for?” Jimin asked smoothly. “We’re just hosting music, drinks and a fun time.”
Taehyung walked to the glass surface bar, and the bag slid across the glossy surface until Jungkook arrived—his palm catching it just as Detective Seo Sangjun walked in. No badge needed. The tension that followed him was all the authority he required. He was around Jin’s age if not a year or so older. He was the kind of man who made it his goal to scrub men like them from the city’s underbelly and hated that no matter how hard he tried, the underbelly always looked better in suits.
“Ahh, detective,” Jimin smiled, ever the gentleman. “Welcome to Kitty Gang. My apologies, the bartenters have all been forced out, but can I fix you up with a drink? Or prehaps you’d like to try the Lemon Sour, it’s killer.”
Once upon a time Detective Seo Jinwon’s father was a police officer and murdered in the cold streets of Seoul winters ago. Jinwon knew it was realted to the demons which ruled the darker parts of South Korea.
But Seo’s eyes weren’t interested in pleasantries. He’d seen something—a flicker, a pass, something that didn’t fit. His eyes narrowed, sweeping across the lounge. The five men were now positioned across the room like scattered bishops on a blood-red chessboard. Then his gaze landed on the slight plastic looking at him in Jungkook’s hand. He stepped forward like a blade being drawn. “What’s that?”
Jungkook blinked, then lifted the bag between two fingers like it was the most mundane thing in the world. “This?” He tilted it toward the detective, and the light caught the white, sugary glitter within. “Candy.”
Seo’s jaw clenched. “It does not look like- “
Jimin arched a brow, all mock surprise. “Then I suggest you revisit your narcotics training center,” he said. “This one’s from the U.K.—lemon flavored. Very sour. You should try some, detective?”
The detective’s eyes flicked between the bag and the men around the room, and his eyes finally fell properly on Yoongi. His blood boild at the sight of him. “Take ‘em in,” Jinwon barked. “All of them. Ans sweep this place. I want every corner and inch searched.”
Min Manor rose on the hillside, cloaked in the kind of silence that demanded reverence. It was not flashy. It didn’t need to be. The manor’s façade stretched with solemn elegance, white barble stone and some wrapped in ivy and trimmed by wrought-iron balconies that overlooked manicured grounds so pristine they looked painted. A wide, sweeping marble staircase curved towards the glass-double doors with iron designs.
Namjoon and Jin stepped out of the car and before the maid could open the front door of the manor, Namjoon walked in with Jin.
Inside, the manor was no less magnificent than the Min Hotel. The same architectural lineage, the same uncompromising taste. A double staircase split the entrance hall, the marble floors gleamed, interrupted only by rugs so fine they could have been stitched by Persian ghosts. And the chandeliers didn’t twinkle; they glared.
They walked through the hallways of the manor until they reached the study. The walls were made out of brown oak and the hardwood floor was a deep brown colour. Bookshelves were stuffed with all sorts of books. Some were new and some were old with dust on them. There was a massive marble fireplace on the right which had yellow and orange flames dancing wildly with a velvet black sofa and armchairs and a small coffee table in the middle. Opposite the fireplace were four tall and large French windows that stretched from the ceiling down to the polished floor, overlooking the estate. A chandelier hung down from the tall ceiling, and lastly there was a long, polished, and ornate table in the middle of the room which looked as though it could have been a mirror.
Min Hyun, Yoongi’s father, stood near the window, looking out onto the garden as if the moonlight itself reported to him. And at the head of the table, Min Sihyuk—the grandfather, the patriarch.
“Ah,” Sihyuk stood when he saw Jin and Namjoon with a smile. The two young men stood side by side and bowed their heads slightly out of respect. “Seokjin. Namjoon. You have been keeping up with the football game, right?”
“Two goals and one yellow card, sir” Jin said, and the man chuckled in aprovel.
But Min Hyun knew they did not come here to speak of football games. There was something that danced in Jin’s and Namjoon’s eyes that told a a story. And it didn’t go unnoticed to the two men. “But we can speak about the game later,” Sihyuk placed his hands behind his back. “Something happened.” It wasn’t a question.
Namjoon and Jin looked at each other, a silent exchange of words before Namjoon spoke. “There has been a raid at Kitty Gang.” The two men didn’t flinch, but the silence thickened. “About thirty officers came in with a warrant in hand.”
“They had all been taken to the station,” Jin finished.
Hyun and Sihyuk looked at each other before turing back to the two young men. “All?” Hyun arched a brow.
“Taehyung, Jungkook, Jimin, Hoseok and Yoongi,” Namjoon listed. He knew that this was heavy news. The Min family were quiet about their involvent in the underwold, so for this to happen and with everything that took place at Kitty Gang, they knew the elders would have to step in and take care of it.
“Kitty Gang exists because we allow it,” Hyun sighed. “It keeps the peace among the youth, so they do not cause havoc amongst each other. Tell me, was the club clean tonight?”
“Crystal,” Jin nodded. “Even with alcohol selection. Jimin made sure that it was limited.”
“Detective Seo Sangjun was the one who led the raid,” Namjoon said.
The police station hummed with the sterile air of tension, fluorescent lights casting a cold, harsh glow over the bland, beige walls. The clatter of phones and low murmurs drifted through the space as the officers went about their work. “So,” Jungkook drawled, his voice low, smooth, yet tinged with an almost mocking undertone, “how much longer are we going to be held here?”
The officer, a burly man with a stony face, glanced up, clearly unamused by how nonchalance this young man sounded. The air was thick with tension, but the men weren’t showing.
“If you keep doing this, you’ll rot in jail for twenty years.”
“Twenty years?” Jimin asked as he looked at the feamle officer with a slight pout. “Twenty years is too much. Please reduce it.”
The woman sighed. “I can.”
“Mmm?” Jimin smiled at her. “How many years?”
“One year,” she looked at him, her tone flat. “So, you have nineteen left.” She looked at the police officer standing behind Jimin and gave him a small nod. “Take him to the others.” The officer reached for Jimin arm and led him to where the others sat.
Unlike his companions, Yoongi said nothing. Every officer in the room passing glanced at him from how calm he was. The only time he spoke was when he gave the officers his name. Detective Seo Sangjun closed the fiel with their names and sighed as he walked towards the bars of the cell. The way he walked was like he was attempting to project authority.
He was waiting for two repots to come in; one from Kitty Gang and the other from the testing lab. He could not wait to send these bastards behind bars. “You all know why you’re here,” he said as his eyes darted between the men sitting in front of his desk. “You were all found in possession of illegal substances.”
“Did the lab results tell you that?” Jungkook asked, and Sangjun’s right eye twitched slightly.
The detective slammed his hand on the table, yet none of the five men fliched. He inhaled like he was trying to stay calm. “You think this is funny?!” he gritted his teeth. “You’re not as untouchable as you think you are,” Sangjun said, eyeing each one of them. “We have you this time.”
“You’re sitting in a room where we’re waiting for results, and you’re all cracking jokes?” Sangjun said. “I think you lost touch with reality.”
Jimin’s smirk didn’t waver, but there was a dangerous glint behind his eyes now, like a snake preparing to strike. "I lost touch with reality the moment you all dragged me in here without even so much as a 'hello, how do you do' first," his voice dripped with mock sweetness. "Seriously, is this how you treat all your guests? No wonder no one wants to hang out with you."
There was a pause, a collective intake of breath from the rest of the room. Yoongi’s eyes never left Jimin, his usual calm presence now slightly tight, like a coiled spring ready to unhinge at the slightest misstep. Hoseok, ever the peacekeeper, exchanged a glance with Taehyung, but neither of them spoke. Jungkook, sitting off to the side, remained silent as always, but his eyes were locked onto Jimin’s form, the faintest smile tugging at his lips.
"You bastards could put comedians out of business,” one of Sangjun’s officers laughed in disbelif. “But I wonder if your humor will save you…” he paused, trailing off as his eyes shifted to each member. “Once we get the lab results.”
“Is it so hard to say the full sentence?” Jimin asked and got up, but Yoongi reached out for his sleeve and tugged him back down. “I’m genuinely curious,” Jimin continued and stood up once again. ” Is it so hard to say the full thing- “
The officer’s hand swung out, a fist connecting with Jimin’s jaw.
Jimin tasted blood in his mouth. His head flew to the side and his body followed, but he did not fall. He moved his hand to his mouth and wiped. "Well, now I’m really having fun," he chuckled as he looked down at the blood on his palm and fingers, his eyes lighting up with a manic glint. "I’ve been punched before. Congratulations, you officially have a reason to feel like a big shot.”
The police station hummed with an undercurrent of tension, the kind that only arrived when something dangerous was about to spill over but hasn't yet.
And then,
“I am Kim Namjoon, the attorney for these men,” he said, and the words did not echo—they landed, like a stone dropped into still water, reverberating outward in silence.
The officers in the entire police station stopped, their postures shifting instinctively, as if the very air had grown heavier. Namjoon stood behind the seated men like a man who had never once considered being told no. Jin next to him, his expression held no emotion only calculation.
Namjoon contunied before the detective or the officers could speak. His voice was calm and measured. “I understand that my clients were brought in under suspicion though—oddly enough—no substances were found. No weapons. No violations. Yet you’ve had them here for over ninety minutes.”
Sangjun blinked and exhaled a laugh, he stood up from his chair. “You cannot- “
Namjoon didn’t even bother with hearing. He held his hand out and Jin pulled out a file handing it to him. Namjoon walking around the members and stood in front of the Detective. His eyes never left his face as he dropped the file onto his desk. “In here, you’ll find the security footage from Kitty Gang’s entire week,” he said. “Clean. You'll also find statements from every staff member present and a chain of custody log for the night’s product inventory—none of which, I should note, include narcotics. Mr. Park is a businessman, not a crimianl– and neither are Mr. Kim, Mr. Jeon, Mr. Jung and Mr. Min – Oh, and Jin hyung.”
Jin reached inside his blazer and handed a letter to Namjoon. “Oh, and this,” he continued. “Is the injunction. Signed fifteen minutes ago by Judge Hwang. You’re in direct violation of it. So, either you release these men now, or you explain to a judge why you held innocent men hostage after the court explicitly ordered their release.”
“Boss?” an officer approched the detective with two papers and handed them to him.
Sangjun’s face looked paler than a ghost when he read the report of Kitty Gang and the lab results. He opened his mouth but closed it again. He was at loss for words. He really thought he had them. No, he really wanted to have them. He allowed his emotions to cloud his judgement. Nothing was found at theclub, and that damned plastic bag really was filled with candy.
Namjoon leaned in one final time. “You picked the wrong night to play cowboy, detective,” his voice was low, but laced with iron. “We’ve documented every second of this farce. I suggest you return my clients now and quietly, or tomorrow morning your badge will be a nameplate in a courtroom you can’t afford to stand trial in.”
Seo Sangjun’s jaw tightened, his teeth crushed down on each other, shooting pain down his neck as he looked into Namjoon’s dark eyes. “Release them,” he managed to say.
Namjoon straightened his posture and nodded to the detective once as if satisfied with the performance “And one more thing,” he added. “This all is to be wiped from their records. Effective immidiet.”
Sangjun gave him one tight nod that made every muscle in his body feel like it was on fire. The heavy glass doors of the police station closed behind them with a sigh—like the night exhaling. No one said a word at first. Not Jimin, not Jungkook, nor the others. Their silence wasn’t guilt—it was gravity. The kind that settled deep in the chest.
A sleek, matte-black car sat at the curb, silent as a panther. And Hyun, Yoongi’s father stepped out followed by his grandfather, Sihyuk. The five men instinctively straightened like schoolboys before a headmaster they feared and loved in equal measure. A few paces to the side of them, Namjoon and Jin back, side by side, saying nothing, their faces unreadable watching like lieutenants trained to assess damage in silence.
Sihyuk’s gaze swept across the five men with surgical precision. No rage. Just the weight of decades behind his eyes.
Then Hyun, Yoongi’s father spoke with dry wit. “Tell me,” He said, “was the plan to get arrested before the fianl matchgame or after?”
Taehyung opened his mouth but closed it again.
“Christ!” Hyun snorted lightly. “Not even a decent lie among you. All of a sudden neither one of you is allergic to silence.” He turned to Hoseok. “You? Have you tried to hold back from laughing when you’re questioned by the police, or are you allergic to that as well?” he then looked at Jimin, who had a busted lip and his own dry blood on his hand. “You knew better,” Hyun said. “This happened in your house, Kitty Gang. Do not let it happen again.” Jimin gave the man a small nod.
And then the father turned to son. For a long moment they just looked at each other before finally he spoke. “You forget how many of them look at you first. What you say. What you do. What you don’t stop.” Yoongi looked away, lowering his eyes to the ground.
Min Hyun wasn’t speaking to them like this to scold them, but to understand the gravity how their actions could lead them to end up in situations like this. No matter how smart they all thought they were.
Hyun’s eyes then shifted to Jungkook and he held back a smile. He had a soft spot for the maknae. “And you,” he said, “You have no goddamn business being out so late on a school night – especially involved in this kind of stuff. Your mother assusms you’re at our house, did you know that?”
Jungkook’s throat bobbed. “I was just—”
“—just proving you still have no discipline.” Hyun’s words cut clean. “Neither one of you.”
They all lowered their heads slightly. “We’re sorry.”
Sihyuk finally stepped, his voice like twilight. “I don’t expect you to be saints,” he said. “But next time – if there is a next time – handle it not with your egos.”
As the clock struck two am they had all reached Jimin’s house. “Aish,” Jungkook muttered finally. “I feel like I just got baptized in fear.”
Hoseok chuckled, low and humorless. “Better than being buried in it.”
“What took you so…” Moon’s voice faded when she saw Jimin. His handsome face…he had a busted lip. Her heart sank at the sight of him. “What happened?” she asked softly, her voice barley above a whisper.
“Some officer finally became a big shot,” Jimin laughed, and for a short moment pain reached his head. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.
Rachel grabbed her leather jacket and walked towards Taehyung, and he kissed her on the cheek. “Sleepy?” he asked her, and she nodded.
Moon kept her eyes on Jimin the entire time. It was like she could not move. She watched him silently move around the living room and give each of the members an envelpoe where within there was a code number to their share of profit that had been delivered to their houses.
They bid the members goodbye, and they were left alone.
i've been wanting to make a little list of some of my favorite jltgrpf fics for a while so here it is! this fic rec list is primarily focused on kink since that is my main area of interest :) this is not exhaustive by any means but because i like to keep my bookmarks private i wanted to give a few shoutouts to a few fics/series i really love. here goes, in no particular order other than single fics first, then series:
five stages by @callabang : adam/ben/sam cock cage sex comedy! calla's fics are what got me into jltgrpf: her poly bdsm series got me started but this fic introduced me to the phenomenon i've now become well accustomed to which is reading a fic with a kink/fetish i don't really consider myself to be into and then promptly becoming insane about it. this fic is so insanely hot and ALSO hysterical and it singlehandedly got me into cock cages to the point where i've now written 30,000 words on the subject matter. absolutely foundational fic for me that i return to over and over again
(all twenty-four wretchin' with desire) by @cynocef : adam/ben/sam pissplay! aka joey's beautiful piss fic. such a brilliant adam character study and fantastic articulation of the trio dynamics. adam's extreme embarrassment and drama combined with ben and sam's delighted, playful sadism make this fic so much fun. piss is also kink i previously hadn't had much interest in but this is written so well that it's got me wanting to write things on the subject myself. joey's language is also just so beautiful and poetic and delicious to read
just a little shame, all it's gonna take by @gotinnocuous : adam/ben/sam intox! this one is CRAZY. again, was not that into intox, or any kind of petplay before this, but sammy is such a genius and such a brilliant writer and this fic makes me INSANE. one of my favorite things about this one is the shifting/complicated dynamics of dominance/submission: adam's guilty dom fantasies bleeding in and getting so messy with the intox scene he's asking for. just a FANTASTIC character study and also some of the best sentences i've ever read; the language during the intox scene itself does such a good job of conveying adam's emotional/physical state and i almost felt drunk reading it
skin and bones by @sassydefendorflower : adam/sam platonic predator/prey kink! this is SUCH a good fic and while i do love smut i am also soooo fond of platonic/nonsexual bdsm and this is such a great example of that. really such vivid/visceral descriptions that convey the intensity of the scene/dynamic so well. i love the violence and fear in this fic and it's such a fun/delicious take on the sam/adam relationship
i want it all by @wereinsilly : adam/ben/sam, 6 part series: kink/relationship negotiation! there's so much to say about this series, i love sol's writing so much and the way they write the boys' voices is so brilliant. i love the way they develop the dynamics between the three and the way you get to see the individual relationships between each duo as well as the three of them is so delightful. obviously it's a great relationship study but also just: the sex/kink is so hot it's crazy. i think my favorite installment is part 5, i love the explicit kink exploration and adam coming to terms with his sadism and i love SPANKING
once i start i cannot stop myself by @jetgrime : adam/sam, 2 part series, undernegotiated kink centered around sam's masturbation habits. actually some of the hottest things i've ever read in my entire life. makes me feel genuinely physically dizzy. hannah has such a brilliant take on the sam/adam relationship and the insane dynamics sam is producing in his own head that adam doesn't even KNOW about are enough to make me crazy. also genuinely just. some of the most beautifully crafted words i've ever read. her sentences are so lush and the sex and dynamics are so hot and the voices are so spot on. there's a bit in part 2 that's so bonkers hot i have to physically lie down every time i read it or even think about it.
come to my window by anonymous : ben/sam, 3 part series focused on undernegotiated kink! this is such a fun exploration of the weirdness of the ben/sam relationship and how they egg each other into things. it does such a good job of exploring undernegotiated kink and gaps in communication. my personal favorite of the series is part two because i love flogging, but i really love how the third installment explores kink in a non-sexual way
anyways this got very long so i will leave it there for now! there really are soooo many other fics i love deeply so if you want MORE from me i'm happy to provide :)
I finished reading the final book of TJ Klune's Green Creek novels.
Usually at this point, I would be in a post-series depression, but I'm surprised that I'm not. Like, I think I learned so much about myself from these books that I don't feel the malaise, like I'm carrying them with me.
Sorry for being sappy about it lol. Plenty more of that on the way :)
Anyway, I'm an adult. I've been struggling with adulting for 10 years. I thought I'd never figure it out. I was scared of myself and others. I had traumas weighing heavy on my heart. I was estranged from my family. I was isolated socially. I developed a cannabis use disorder, addicted to running away from my feelings.
So, I had done the work. I was already trying to be more conscious of my inner monologue, how I spoke about myself, finding new coping strategies.
Toward the later few years of this journey, I explored therianthropy in earnest. I'm a student of psychology and neuroscience, and I found that I had been disregarding and suppressing my instinct and my feelings. A very impactful video by YouTuber RedMeansRecording on autism helped me make the connection between my masking behaviors and suppressing the animal within. I was caged, my paws electrocuted until I lost the will to fight so I would stay despite finding new freedom. Learned helplessness is a bitch.
Finally, over the summer, I read Wolfsong, the first book of four. I attached to it, to the characters, much like I do with most of my reading. But this was different - I found new perspectives on simply how to be... Me.
I found new words to describe my inner world, connecting with my emotions and the relationships I had forged with others. I learned the importance of tethers and packpackpack and building traditions to keep us together.
I always hated the idea of "found family," despite being queer and estranged myself. It just never clicked with me. Pack, though? That makes sense. Belonging to them and them belonging to me. Being there for each other, with everyone's best interest at heart. Never leaving anyone behind.
Pulling each other close as the world falls apart.
I have a newfound strength and confidence, since recognizing that I am an animal first, a human second. To be human is to contort yourself into boxes to fit into a larger society that is uncaring and individualistic. To be animal is to be yourself, to integrate fully your mind and body, to work together with your inner self to thrive.
I love who I am, now that I've found my wolf. I cringe saying it, expecting ridicule, but where else can I say it other than on Tumblr, on a blog called "werewolf-beans?"
Now, while I wax poetic about the impact that these wonderful wolves had on my life, I also feel obligated to mention that these are romance books (for those unfamiliar). There is sex in them, but I always felt it was secondary to the characters. I know that we live in a culture that is resurging with puritan politics, where such things are being twisted and demonized from something beautiful and human into degeneracy.
These are hard times, but the green creek novels gave me a gift. They gave me the strength to keep fighting. They led me to build my pack, these wonderful humans, witches, and animals that belong to me, and me to them. They gave me the courage to find happiness in the darkest of times.
I give the Green Creek novels by TJ Klune 4.5 stars.
Morning had broken gently. Pale light filtered through soft cloud, neither sullen nor showy. The room chosen for the ceremony was not a chapel but something quieter, older. A disused orangery turned municipal hall, its bones still glass and iron, with vines of clematis and withering jasmine coiling at the corners. Dust motes stirred like ghosts caught in the crosswind of memory. Ivy clawed at the outside panes in a perpetual reaching.
No more reaching, not for them.
Laurentius stood at the altar – if such a word could still be used in this modest, secular place – statue-still, yet humanly so. His suit, hired at the last minute from a shop with moth-eaten velvet curtains and a gruff-voiced tailor, fit him not perfectly, but poetically. The lapels sat slightly askew as if they, too, knew this was not about perfection. His hands hung at his sides as tools well-worn from use and the mercy of loving her.
Then the doors opened, and there was Anri.
Clad in vintage ivory, every seam bore the ghost of another life – hand-stitched reinforcements, minute patchings invisible save for those who knew where to look. It rustled as she walked, the sound like a page turning in an old and beloved book.
Each tuck of fabric, each reworked dart or lace insertion was a labour of love, stitched by her own, needle-pricked fingers. Her bouquet, a wild and wilful riot of cornflower, feverfew, chamomile and poppy, looked as though the meadow had gathered itself in her arms. A few stems trailed – unruly, obstinate, beautiful.
Her hair was pinned with something borrowed, tarnished and crowned in opal. Unveiled, her face was bare and luminous and turned towards Laurentius. She walked to him and the world contracted to the space between her sandaled feet and the floor, between his gaze and her approach. Breath came softly, her heart thundering within its cage of bone and silk.
How perfectly handsome he looked. Rented suit, scuffed shoes, shirt collar bearing the faintest mark of a burn from an old iron – yet he stood solid and steady and utterly hers. She wanted to press her hand to his chest and feel that steadiness. She wanted to ask him how he did it, how he bore the weight of gentleness in a world so full of sharp things.
Her lips parted, not to speak, but to breathe more deeply of this moment, which already felt like a dream dissolving at its edges. At his side, she took his hand, brushed a thumb over his knuckles, held his gaze. Words unspoken passed between them like birds crossing some secret sky, flocking from her heart to his.
No trumpets, no stained-glass windows. Only the riot of flowers in her arms and a handful of gathered friends, and the strange, giddy pull of gravity that drew her ever closer to him.
Don't hate 127. Solid 4/10 by general standards. 10/10 in context. Yudias being so chad he's immune to memory removal is neat. Yuhi joining the Otesification cage match with a steel chair last second is fucking hilarious. I also think it's a nice development for the arcs of the siblings.
A few episodes ago, Yuamu was like "There's so many things which I never want to do but I have to do them because you're totally useless! I'm just doing the logical and hard thing like always!" Thing is, there was no logic. Yuamu thinks Yuga is HER descendent. Yuga's last name is Ohdo. How in the world can Yuga be born if Yuamu erases herself??? Is she gonna erase every memory except her last name?
Up until this episode, that fact had me torn between "the writers are dumb" and "Yuamu is lying". Then the Yuhi and Zeyet episode dropped and was literally built around lies. The main point of the Yuhi/Zeyet/Lying episode is that 'people (Yuhi) can say they want something (new clothes) while really avoiding something else (duelling Yuamu).'
Becoming Otes is a death of personality so, on the surface, it seems like the harder path. That's why Yuamu 'has' to do it. Then, we see in this episode that Yuamu is actually scared of losing Yuhi. "Don't leave me!" she sobs as he effectively dies in her place.
Demonstrably, the flipside of becoming Otes is having to lose someone you care about. This path is just as if not harder than the path of becoming Otes. Thus, despite Yuamu saying she 'has to do the harder thing', what she was actually avoiding (whether consciously or unconsciously; Yuhi/Zeyet Theme) was the harder path of 'losing their twin'.
Following the Yuhi/Zeyet/Lying episode, Yuhi did some introspection, realised how much of a coward he was and, after a short spell of backing out of duelling Yuamu, finally found his guts! Problem is, Yuhi bought Yuamu's feelings at face value and decided "No! I love you! So just this once, I'll take the harder path!"
In other words, Yuamu's becoming a villain actively provoked Yuhi's character growth into a more 'heroic figure' (being honest with himself, rising to the challenge, and protecting Yuamu) resulting in him accidentally taking the easier path, becoming a villain, and leaving Yuamu with the baggage.
Now, as far as Yuamu knows, she's not only lost her twin, she's going to have to 'take care' of the dead husk that remains of him for the rest of her life. Plus, now that she's in the place she'd reserved for Yuhi, she's also realised how hard this path is.
To be frank, it is BEAUTIFUL karma. Poetic, artful, lovely. I know optimism chad Yudias will eventually fix everything, but I'm still happy with this.
Unfortunately, it tops out at 4/10 because Go Rush is still a show obsessed with focusing its whole plotline on another fucking show.
