Fic:yoongi - Tumblr Posts

perpetual datejust

pairing: yoongi x reader

wordcount: 19k

glimpse: when the general public hears the name min yoongi, they know him as the world-famous model who’s beyond talented in his craft. when the modeling industry hears the name min yoongi, they remember you: his resolute, firm, and sometimes rude manager who always puts yoongi’s best interests at heart — no matter what.

alternatively, you’re yoongi’s manager and for the first time ever, you take a break away from him.

[ a lot of angst (not all the way thru i promise!!!), love is mutual but unrealized at first, wholesome heartwarming moments, emotional constipation + hint of codependency, yoongi does some rlly stupid things, so much yearning, mentions of sex tape + intercourse (not between the main pairing), jealousy, swearing, redemption arc (i swear!!!) ]

notes: first fic of 2022 <3 thank you so much for waiting patiently for this piece!! i have to say that although this is one of my angst-heavy pieces, this is perhaps the warmest fic out of all of them (take five, heartburn, hlwwf, lyiaik) !! this is my new favorite since you could see more of the emotional growth and development from the characters <33

as always, lmk what you think <3 send in feedback n love to my askbox anytime!! even replying to this post sends me over the moon :)

Yoongi is the second-most respected person in the room.

He knows it by the way that people go out of their way to come close to his personal bubble of space to greet him. They bow respectfully and give him smiles whenever his eyes meet theirs, some of them meek but never the one to break the eye contact first.

He knows it when people crowd around him to get his attention one way or the other, and even if he barely reciprocates any, not a single person from his audience comes home disappointed.

He knows it by the attention he receives — the entirety of it is focused on him even if he’s not the only one in the room.

Yoongi knows to himself that he’s only the second-most respected person in the room because if he was otherwise, none of it plays out this way.

The most respected person in the room has people clearing out of the way to be given space, even if unasked for. They bow deeply but suck their breaths in whenever they’re in the receiving end of said person’s gaze, instinctively gulping.

If he is the most respected person in the room, his inattention for the people in the room would mean the world to them. His disregard would comfort them endlessly and even lull them to sleep in peace.

Yoongi is not the most esteemed because if he was, he would have all the attention to him even if none of them are looking. He’s not the most eminent because it’s not him whom people bend backwards for to please, nor the one who makes or breaks the atmosphere in the space.

Min Yoongi’s manager is the most respected person in the room and everyone knows it.

“Stop staring off into space,” Yoongi nudges you by the shoulder, a little winded to go all the way because while he’s sat in the foldable makeup chair, you’re the one sat on a leather, cushioned stool right beside him. “You’re scaring them.”

“Should they have anything to be scared about?” you roll your eyes at such a trivial concern that he doesn’t suffer from, a little perplexed at his tiny suggestion that you know wouldn’t change your image at all.

Yoongi swears that he just heard someone’s teeth chatter at your quip.

Years ago, you wouldn’t have expected that people in the modeling industry would label you to be someone so intimidating. Yoongi used to tease you at first because even he thought that those assumptions were a load of shit. He was sure that he knows you to the decimal with how often and how long you’ve been at his side.

It was just at that moment, that one specific moment years ago wherein an intern spilled coffee on his shoes and went on her knees to apologize to him and plead to not tell you that it all made sense. It makes much more sense to him now that even if he wasn’t that big back then, remembering how the room fell to a hush. He remembers you emerging out of nowhere with your angry footsteps, the Yoongi from years ago completely unaware on how you would decimate someone for dirtying his favorite pair of shoes with the hot brew.

Yoongi knows you’re protective of him and he thought it was only normal for everyone’s managers to do the same. He thought it was normal for managers to call casting directors out on their faults and still have a job (or even a better one) after that. He thought it was protocol for managers to fight designers for forcing a diet on him and still be the frontrunner for the collection. He thought every model and artist he knew of would have their managers to be in your standard, but at every shocked and yearning face he sees from people who want to be under your care, Yoongi knew.

“Not that I know of.”

He laughs in reply, covering his mouth sheepishly as he bows his head to the makeup artist working on his eyebrows, willfully ignoring the way her hands tremble as she hears your whole conversation.

“You just like seeing me do my job,” you hum in return, fixing your posture on the chair to see if there’s any nick on his skin from the eyebrow razor that the makeup artist’s using.

He looks the best at the moment with his bare face, a sight that you only see now and then in-between his perpetually packed schedule. His cheeks are shiny and his lips are plump, eyes still a little droopy with how late he slept just this morning.

You’ve already fed Yoongi his favorite burrito early this morning but you know he likes his snacks in between takes so he doesn’t crash with fatigue later on, about to stand up from your seat to fix him a plate from catering when you hear eager footsteps towards your direction.

The perky junior assistant on-site thrusts a plate into Yoongi’s direction, neatly-arranged to the point that when he accepts it from her, he’d be able to feel the sticky note placed underneath the ceramic with her cellphone number on it.

“Are you out of your fucking mind?”

The girl’s eyes widen comically when she hears your voice, all of her supposedly-lucky courage being flushed out of the drain as soon as you direct your attention to her.

Yoongi coughs to his hand as he puts a hand on the small of your back to just let it go, feeling your hand gently put his back on his lap, making him sink to his seat when he sees you stand up from your chair.

“You trying to kill him or what?” you tilt your head to her once before looking down at the sandwich in sheer disgust, nudging the plate back to her arms and away from Yoongi. “Mr. Min’s allergic to peanuts.”

She stutters her sincerest apologies and it’s not only embarrassment that makes her cheeks redden, the fear in her eyes unable to evaporate with how your eyes stare her down the harshest.

Just when you think that a shoot could go the smoothest without you interfering, someone just had to endanger Yoongi and his airways in an ambitious attempt to flirt. The fact that he could’ve gotten hurt badly still doesn’t fly over your head, even if all the higher-ups of the production team are in front of you apologizing to no end.

You don’t immediately move on from it even if Yoongi’s nonchalant, knowing deep-down that he’s in disbelief as much as he’s relieved for dodging a bullet that comes in the form of a thick, no-crust, slightly toasted peanut butter sandwich.

The worry doesn’t escape your system even if you get him food that would make his mouth water instead of his throat close, keeping a keen eye on him to double-check.

Yoongi’s no stranger to your worrying but if anything, he knows that if not more, you’re just as spooked about the scare as he is, purposely joining you on the one-seater couch to calm you.

"Say ah," he offers his own spoon from his snack, his own mouth open to demonstrate on how you should do the same and not make him wait. He throws an off-hand comment on how his shoulder would act up and it gets you to finally take the bite.

"You're not allergic to fruit cups,” you say with your mouth full, having to yet take another spoon that Yoongi jams narrowly because he hasn’t seen you eat breakfast yet.

"I know I'm not," he mumbles, taking a napkin to wipe at the corners of your mouth before reminding you to chew. “I just wanted to feed you."

( ♡ )

Yoongi tolerates a lot of things.

He tolerates the repetitive questions thrown his way and answers them just as sincerely as the first time around. He’s calm when he’s asked who he wants to work with for the hundredth time, and even calmer when he throws a vague answer to not jumpstart any rumor with a random celebrity the interviewer links him with.

He’s tolerant towards paparazzi and keeps his eyes stable underneath his sunglasses, not a single hint of annoyance present in his expression.

In your opinion, Yoongi is annoyingly too tolerant for the sake of neutrality, that he often overlooks how he’s being taken advantage of.

He’s not afraid to voice his concerns to you because after all, you’re perhaps the only other person besides his family that he’d entrust his life with. He knows how to stand up for himself, even if it means standing behind you.

Yoongi doesn’t like to think that he’s become too dependent on you, much more the fact that he starts to forget what his life was like before you.

He knows how to go to the casting director to correct them for the butchered pronunciation of his name. He knows how, but he’s accustomed to you rectifying the mistake right then and there, regardless of who is around.

He knows how to talk to the hotel manager to remind them that none of the staff posts his whereabouts (especially when he sees an employee discreetly taking pictures of him), but he’s used to you marching to them with a written agreement that his privacy isn’t leaked, with more or less a threat looming on your tone.

You know that Yoongi doesn’t and wouldn’t always need you, but with the way he freezes beside you and his hand almost squeezes your forearm out of instinct, you’re certain that you’re needed.

The swimming pool in the middle of the set grinds the gears in your head, the clench in your jaw unmistakeable that the director who’s come out to greet you stops in her heels.

"This wasn't included in the brief."

You grit your teeth in the absolute stupidity she’s in charge of. The deep water Yoongi’s afraid of doesn’t become shallow under your gaze, but the thought of how you’d dump a bucket of it on everyone responsible remains.

"I don't care if you already poured your whole year's budget just for this concept — change it."

The director, who’s been in this industry earlier than Yoongi did, stutters over nothing. She’s heard some talk about how nothing ever comes past Min Yoongi’s manager, and yet she only dismissed the concerns with a laugh. Sure, it’s far from a miniscule adjustment in the brief, but she even swore then on how you wouldn’t intimidate her in the slightest.

Turns out she’s wrong.

She’s been in this industry longer than you could fathom and it’s only now that she feels genuinely affected by someone’s assertion towards her craft. Even if you aren’t the first manager that defies her, you’re the only one who makes her want to backtrack completely.

"Mr. Min is uncomfortable with what you request of him,” you articulate sternly, about to give her a piece of your mind when you feel Yoongi tug at your arm lightly.

"I think I can do it, Y/N," he mumbles under his breath and it makes you stop. He peers at the indention on the ground with curious eyes, flickering towards yours to get the assurance he needs. “The pool's wide, right?"

Yoongi's a little afraid of deep and narrow waters.

There’s not anything deep behind it other than he feels afraid when his feet can’t touch the floor. He wants to feel grounded, and with the way that he’s lighter underwater but there’s not anything that reminds him of being weighed down? He’s scared shitless. He knows how to swim but it intimidates him unlike any other, his limit stopping when his chin hits the water.

"This wasn't what you signed up for," your voice softens automatically, assuring him that he shouldn’t feel pressured to take on the change.

“The director said it was only a two-feet plexiglass pool," your gaze pierces her at the emphasis of her job. “Why would you switch it to a seven-feet swimming pool suddenly?"

The director expresses her apologies but they just don’t hit the right note with you. If she didn’t want to make Yoongi uncomfortable in the first place, she wouldn’t have altered the brief without getting his approval. It bothers you that no matter how famous or big Yoongi could get, the circle of people who would try to sabotage him doesn’t get any smaller.

You’re silent throughout her words and your blatant lack of acknowledgement just pushes her further, only stopping (although the nervousness never leaves her) when she sees Yoongi pull you to the side.

"I can do it,” he licks his lips, way past the point of convincing himself because his mind’s already set — under one condition. "I-I just need you to get in the water with me."

You only linger for a second longer in front of Yoongi just so you could be sure that he wants exactly what he’s told you, walking to the director who’s glued to the ground at anticipation.

"Should Mr. Min suffer in the slightest because of your abrupt change of plans," your finger points intimidatingly close that it makes her cross-eyed. “I’ll see to it that your publication disappears the next morning."

You should be perplexed. You know you should.

You should be puzzled at the request of your artist, literally pulling you through the water so he wouldn’t feel scared for his job. You know you should be baffled that the lifeguards who are present on the set are gonna need to sit this one out, because the model they were tasked to look over, already has his manager doing what was supposed to be their job.

You should be confused when you let him hold your hand in between takes, even if he asked so he wouldn’t feel that he’s alone underwater.

You dry him off first even when you're dripping wet yourself, not feeling dumbfounded that even when you get your own towel, you add it to the one on his shoulders because he’s trembling.

With Yoongi, you don’t think twice.

.

.

"You have a cold because of me."

There’s the feeling of guilt that makes Yoongi sniffle, the pitiful sound surely not connected to how he’s had to shoot in a cold pool for half an hour.

"Don't take all the credit now."

He sees your eyes narrow at him and for a moment, he hears you chuckle.

He hears you laugh deeply even if the rasp of it is clearly tainted with a cold that he brought to you. Your laugh doesn’t bother him, not at all! What bothers him is the look of confusion that encompasses your features after.

His arms are outstretched and perched on them is a fluffy, burnt white towel. Even if it’s neatly folded, you could see the outlines of the iron and smell the distinct scent of singed cotton.

You’re not confused over why and how it’s burnt; you’re confused over the kindness.

"Don't look at me like that,” Yoongi mistakens your gaze as something that critics his good deed, a smile creeping to his lips in his attempt to explain himself.

"I tried my best to look for warm towels, alright? This was the next best thing."

"You ironed it while it was still damp," your head shakes at the well-thought yet poorly-executed effort, still peering at it because he hasn’t given it to you yet.

Yoongi’s cute. He tries. He attempts to take care of you and although it’s not the best, it’s good enough for you.

"I tried drying it with a fan at first but I couldn't wait because I heard you blowing your nose all the way from the lobby. Sue me."

( ♡ )

Yoongi thinks you’re a lightbeam.

He thinks you’re pure energy that bounces off and passes through whatever material simultaneously. You get through him the most, and he would never deny that.

There’s a certain glow to you that he gravitates towards and he only gets warm and energized at the most, but never burnt. You’re bright but never too blinding for him; you fill all his senses at once but the sensations don’t become overwhelming.

Yoongi’s not a speaker, much less a writer. He can’t enunciate his feelings for you the way he’d want to and it frustrates him endlessly. You do so, so much for him and not once does he comment on his appreciation.

He tries, though. He doesn’t know if it would ever be enough, or if any of his care for you would be equal to what you give to him, but he tries.

“So you just saw this and thought of giving it to me, hm?”

You hum at the article of clothing he’s put in your hands delicately, the soft knit material of the navy blue cardigan calming your strained eyes. It’s new to you — from the way you’ve never seen a knitted cardigan before with tiny sheep on them all over the place, to the way you’re not used to Yoongi gifting you things out of the blue.

“Does it even suit me?” you mumble under your breath, holding it up against your body to look at the mirror. The design of it was cute, unique even. It’s familiar to you for some reason but you don’t dwell on it, chalking it up to how it makes you happy just by looking at it.

“Every color is your color.”

Yoongi scoffs with his arms across his chest, a little huffy that you’d even doubt your image. “I’m not talking bull,” he exclaims a little more loudly when you shoot him a quizzical look, holding up his hands in defense. “I do mean it.”

You know that Yoongi isn’t the best with his words. He could be passive and defensive amongst all his other self-admitted weaknesses with his words in contrast to his actions, but you don’t mind. Yoongi means what he wants to mean, and you get his point every single time.

So when he tells you that he means sincerely that every color is your color, you believe him. You rely on yourself for assurance but with the reiteration coming from him, the (occasionally) least decisive person you know, you know better than to deny.

The halls in the company building aren’t empty but you choose to walk in the dead center of it, receiving courteous smiles from the mix of staff members before they scramble to not be in your path.

Your fellow employees in the company don’t necessarily fear you, but word comes around of what happens. Most of them are in awe of you from what you’ve heard but sometimes they respect the distance that you put. There were only a handful of people in the company that you like being around with and not just tolerate for the sake of it, and it’s more than enough for you. You didn’t come to make friends — you’re here to be competent. With or without them, you’re here for Yoongi, and Yoongi only.

Sometimes for Jimin too.

The actor from the same company has somewhat weaseled his way into your care, his plus points of being Yoongi’s best friend from high school contributing greatly. He’s not difficult to handle and even if he already has someone else as his manager, you wouldn’t mind buying lunch for him if he asked very kindly.

Jimin bumps your shoulder on purpose to walk with you in the hallway, having some time to kill by annoying you before his schedule resumes for the day. He looks awfully suspicious; half-amused and half-shocked to see you.

His eyes flit over your figure up and down like he didn’t just see you this morning, the ambiguous look on his face making your eyebrows furrow in confusion. “What are you looking at?”

"Oh?" he exclaims, whistling as he does another once-over that just makes you more irritable than confused at this point. He clears his throat when he senses that you want an answer from him, playing it cool by shoving his hands into his pockets. "Where did you get that?"

He gestures to the cardigan you’re wearing, eyes squinting to make sure his vision isn’t playing tricks on him.

"Yoongi gave it to me,” you shrug carelessly, eyes suddenly brightening since you have the energy in you to tease him. "Why? Do I look pretty?"

Jimin’s face doesn’t fall and in fact, he even giggles in reply. He giggles and yet his eyes feel apologetic for some reason, making your head tilt in curiosity.

"You're pretty for sure," he coos, making your worry dissipate instantly.

The worry dissipates for a second but it comes back twofold when Jimin comes closer to you to remove the cardigan from your figure, the sudden act making you freeze that you just let him do so. "But you shouldn't wear secondhand."

"Yoongi and I share socks, a cardigan wouldn't be a problem,” your eyes roll at his trivial excuse in removing your knit.

The cardigan you’ve only had for a matter of hours is tucked to his arms and you make quick moves to snatch it back, but Jimin is even quicker in turning his body away from you.

How exactly should he break this to you?

"This is Sohee's cardigan."

If Jimin’s learned one thing from you, it’s to be direct and immediately cut to the chase.

"You're wearing Yoongi's ex's cardigan."

The familiarity you’ve once felt over the cardigan is no longer there, turning into the ugly type of affinity instead. It once smelled like Yoongi’s perfume to you but now you realize that it overwhelmingly smells like the forgotten depth of a cabinet.

The navy blue knit now looks patchy to you. It looks like it has the remaining dust of mothballs and the splotches of bleach. The sheep pattern on it looks sad to be even there. The material feels scratchy like a scouring pad and feels even dirtier than it. It’s hideous.

"Don't be mad, pretty," Jimin presses his thumb to the middle of your brows to ease the furrow, dropping in your nickname seamlessly to calm you. “Remember, you didn't hear that from me, alright?"

.

.

Yoongi had forgotten the feeling of someone literally throwing clothes at him (the last time was when he was a teenager and his mom was fed up with him not putting his laundry in the proper basket), but now, he relives the feeling.

"I don't want this."

He peeks through the cardigan you’ve just thrown him, confused on why you would be mad.

It’s rare and come to think of it, Yoongi can’t think of a time that you got angry at him. You get mad at directors who change the brief and casters who mispronounce his name and paparazzi who get in his face — you get angry for his sake, not at him.

"It's tacky. It's ugly," you spat, breaking eye contact to angrily organize his things in time for his next schedule. “It's Sohee's."

Yoongi had never angered you in a way and as much as you retain your patience for him, this one just bothers you like a tick. It just makes you itch and drains your blood and gives you unnecessary pain, the angry slew of words uncontrollable on the tip of your tongue.

"Seriously, why would you even give me something that belongs to your ex?"

"She's not really an ex," he exhales unsurely but he just wants to have the last word. He can’t help not being honest, even if being truthful doesn’t help his situation at the moment. “You see, we're kind of hooking-"

"Quit it!" your jaw clenches at the admission, your eyes about to roll to the back of your head from the raw annoyance that fills you. “Do I look like a charity shop for all the run-downs from your fuck buddy?"

Whichever way he puts it, Sohee’s his ex-girlfriend that cheated on him.

She’s an ex-girlfriend that was seeing someone behind Yoongi’s back and no matter how painful their split was, he still chases her after a lost puppy. Her months-long infidelity was forgiven with only a week’s worth of apologies, and it’s always Yoongi that doesn’t want to break off from her completely.

"Don't talk about her that way," he mutters, rolling his eyes at your misplaced protectiveness. You weren’t the one who was cheated on and yet you act like it. You’re not supposed to hurt on his behalf, but he remembers distinctly how you said that you would always rally behind him on his happiness.

Sure, being fuckbuddies with his ex-girlfriend isn’t as good as being committed to her the way a boyfriend would, but it makes him happy. You’re not supposed to hurt on his behalf but you do — you’re supposed to be happy with his joy but you aren’t.

"I just thought it would suit you. She left it in my closet and hasn't looked for it since," he sighs defeatedly, already knowing that you’re barely listening to him.

Yoongi doesn’t apologize simply because it’s not in his nature. He’s not sorry that he gave you his ex-girlfriend’s cardigan, but he’s sorry that you feel angry for whatever reason.

Yoongi’s sorry, but he would never say it.

"I wasn't trying to upset you or anything."

( ♡ )

There are only a handful of times that you get to sleep peacefully.

Those instances only happen when Yoongi’s schedule finishes early in the night and starts late the next day. Your body’s used to the work that fatigue only feels like second-nature, the tiredness hitting your system only when you don’t move.

For the first time in what felt like years, Yoongi’s schedule finished earlier than 5 PM today. You were so excited to come home and have time for yourself that you don’t regret rejecting Yoongi’s offer in getting drinks with him. It probably didn’t hurt him as much as his expression fell blank when you declined his offer for bonding outside work, but you already know that he too would kill to have time for himself.

Normally you would just take a night shower and head straight to bed without even drying your hair completely because you’re just that tired, later waking up with a headache. But god, today was just different. You take a shower for enjoyment rather than necessity, taking the time to break out the scrub you have to leave on in order to fully reap the benefits.

You take the time to dry your hair and put your work phone on silent, finally being able to wear the expensive pajamas upper management had gifted you two Christmas parties ago. You’re able to scroll through your watch recommendations without feeling pressured for time, even taking the time to watch trailers instead of blindly clicking a random title.

You have the time to do nothing and be liable for nobody that it all feels so good. You’re ultimately relaxed and go to bed without calculating for tomorrow, tucking yourself in before 9 PM.

Until your personal phone rings so loudly in the middle of the night.

The shock jolts you awake, accepting the call even if you can barely make out anything from your squinted eyes. Your voice is cut off before you could even say anything, the raspy needy register hitting all your senses at once.

"Come over."

Yoongi fills you up as a whole. He’s overwhelming in nature and if you couldn’t be any more delirious with what’s happening, the scent of his perfume fills your room. It’s unexplainable and doesn’t exist but you could swear that you smell his perfume.

There isn’t anything coherent in your mind that you can say but there’s only purpose somewhere in there, just a tiny bit of purpose that wants to be with Yoongi in that way, at this moment.

"I missed you so much, baby."

Maybe he’s drunk. Maybe he went for drinks by himself and only called you accidentally. He must be, because you’re not his baby.

Is this even for you? Maybe he does genuinely just miss you and the endearment is loose on his drunk tongue. Maybe he’s just slurring his words and he didn’t even call you the name, only being conjured up by your rudely-awakened mind.

"I want you so bad right now, Sohee," he practically moans to your ear, hearing his breath heave through the phone. “My cock's so-"

"Yoongi."

The moment his name leaves your lips in your voice is what makes him come out of his lust-driven senses, the beads of sweat on his forehead turning into the sensation of cold water on his flushed body. He was originally lying in bed when he pressed on Sohee’s number at his phone, at what he thought to be his work phone, instead of his personal. Sohee would always be the top-most contact in his personal cell, and his work’s frequent contact would be-

"Y/N?"

The realization makes Yoongi squeak for all the wrong reasons, hurriedly hanging up and unable to look at the phone on his hands that he chucks it to the wall next to his bed.

Neither of you sleep peacefully tonight.

( ♡ )

The shame in his system is what keeps Yoongi this jumpy early in the morning, not the three espresso shots he drank in one sitting.

His coffee intake isn’t the culprit to his heart palpitations and trembling hands, that much he could make out. He’s just so nervous to be in your presence after his innocent mistake last night. The train of events of him essentially asking you to come over while he sounds fucked-out, then calling you Sohee, and then eventually realizing that it’s in fact you, his manager, who he called up at 2 in the morning — it’s a long shot from being innocent. He didn’t mean to call you, but he didn’t mean to unknowingly hurt you either.

Yoongi doesn’t fear you but maybe he does now by the way you don’t utter a single word to him at all, too preoccupied with your job. Had you always been this busy? He knows that you’re busy superlatively but somehow, you’d always fit him into your process. You were the type to have your nose buried in your cue sheets while asking him at the same time of what he wants for lunch.

There’s only four of you in the lounge anyway; you, him, Jimin, and Tiger– the stray cat who ended up becoming the company feline.

“So how did you sleep last night?”

Jimin looks up from his phone, gauging to see if he was the one being asked. You’re sitting beside him but you’re busy nonetheless, leaving the question unanswered. Yoongi’s looking at Tiger now and it’s clear that he wouldn’t answer the question anytime soon, so of course Jimin’s about a hundred percent sure that he’s the one being interrogated.

"Eh. I slept at five in the morning."

Yoongi screws his eyes shut because this is clearly not going the way he wanted to, but stopping abruptly now just seems awkward.

"It's really quiet at 5 AM. How was your sleep?"

Jimin doesn't think about it, really. He doesn’t wonder how Yoongi basically asked him the same question twice. He’s just here answering whatever came to mind, oblivious to the tension (literally one-sided based on Yoongi’s perspective) that was filling up the room.

"Oddly enough, it was deep. Come to think of it, the later I sleep, the more sound it is."

"Jimin, over here!" Hoseok, his manager, hollers outside the lounge that it has him immediately standing up, leaving the two of you alone together.

Three if you count Tiger.

Yoongi feels like he’s fucked now that there’s no buffer state between the two of you, thinking about the next big thing before clearing his throat, petting the cat on his head.

"You should eat well today.”

You’re not clueless to know that Jimin’s already left the lounge. You see clearly how Yoongi looks like a fool talking indirectly to Tiger in order to make conversation with you.

He’s not as swift and smooth as he thinks but you’re sure that he doesn’t realize it, just like how he doesn’t realize loads of things. He doesn’t realize the gravity of your anger even if you’ve already said what causes it. He doesn’t realize that Sohee is the worst thing to happen to him, both in his professional and personal life, coming from you both as a manager and a friend. He doesn’t realize that you’re intentionally not indulging him this time.

"Your sunglasses look nice,"

Yoongi still gets no reaction from you, coughing to the back of his hand. He looks at you slyly, turning his attention back to Tiger to distract him from the overpowering humiliation he feels.

"I'm talking to you, by the way. Not the cat."

You deadpan to your notes, not budging in the slightest bit when you respond.

“You don't say."

You’re angry and sleep-deprived and you’re dangling by the edge on keeping it all together. You already want to call it a day but it’s just barely started. Seeing Yoongi makes you tired and you think that it would pass eventually, the feeling of it only stuck for today.

You pet Tiger lovingly before you leave the lounge, only making the note to come fetch Yoongi when needed. You don’t want to be around him and it’s a rare feeling, but it’s only for today.

It should only be for today.

"Your shoot starts an hour from now."

( ♡ )

Yoongi can’t stand the thought of you getting anything less than what you deserve.

He doesn’t have a weak stomach but it churns when people make fun of you. Your reputation precedes you and in the few times that your cutthroat attitude leaves no room for screw-ups in future projects, you get mocked by people who haven’t even met you.

Maybe it’s because they haven’t seen you in person that they haven’t been humbled yet. Yoongi thinks it’s pathetic of them to make a caricature of someone who carried him on their back, the main reason of why he even got this far.

They wouldn’t know you like he does and Yoongi loves it because that way, he feels special. Your interactions and warmth in general are exclusive to only the two of you. No one would know how talkative you can get and how bright your smile could get — only he gets to see that.

They wouldn’t know you like he does and Yoongi hates it. He hates it because that way, no one gets to know who you are as an individual because being his manager is a bigger identity than yourself. No one gets to know how kind and loyal you are in your true nature.

“They’re looking at your watch.”

He grits his teeth, eyeing the snotty friend group who’s gathered in a tiny circle and are laughing, their eyes constantly looking at you. He knows for sure that you get a lot of looks, but there’s just something about how they each take mischievous glances at you and laugh obnoxiously at the next second.

Yoongi models for a living, of course he’d know how to read people. He knows how to read body language from years of observing and expressing; he knows how to read lips from waiting between glass panes to see if he would be casted back in his rookie days.

“They’re making fun of you.” Either you don’t hear him or you chose not to pay attention to him, but he repeats it more sternly this time. He comes closer to you with a scowl, crossing his arms as he steps in front of you slightly to cover you from their eyes. “They’re looking at your watch.”

You look up from your phone, tucking it into your pocket. You heard Yoongi the first time but now he sounds more urgent than the last, finally indulging him.

“Who?”

He gestures his head slyly to the group that’s not that far from you in the first place, definitely out of earshot but still completely visible to look at their shadows. “Them.”

Not a second passes that you look at his line of sight, boldly staring even if you catch one of them looking at you. She was laughing at first but it registers belatedly that you’re looking directly at her, making her turn her head away. You recognize her.

Yoongi’s eyes widen to realize that you’ve basically just let them know that you’re aware they’re talking about you, the heads-up coming from him directly.

“The one in the red shirt,” your chin points, looking back at Yoongi to see if he’s catching up. “She’s been stuck as the coffee runner for years. She applied to become a manager five times last year and look where she is.”

He could grasp slightly why you’re telling him this, but the point doesn’t completely sink in. He knows that you’re easily one of the highest-paid managers in the whole industry and you could really put the girl in place if you wanted to.

“But she’s making fun of you.”

At his frown, you sigh. The both of you know that he wouldn’t let this go not unless you get redeemed in some way. Whether that some way would be standing up for yourself or him doing it for you, Yoongi simply wanted to have her karma one way or another.

She meets your eyes again, you motion her to come over using just two fingers, and she does.

She looks more catty and arrogant the last time you saw her, even if she is neither of those things when she’s scared shitless in front of you. You don’t remember insignificant faces but you only manage to remember her because the last time you crossed paths (in the same luxury store while you were getting Yoongi’s necessities), she was hurling profanities at the store manager simply for running out of stock of her desired bag.

“Run to the next block and get me twenty drinks.”

She’s dressed poshly in her tweed jacket and yet her eyes blink dimly, tripping over her words. “R-run?” she repeats, “twenty?”

“Do you expect any of us to let you use our company vehicles just to go to the next block? To get drinks?”

“N-no, ma’am,” she shakes her head earnestly, swallowing the lump of karma in her throat. She’s beyond embarrassed to see the glances towards her, most especially her friends’. She was just talking smack about you and the things she’s heard and at the next blink later, she was being summoned by none other than you.

She swallows her pride, internally cussing herself for being so obvious and so dense. It was true what she heard about you — you don’t let anything go past you.

“What should I get for you?”

Your mouth curves into a small smile, nudging the model beside you.

“I’ll let Yoongi decide for me.”

His mouth falls on why he’s suddenly being dragged into this but there’s just something, something that just plasters his mind as fast as it was formed. He’s not necessarily vindictive, but he is fair.

“Vanilla bean crême frappe, heavy cream, half-cup soy milk, with cream in the largest cup they have, no ice, no water, with honey drizzle, protein powder, no whip, with sweet cream, add chocolate chips, blueberry toppings.”

You have to suppress your laugh.

You’re trying so earnestly to keep yourself composed and the way your chuckle tickles your throat is making it hard, opting to bite your lip instead. He’s funny — something about him coming to your side in the form of a serious, obnoxiously long drink order is just so amusing to you.

“A-and uhm, and the other nineteen?”

She’s the only one who isn’t entertained by the situation of it all, eyes widening at the gravity of her own question.

“Ask around.”

Yoongi snickers to himself quietly, waiting to see her go to the other staff members before finally chuckling out loud. He can’t contain himself, shaking his head repeatedly at what you just did.

“You’re evil.”

“And you helped me,” your tongue clicks to the roof of your mouth, laughing alongside him. “Besides, I’m giving her a job to do.”

Come to think of it, you’re not unnecessarily rude. You’re quick on your feet and even more on your tongue but you don’t go to excessive lengths. You could be snippy and snappy but only within grounds. You’re not rude until you’re provoked and Yoongi knows that.

You tell him briefly how you knew the girl and it doesn’t take much explanation why he would do the same if he was in your position, nodding earnestly while you ask him.

“Who’s making fun of who now?”

He laughs breathlessly, smiling to himself before keeping his eyes on the ground. He peeks up at you, eyes glazing your wrist first in deep thought.

“You’re the only manager I know who doesn’t use a smart watch.”

“I’m the only manager you need to know.”

“It’s so scratched up,” he reasons, circling his hand around your wrist to hold it up. He pokes at the hardware, a slight pout on his face. “The clasp won’t even close.”

“It could still tell me the time,”

“You had to replace the batteries twice this week.”

Yoongi surprises you at times. He sometimes renders you speechless with the random things he remembers about you and the mementos he remembers you by. He’s liquid light at your fingertips, always flowing and never stagnant.

He surprises you when you’re oblivious to the fact that his hard gaze on the camera is not to appease the photographer but because he’s actually in deep thought.

He surprises you that in-between takes, he peers at you to see what way he’s going next. He does extra well to have a break called earlier, no longer able to have his thoughts to himself.

Yoongi surprises you while you aren’t looking, unwinding as you eat your lunch before you check in on him again. He take off his own watch from his wrist, swiftly removing your own to replace it with his.

“Wear this starting now.”

“I really don’t care if they make fun of me, Yoongi.”

You mean it sincerely — a random, insignificant person’s opinions on you, much less the watch you wear, doesn’t really matter. You’d continue wearing it whether Yoongi gave you the heads-up about it or not.

You’d fight him on it and return the watch, but with the way he’s just gripping you softly to remind you that his watch isn’t the only thing that’s hugging your skin, or even the way he pleads you silently to accept something of his — you don’t object.

“But I do,” he says sincerely, pocketing your old watch in the meantime. “I care.”

.

.

It’s not everyday that you grab lunch with the company’s CEO, but it’s also not everyday that you have to pat his back repeatedly after almost choking on his food.

“Oh that’s hard.”

Namjoon remarks while you grab him a napkin, his eyes instantly catching the glint of the timepiece on your wrist. He’s casual with you just like he is with Yoongi, seeing to it that his company was just barely taking off when the two of you were signed in. He has an eye for detail and he’s certain he could never forget, head tilting in wonder.

“Didn’t you use to wear a watch that was a little more… shabby?”

The huff leaves you faster than you could repress it, rolling your eyes playfully. You don’t know why it’s such a big deal because at the end of the day, you don’t even flaunt it around. Ever since Yoongi gave you his watch for you to wear, things just felt differently.

“It’s just a watch.”

“That’s a Rolex.”

You sigh in acknowledgement, knowing the brand well considering you’d see the insignia every time you look at the time. “And a Rolex is a watch.”

Namjoon chews through his salad quickly, adamant to correct you.

“No, that’s the Rolex Oyster Perpetual Datejust watch,” he shakes his head eagerly, holding up your wrist to point out the craftsmanship. He goes about the tangent on what makes it timeless, on his way to his eighth point of defense before you start growing sick of the jargon.

“Are you being paid to say this or what?” you chuckle, snatching your wrist back. “I didn’t buy this anyway. Yoongi just gave this to me.”

You continue eating but Namjoon stops in his tracks, mouth parting open to try and grasp what you just said.

“He did?” he curls his voice, not wanting to believe it at first. He looks back at the timepiece and he could immediately tell what makes it to be truly Yoongi’s, heartily chuckling once it clicks into his mind. “Huh. Interesting. This watch means a lot to him.”

“Yeah, his first paycheck,” you nod, knowing that he knows about the story too, “but apparently not so much. He told me that I needed it more than he did so he just gave it away.”

How endearing.

“I was with him when he bought that watch,” Namjoon pipes in, genuinely surprising you because it’s the first you’ve heard of it. He smiles at your awe, mumbling to himself when he catches you looking at the watch in wonder. “That’s probably why it doesn’t look weird on you. It’s always been yours.”

“Huh? What do you mean by that?” you catch his words instantly, your eyebrows furrowing with what he just said, “this watch has never been mine before.”

Namjoon doesn’t elaborate, instead just smiling at you. It isn’t his place to tell, but no one really said that it isn’t his position to be happy watching from afar.

“If you say so.”

( ♡ )

If you’re not worrying about Yoongi’s today, then you’re worrying about his tomorrow.

Sometime between his hectic schedule, there were days that opened up the opportunity for relaxation. By relaxation, you mean his rest.

Perhaps the two of you have been desensitized to working extremely tiring workdays that a slightly less tiring day already feels like a vacation. The motions of caring for Yoongi made you realize that you could never properly rest until you’re working on something, whether it would be peeling tangerines while watching your shows or crocheting while getting your pedicures.

You’re so used to the idea of not allowing yourself to rest and it’s taking its toll on you slowly but surely. You aren’t necessarily in denial because after all you know you’re cut out for this job, but sooner or later, you know that this would end one day. You’ve saved more than enough and as much as you aren’t worried about the financial aspect of taking a break and perhaps retiring early, you’re scared shitless.

There would come a time when you have to stop taking care of Yoongi.

Now is not the time though.

"I have an idea,” Yoongi bursts into your office carrying nothing but a paper bag, his smile too wide that you have to take your eyes off of your spreadsheet to savor it fully.

"Mhmm."

He skips past your tone of indifference, sitting at the chair in front of your desk without his grin faltering.

"I'm gonna dye my hair orange,” he announces confidently without any room for doubt. He cheers, even, “It's gonna look so good on me, I swear. Plus my hair's longer now too!"

It suits him, just now realizing that he had a haircut to give shape to the length he’s been growing out; only his sides being buzzed. His bangs are pushed away from his forehead and he looks too pretty this way. A little more rugged and a little less prim, the silhouette of his hair complimenting his features nicely.

You’re only reminded of how you’ve been too silent for too long when Yoongi tilts his head, prompting you to clear your throat as if it never happened.

"That's not a bad idea," you shrug, thinking far ahead of the reactions when his new look gets revealed. His hair has been a faded blonde for quite some time now, but he was easy on the eyes regardless. “It's been awhile since you did something new with your hair."

"I'll fit it in your schedule," you conclude, pulling up your phone amongst the many devices you have a copy of his schedule in. “Are you free on-"

"Now. I'm free now."

There goes Yoongi again with the endearingly eager tone, the one that lulls you to let go a little. He seems excited about it and as much as you don’t want to spoil the mood, you atleast want to let him know about the downsides before you need to rein him in.

"You're doing it yourself?" he hears you wince, scratching your temple unsurely. "I don't know about that, Yoongs. Box dye makes your hair crunchy. Remember when you tried red?"

"One step ahead of you," he beams, taking out item after item from the paper bag he couldn’t seem to let go of when he first entered. "I got what they would use on me in the salon. They even wrote the instructions by hand, look!"

Cute.

Yoongi’s cute.

"You did something by yourself?" you gasp dramatically, receiving the energy right back because he’s in a good mood.

"Shocker, right?" he hums, purposefully taking out the gloves from the bag as the last item. He pulls them out agonizingly slow, making your eyes squint until you sense the material being pushed to your hands. "Least I could do because you're the one who's dyeing my hair."

"What?" your mouth falls open, “you already went to the salon to get these yourself. Couldn't you let them do it instead?" It’s not like the thought of dyeing Yoongi’s hair repulses you, but it just makes you nervous for a reason. It’s too domestic, too intimate because knowing the difference of your nature from being in the hairdressers, the two of you are close. Conversation flows freely while you do such a thing for him.

Being domestic with Yoongi doesn’t scare you — mistaking his definition of normalcy as your intimacy does.

“Silly," he coos, "I'm making you dye my hair so in case it goes bad, I won't blame myself!"

You thank the heavens that Yoongi is himself.

"Perfect."

It’s half an hour later until you get everything sorted out, turning your office into a makeshift salon for the meantime with your main priority being ventilation, your door already opened with numerous fans turned on.

Yoongi seems giddy — in his salon cape with a drink on his hand, even coercing you to look into the mirror in front of the both of you so he could take pictures.

Before you could even do it, he removes his own cap from his head, placing it on yours gingerly.

"Keep it."

"Why?"

He’s used to you asking why but this time around, there’s no grand motive to it. You’re not shivering from cold pool water nor are you being made fun of for your watch. There’s no cause-effect tangent to it this time.

"No reason. I just feel like giving it to you."

You’re used to Yoongi not explaining.

He could enunciate himself well, you know it. But being with him for so long in a way wherein you’re heavily involved, sometimes, Yoongi doesn’t need to explain. You know what he wants and you know what he means before he could open his mouth, needless for a grand explanation.

"You're either a cat or a crow."

The observation you keep at the tip of your tongue slips seamlessly when you see his eyes closed, looking ahead at the reflection to see that you’re still wearing his cap even if he isn’t looking.

"Are you high?" he peeks one eye open, a snort leaving him at the suddenness of your words.

The chuckle that leaves you is warm enough to soothe Yoongi’s cheeks, automatically making him smile.

"Sometimes you bring me your hunts.” Just like Sohee’s cardigan, or better yet the entire concept of his ex-girlfriend. Yoongi could be the cat and Sohee could be the rabbit, but in all honestly, you can’t really tell who is which.

“Sometimes you bring me shiny things." She grounds him to what he’s used to, and he restricts his flight to all he’s ever known. Somewhere along, you’ve just been the designated feeder of the crow for him to come around at times, dropping shiny gifts on your lap; case in point the very watch you wear now.

Crows and cats don’t have a lot in common but one of their similarities is the love for the game — the hunt for what’s normal. One gifts, and one scavenges.

"One day, you'll be putting a dead rat right on my hands and I won't be surprised."

"Ew. I hate rats." Yoongi almost gags in his mouth, the mention of the rodent making his skin crawl.

"If I were to give you a rat, I won't put it in your hands," he clarifies, taking your own analogy to fit his. "I'll just bring you to the rat instead!”

"How romantic."

"I know right," he grins cheesily, obviously pleased with himself. “That way, you’re surprised with something so off-putting.”

( ♡ )

Yoongi has the eye for spontaneity.

He tends to be on the impulsive side, but as far as he knows (emphasis on as far), none of his rash decisions ever resulted into harm. He only wants within reason and after two minutes of just pure critical thinking, he knows what he wants.

To go to the rest stop just wearing his sleep shirt and pajamas, buy three packs of ramen and two freshly-toasted corndogs, split it with you evenly, and eat and talk with you by the spinning high chairs.

Yoongi rings you only once at 9 in the evening, you pick him up, and by 9:42, you’re already cracking eggs and blowing on noodles.

“God, this just hits the spot,” Yoongi moans against the hot meal. He’d been craving for the specific experience for awhile now, missing the atmosphere on going on late night drives and stopovers. It reminds him of the family trips when he was a kid, thoroughly enjoying it even if he was an only child. His dad would fill up the car, his mom would go to the clerk to get the keys for the bathroom, and he’d finally walk with no urgency on his step once it’s over.

Just like his family, you ask him what else he wants to eat. And even if he says there’s nothing else, you grab additional snacks you know he would like. He would just read labels upon the racks of things he can’t normally see in a grocery store, take note of what he wants to buy later, and reserves a seat.

“It’s good that you called me. I was fucking craving for the same exact thing,” you grunt in delight when the hot meal instantly takes you aback, the first bite of it never failing to hit the mark.

You like evening drives and rest stop adventures. There’s something so warm in seeing car windows fog up because of the airconditioner and doodling on the moisture. There’s something so cool in draping makeshift blankets and cramming your hands inside sweaters as soon as everyone talks about the gameplan to not stay for long in the stopover.

There’s something so homey in Yoongi asking you to join him into a distinct experience you wanted to go through again — even if you never told him how much you want what he wants too.

“You took your earrings out?”

He comments when he waits for you to finish the remaining bits of your meal, looking at your side profile when he noticed the lack of jewelry on your ear.

“Mhmm,” you hum in confirmation, eyebrows furrowing when his fingers pinch your lobes in curiosity.

“Here, have this.”

Yoongi removes his own earrings without a second thought, using the overpriced wet tissues to clean them thoroughly.

Perhaps it’s because you’re already used to him and his split-second decisions that you aren’t surprised when he nimbly takes off his own jewelry while you’re eating, focused on his own task.

Yoongi uses his hand to cup your jaw, keeping your side profile faced to him. He knows that you aren’t hurt with piercings but he takes great care anyway when he puts in his hoops on your lobes. He does it closely that you feel hyper-aware of his warm palm on your chin to turn your head the other way, putting in the last earring for you.

"It's white gold," he chimes, flicking you hoops. “Protects you from all the bad things, apparently."

You distract yourself from the incredible warmth you feel by making conversation, turning your attention to the table first before gaining the courage to return the eye contact.

"Bad things?"

Yoongi nods.

"Evil things. I don't know, things that hurt you, I guess. Just bad things."

"You believe in these?"

There’s no malice to your question to at all, the both of you knowing that you wouldn’t ever cross such ground.

"Correction, my mom believes in all these," Yoongi rectifies, laughing in recollection of the random things he knows.

One time during a trip to the rest stop, when his ramen was unbelievably hot and his mom was cooling it down for him, she told him of the little tidbits about white gold to keep him preoccupied. His family wasn’t well-off but he distinctly remembers how all the jewelry he had growing up was all real and pawnable.

"I think believing in these trivial things don't matter that much, honestly. As long as no one gets harmed, it isn't so bad," he shrugs. It takes one, two seconds before he pinches his fingers, finally admitting. “okay, maybe I do believe a little."

"Your earrings better work on me,” you joke, borrowing his overpriced mirror that he bought at the cashier to look at your earrings. “As long as I wear them, I won't be hurt?"

"Well I can't promise that you won't ever be hurt as long as you wear my earrings," Yoongi rolls his eyes as expected, making you do the same.

"Isn't it bad luck to wear secondhand jewelry?"

You point out in realization, holding out your wrist and gently tugging at your earlobes, waiting to see if he has any more tidbits that he knows.

Cute.

You’re cute.

"First off, I gave these to you and you already know me. You didn't buy them from a stranger," he emphasizes, “it's a bit of a grey area but it's only bad luck if the person you got it from had bad intentions."

"And you-"

Yoongi smacks you at the back of the head before you even get to finish your question, being quite the paradox when he does so.

"Of course I don't have bad intentions!" he exclaims, then soothing the back of your head with his warm palm rubbing in circles. "I'll never hurt you, y'know?"

"Hm," you hum, looking away so he wouldn’t see how flustered you are. “If you say so."

You’re about to eat another bite of your ramen when Yoongi surprises you by taking your utensils, putting the portion closer to him so he could blow off the steam.

You almost burnt your tongue, he reasons, making you part your mouth open to feed you.

"See?" he whispers knowingly, flicking both your watch and earrings that were once his. "Good intentions only."

( ♡ )

Every once in a while, Yoongi takes you along with him to his parents’ house.

He’s being a good son by constantly giving back to his parents and recognizing that their upbringing of him tremendously helped him to remain humble in the industry.

He’s being a good son by indulging their giggly requests if he could sign some things for a friend’s daughter or a colleague’s son, even paying attention to his handwriting.

He’s being a good son by keeping his feet on the ground no matter how high he gets because regardless if he’s in his childhood home or not, he would be still be as humble as Min Yoongi, his parents’ son, before he became the renowned personality he is now.

His parents always gush over you and an interaction never passes without them thanking you because in a way, you made their son grow in ways they haven’t. Through it all, they would never forget Yoongi introducing you to them as his manager — a bright-eyed, headstrong individual who in reality, has never become a manager to someone until Yoongi came along.

He’s a good son who is always sincere but you don’t know anything when he pipes in the dinner table when the focus was shifted to you, being frozen in your seat while the coos remained around.

"Girl of my dreams right here.”

Yoongi speaks to his food as if he didn’t call you the girl of his dreams right then and there in front of his parents.

He says it casually as if he was talking about the weather or going on about his tire pressure. He says it so easily as if he’s extremely familiar about it and it makes you warm.

He makes you warm but you always get stiff as if you’re frozen, your eyes unable to remain still through the entirety of dinner.

You’re not sure if it’s Yoongi staying with his filial son role but as soon as the first drop of the heavy rain hits their roof, until realization hits that you only came here through Yoongi’s car, until traffic updates say that there’s zero visibility on road — Yoongi asks you to stay.

"Just sleep in my room."

There’s no argument to it with the way he sternly looks at you, knowing that you’d always avoid being a “burden” even if you aren’t seen as one in the slightest bit; especially where he is– even in his childhood home.

"Where would you sleep?"

"Guest room," he answers nonchalantly. He takes the opportunity to joke, sensing your hesitancy on staying the night even if you knew it was technically impossible to leave. “Why? Thought I was sleeping next to you?"

He wiggles his eyebrows in teasing and as much as it loosened you up a little, you whine in complaint. "But I'm the guest."

"I'm sleeping in the guest room because the AC is much quieter," he whispers in admission, "My bed here is softer but the downside you have is that," he points to the airconditioning unit, “that thing's a mammoth."

"Oh."

Of course, there’s no other reason behind the room assignments besides Yoongi wanting to sleep in peace and quiet. But he senses the way you’re silent over it, rambling nonsense to fill in the void.

"Like seriously, the room shakes and you'd think the cold that comes out of it is proportional to all its heaving. It's like-"

If he was being honest, Yoongi wanted you to sleep in his bedroom because it would help him sleep at night knowing that you’re safe.

He didn’t want to say it out loud but really, he didn’t want you to sleep in the only guest room they had because he had just found out that there was a leak in the ceiling. He wouldn’t make you go through that (and his parents don’t either) which is why even if he had already given his room to you, the moment you turn into bed, he’d be going with his dad to the garage to see if they could patch it up before morning comes.

"Night, Yoongi."

He smiles, hoping he didn’t hurt you drastically this time.

"Good night."

( ♡ )

A manager should always be on-guard.

It was reasonable to think about the worst of everything and everyone in order to gauge the best you could care for your artist. It isn’t exactly hypocritical to do so considering the stakes at hand; you need to do whatever it takes.

You aren’t sure when your level of complacency started. You’re still on the tip of your toes each time you’re working with Yoongi, your quality of work never wavering. You had no problem living up to your reputation.

Your complacency in thinking that nothing would ever hurt Yoongi is far bigger than you expected it to be. You held both him and yourself to the highest degree — there’s sincerely nothing bad to be said about him. His track record’s clean and you intend keeping it that way.

There was no room for error in your management for Yoongi, that much you knew. You know to yourself that you’re the most thorough, intricate, and nurturing they could ever come.

You just don’t know where you went wrong in caring for Yoongi.

“I need you.”

Yoongi calls you on your rest day at 8 in the morning, his calls relentlessly growing in number when you don’t immediately pick up at the first ring. You were supposed to sleep in but at the sight of his name on you personal phone, you already know that the few hours of additional sleep are down the drain.

“What for?”

“I just need you to come.”

His voice is trembling, panicky even. You ask nothing but the address of where you need to go to, hanging up as soon as he mumbles in a daze of where he is now.

By the time you hung up, you were still in bed. You have every intention to get ready as soon as you can, and you’re gonna stand up any second now! Any second now and you screw your eyes shut, exhaling loudly to attend to him. It’s getting harder to wake up for Yoongi’s needs.

By the time you arrive at the broadcasting building he directed you to, you’re already escorted inside in a hurry by guards who saw you coming. Yoongi already gave them the heads-up to let only you in and no one else, catching your breath when you take the elevator with them.

They’re trained to be professional as it was a given. None of them break a sweat but you could see their chests rising, their earpieces giving feedback every two seconds with the way they respond urgently. It must be serious, you think.

You’re escorted into a dressing room that doesn’t have Yoongi’s name on it, being met with said man when you’re practically pushed inside. Your dressing room’s barricaded and you have no time to think when Yoongi pulls you to the corner, your eyes momentarily fleeting to the people inside.

They’re all unfamiliar to you besides Sohee. Several of them lend their gazes to you but they’re all back to being frantic as it seems; some drumming their fingers nervously on the couch, some pacing around the carpet with their phones pressed to their ear.

“Sohee’s bag was stolen.”

Yoongi announces it to you and he gulps the lump in his throat, putting his hands on his hips while he tries to calm down his breathing. Sohee was in the main studio filming an interview for her upcoming drama, he was watching her from backstage, and the rest of the staff were getting lunch in the cafeteria — in turn, no one being left in the dressing room.

“Sohee’s bag was stolen?” you repeat. Your eyebrows knit in confusion, stating the obvious. “That’s not your bag.”

He nods like he understand but you don’t think he understands. There’s not a single explanation of why you’re called here other than his ex-girlfriend’s bag was stolen.

“How does this concern me at all?”

He squints his eyes, surprised why you’re even questioning him. Normally you just do what you’re asked but his mind’s too panicked at the moment to even call you out for it, resorting to pleading. “Because her laptop’s in it. Please. Y/N, you have to start calling who you need to call-“

You’re still lost and you won’t even pretend otherwise, reaching out to grab his arm for him to stop pacing and start explaining instead.

“The studio’s been on lockdown, there’s no one in or out. The one who took it must still be in the building.”

“She could buy a new laptop for fuck’s sake,” you reply crassly, forgetting that Sohee’s still in the same room as you. You don’t know why you’re even summoned here on your rest day. “Why would you call me for something you’re not even involved in?”

“But I-I am involved in it.”

Yoongi swallows the lump in his throat and he could visibly see how your eyes are much more focused now, the nervousness ticking in his spine while you probe him to go further.

“There’s sensitive information of me, of us, in her laptop.”

Your composure starts the clock for its erosion, sucking in a breath while you try to figure out how you’d go with this. “Bank account details? Your home address? What’s in there?”

“Sensitive information.”

“Tell me specifically,” you counter, trying to refresh your knowledge about the people you could connect with to deal with a possible security leak. You start to look for names in your contacts and search for who could get you a direct link to someone who’d be of great help, waiting on his answer

“It’s just — i-it’s sensitive,” he doesn’t help his case at all by being shy about it, pushing you to become more frantic. This whole ordeal is time-sensitive and if he trips on his words more, the aftermath of it would be far more tensioned than the room is now.

“I can’t help you if I don’t know, Yoongi!”

Yoongi sucks in a breath and he feels tears pricking at his eyes out of the pressure in his stomach, cracking his fingers. He shuts his eyes to try and compose himself, grounding whatever’s left of his sanity by looking at you.

“Sex tape.”

He didn’t know what reaction to expect from you and to be honest, he doesn’t even know if he’d like any of them. Admitting it to you is far more painful than thinking about the possible repercussions of this whole thing.

You don’t know what your face does. You can’t tell if it dimmed with anger or if it fell with disappointment. You can’t discern if your mouth falls open at surprise or if it fell in surprise. You wouldn’t know what you feel even if someone placed a mirror in front of you.

“Sohee and I have a sex tape in there.”

You gather every last bit of your resolve, call out for Sohee’s manager in the room, and go to work.

You go to work immediately about retracing every last person and interaction they have been exposed to; be it Yoongi and Sohee themselves or the staff members. You direct the room and distribute numbers for them to call, under the strict instruction that they contact these people under your name and no one else’s.

You pick up and bark replies at everyone who’s responded to your request for help, Sohee’s staff (who you didn’t even know of until ten minutes ago) calling your attention as soon as they get a definitive answer from their contact.

You direct the building security to look for every cranny that both Yoongi and Sohee’s party went through the moment they went through the studio. You get a radio to be informed about any suspicious movement that went in and out of the dressing room upon their ongoing review on the security cameras.

You ring up Namjoon due to the gravity of the situation. He does the work himself, getting his driver to hightail through the red lights to get to where you and Yoongi were as fast as possible. He calls the people he know on the inside; a high-ranking police officer to speed up the operations in retrieving the laptop and for the upcoming charges, and a bigshot lawyer in case everything goes to shit and the sex tape ends up hitting the internet.

Everything is fast-paced for the next half hour that as soon as you get the acknowledgement in your end of communication, the tension of everything that unfolded not immediately melting even when you get the good news.

“It was a stalker that started working as an intern in advance when he heard Sohee was doing a new drama. He guessed that you’d get an interview here during the promotions because the show you went on is famous. He’s been caught already — he already had previous charges before this.”

Sohee’s manager breaks the good news, making the people inside the dressing room visibly deflate in relief.

“Nothing was touched. Your laptop couldn’t be opened anyway because the battery was out.”

“Was the battery out the last time you used it?” Yoongi asks her just to make sure, the rest of the people listening in because he did make a good counter.

Sohee eagerly nods her head, swiping the sweat from her forehead. “Yeah, yeah! I was meaning to charge it.”

That was the end of it.

That was supposed to be the end of it but Yoongi barely feels relieved.

“That was a close one.”

Namjoon broke the terse silence with the small comment and as if on cue, both Yoongi and Sohee apologize deeply with a bow in front of their staff. None of them had a reason to stay any longer in the building considering what had just happened, Sohee and her team being the ones to pack up earlier.

Namjoon’s bound to have a long talk with Yoongi but he excuses himself for the day, giving him nothing but a stern instruction to see him tomorrow, before leaving.

Yoongi drove on his own to the studio and he could head home right at this moment but he sees you hanging back in the same dressing room, your expression unreadable.

He has every resource and reason to leave right now — to reel back from what happened and save himself from a scolding. He could and can do that right now, but oddly enough, Yoongi feels like he deserves this.

He deserves your blank gaze at nothing in particular before it grows angry at the realization that he’s still not leaving the room.

Seeing Yoongi infuriates you.

He doesn’t know where to start but he professes his honesty first, his stinging tears not holding back this time round.

“I-I have nothing to say for myself,” he shakes his head. “I’m sorry.”

You don’t say anything. You stay silent and withhold any fibre of attention from him. You can’t even look him in the eye and Yoongi can’t deal with it for the life of him.

“The tape’s from last year a-and we thought-“

“I don’t fucking care if that sex tape was from last year or yesterday.”

You grit your reply through your teeth, every last bit of your patience running out at the exact second he decided to defend himself.

“You’re so stupid, Yoongi!” you exclaim in sheer disdain. “Fuck whoever you want but you do not make a sex tape! You don’t film it in laptops! You don’t film yourself cumming on Sohee!”

You can’t even stomach what had and what could have happened in the last hour. It physically makes you sick and you can’t wrap your head around how come you’re the most shaken of them all, barely able to hold it together.

You’ve held it for the last hour but you can’t even try to pretend you’re composed. You’re the furthest thing from being level-headed right now and your loss of grip makes you spiral, unable to grasp even a single straw.

“Do you know how much this could’ve hurt you?”

Frustrated tears spring out of your eyes and throughout the years he’s known you, this is the first time Yoongi’s ever seen you cry. This is the first time he’s ever seen you so wrecked and upset that his mind blanks on how he could help you. You always know what to do for whatever happens to him, today being a clear example — but you’re crying. You’re crying and it’s a cake walk against all the shit about him you’ve had to solve, but Yoongi can’t do anything.

“Her laptop’s backed up into the cloud, for god’s sake! Anyone could’ve hacked her, even!” you point out further. “Everything would be over for you just because you wanted to film your dick getting wet.”

You’ve never had such a drastic release of emotions. You’ve never cried this hard and this frustratedly to the point you whimper and wail to your hands unintelligibly. You’re so, so spent and for once, you focus on no one but yourself.

You focus on nothing besides the rapid rise and fall of your chest, the sobs you’ve never heard coming from your own mouth wracking your ribs.

You focus on nothing besides the way your head feels like it’s splitting open from all off your accumulated stress.

In respect to the time you last did it in years, you focus on no one but yourself.

“Think, Yoongi! Wouldn’t it hurt to just fucking think sometimes?”

“I-I’m sorry! I already told you I’m sorry!” he cries in between hiccups, trying to get you to look at him.

“You’re not sorry enough,” you grit. “What would you have done if it was leaked, huh? You think I can clean up your mess this time? You think I can just bitch at everyone again so they forget your screw-up?”

You save yourself some dignity by aiming straight for the door, another set of footsteps trying to trail after you.

“Don’t be like this,” he pleads, his voice hoarse as he begs to get you to stay. “W-where are you going? Y/N please!”

“Get out of my way.”

Yoongi is neither a cat or a crow, but he is himself. And as what he once promised, he brings you to the rat; something so off-putting and gut-wrenching.

In your rush to get out, your earrings get caught at a hook by the door. You’re desperate enough to leave that you push through, barely feeling the pain.

Your ear burns and although it's not torn, you feel the sting of the tiny tear of your– Yoongi's earring on your lobe, the warm sensation of red making you shiver for a vague second.

You're hurt.

( ♡ )

For the first time ever, you take a break.

You grab an overdue two-week break you’re entitled to but have never used, and you make the most of it.

Namjoon granted it for you instantly without asking any questions, even going as far as telling you that you could charge everything on the bottomless company card.

Both your personal and work phones were turned off, only responding to urgent situations through email which you thankfully had none of so far.

It’s at a Monday night when you go to a high-end club you’ve only seen from the outside, the scene indoors still as frisky and dirty as other places, but this time with a little more tact.

There’s more than a handful of familiar faces you see but none of the interactions you see now are for the camera. You came here simply to be a part of the environment, not to necessarily get wasted. Oddly enough you crave the busy environment even if the people here aren’t in a rush to go somewhere; and neither are you.

“I know you.”

Someone beside your bar stool chimes and you have to rely on the dim glow of the bar to identify who it was, waiting for the aid of the flashing lights to illuminate the figure.

He’s as handsome as it goes with his sharp, refined features — plump lips and kind eyes with an athletic figure, his jet black hair slicked back prettily.

“I know you too,” you reply just as surely.

He chuckles heartily, his broad shoulders coming along with him as he tilts his head. He’s charming, really.

“You’re the pretty girl backstage who told me someone was taking pictures of me while I was changing,” he reminisces, remembering your goodwill of informing him. He didn’t even know he was having his pictures taken by a perverted intern, but before he could even thank you, you call out the intern loudly and publicly until he gets taken by security. “I only caught your name after I walked the runway. I didn’t get to thank you back then.”

Your eyes glaze at Kim Seokjin’s honesty because the moment he opened his mouth, you thought you would be known for one thing only — you thought he would define you as Yoongi’s manager.

The surprise encompasses you that during your first interaction outside of work, and even throughout, Seokjin would always know you as the one who gave him a heads-up from years ago. He remembered the small act of kindness back when you were a rookie manager and he was a rookie model. In fact, that whole incident almost slipped your mind if not for his memory. Now that you recall, you were only there backstage for Yoongi but in your nature, you couldn’t help but to look out for him too.

“You’re the pretty boy who gave me heat packs in that outdoor shoot.”

It was Seokjin’s turn to be awed, lips curling over the fact that you remember the tiny act of service from years ago. It was after his changing incident, but he didn’t get to thank you properly because your guard dog (read: Yoongi) kept hounding him away from you, so all he managed to do was put heat packs on your lap in a hurry.

In that moment, you didn’t know each other as your reputations.

In Jin’s eyes, you weren’t Yoongi’s manager.

In your eyes, he wasn’t the esteemed rival that Yoongi hated the most.

You knew of their history briefly. From Yoongi’s retelling, they were high school buddies whose friendship turned sour when they were vying for the same big modeling agency who only had one slot left for its roster. Seokjin was the one who got accepted and Yoongi swears to you that his ex-friend must’ve sabotaged his application. It turned out for the better because he ended signing with Namjoon instead (and look where he is now!) but he still won’t let go of what allegedly happened.

Now that you think about it, Yoongi’s dislike for Seokjin just seems one-sided. It was all based on assumption, and you know well how the logic of it is flawed.

You came here to unwind, and just by the karma of goodwill, you come home with Seokjin.

He’s attentive with the way he kisses you deeply, mouth trailing hot against yours and he isn’t shy to show you just how much he wants you, where he wants you, and how exactly he wants you.

He’s addictive to the point you only think what he wants you to, nothing else but your pleasure and him who gives it. He’s selfless with the way he takes his time to not half-ass anything with the pretty girl he came home with, skilled in every which way.

“You haven’t been getting what you deserve lately, have you?”

Seokjin asks in the middle of leaving hickies on the inside of your thighs, his warm palm pressed flat against your clit — rubbing almost lazily to give you a break before pushing you to another high again for the night.

“And what do I deserve, hm?” you ask him to humor you through heavy-lidded eyes, the unreleased tension you’ve harbored finally getting released little by little.

Seokjin thinks you’re hot; admirable. You’re a little mean but he loves it just like that, licking his lips in sincerity amidst lust. “Worshipped.”

“Don’t worry, baby,” he fucks you unlike any other, undoing all the sexual frustration you’ve had because of your busy career. He gives you everything in the same way you bare yourself, and you don’t mind if it’s only for the night. “I’ll take good care of you.”

( ♡ )

The plan was to resign, pack up your office, and get your last paycheck from Namjoon.

It was meant to be a smooth transaction, double-checking with him and the stand-in manager that you wouldn’t bump into Yoongi and have an unnecessary confrontation.

You’ve only opened both of your phones now after two weeks and not a second later upon opening them, hundreds of notifications started flooding in. You couldn’t even scroll past without your phone glitching, sometimes even freezing in between messages that get previewed.

You aren’t scared of seeing Yoongi — you simply just don’t want to see him if you had the chance to. Your anger for him no longer remains but you know you can’t stomach the sight of him either.

He became listless starting two weeks ago and just at the signal of a security guard he’s tipped off (to notify him if you enter the premises), he immediately comes to you.

You don’t even get to finish packing your desk and drawers because Yoongi bursts through your door in a hurry.

He looks haggard; way unlike him. He looks distraught and that’s because he truly is, stopping at nothing to try and contact you during the time you’ve been gone. He’s relieved to see you, he really is, but that feeling of solace completely leaves him when he realizes what you’re here for.

“Was that it?” he blurts out, eyes already stinging just from seeing you.

“Was that the plan all along? You take a two-week leave from being my manager and then suddenly, you resign?! You resign and you become Seokjin’s manager?” he says the last part in a whisper, unsure if he hears correctly what he’s even saying. “The whole point of your break is to leave me?”

You’re calm but it doesn’t placate him, the genuine confusion over what he’s last said apparent.

“Where’s this coming from?”

“And that’s the first thing you say for yourself?” Yoongi’s eyes widen. “I’m over here losing my shit because you’re replacing me with the person I hate most, and you’re asking me where’s this coming from?”

He knows where’s this coming from.

He knows that the reason for the feeling of betrayal looming in his chest is a couple of pictures, supposedly a blind item article of Seokjin. Out of all people, he would know how the paparazzi are extremely invasive of celebrities’ privacy. He hates being the center of them and hates reading them even more, but it’s you.

But it’s you and him.

“There’s pictures of you online having lunch with him. You have your mask on but I could spot you from anywhere. What else could you possibly be meeting him for?”

He knows it’s bad of him to jump into conclusions and rely solely on assumptions, but it’s not as if you were denying them now. You know about his distrust for the guy and you’ve been with him for years. Shouldn’t you be on his side?

“I’m not his manager. I didn’t meet him for that.”

He knows he should feel relief but at the same time, the unease that comes with it overpowers. If it wasn’t business, then it was personal. It’s the thought of the latter that makes him weak on the knees, swallowing his fear when he dares to ask you.

“Then what else could you-“ he goes straight in, “you were meeting with him outside of work?”

“Yeah, I was.”

Yoongi always tries to be lovable.

He always tries to not look at anyone the wrong way and makes it a point to be kind, distinguishing himself from the attitude of his manager. Although not once did your attitude get him in trouble, he wouldn’t lie and say that he gets embarrassed to be linked with you sometimes.

Sometimes, he wants to crawl into a hole underground when you confront someone over something he could easily overlook.

There are times when he wants you to just let him take the beating, to let him take the unfairness of others’ actions instead. He doesn’t want you jumping to his defense all the time because he doesn’t want to be known as someone who hides behind their manager’s back.

But now, now that he tastes the bitter feeling of what tastes like betrayal, he’s not so sure if it was right of him to feel embarrassed of you.

“Why would you meet with my enemy?”

There are times when you don’t want Yoongi to be the artist you manage.

He tends to be too full of himself at times, so much so that you get culture shock when you interact with someone who isn’t a celebrity in the likes of him. He associates you with himself all the time and as much as it flatters you, it could be annoying just like what he’s doing now.

You and Yoongi aren’t the same person.

“My problems don’t revolve around your problems, Yoongi!”

“Well they should!” he spits, looking down on you. “That’s the whole reason you’re my-“

“Manager? Again? My whole life should only revolve and stop in the name of yours because I’m your manager?”

The slow build of your anger speeds up at the word. Manager. Manager. You’ve heard it too many times in your lifetime and it’s sickening. It makes you want to throw up in the inside of your mouth and you want to purge itself clean. It’s no longer a title you adored but instead, it’s become an entity with a shadow bigger than yourself.

“My life revolves way too much around you, Yoongi. I’m getting sick of it!”

He swallows the hurt at your insistence of separating your life from his, even if you’ve spent the prime of your years with each other. The both of you grew up too fast but you grew up with each other, your lives getting entangled in the way.

“You don’t get to complain because you stuck around for it. Your job is to take care of me.”

“I know I accepted the job. I know it was my job to take care of you,” you emphasize the past tense but he tries to rectify it quickly, head insistently shaking no.

“Is. It is still your job.”

Yoongi clinging to you used to be a good thing. It used to remind you of how good you are and how compatible the both of you go along with each other, but this was different. Yoongi’s clinging to you because he refuses to accept no other choice, not even seeing past the work you’ve undertaken that’s becomes detrimental to your wellbeing as a whole.

It hurts to say but the words slips out of you regardless.

“But you’re too much, Yoongi. You are too much for me.”

“Oh, I’m too much?”

He’s fighting his tears but he knows he’s not feeling you. You’ve seen him vulnerable too many times to count but he’s stubborn. He’s stubborn and he fights with you because it’s the only thing that would keep you here. tongue against the inside of his cheek.

“Yeah, I said what I said,” you reply but your voice trembles. “But you don’t tell me that I don’t have the right to complain because it’s my job to put up with you.”

The offense you take to his words grow bigger because in hindsight, all that you have endured have basically been fit into a single nametag — all the burdens you have gone through and all the hurt you carried being reduced to a job you easily could’ve abandoned in the first place.

“I’m sorry that I complained because I was cleaning up after your messes and you don’t even apologize to me once about what you’ve caused. I’m so sorry for getting frustrated because I could move mountains for you and you wouldn’t even thank me once because it’s my job, right?”

You’re crying and you hate it with the pride you try so hard to protect, but if you were to be honest with yourself, the concept of pride had long been gone the moment you signed up to take care of Yoongi.

“I’m sorry that I got short with you because I was preventing your sex tape from hitting the internet.”

The mention of it hits deep and he visibly recoils, hot tears falling on his cheeks to the point that they get red under the sting.

“You have everyone and everything! I take care of you before I take care of myself. I bend at your will and act for your own good but you can’t even take no from me as answer. I get tired taking care of you and the moment I let myself go, you won’t let me?”

Somehow, you knew the reason all this time of why you felt sluggish every time you wake up. You wake up for your job, for Yoongi. He’s the reason you wake up but frankly it hasn’t been enough for quite some time, the task of being there for him feeling like an obligation more than it is a passion.

“I can’t go home for my mom’s birthday because you need me to deliver flowers to your ex-girlfriend. I can’t take my nephew to school because you need me to fetch your suits for you. I can’t do anything for myself without feeling guilty that I’m not putting you first!”

By now you’re crying like the last time you saw him, but you don’t crumble underneath him. You’re hurt but you’re trying to will your knees in taking the weight of your heart.

“Do you know that I go to work even if you don’t? I take care of you even if you’re on break. I take care of you even if you’re celebrating your mother’s birthday abroad. I take care of you even if I’m not beside you.”

You’re exhausted. You’re spent. You’re burnt out and you can’t see the end of the tunnel. You’re not fire — you don’t ignite all of a sudden after being extinguished just because of a random chunk of ember.

“Wanna know why I met with Seokjin?” you ask him, not waiting for an answer. There’s no weight in admitting it, but your chest oddly feels lighter saying it to Yoongi. “He fucked me.”

“He fucked me silly, and then took care of me good. After that, he took me to lunch, asked for my number, then drove me home.”

Yoongi’s chest tightens and he doesn’t comment because he physically can’t. His throat feels like caving in and there aren’t any words he can force out of his windpipe.

“Seokjin isn’t anyone to me besides a friend but he sees me,” you gently tell him, going awestruck again because after a long time, someone recognized you as your own self, not an attachment to Yoongi.

“He doesn’t know my favorite color but he knows how to apologize when he wakes me up by accident in the middle of the night.”

Sorry I didn’t know you were asleep!!! Just pretend I didn’t call, it’s not urgent anyway. Good night :)

“He doesn’t know my favorite meal but he knows how to thank me when I do even the simplest of things for him.”

You’re unreal :O

Did you seriously find the book that I was talking about??

THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOUUUUUU

“I’m not Jin’s manager but if there was a chance to, I’d take it.”

You whisper in admission and for a fraction of a second, you regret your words.

It takes one, two seconds to look at Yoongi. You look at Yoongi and you see a reflection of you, someone who never stops in the name of his success. You stay behind his shadow even if your care for him surpasses it in enormity and frequency, because even in the dark, you’re there.

But you’re always there.

You don’t want to be in the dark with him anymore.

“I’m tired of you, Yoongi.”

You say outloud and it hurts you unlike no other to admit it. Saying it honestly takes the life out of you and not once did you think you would be ever coming to this; to be stopping at a point. “I’m tired of taking care of you.”

“Yoongi, if you want to eat ramen in a convenience store at night, you don’t look for your manager — you look for your girlfriend,” the sigh that leaves you turns into a whimper, a silent plea to your heart to stop working the way it is now.

“You don’t give away your precious watches to your manager, Yoongi — you give them to girlfriends,” the whimper that builds up in your throat is too big that you have to swallow it down, a pitiful sob breaking out from you.

“You don’t bring your manager to your childhood home, ask her to sleep in your bedroom, and call her the girl of your dreams in front of your parents. You do that with girlfriends, Yoongi,” and finally, the sob you once let out turns into a cry.

“I must be as fucking crazy as you are,” you shake your head, laughing in disbelief.

You must be truly losing it at this point, baring your all to someone who always did to you, but you regret only admitting this now.

“At one point, I thought I was yours.”

“At some point, I started taking care of you like it wasn’t my job,” you nod to yourself and you’re oblivious of how Yoongi has his face planted on his hands, choking in quiet sobs. “And that’s on me. That’s my mistake.”

“You’ve exhausted every single thing I’ve had to keep wanting you,” your words are out there already, unable to be taken back. “I’m so, so tired, Yoongi.”

There’s no grand ending to your argument. None of you take it beyond far with your yelling. The both of you are quiet, defeated even.

There’s no fight in it left,

or so you think.

“I think I’m outgrowing you.”

( ♡ )

Namjoon’s on the phone when Yoongi knocks on his door.

Yoongi looks more composed this time, seeing to it that he’s wearing new, clean clothes and he has the energy to take a shower. Apart from that, he still looks like a mess. He looks and is fatigued.

“I’m going on a hiatus.”

He announces thickly into the air as if he just relayed this afternoon’s weather forecast, making the CEO lay the telephone flat against the table.

“Excuse me, what?” Namjoon enunciates, eyes blinking wildly. “You don’t give yourself a hiatus, Yoongi. That’s not how it works.”

“That’s how it works now.”

He shrugs carelessly, exhaling heavily.

“I’m on an indefinite hiatus until Y/N comes back.”

Namjoon’s not surprised about the ultimatum but he’s curious. His annoyance for Yoongi is trumped by his curiosity. His voice has always been full of conviction but now it’s soft, feeling pity automatically lace his tone.

“If she doesn’t?”

It’s clockwork.

“Then I’m not coming back.”

“If I don’t grant your demand for a hiatus?” his head tilts, gauging just how far he’d go for you.

“Then I leave.”

Yoongi’s unsure why Namjoon would ask these things even if it’s clear as day. He indulges the questions but it doesn’t mean he’s letting the course steer away from his intention.

“I’m only going where Y/N’s going.”

“Look, I don’t know what entirely happened between the two of you. My assumptions could only go so far,” Namjoon professes, running his fingers through his hair in thought, “but it doesn’t take a genius to see that your relationship isn’t strictly professional.”

Anyone could see through it.

Anyone could see how you and Yoongi are in love with each other and how the two of you do nothing about it.

“I’m not gonna go on a tangent about it. You’re my best talent and Y/N’s my best manager,” he reveals his practical sense of thinking. “I’m speaking to you as a friend, Yoongi.”

“You’re putting your career — everything you’ve worked for — on Y/N,” Namjoon says solemnly, treading lightly on his weighted words. “You don’t even know if she’ll come back.”

“It’s only right,” Yoongi surprises him with his answer. If you don’t come back, then neither does he. “I honestly wouldn’t have even worked as hard if not for her. Everything I am now, where I’m at,” he smiles gently, “it’s because she was there.”

There’s a comfortable silence between them, the both of them knowing what would come out of this.

“You’re going in on this blind.”

“I’m as good as blind without her.”

“Yoongi,” Namjoon stress, “what you’re doing is basically penance.”

“Is it?” his head tilts, genuinely curious. “This hiatus won’t hurt me. They’re all nothing but cancelled schedules to me now.”

“Then what are you doing this for?”

“I don’t know what to call it.” For the first time, Yoongi feels at bliss not knowing. “It just feels right.”

“No matter how big I get, it all means nothing to me,” there’s nothing but a clearer truth for him. “Y/N’s my roots.”

Yoongi’s rooted to you, his existence running deeper when you’re there. You ground him in the same time that you make him grow. You make him lose his bearings in seasons but you’re definite in making him bloom brighter after. There’s seasons when he’s dried up and you let him stay that way but you make sure he bounces back to his peak, if not better.

“Okay,” Namjoon concludes. “I’ll have someone draft the announcement for your hiatus this afternoon.”

Yoongi leaves the room lighter than when he came there. There’s no bounce to his step but he walks a little less glumly now; a little less lost.

“Still there?” Namjoon checks up on the other end of the call, a chuckle leaving his throat.

“Yeah,” you confirm albeit a little choked up. “Still here.”

( ♡ )

Yoongi’s drunk on a Monday evening and it’s Jimin who has to pick up the pieces.

It’s only been a little more than a month since Yoongi went on hiatus. He’s doing better compared to the last time he was on shambles, but he’s just a tiny little insignificant human without a Y/N on his side, so yeah — he does have those off-days.

“Y/N hates me.”

“She doesn’t hate you,” Jimin repeats, swearing that this entire conversation had already happened three times before in the span of tonight.

“I’d hate me too,” he agrees, bringing up his shot glass that’s just water Jimin switched it out for. “She’s sick of me.”

“She’s not-“

“She told me,” he whines. “And I said mean things to her. I put her through so much shit and I gave her shit when she was simply just feeling,” he deflates to the cushions, sinking further and further into the stick floors that Jimin has to reel him back in. “I’m so mean.”

Yoongi keeps throwing back shots (read: water) that Jimin keeps giving him, going the extra mile of wincing as the liquid hits (read: hydrates) his throat.

“I’m the asshole,” he points to his face, pouting. “Through and through, I’m the one who hurts her.”

“Have you seen Y/N since y’know... your fight?”

Yoongi shakes his head no.

“Do you know where she lives?”

Yoongi nods.

“Then why won’t you come to her?”

It’s a no-brainer question for Jimin, really. The reason why not doesn’t ever cross his mind and he fears he’ll never get it because it simply makes no sense.

“Because I always come to her,” Yoongi says, a little less drunk but not less sincere. “I don’t wanna upset her further.”

“Don’t wanna hurt her more than I already did.”

“I don’t wanna force myself in if there’s no space for me,” he continues, “it suffocates me to be away from her but this would be better for her sake.”

Jimin has a small smile on his face, already knowing the answer before he asks.

“And who decided that?”

“I did.”

“Why would you?”

“Why would I show my face to someone who doesn’t want to see me?” he sing-songs, the reason being as suspiciously transparent than the “shots” he’s been throwing back. “To someone who thinks they’re outgrowing me?”

“What if she wants to see you too?”

Jimin purses his lips, trying not to give himself away. Yoongi can read through him and one look at him as all it’ll take to sense that he knows something, but Yoongi’s gaze is elsewhere. He’s looking at his lockscreen that’s been set the two of you, already years since he’s last change it.

“Then I’ll crawl back home to her.”

( ♡ )

Half a year has passed and Yoongi emailed you everyday.

When the weather is cold and the car windows fog from the outside, you give Yoongi a call.

Half a year has passed and you find yourselves sitting shoulder to shoulder at the rest stop you last went to, waiting for each other’s ramen to cool down.

The both of you are healthier and look the part, a lot more light shared between the two of you.

Neither of you would lie and say you didn’t feel the passage of time nor the distance because you felt it every single day without fail. Not one of you would pretend and say it’s as if the two of you weren’t apart for half a year.

You’ve felt each month, each day, of half a year.

When Yoongi parks next to your car, the first thing you do is embrace him. You don’t suck in his warmth but instead you add to it, not a single space of the cold air flowing between your bodies.

Yoongi missed you so much.

Halfway through his daily emails, you started to respond from time to time. You’d write back to him to answer questions and acknowledge written apologies until eventually, you start to ask him if he’s eating his meals and if he’s sleeping well. You’ve been lax for the past six months and so has he, keeping up with the flow of his hiatus.

The second thing you do after seeing him is apologize. You’re flawed and you don’t doubt that you’ve contributed your own mistakes to your fall-out, and you own up to it fully.

There’s something so warm in being next to Yoongi whose hands are as cold as ice, bursting out laughing when he resorts to sitting on them to try and have the temperature up. It’s the weighted, needed warmth; neither is it suffocating nor overwhelming.

There’s something so cool in spontaneously buying a blanket from the rest stop (you each have one in your own cars but you intentionally don’t say it) and sharing it between the two of you, draped on your bodies while you sit as close as you could to each other. It’s a gentle breeze (maybe it’s the airconditioner directly above you) but it’s cool on the skin; it’s neither nippy nor bitter.

“When someone’s too vast to occupy the space in your heart,” you speak tenderly, “you don’t call that outgrowing, Yoongs.”

You’re in between sharing your meals that you decide to address all that you’ve been through, specifically your words that have admittedly made a home in the back of his head.

“You call that love.”

Love terrifies you and so does the overwhelming pressure of commitment but with Yoongi, it’s a little less scary.

“You’re a little too much for me, I’m not gonna lie about that,” you laugh playfully and you make sure Yoongi reads your tone, assuringly patting his thigh before pinching his cheek. “But it isn’t so bad.”

“I choose to make space for you everyday.”

The both of you have always known but now feels the only time you deem is perfect to profess your love. There’s no other moment, no other scene fitting to the two of you that’s just raw and genuine as this would come.

Yoongi grins and he finds no need in trying to contain his happiness, scratching the corner of his eyes before he prods you gently.

“Take off the watch.”

“This is mine now,” your eyebrows defensively furrow, instinctively taking the watch closer to yourself because you’ve grown to love it a lot.

“I’m not taking it away from you,” he laughs heartily before trying again, circling his hand on your wrist. “Look closer.”

Yoongi looks at you in anticipation, nodding at you when you give him an unsure look.

“W-well I’ve never had a Rolex before so I’m not really sure what I’m looking at,” you chuckle nervously, curious to know if he’s talking about a defect you don’t know about. Yoongi waits again this time with a knowing look, prodding you to look even closer and just take the second to see, knowing you’ve caught the sight when your eyes suddenly narrow before widening.

“Wait, you had this engraved?”

Your eyes feel deceived for a second because not once have you ever inspected it this closely, a gasp leaving your lips when you look to Yoongi in confirmation.

If lost, return to Y/N.

“Why not you?”

The watch was his, the watch is his. There’s no sense in having it engraved in the name of someone else’s when he bought it for himself.

“Everything goes through you,” he says simply. “And I won’t have it any other way.”

Yoongi loves you more than he can ever say.

“I had it engraved the day I bought it.”

“But that was-“

“My first paycheck,” he confirms with a smile, “years ago.”

You remember the year distinctly, even recalling how Namjoon came with Yoongi to buy something for himself from his first ever paycheck.

How Namjoon said that the watch, specifically in his own words and emphasis, the Rolex Oyster Perpetual Datejust, doesn’t look weird on you because it’s always been yours.

“Five years ago.”

He nods at your memory, shifting his hand to hold yours.

“Even before we made it big. Even before I had all the proper headshots you’d have in an actual studio. Before anyone even wanted me,” Yoongi laughs, his eyes proving all his sincerity. “Well I didn’t exactly have the money for a watch in those times for me to engrave your name on, but I’d scribble it here and there.”

Here and there — every item he deemed important.

“The corner of my résumé. The back of my portraits. The tag on my wallet. The soles of my shoes. Everywhere,” he giggles at how far he’s went, how far the two of you went.

When you put the black cap he’s given to you under the light, you could see return to Y/N in black marker you’d miss if not for the change of lighting.

When you remove the earrings he gave you, you could see your initials engraved by the inside groove.

When you take the time to look at the luggage tags of every backpack, every duffel, every suitcase he’s ever owned — you’d see the return address as your own instead of his.

Yoongi thinks there's no other time, no other place than now– in a rest stop, sharing an overpriced blanket between the two of you and in the middle of eating ramen– to profess his love for you.

“I’ll always remember my way back home.”

---

Anyone But The Groom | myg

❅ Summary: After a meet-cute that brings all the romcoms to shame, you realize that for once in your life, the stars have finally aligned and presented you a guy that might be able to make you believe in love at first sight. Only to find out that you’re in charge of planning his Christmas Eve Wedding.

❅ Title: Anyone But The Groom

❅ Pairing: Yoongi x female reader

❅ AU: Wedding Planner reader x Arranged Marriage groom Yoongi

❅ Genre: fluff, angst, smut, slow burn, will-they-won’t-they type of relationship

❅ Word Count: 36.5k (I AM SO SORRY)

❅ Warnings: cursing, alcohol, Yoongi not technically cheating on his fiancé but it’s a gray area (flirting), angst, TWO POV CHANGES IN THE FIC (Yoongi’s perspective), excplicit smut: edging (m receiving), overstimulation (f receiving), cumplay, cumeating, fingering, handjob, unprotected sex, creampie. Also, the character of Sojung is Sowon from Gfriend (her real name) so if you wanna imagine her like I did while writing, go ahead. 

❅ Movie Inspo: The Wedding Planner (2001)

The amazing banner is by @kookdiaries, of course.  This fic is a part of the Christmas in July collab, the  A Winter Wedding Season part, hosted by @kookdiaries, @kithtaehyung and @xiaokoo. 

A lot of people beta-ed this monster so if i forget to mention someone PLEASE shout at me to edit! Betas, Editors, Test Readers that I can’t thank enough: @joyfulhopelox, @xiaokoo, @sunshinekims, @bangtanhome @kithtaehyung & last but not least @dinamitae. Thank you, it meant the world to me. 

So there we go. My first ever collab. Hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think of the story and if it’s what you expected 🧡 Taglist is at the very bottom 🧡 (btw, this was a bitch to format and i am sorry if there are any mistakes!)

Keep reading

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“Your life in a small countryside village was nothing of the extraordinary, you owned a quaint little teashop, enjoyed warm evenings in your garden and liked taking walks by the river. One day a handsome stranger moves in the abandoned cottage opposite side of the river and it is not long that he becomes a source of comfort in your life.”

Pairing: Yoongi x f.Reader

Genre: s2l!AU, Neighbours!AU, Teashop!AU, Slice of Life!AU, Romance, Fluff, Smut

Warnings: This is a very feel good story, meant to comfort the soul and warm the heart. However it contains talks about car accidents and memory loss, as well as sexually explicit scenes. If you are sensitive to such topics I advise you read with care. 

Wordcount: in progress

~ New chapters will be released every Saturday 5pm CET! ~

#01 - Oolong

#02 - Matcha

#03 - Earl Grey

#04 - Darjeeling

#05 - Baicha

#06 - Rooibos

#07 - Cinnamon & Orange Peel

#08 - Yuja

~ Tell me if you want to be added ~

@bts-fan-obsessed @anonymous2505 @jikooksgirl19 @lilmeowmeowyoongles @fan-ati–c @trusfatedk00kie  @cravingforhotchocolate @seagulljk @greezenini @pb-n-juju @issysor @callmejimmeo @aidam391 @fancycollectormoon @pandxthings @thisartemisnevermisses @jenjensworld @yjmim @cantchooseanamebye  @halesandy @lilacdreams-00 @instabull  @babycoffeefire @lynnloveshobi @thequeen-kat @kissme-ornot @dunixxd @soeur-de-ame @vintaegegirl @black-rose-29 @jeoniejaykay @munkey888 @natalie-rdr @kookprada @becomingbts @seesawyoonki @xjordynary @athxnss @overtherainbow35 @persphonesorchid​ @katieraven​ @longtimenospooning-luci​ @feral-daisy​ @jub-jub​ @borahae-reads​  @moonchild1​ @wholys-healthy-corner​ @jwlmnbt​ @strawberryjimin13​​

---

souvenir

pairing: yoongi x reader

wordcount: 3k

glimpse: shouldn’t this be the part where you tell him not to stay out too late?

alternatively, yoongi thinks you hate him because you don’t coddle him after a fight.

[ So Much Pining but they’re already in a relationship lol, some angst from a lil fight, yoongi likes being chased but u don’t indulge him this time, 10/10 wholesome ]

notes: a little something as i come back to writing <3 this is a new fic universe altogether and may be a slice of life series :O

as always, lmk what you think <3 send in feedback n love to my askbox anytime!! even replying to this post sends me over the moon :)

Yoongi relishes in being difficult.

He’s difficult in the way that he’s stubborn for whatever it is, no matter how low he could stoop. It’s definitely a working progress, but your boyfriend just stillhasn’t shaken the urge to always have the last say.

It wasn’t a deep control thing, honestly — Yoongi just really loves pushing your buttons. 

If Yoongi could find a route to piss you off, he’d take a million little detours in the process just for you to take the cake by the end of it. When you present to him a simple yes or no question, he’d find a way to shift the topic altogether for your conversation to go absolutely nowhere.

He’s annoying, there’s really no doubt about it. It was a learning curve at first because seeing your then-boyfriend (now your husband) become snarky at you for surprisingly no reason at all wasn’t exactly the best feeling. All it took was a simple call to Jin, Yoongi’s closest friend, to make you realize that he was just being playful. Your boyfriend being a brat to you, simply put into words, is his love language.

It’s the tiny accumulative moments where he purposely irritates you that in hindsight, it’s become oddly endearing. 

When you pick where to order take-out because Yoongi keeps saying whatever, he whines to no end once the food arrives because apparently, it’s not what he had in mind. You used to be so pissed about it that you’ll order what he wants, but nowadays, you just tell him to suck it up and put more food on his plate.

When you do all the laundry in one go (no, the colors don’t bleed together) and Yoongi insists that you do separate batches for each color that he could enumerate, you would try and appease him by pretending to separate each one. Now, all that Yoongi gets is a high-pitched sarcastic compliment for knowing all his colors.

Whatever Yoongi purposely gave you to incite a reaction, it all melted into your understanding that this was just him. You’re no longer affected by the tiny little things because weirdly enough, they no longer serve its purpose of annoying you. 

It’s just like taking care of Ginger, the spoiled little family cat you grew to take care of back in your childhood home. When she was still a kitten, she’d purposely go up your shelves, look at you in the eye before dropping an item, and you’re leaping after the orange devil to reprimand her. When she became an adult, she still had the same annoying tendencies, and yet you evolved enough not to even bat an eye when she does it now.

Yoongi being annoying to you now isn’t the same thing of him being annoying to you back then. What you used to hate, you now tolerate. What used to piss you off, now makes you endeared. When your husband pushes your buttons now, you’re reminded of how much more mischievous he used to be and the memories that came with it.

This is now your peak — there’s really nothing Yoongi could do that make you fazed anymore.

In a great bout of karma, this is Yoongi’s trough. 

You barely give him an adverse reaction nowadays and that scares him right to his core because you used to be soenthusiastic over him. There’d be days where he picks fights intentionally and you’d spend the whole night trying to make it up to him, even if he necessarily wasn’t in the right.

Yoongi thinks that he’s witnessing himself being old news right in front of you and it scares him. 

You’re more well-versed when it comes to this. You’re the more attentive, more vocal lover between the two of you. You’re the one who can read minds and interpret actions. You’re the one who tends to be more confrontational and he’s the passive one. You’re the one who makes sure that a night wouldn’t pass without the two of you making up.

Yoongi, who thought this was the best thing he’s ever thought of until twenty minutes ago, decides to rekindle your romance by picking a fight with you.

Twenty minutes later, he’s never regretted a decision more in his life.

“I’m going out.” 

He announces as the last resort, head pounding because the fight became bigger than necessary. It’s 9 in the evening and he isn’t even dressed to be going out, his matching pajamas with you too soft and too worn to be even seen wearing while driving in the comfort of his own car.

Yoongi feels tears pricking in his eyes because clearly you laid onto him just as much as he made digs at you tonight, but what’s even more hurtful is that looking at you now, you don’t even look as startled as he is.

Maybe it’s just his mind. His silly, smooth, little mind that thinks the fight was bigger than it actually was. It was just a tiny argument about him baselessly accusing you of not putting in any effort that went off-topic for a brief second. In reality, it really was just a casual fight that most married couples have on a rare weekend but to Yoongi, it was explosive.

It was far more hurtful than he anticipated because in his eyes now, you don’t love him that much anymore.

“Okay. Go ahead,” you mumble for him to hear, putting away leftovers like any other night. You meticulously wrap the plates with cling wrap, your back turned to him when you mutter. “I hope the door hits your ass on the way out.”

“O-oh?” Yoongi backtracks when he hears your go-ahead, literally shell-shocked to see that you’re not stopping him. He wipes away his tears before you turn your neutral gaze back to him, swallowing the lump on his throat. “I’m going now. To get some air.”

“Okay, Yoongi.”

He’s done this before. There’s been fights where you tell him not to walk out on you and he complies. There’s also been fights where he walks out anyways, but you’d always tell him I love you and not to stay out too late.

He’s attempting the second option because clearly, you’re not pleading for him to talk this out and later on could the two of you get some air together.

“I’m really, really going now.”

He looks at you with shaky eyes, clearly pleading for you to indulge him by making him stay. 

You see right through him. You see right through your husband and in any other day would you just laugh this off, but tonight isn’t working for you. You were tired from work, Yoongi picked a fight with you for no reason, and you neither have the energy to tolerate nor chase him.

Every now and then, you should stop coddling Yoongi and give him exactly what he claims to want.

“Okay. Bye.”

You leave no room for any more replies, sauntering over the stairs without looking back.

Yoongi doesn’t want to look like a coward for not following through what he said so he audibly opens the door with the creak being heard all the way up the stairs. He’s not even a fourth out of the door but his bottom lip already blubbers, legs trembling from another type of chill that his pajamas can’t protect him from.

Shouldn’t this be the part where you tell him not to stay out too late?

( ♡ )

It’s 9:30 on a Saturday, Yoongi’s at a friend’s club wearing his sleeping pajamas on, drinking Pocari Sweat because crying on the way here really dehydrated him.

Yoongi is not doing well.

Jin’s originally here to survey his club at a peak night, but that plan went downhill as soon as Yoongi spotted him and immediately clung to his back asking for electrolyte water.

“Call Y/N using my phone.”

Yoongi mumbles when the two of them are settled at a secluded booth, all the noise being significantly decreased but not enough for it to be unrecognizable that he’s at a club through a phone call.

“And why exactly would I do that?” Jin snorts, already having an inkling to know where this is going from having a quick run-down from your husband himself.

He’s just about to lecture him with the words he’s always been wanting to say; something along the words that Yoongi’s bratty tendencies were eventually gonna bite him in the ass hard.

Seokjin doesn’t get to do that though because a phone is thrust to his face that it almost punches him, making him faux spit into nothing and wave off his bodyguards standing at a distance from him.

“Quick. She’s probably worried sick about me!” Yoongi convinces Jin, or atleast tries to because he’s the one that needs it. You’re probably wondering where he is, right? There may be no texts in his inbox, but who’s to say that you’re telepathically texting him to ask what time he’s coming home… right?

“No she’s not,” he sing-songs. He plans to annoy his friend for about 98% the time he’s going to be here (he’s gonna send him home to you anyway before 10:30) and the other 2% for semi-sincere consoling.

Then an idea pops into Jin’s head.

“What should I say?” he suddenly and eagerly takes up Yoongi on his request, not waiting for an answer before the perfect scenario pops in his head. “Ah wait, let me be in charge of that.”

Jin’s already pressing to call you much faster to Yoongi’s expectations because he really thought that it would take more amounts of convincing to do this. The phone’s put on speaker and as soon as it rings, Yoongi feels the urge to duck. He’s steadily about to snatch his phone back but you answer your phone even faster than he could do that.

“Hi Y/N!” Seokjin beams and it makes you smile from the other end, a clue already being filled in your head where exactly your husband went to. “Whatcha doing?” 

Jin makes conversation with you on Yoongi’s phone, sleazily smiling as he takes it off of speaker as soon as his friend hears your voice. Yoongi clearly takes an outrage with that but he contains it when Jin fully extends his arm out, holding him back by the face.

“Ugh, did you make popcorn? No way, not one burnt kernel? I knew it-!” Jin yelps when Yoongi bites his palm, quickly standing up from his seat in the booth so Yoongi couldn’t catch up with him. “I told you- I told you that brand’s way better!” 

“She’s not asking why you’re using my phone?” Yoongi whisper-yells as he circles around Seokjin, hands anxiously attempting to grab his phone back. “She’s not asking about me?”

Jin hears him loud and clear but he pretends not to, only sparing a glance. “Did you use the microwave preset? Personally I recommend only popping it in for two minutes and fifteen seconds because- motherfucker!”

Yoongi pinches him by the nape quite harshly like how you’d do with a kitten and it makes Jin freeze for a brief second, stealing his phone back with the call on-going.

“Y/N!” he almost yells to the phone, the momentary silence making it sink to him that he’s finally talking to you after so long. 

Read: it has only been forty minutes.

“What?” you groan into the phone, pushing your voice to be further disinterested. You’re no longer mad at him anymore — you’re just having some bit of fun at this point.

“I-I...” the words dissolve quickly on his tongue, the taste being bitter once again even when he was certain that the Pocari washed it out earlier. Yoongi says the next best thing he could that first pops up into his head, the random blurting of words being amusing even for Jin’s bodyguards.

“I uhm, I have a splinter.”

“Then take it out.”

“It hurts,” he whines at another attempt, screwing his eyes shut at the secondhand embarrassment because from the corner of his eye, one of the three bodyguards is actually clutching at his stomach from laughing. 

“Have Jin do it for you then.”

“Jin and I are in the club, by the way!” he reminds you, perking up slightly now that you indirectly acknowledged where he is and who he’s with.

“Mhmm.”

Just one last pathetic attempt of skirting around and if it doesn’t work, Yoongi will immediately come home to you.

“Is the popcorn good?” 

Read: it doesn’t work.

Jin steals his phone back before he could even hear your response to his dumb-witted question, getting a painful run-down from his friend instead. “You’re painful to watch, y’know that?”

He sighs disappointedly at Yoongi, rolling his eyes before pressing the phone to his ear. “So? What’s it taste like? It’s not really oily, I told you already. The cheese doesn’t smell obnoxious either. Because actually — exactly! It doesn’t stain your fingers!”

Yoongi… will lose it. But before he loses it completely, he gathers all his remaining sanity to continue your tradition while Jin keeps you preoccupied. He spots two things quickly and puts it into his arms with no semblance of shame, even if Jin’s bodyguards saw him technically shoplifting. Yoongi thinks it doesn’t count as such because Jin already knows about the tradition between the two of you, and as predicted, his friend just waves him off in acknowledgement.

It’s a tiny tradition.

Whenever one of you goes somewhere without the other, it’s a rule to bring back a souvenir. There’s no specifications to it, just whatever item you could bring back as proof that you thought about the other while you were out.

Some of the souvenirs you brought home to Yoongi: a pretty rock, a duvet cover, a liter of hand sanitizer, a designer card wallet, and a scrunchie with his name embroidered on it.

Some of the souvenirs Yoongi brought home to you: a fancy teaspoon, a hotel pillow, ten perfume testers at the same time, a remote holder, and a teddy bear with his voice as its squeezable heart.

Yoongi thinks that he doesn’t have shoplifting tendencies but in hindsight of some of the souvenirs he’s gotten you, there may be a pattern to it.

“You brought home... a shot glass.”

You look at the tiny glass, the remnants of electrolyte water still swishing around it.

“Wrong,” he sternly replies, bringing an item from behind his back that couldn’t be anymore obvious even if he tried. “I brought home a shot glass and a tiny potted plant.”

“Since when did bars have potted plants?” you mutter in disbelief, taking the miniature bonsai from him and looking at it in wonder.

“Since tonight! Jin’s, I don’t know, entrepreneurial like that. I wanted to show it to you so I brought it home.”

Your husband says it’s like the most obvious thing to do; his desire for you to know that he indeed thought about you while he was gone manifesting into bringing home one shot glass, and one tiny bonsai to prove it.

“You stole it, Yoongs.”

The amusement lilts in your voice and Yoongi catches on to it, but he just can’t seem to let it go, a little upset that you’re focused on him “stealing” it instead of the fact that he’d go through whatever lengths for you.

“Again, I brought it home because I wanted you to see it!”

“You could’ve just sent me a picture,” you giggle, setting down the pot on your side table. You peel back the covers you momentarily left, patting the spot beside you and Yoongi clearly could not have went to bed any more eager than this.

“How was I supposed to know?” he mumbles in defeat, a frown on his face. “You probably would’ve iced me out.”

“You didn’t even ask me what time I’d get home.” 

Yoongi sighs and even if the moment’s already been significantly lightened with the souvenirs, it brings you a greater relief now that your husband’s choosing to say what’s exactly bothering him instead of pissing you off.

“You didn’t even chase me through the door! I didn’t even want to go!” he’s almost one step into a tantrum and you have to hold him by the arm to not get too carried away by reminiscing, rolling your eyes when you hold him closer.

“You went out because you thought I’d chase you.”

“Exactly,” he affirms, albeit a little upset now that he’s confirmed you knew all along. “Can’t you just chase after me?” Yoongi asks innocently, soft eyes staring you down.

The moment’s too tender that it makes your shoulders hunch, hand automatically moving to the side of his face to guide him into nuzzling into the crook of your neck — a move he looks forward to especially after tonight.

“I’m not always gonna chase after you, Yoongi,” you confide, lips brushing on his temple. “You’re just so damn stubborn sometimes. Like, makes-my-jaw-clench type of stubborn.”

“I’m sorry,” Yoongi sincerely apologizes, his face still buried to your neck with his arms clinging around your middle. “I guess I’m just so used to you making amends with me that it makes me act out on purpose.”

Yoongi faults himself at the end of the night this time, without your prompting, and you can’t deny that it makes your heart full.

“I’m sorry, baby.”

He lifts his head up to look at you directly, lips puffed into a pout with his eyes in slow blinks. “Yoongi’s very sorry.”

Maybe you spoke too soon. Maybe Yoongi’s just always gonna be slightly annoying.

“Did you just talk about yourself in third-person?” you mumble, eyes suddenly snapping open when it sinks into you.

“Isn’t it cuter that way? Is it working?” your husband heartily laughs, stretching his arms out to put around you and invade your personal space even more. “Why, do you feel it working?”

“I don’t know what to feel about it, that’s for sure,” you chuckle, the atmosphere completely lightened at this point.

“I promise I’ll try not to be difficult anymore. Won’t piss you off either.”

“That doesn’t happen overnight, Yoonie.” 

Yoongi’s just… mischievous. His love language was to pull stuff with you and although it keeps you on your toes more often than necessary, you wouldn’t be tired of him.

“Tell you what, promise me this instead,” you turn right when Yoongi was about to do it himself so he could bury his face to the crook of your neck again, blinking owlishly to listen at what you have to say.

“Try to chase after me too. Let me be the difficult one sometimes.” 

Yoongi smiles, the switch being more than intriguing. “M’kay. That’s not as hard to promise doing.”

The concept of it makes him happy too much that it lingers there, reverting back to calling you his term of endearment for you and that’s when you know that there’s nothing left unresolved between the two of you now.

“I like that, bear. You should try picking fights with me too. It’s fun sometimes, trust me!”

“I can tell,” you hum, blindly reaching out your arm to turn off the nightlight at your side.

“Yoongi likes that.”

“Stop talking about yourself in third person.”

“I think it’s already growing on me,” Yoongi admits, tilting his head and knowing for a fact that it would take more than fifteen minutes to sleep tonight while in thought.

“Is it gonna stick?” 

The groan leaves you automatically and by the lack of response, you already know your answer.

“Bear,” you hum. “If you keep doing that, I’m gonna pick a fight with you tomorrow, alright?”

“M’kay! Remind me tomorrow what time you’re gonna start pissing me off, yeah?” he grins from ear to ear, not requiring a nightlight to see that your husband looks at you so fondly.

“Good night, baby,” Yoongi finally bids you, pressing a tender kiss right to your lips before tucking you with the comforter exactly how you liked it. “Loving you is my favorite part of the chase.”

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this christmas | myg

part of the happy ho-lidays collab with @floralseokjin​ @sugaurora​ @underthejoon​ @winetae​ @btssavedmylifeblr​ and @kpopfanfictrash​!

summary⇢ it’s been a while since you’ve been home for the holidays, but this year, you finally plan on rectifying that. things are going well for you—great job, great friends, and a new boyfriend who you have a pretty great feeling about—and it seems everything in your life is finally slotting into place. but, of course, the past is a relentless specter and the universe always has a way of humbling you. in a ridiculous twist of fate, you soon find yourself stuck in a car with the very reason you have avoided coming back in the first place. pairing⇢ yoongi/reader word count⇢ 30.1k 🥴😭   rating⇢ 18+ genre⇢ smut | exes!au | road trip!au warnings⇢ angst, sexual content, oral (f receiving), unprotected sex, fingering, men being assholes, an instance of underage drinking, lots of passive aggressiveness, jimin meaning well, yoongi having absurd amounts of patience and thus being very on brand, phewww does oc really go through it 😭 a/n⇢ *casually strolls in months late, sipping on eggnog* HELLO, FRIENDS 🥴 yeah, so. in true ashley fashion, this fic exploded and sprinted wayyyy past what i thought the word count would be, so now here we are 😭 😭 decking the halls in black history month LMAO! this was truly a labor of love because y’all know i don’t have the patience to write things like this in one go. but here we are!! we made it!!! 😮‍💨 🎶AND THIS CHRISTMASSSSS…WILL BEEEEEE 🎶 🎄❄️✨ of course, the title of this fic is from this holiday classic, but i would say the mood is more this. thank you for being so patient and i hope you enjoy! 😊

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To Love an Empress

SUMMARY: Despite the acrimonious beginning to your relationship, Yoongi is drawn to you.

PAIRING: emperor!yoongi x empress!reader

RATING: E

WARNINGS: smut | unprotected sex (they’re husband and wife and also this is a historical au so there are no condoms but be safe okay) | references to war | yoongi’s scar is discussed | yoongi kills a man (mentioned but not explicit) | secret admirer stuff

WORD COUNT: 9.8k

A/N: My final submission for the BTS Ghostie bingo, yay! This one fills the secret admirer tile. This fic is kind of based on Henry VII and Elizabeth of York’s early relationship, and inspired by The White Princess, so if some of the dialogue and scenes are similar, that’s why. 

Shoutout to my lovely betas @knjkitten and @yoongs-jeontae for helping me beta this! Banner by @jkeuphoriadreamland​ 💕 i’ve never had a banner on a fic before this is fun hehe

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Title: Beloved

Word Count: 17.4k

Rating: M

Genre: Drama/Thriller/Smut

Warnings: Yandere Behavior, Violence, Blood, Character Death, Emotional Manipulation, Hint of Dubious Consent, Unprotected Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Cream Pie, Oral Sex (Female Receiving), Mild Dirty Talk 

Pairing: Emperor!Yoongi X Reader

Summary: Court was just a game of politics after all. And you intended to win

Written By: Admin B

Note: This was entirely inspired by Daechwita and everyone should thank A for indulging my madness and encouraging me

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Away From You; 16 | myg

⏤𝚜𝚢𝚗𝚘𝚙𝚜𝚒𝚜; Trying to divorce Yoongi might be harder than you thought it’d be. Especially when you’re having a two year old toddler.

⏤𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜: strong language, mature content

⏤𝚐𝚎𝚗𝚛𝚎: fluff, angst, smut, divorce!au

⏤𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚍 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝: 13.6k+

⏤𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚜: 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | 07 | 08 | 09 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16

a/n: this one is a long one, please don’t forget to reblog and let me know what you think! :)

𝚖.𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝 | 𝚍𝚛𝚊𝚋𝚋𝚕𝚎𝚜 𝚒𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚡

© 𝒑𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒐𝒏𝒂𝒔𝒊𝒏𝒕𝒓𝒐 (𝒏𝒐 𝒓𝒆𝒑𝒐𝒔𝒕𝒔 𝒐𝒓 𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒔𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒐𝒘𝒆𝒅)

The moment your knuckles meet the door of Yoongi’s office, you feel your muscles tense while waiting for any kind of response. When you get one in a form of dry ‘come in’ you push the door open and warily step inside. Just like you expected, Yoongi barely lifts his head up to note your presence. He knows it’s you, he must know, but he barely glances at you as he buries his head into another stack of papers as usual. However, you know the real reason behind him letting unnecessary work swallow him is completely different than his usual hardworking (or overworking) persona.

It’s sad to see him this way. Letting himself distract with work that’s not as important, and something he should be working on at least in a month. You’ve seen it, as his assistant you went through his meeting and plans, and you’ve let your curiosity get the best out of you just to find out that all of his work for this month is almost done. There are just two meetings left, nothing big.

It’s been two weeks since the fight with his mother has happened. Two weeks full of Yoongi trying to act like nothing has happened in front of your son, dodging your attempt of comforting him when you were alone. He doesn’t want to talk about it, you got that from him distracting himself and again, acting like nothing has happened. Whenever you went to ask about his mother, or simply show your worry to your husband, he’d just talk about most random stuff before you could even open your mouth. It’s like he felt you’re about to talk about that specific topic everytime. It’s his way of coping with what happened and you’ve to respect that. You’re not going to pressure him into talking about his mother.

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a brew of wings ⇾ myg. [M]

𝓅𝒶𝒾𝓇𝒾𝓃𝑔 ⇾ dragon!yoongi x witch!reader (f.)

𝑔𝑒𝓃𝓇𝑒/𝓇𝒶𝓉𝒾𝓃𝑔 ⇾  daechwita inspired, fantasy, magic realism, smut, fluff, angst-ish, hybrid au, shifter au, 18+

𝓈𝓊𝓂𝓂𝒶𝓇𝓎 ⇾  your tiny tea shop is the perfect front for harbouring hybrid fugitives

𝓌𝑜𝓇𝒹 𝒸𝑜𝓊𝓃𝓉 ⇾ 10.3k 

𝓌𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈 ⇾ mentions of violence, mentions of abuse, mentions of captivity, mentions of death, hard dom!yoongi, lip piercing!yoongi, big dicc!yoongi, tattooed!yoongi, sub!reader, tea shop owner!reader, unprotected sex (wrap it to tap it), rough sex, a lil dirty talk, pet names, daddy kink, oral (m. receiving), multiple orgasms, begging, teasing, spanking, a lil choking, spit play, breath play

𝒶𝓊𝓉𝒽𝑜𝓇'𝓈 𝓃𝑜𝓉𝑒 ⇾ happy halloween!! speical thanks to selene (@jksangelic​) for helping me out a bit with logisitics!!! enjoy :)

♕ This is dedicated to @kkulmoon​. My bestest soulmate!!!

♕ banner/border by ⇾ @suqakoo (jiji is wonderful and deserves all the love and this is a beautiful banner)

♕ beta’d by ⇾ @nottodayjjk (a hundred kisses and thanks to this gems for always being there for me~~)

♕ le playlist 

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VOGUE | myg

summary: you’ve always said that fashion is meant to push the limits of art, but no amount of swarovski crystals could ever prepare you for the latest assignment your manager has lined up for you: design a dress with none other than min yoongi, the evil genius that stole the show from you during paris fashion week, to be displayed in a showcase in milan.

{enemies to lovers!au, fashion designers!au}

pairing: min yoongi x female reader genre: fluff, comedy, unresolved romantic tension, angst word count: 42k warnings: alcohol consumption, cliches, this is basically every fic of mine rolled into one 42k package a/n: finally !!! she’s here !!! god i have been working on this fic ever since the beginning of april. she’s my baby and the love of my life, and almost my worst nightmare. also, please please please let me know if you are having problems reading, liking, or reblogging this fic. i will do anything i can to fix it. otherwise, please enjoy this absolute behemoth of a fic.

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the lingerie era | myg

🦋pairing: neighbor!yoongi x reader (f)

🦋genre: smut, fluff, f2l, neighbor!au, childhoodfriend!au, best friend’s older brother, lingeriemodel!reader

🦋summary: Sending Min Yoongi, aka your ridiculously hot neighbor/childhood friend, a photo of yourself in lingerie might be the best or stupidest mistake you’ve ever made.

🦋word count: 10.1k

🦋warnings: fingering, oral (m receiving), corruption kink, gagging, deepthroating...? rough sex w/protection, implied masturbation (m), light degradation, the way oc becomes a slut for his cock so quick, yoongi touches boobies, nipple play, dirty talk, yoongi teasing reader for 4263 years straight bc he's mean

a/n: this is the extended version of the airdrop incident! if you haven't read that drabble already, it's fine bc that scene is included in this one!💖

An onlooker might be wondering why you’re standing outside your neighbor’s door at ass o’clock in nothing but an oversized tee, but the answer is simple. Mistakes were made. You’re an idiot.

Approximately five minutes ago, you thought it’d be cute to send your best friend Mo a photo from your first day at your new job. But it wasn’t just any photo. It was a photo of you in strappy black lingerie, lying on beige silk sheets all glowy and oiled up. You’re gazing up into the camera lens like it’s the dark eyes of a man about to rail you. 

As weird as it sounds to be sending that kind of photo to your best friend, you’ve known her your entire life and she’s always been the number one supporter of your modeling career. In fact, she’s the one who bugged you for the pics in the first place.

You have no regrets for wanting to share the photo with your best friend. You just hate yourself for thinking it’d be fine to AirDrop it since she lives right next door. In your defense, your company is paying for your work phone—the new iPhone—and you were eager to play around with all the random features you won’t otherwise be using. Besides, AirDrop has a small range and Mo is your neighbor, so it was the perfect opportunity to test it out. In theory, she would’ve received the photo no problem—if she were actually home.

But Mo wasn’t home. You’d realized that too late after the AirDrop had gone through to someone else. Mortified is an understatement of how you felt when she sent a text saying, “GIRL;;;; I’m at Namjoon’s place rn;;;; I  am NOT in AirDrop range🥲”

For a good two minutes, you were convinced it must’ve been some creepy stalker who’d accepted your AirDrop… or the sweet elderly lady who lives across the street and occasionally drops off a tray of baked goods. You could totally see her accidentally accepting the AirDrop, only to be blindsided and violated by that photo of you. There’s no way in hell you’ll be able to return her sparkly red reindeer platter from her last cookie delivery. Not after she’s seen you like that.

But then an even darker thought came to mind. And you’d take creepy stalker or innocent granny over that any day.

That’s how you ended up on your neighbor’s doorstep at ass o’clock.

After letting you stand out in the cold for a whole ass minute, he finally answers the door. “He” as in Min Yoongi, your childhood friend slash nemesis, the older brother of your best friend, or, in the simplest terms, your hot neighbor.

And when you say “hot,” you mean really hot. Your innocent little crush on him was cute when you were ten, but the admiration has since evolved into pure lust. You’ve admittedly thought about him in ways you should not be thinking about a childhood friend let alone your best friend’s brother. 

Whenever you catch a glimpse of his big hands, you wish they were on your body, you wish his long veiny fingers would curl inside you, and the tiniest part of you wishes he wasn’t someone you had a long history with. You always feel like you have to be on your toes around him because of that history. Because you know it can all fall apart with one wrong move—like accidentally sending him a suggestive lingerie photo. Oops.

“Yes?” he raises a brow, staring at the way you’re shivering outside his door, the way your perky nipples are most definitely poking through your shirt. You’re sure he sees it all. But given the fact that he’s practically seen you naked, you don’t even bother covering up. What’s the point?

“Did you, by chance, get an AirDrop like five minutes ago?” you get straight to the point. It’s fucking freezing, after all. He could’ve at least asked you to come inside for a sec. You would’ve declined to avoid the risk of temptation, but still.

“Depends,” he hums, eyes still very much on your chest. The boy has no shame apparently. You’re pretty sure he’s dating that pretty brunette you’ve seen sneaking in and out of his house lately, so why’s he looking at you like that? “What was the AirDrop?”

“A picture of me,” you mumble. It was freezing a minute ago, but now your face feels hot. That’s weird.

“Hmm, not sure if the one I’m thinking of is you or not.” The bastard puts on his most exaggerated thinking face—like that emoji with the hand on his chin. You hate him. “What were you wearing?”

“Nothing!” you squeak at him. Both of you know no one fucking uses AirDrop except old people. He’s obviously playing dumb and knows what’s going on. He just wants to hear it from your mouth to make his ego bigger than it already is. “You know what I’m talking about.”

“Pretty sure you were wearing something…” he furrows his brow, unlocking his phone to “confirm” what he saw. You snatch the phone out of his hand, but he seems to remember the contents of the photo just fine. “Ah, yes. Black strappy lingerie, right? I didn’t know you were like that, Y/N.”

“Fuck you,” you hiss as you scroll through and search for the picture in question. AirDrop must have its own stupid section on the phone because you can’t find it anywhere.

“Relax, I already deleted it,” he chuckles at how determined you are. You’re not falling for it. Surely he’s already leaked the photo on OnlyFans. You don’t have a whole lot of faith in Min Yoongi. He’s never been The Nice Guy. “Who were you trying to send it to?”

“None of your business.” He has a girlfriend, after all. Why should he care about who you’re sending those kinds of pictures to?

“My sister?”

“Fine. Yes, her.”

“You’re sneaking around sending nudes to my sister? On AirDrop?” he narrows his eyes. Why does he seem more disgusted at the AirDrop part? You’d laugh if you weren’t so stressed. “She’s in a very committed relationship, you know.”

“I’m aware.” You don’t know what’s worse—him thinking you’re hitting on his sister aka your best friend, or admitting the pic was from a photoshoot for your new job. There are no winners here. Might as well come clean. “She’s the one who asked for pics so she could fangirl over her lingerie model best friend.”

“My little Y/N grew up and became a lingerie model?” He tilts his head, intrigued. He might’ve deleted the pic from his phone, but you bet the image is forever ingrained in that fuckboy head of his. You wonder how his girlfriend feels about him thinking of other girls in that context. You’d feel shitty. He’s a horrible boyfriend. “In that case, I’d also like to show support. Mind if you send the pic ag—” 

You cut him off with a growl. His eyes slowly work their way up your bare legs to your chest to your death glare.

“I kid, I kid.” He waves his hands like a white flag so you don’t pounce on him. But then something occurs to him. His smug look turns into a frown. “Wait, so AirDropping it to me wasn’t ‘an accident’?” he asks with air quotes.

“No, it was a real accident, Yoongi,” you scoff. You can’t believe he thought you’d intentionally sent that pic to him. He’s so full of himself. He’s the last person you’d ever want to see those pics.

“Well that’s no fun.”

“Elaborate.”

“It would’ve been kinda cute if you did it to get my attention,” he shrugs, leaning his head against the doorframe. “Just like when we were younger. Remember how you’d always tug on my arm and pout until I acknowledged you?”

“No, but it’s kinda weird that you remember it.” You finally cross your arms in front of your chest. “It’s also kinda weird that you want my attention when that’s what your girlfriend is there for.”

“It’s kinda weird that you keep up with my love life and know I have a girlfriend,” he fires back at you in his usual arrogant tone. “I’m breaking up with her, by the way. Just in case you wanted to know.”

You pause the petty war for a second. Min Yoongi is breaking up with his girlfriend because you accidentally sent him one (1) risqué photo of yourself? To be fair, you do look pretty hot in that photo. But still! You’ve known the guy your whole life, and all it’s ever amounted to was banter with a hint of feelings and dirty thoughts on your end. You’d always assumed Yoongi thought of you as nothing more than his little sister’s friend. Surely he’s just toying with you right now. Because that’s what fuckboys do. 

That’s what Min Yoongis do.

“Good to know,” you nod, the cold breeze coming back. You better leave now before you do something stupid again. Stupid AirDrop. “Well, I’m gonna go now. It’s fucking cold.”

You drop his phone into his palm, your fingers grazing his in the process. They’re so warm. But your fluffy blanket is warmer. And it’d never betray you.

“Thanks for only being a slight dick about the pic,” you say, scurrying off to your doorstep.

“Anytime,” he smirks. Asshole. “I’ll AirDrop you later.”

“I don’t want your dick pics, sir.” You hear his laugh before closing the door.

A minute later, you get an AirDrop of what you hope is not in fact a dick pic. You accept it immediately. It’s a blurry selfie of him on his bed, flipping you off with an emphasis on how much extra mattress space he has. That has to be the quickest breakup of all time. They don’t call him a fuckboy for nothing.

He accompanies the selfie with a simple text:

Yoongi🗿 [2:03AM] “Your loss”

The rest of the night is spent staring at the extra space next to him on his bed. He’s taunting you. Teasing you. Tempting you to do something you’ll surely regret. Well, you’re not taking the bait. The accidental AirDrop was an honest mistake, but this one would be all on you. Because you understand the risks.

It’s best to keep things how they are between you two.

After a night of tossing and turning, your week somehow gets worse. Your car decides to malfunction fifteen minutes before you’re supposed to be at work. You swear it was working perfectly yesterday. Then again, you don’t know shit about cars.

Your first instinct is to call Mo. You like to think of yourself as a prepared person, but shit happens. And when shit happens, Mo is your person—your one phone-a-friend. But you know she’s with Namjoon, and you know she’d drop everything including him for you—you’d do the same for her. You’d rather not be a cockblock when things are going so well for them.

Alternatively, you would’ve borrowed your parents’ car, but they moved into a nicer place a few years ago and reluctantly left you behind after a lot of convincing on your end. You can handle yourself, you told them. And it was going great—until The AirDrop Incident happened and your car refused to start up for no fucking reason. 

Uber and public transportation are other options, but you don’t have time to wait for those rides to arrive. You need to leave in the next 30 seconds or risk being late. Your new job is on the line here.

And that’s why you find yourself, once again, at Min Yoongi’s doorstep. You hate it here.

He opens the door and blinks his heavy lids at you several times before saying anything. Poor boy. The morning sun is too bright for him, like a cat waking up from its first nap of the day. And yet, he still manages to look so attractive with that messy hair and furrowed brow. You bet the raspiness in his voice is even more seductive in the morning. It is.

“Are we really doing this again?” he asks, pointing his finger back and forth between you and him. At least he’s awake enough to realize shit like this shouldn’t be happening two days in a row. You’re sick of it too.

“I need to be at a shoot in like ten minutes, and my car is fucked up right now, so…” You wish the boy would finish the sentence for you, but he’s just standing there like a smug ass. You’d shove him over, but you’re going to be late and he’s your only option. So you swallow your pride, just this once. “Do you think you can give me a ride?”

He makes some sort of grunt and says, “I’ll be out in a sec,” before shutting the door in your face. You’ll take that over the teasing you were expecting. Must be too early for the banter.

As soon as you get into his car, you realize you were horribly wrong. The false sense of security got you good. Apparently, it’s never too early for banter.

“What would you do without me, hm?” he asks, looking more awake and alive than ever before. Glowing, even. You knew it. He gets a kick out of you needing his help. He’s always been like this. One time when you were seven, your dumb ass climbed up a tree and got stuck up there like a cat. He’d only helped you down after you begged him for ten minutes straight. And although he stood right below you to break your fall in the unlikely event that you slipped, he also had a big fat smile on his face the entire time. He’s the worst.

“I’d manage.”

“I’m sure you would, Y/N.” He doesn’t sound very convinced. Kind of like your parents before they agreed to trust you on your own. “So, what’s this about lingerie and modeling?”

“Got a problem with it?” you challenge him. The very reason you haven’t told anyone else about your job aside from your best friend is that fear of judgment. As far as your parents know, you do modeling for a trendy clothing brand (you do). They just don’t know about your side hustle. You’re sure a guy like Yoongi has no problem with it, though. In fact, last night he sounded awfully eager to support your new job because it just so happens to center around two of his favorite things—tits and ass.

“Not at all,” he hums. “Just curious how it happened.”

“My ex had connections to the company,” you say.

“And you dumped him after he got you a job?” He raises his brow and laughs. What’s he so amused about? “Kind of savage, Y/N.”

“Actually, he broke up with me,” you correct him. How dare he assume you’re the savage one.

“Why would he do that?” he asks, as if it’s not normal for people to break up. Maybe it’s just his protective gene kicking in. He was the same way when he heard about your first breakup years ago.

“He said I wasn’t giving him enough,” you shrug. You’re honestly not too upset about it. It’s not like you had enough time to get attached to him anyway.

“Giving him enough what? Head?”

You glare at the boy even though you really want to laugh. He’s not entirely wrong.

“Sorry.” He does a quick glance at you as he turns the corner. Still smiling, though. “Well, if I had to guess, it had something to do with you playing hard to get.”

“I do not play hard to get,” you say with a firm hmph. 

“You’re certainly not making it easy now,” he frowns. Okay, maybe he has a point. But in your defense, the trait rubbed off on you from Yoongi himself. You spent your entire childhood chasing after him and wound up with nothing. You worked your ass off for any sort of reciprocated feelings from him, only for him to continue to treat you like an annoying child as you both grew older. 

By the time college came around, you were tired of doing all the chasing and thought you’d finally outgrown that neediness for him. You told yourself it was better that way, to keep him as nothing more than a bittersweet childhood memory. And you moved on. For once, you just wanted to be desired and admired by someone as deeply as you’d felt for Yoongi.

And when you think about it, all of your past relationships might have relied too much on the thrill of the chase. You never thought about what came after. You never envisioned a future beyond the chase. That’s why those relationships were so quick to fizzle out. You didn’t give them a reason to stick around. 

You didn’t give them enough.

Yoongi unlocks the doors as he pulls up in front of the building for the shoot. You unbuckle your seatbelt and thank him on the way out like he’s your Uber driver.

But then he goes off script. “When should I pick you up?”

You weren’t expecting a ride home. After your car died on you, you’d immediately changed from your cute ankle boots into sneakers in preparation for the long walk home after work. In fact, you would’ve opted to walk to work too if you had enough time. Like you said before, you can handle yourself just fine. Ever since you found your footing as a model and started living alone, you’ve stopped relying on anyone else.

“No need. I’ll walk home,” you gently decline, kicking your white sneakers up for him to see. 

Still, you can’t pretend like it doesn’t feel nice that the boy offered you another ride. It’s a subtle gesture, but it lets you know he’s watching out for you. There’s at least one person you can count on, even when your best friend and family aren’t around. And that’s already more than you could ever ask for.

“We can grab dinner after,” he suggests, leaning his arms against the steering wheel. You know exactly what he’s doing—playing to your weakness and bribing you with food. Because that’s the one thing you rarely ever say no to. You’ve always been that way.

“Okay, sure. I’ll be done around six.” 

It’s fine. You’ll pay for his meal as thanks for the rides. Then you’re even. 

The first half of the shoot goes well. The lingerie they’ve picked out for you is super pretty, and the assistant said you get to keep your favorite set after the day wraps up. Right now, you’re feeling pretty fucking good despite the stressful night and morning you had. 

During your lunch break, you find some shameless texts waiting for you.

Yoongi🗿 [10:34AM] “My friend would like you to send pics of your wardrobe😌”

Yoongi🗿 [10:34AM] “For science”

For science. Your smile flattens just a little. You get that he’s just teasing you, but part of you really wonders if he’s only paying this much attention to you because of your job and the picture you’d AirDropped to him. All you are to him is a hot body to look at. That’s the only reason he broke up with his girlfriend, isn’t it? 

If you hadn’t been a dumbass and sent him that photo, he would’ve simply dropped you off at work like the silent Uber driver he was supposed to be. And that would’ve been the end of it. There wouldn’t have been a “let’s get dinner after” or a “send pics of your skimpy lingerie.”

And yet, this is exactly what you’d been yearning for since age five—his attention.

If you really wanted to, you could play along and send him a teaser of the lingerie you decided to take home—a polka-dot mesh set that is very seethrough. You could even drop it in his lap when he picks you up later and tell him it’s a souvenir. That’d get his attention for sure. 

But you’re not going to do that. Obviously. Instead, you send him a boring pic of a rack with empty hangers. Because that’s playing it safe.

Yoongi🗿 [12:58PM] “Going nude today?”

Yoongi🗿 [12:58PM] “Or are those micro thongs getting smaller?🧐”

Yoongi🗿 [12:59PM] “Hello”

You wheeze. He’s lucky you’ve known him since birth. If it were any other guy, you’d ghost him for saying shit like that. Then again, he’s only saying it because he knows he can get away with it with you. 

Y/N🐣 [1:00PM] “i have to get back to work now🫡”

When you finally reach the homestretch of the shoot, you’re tired and more than a little hungry. It’s been a long day, but you want to finish strong before indulging in a nice dinner with you-know-who. You decided you want to take him to your favorite new sushi spot. Not because you know he loves sushi but because it’s what you happen to be craving today.

While sitting down on the fluffiest rug your ass has ever felt, you model a pretty white set with lots of ties like a bikini. Just a few more photos to go, and then you can get your sushi with your Uber driver. But then your starved brain starts to fuck with you.

Just off to the side behind the camera, you see a shadow that looks a lot like Yoongi. You know it’s not actually him, though. It’s just a hallucination spawning from your cravings. Your cravings for sushi, you clarify to yourself.

Then the shadow crosses his arms and smirks as you get on your knees and press an innocent finger to your bottom lip like you’re just asking for your mouth to be filled. As soon as the camera captures a few shots, your eyes dart back to check on the shadow. He gives you a thumbs up.

That’s not a shadow.

Suddenly, your cheeks are hot and your chest is pounding. He’s not supposed to be here. How are you supposed to focus when you know your childhood friend is watching? You have all these eyes on your body as it is, but he’s the only one that really gets you flustered. More flustered than your first day on the job here.

“Can we redo that shot one more time, please?” the photographer asks. “Relax your shoulders a bit, honey.”

You drop your shoulders, but that’s not going to hide the way your heart is practically pounding out of your chest that you know he’s got his eyes glued to.

“Actually, can I take a quick water break?” You shoot up from the rug, take a long sip of water, grab your thin little robe, and drag your unwanted visitor off to the side.

“Hi to you, too,” he says, glancing down at the way your fingers wrap around his wrist.

“What are you doing here?” Your shaky tone screams of unease. When he said he’d pick you up, you weren’t expecting him to actually go in like a parent picking up their kid from school. He was supposed to stay put in his car where you’d meet him after work. That was the plan. Not this.

He studies your face as if he’s debating whether or not you’re being serious right now, as if he expected you to be happy to see him. After building up the anticipation for several seconds more, he has the audacity to say, “Just here to show my support for my lingerie model neighbor.”

Why did you even bother asking? You should’ve known. He just confirmed what you’d hoped wasn’t true. He’s only paying any attention to you because of that dirty image you ingrained in his head with that dumb AirDrop.

And to be honest, you’re kind of over it. Maybe it’s just your empty stomach raging, but he should know that this is crossing the line. He’s your neighbor for crying out loud. He’d seen you lose your two front teeth, gone trick-or-treating with you, witnessed your awkward teen phase, and all that other wholesome childhood shit. Sure, he gave you a hard time every step of the way, but his presence in your life and the memories you made together were all you ever wanted to protect. 

That’s why you chose to stay behind when your parents moved away. You were fine with being away from your own family, and you were even fine when Mo started spending more time with Namjoon. But Yoongi has always been a different case.

You gave up on seeing him in a romantic way after realizing it just wasn’t realistic. If you’d let yourself feel that way any longer, he’d eventually have to reject you, and then that would be the end of it. And you’d much rather keep him in your life than risk it all with a dumb confession of unrequited love. He doesn’t love you, and you’re okay with that.

You just wish he wouldn’t make it so painfully obvious that it’s only your body that he’s after. Because that’s when it might be easier on your heart to cut ties with him.

“I work better when you’re not here.” You let go of his wrist and don’t look up from the red mark your tight grip left on his pale skin. You’re not going to let his charm sway you. He needs to leave. Nothing good can come out of him being here.

So he backs away and leaves.

As you tie your sneakers and refill your water bottle in preparation for the long walk home, you let out a big sigh. Looks like you won’t be getting your sushi fix tonight. Stupid AirDrop.

You wave bye to the crew and claim your free lingerie before stepping outside. To your surprise, it’s already dark out even though you thought the sun wasn’t supposed to set until seven. If you squint hard enough, you swear you can see Yoongi’s car parked in the lot. 

So you try not to squint.

But as soon as you walk past the car, your feet make a u-turn until you can see the boy leaning back in his seat, eyes closed and arms folded against his chest. You might still be upset, but you can’t deny how good-looking he is. It’s not fair. The only reason you stop staring is to avoid judgment from anyone passing by. And because you kind of need to talk to him.

You knock on the window on the passenger side.

He doesn’t even flinch.

You knock again. Still nothing. Either he’s dead, or he’s just fucking with you. He better not be fucking with you when you’re mad. Read the room, asshole.

Trying your best not to throw your phone at his window, you instead use it to call him. His phone screen blinds you as it flashes on in the darkness and vibrates against his thigh.

This time you catch the slightest twitch of his pretty pink lips. They’re glowing in the light of his phone screen.

You walk around to the driver’s side and get a better look at his glowy handsome face. “I know you’re awake.”

Now he has a full smile to accompany his closed eyelids, cosplaying as a happy corpse.

You roll your eyes at him and start walking in the opposite direction. “All good, I’ll just walk home.”

The doors unlock real quick. The corpse snaps out of his eternal slumber. “Hey, I was kidding,” he calls out the window. “Come back here.”

For the second time in the past three minutes, you make a u-turn toward his car. But this time, you hop in, hesitant to look him in the eye.

“I didn’t think you’d still be waiting here…” You bite your lip. You wish he weren’t still here. Then you wouldn’t be forced to talk about what happened earlier. It’d be much easier to not talk about your feelings.

“You agreed to grab dinner with me afterward, didn’t you?” He’s acting like you didn’t banish him from the building twenty minutes ago. He’s acting like you could’ve told him to never speak to you again and he’d still be waiting here because of some promise you’d both made earlier in the day. He would’ve been waiting here for you no matter what. 

Maybe you shouldn’t have gotten that upset. Time to go in over-two-decades-of-history-preservation mode.

“Yeah but… I kind of overreacted earlier. Then again, I don’t know how else I’m supposed to react when my neighbor sees me half-naked,” you say, shrinking in your seat. “I still meant what I said, though. I work a lot better when you’re not around because you make it hard to focus.”

You immediately regret admitting that last bit.

“It’s understandable that you get so flustered around me. Kind of cute, too,” he hums like he just won the lottery. Mother fucker. “But I should’ve just been honest with you earlier.”

“What do you mean?” You tilt your head like a lost puppy.

“Someone obviously hasn’t checked their phone in a while,” he chuckles, pointing to the pink phone resting atop the mesh lingerie in your bag. You grab your phone and shove the lingerie deeper into your bag until it’s out of his view. Hopefully, he didn’t notice.

Sure enough, you have more unread texts waiting for you beneath the thirsty ones from lunch.

Yoongi🗿 [6:29PM] “Is the shoot running late?”

Yoongi🗿 [6:29PM] “No rush btw. Just want to make sure you didn’t die in the bathroom or something haha”

Yoongi🗿 [7:01PM] “So should I be concerned or”

Yoongi🗿 [7:02PM] “Just to clarify, I don’t believe you’re deceased in the bathroom”

Yoongi🗿 [7:02PM] “But I am gonna go in and check lol”

Then you realize how late it is. It’s over an hour past the time you told Yoongi you’d be done. No wonder it’s fucking dark out.

Your whole mind is spinning, and you have a lot of questions. You turn to him, and the first thing you ask is, “You thought I died in the bathroom?”

“You were running late, not responding, and, well… I had to check,” he shrugs his shoulders. “I didn’t know the lady at the front desk was going to bring me right to the shoot.” So he had good intentions after all. He wasn’t just after your body—far from it, in fact. He was genuinely worried about you. 

Well, shit. Now you look like the asshole for telling him to fuck off after he thought to check up on you like a guardian angel. He should’ve just said so in the first place. But maybe it’s hard for him to admit that sort of thing, too. You can relate.

You still feel bad, though. Doubt had clouded your better judgment because of your own insecurities. You didn’t believe what he was doing for you was unconditional. But the truth is, he cares about you more than you know. He always has.

Was Yoongi completely and utterly crushed after you’d asked him to leave your photoshoot? Yes. But he wasn’t going to show that to you. After all, as far as you knew, he’d only dropped by to check you out in that pretty lingerie. That’s always been his biggest downfall. He’s never been fully honest with you. It’s understandable that you’d be frustrated with him.

You had every right to be mad at him for interfering with your work. You had every right to walk away right past his car after the shoot. And yet, you still chose to sit down beside him to salvage whatever it is between you and him. It’s always been complicated like this, but it’s worth all the petty bickering you guys do on a daily basis. Seeing you so flustered and cute makes it all worth it.

The last thing he wants is for you to slip through his fingers. Because a world without you would just be weird. And boring. And lonely.

And now you’re rambling on about sushi—his favorite food. You claim you’ve been craving it all day, but it’s not very convincing.

“Hey, the sushi place is the other way,” you frown as he turns left instead of right. “You’re the worst Uber driver ever. I’m leaving you a one-star review.”

“I thought you didn’t like sushi,” he points out, completely ignoring your Karen threat.

“Yeah, when I was like ten. I’m allowed to change what I like, aren’t I?” You make a good point. Maybe your taste buds have changed and you aren’t just catering to his preferences. But it’s in his nature to keep pushing your buttons, to keep getting a reaction out of you. That’s the one thing he knows will never change between you and him.

“You were cuter when you didn’t like sushi.”

“Fuck you.” You turn your head away from him and toward the window to hide your face. He can still see your reflection, though. For such harsh words, your expression is soft. 

It’s funny because that’s what Yoongi has always liked most about you. You’re a tough cookie—you know it, he knows it, everyone knows it—but the best cookies are the ones with soft centers. And he loves to devour and savor that soft side you only seem to show him.

About ten minutes later, he pulls up to a drive-thru you’ll surely recognize. He doesn’t go there often himself, but whenever he does, he’s reminded of those Halloween nights spent scaring the shit out of you before spending his allowance to buy you a kid’s meal with a dumb light-up pumpkin toy. He’s reminded of the time you broke up with your first boyfriend and needed someone to rant to over vanilla milkshakes and fries. He’s reminded of the past two decades the two of you shared together, no matter how silly or short-lived the moments were. He’s cherished all of it.

It might not be the sushi you’d hoped for, but your eyes light up when you see the fast food sign. You lean in closer to him to get a better look at the menu. Today you smell like fruit and—he goes in for another sniff by your neck, purely to identify the intoxicating scent you’re wearing—something floral. 

“Ooh, order me the nugget combo with an iced coffee,” you finally glance at him, mid-sniff, with the eyes of an angel. He knew you’d appreciate the fast food.

“You and your nuggets. What are you? A baby?” he chuckles before being greeted and prompted to order over the speaker. “Can we get a burger combo with iced coffee, one kid’s meal with nuggets and milk—” 

You give his shoulder a small shove. 

He smirks but otherwise continues on as if nothing happened, “—and a nugget combo with iced coffee.”

“So a total of two combos and one kid’s meal?” the employee double-checks.

“Actually—”

“Yeah,” he cuts you off and drives to the pick-up window before you could protest and cancel the kid’s meal order.

“Why do you need a kid’s meal?” you mumble as the employee hands off the big bag of food to Yoongi. You’re so cute when you’re pouty.

“It’s for you, obviously.” He pulls into a spot in the empty lot and takes a sip of his coffee.

“Why do you always treat me like a baby?” That’s the question you ask as you take the kid’s meal box from his hand and start snacking on the few nuggets it comes with.

Because you’re tiny and cute and need to be protected at all costs, he wants to say. Instead he goes with the safer option. “Because you’re my little sister’s friend.”

“But Mo’s rarely ever around anymore. I feel like I’m spending more time with you than her at this point.” That’s true. Her and Namjoon have basically become inseparable. That must suck at least a little for you. 

“I personally wouldn’t let that slide.” As much as Yoongi loves his sister and knows she’d do anything for you if you asked, he also knows you’re not the type to reach out unless you really need to. If Mo understood you the way he understands you, she’d know to check in with you, to send you the occasional random meme in case you’re having a bad day, and to remind you that you aren’t alone. 

But that’s where he comes in. 

“It’s fine, I’m happy for her and Namjoon. Last I heard, she’s waiting for the proposal.” You set down the empty kid’s meal box and move on to your actually dinner. He has to resist the urge to pick the little nugget crumb off the corner of your lips.

“You don’t feel left behind?” he asks. It’s crazy to think his little sister could be getting married soon. Meanwhile, he’s watched you cycle through several boyfriends without much luck. His own love situation isn’t much different, but that’s what happens when no relationship has inspired him to do the things he does for you. Your presence in his life is more than just love and lust. 

Everything you are to him is unconditional.

You shake your head at his question as you glance up at the stars through the windshield. “There’s only one person I’d ever feel left behind by.”

If it’s not Mo or your family, then surely it’s the guy you’ve been chasing after all these years, the guy who teases you because you have a cute pout, the guy who’s been with you every step of the way. The one guy you didn’t want to see your lingerie photos in fear of ruining everything. Surely it’s him you’d be hurt by most if you lost him.

“He’s not going anywhere, Y/N,” he assures you.

You continue to study the stars in silence. There are no shooting stars out tonight, but what you’re looking for isn’t a wish. “Is that a promise?”

He nods. The easiest nod of his life. “That’s how it’s always been, right?”

You nod back. It’s always been you and him. Nothing could ever erase that history you’ve both been trying so hard to protect. There’s no need to play it safe anymore. The history between you and him is stronger than that.

As a way to transition out of the sappy stuff, you reach down and grab the toy from the kid’s meal—a tiny soft cat, probably from a baby cartoon or whatever. You have an awfully big smile on your face for someone who complained about ordering the kid’s meal in the first place. 

Without thinking, Yoongi snatches the cat out of your grasp and dangles it by the tail in front of your eyes. “I’ll be keeping this.”

“I thought you said it was my kid’s meal.” You swing your little paw at him to reclaim your prize, but he’s too quick, holding the cat captive just out of your reach. It’s incredible how easy you are to taunt, especially over something as silly as a toddler toy. Maybe he’s just become a pro at it with over two decades of experience.

After unbuckling your seatbelt, you practically lunge over the center console and lean your weight on the edge of his seat with one hand while the other reaches for the cat, now pressed against the window on Yoongi’s side. He can smell your pretty perfume again, and he’s going to make it last as long as possible.

He brings the cat forward until it’s an inch away from your hand to encourage you to stretch just a tad closer to him. It apparently works, because the hand supporting your body has moved onto his thigh to give you the extra bit of reach. 

If you’re both not careful, you might fall into his lap. He wouldn’t mind it of course, but then you’d feel how hard he’s getting just from having your hand on his thigh like that. Your sweet scent isn’t helping his situation either.

“Say please and it’s all yours.” He lets out an awkward half-cough after inhaling a large dose of your perfume. Very smooth, Yoongi.

You narrow your eyes at him before backing off. His thigh can finally breathe, not that it wanted to. “I don’t need it that bad.”

Aww, you’re acting all tough again. Yoongi slips the cat plush into his pocket with a smirk. “See? Playing hard to get.”

“I swear I’m only like this with you. You drive me mad,” you let out a dramatic sigh.

That’s right. He affects you in a way no one else does. “Good.”

“No, not good.” You wiggle a finger at him as you scan the receipt and pull out your phone. Several seconds later, he gets a notification of you sending him money for all the food.

“You could’ve at least let me pay for the kid’s meal.” Especially after he pocketed the cat.

“I’m just paying you back for all the rides so far.” So far? Interesting choice of words.

“Does that mean you’re going to need another one tomorrow?” He takes another sip of his coffee.

“I don’t know, maybe. I’m getting my car looked at tomorrow morning before work, but…” You have that ashamed look on your face again for having to ask for another ride. You’re not a burden to him. Ever.

“Got it. I’ll be on standby. Just AirDrop me if—”

“Enough with the AirDrop.” You give him another feisty shove and almost knock his coffee out of his hand. Even if the coffee had stained his whole car, he would’ve forgiven you immediately because your smile is so pretty. He’s just happy you’re back to being playful with him. “If I need anything, I’ll let you know. Thank you, Yoongi.”

On the drive home, you tell him more about your job with such a glow. The days might be long sometimes, but the crew has been so sweet, and the photographer “knows how to make you look good.” The photographer could be terrible and you’d still look amazing. There’s no doubt in Yoongi’s mind about that.

You also mention something about special little perks, too.

“Special little perks like what?” he asks, more curious than he’d like to be.

“Guess.” Why are you tempting him like this?

“Does it have something to do with the lingerie in your bag?”

You blink at him like a deer in headlights. Uh oh. “You were supposed to pretend like you didn’t see that.”

“See what?” he plays along. Good save, Yoongi.

You give him a thumbs-up and smile the rest of the way home.

After parking in the space in front of his house, Yoongi takes a five-second look at your car right behind his. It looks perfectly fine. Whatever the issue is, it’s not visible from the outside, but hopefully it stays broken for a while.

“Is it actually broken or did you just say that to score a ride from the handsome guy next door?” he teases.

“The latter, obviously,” you deadpan before switching over to the most precious giggle ever. You’re so fucking cute. “Thanks for the ride, Handsome Guy Next Door.”

“No problem.” He watches, amused, as you dig through the lingerie in your bag to find your keys. He’d turn on the flashlight on his phone to help you see better, but he’s supposed to be ignoring that mesh polka-dotted lingerie. That’s what a good and respectful neighbor would do. 

Fuck it. He immediately breaks down and shines a light on the sheer bralette and g-string (and your keys). It’d look so pretty on you.

You grab your keys and shoo away his shameless horny eyes. That’s his cue to leave things as they are, just as he had the night before. If you wanted something more, you’d let him know. He’s already assured you everything will be fine between you and him no matter what.

Just as he unlocks his door, you stop him in his tracks.

“Yoongi, wait.”

He turns around, a little too eager some might say. You haven’t even said anything else, but he’s already ready to say yes to whatever it is.

You dig around in your bag again. He catches a glimpse of the mesh fabric between your fingers. He’ll take a souvenir any day.

But then you toss it back in your bag and hum an innocent, “Never mind, it’s nothing.”

You’re such a tease. Oh how the tables have turned.

As soon as you close the door behind you, you kick off your white sneakers, and take the teeny tiny lingerie with you to your room.

You saw how quick he was to turn around when you called out to him. You saw how he practically drooled at the lingerie in your bag. He wasn’t ready for the night to end either.

Piece by piece, you toss your clothes aside and replace them with the mesh polka-dotted triangles. Your little nipples are so visible through the thin pieces of cloth. Good.

Then you take a quick bed selfie, just like Yoongi had one night ago. And you lay it all out there. You’re done hiding and suppressing your feelings for him. Because no matter what happens between the two of you, even if the night doesn’t go the way you hope, you’re not going to lose him. That’s what was promised in his car.

So, one last time, you AirDrop him a photo of yourself in lingerie. He accepts it immediately.

Then you text him.

Y/N🐣 [8:18PM] “you asked for a pic of my wardrobe earlier didnt you?”

Y/N🐣 [8:18PM] “btw knock on my door rn or youre a coward😡”

You’re really doing it. There’s no going back now.

You throw a hoodie over your shoulders and leave it unzipped as you pace back and forth in the hall. You always wondered why you get so antsy when it’s just Min Yoongi. It’s literally just the guy you’ve lived next to your entire life. But that’s the hold he has on you. The mere thought of being with him never fails to excite you. Those are the kind of butterflies you get with him.

Your heart nearly jumps out of your chest when you hear his knock. You swing the door open before you can chicken out.

Of course his eyes immediately fall on your chest. He almost forgets to speak.

“What pic were you talking about? Did you send something?” he asks, still very much concentrated on your nipples.

Wait.

“You didn’t get the AirDrop?” Not this again. The granny across the street probably did get it this time. You want to wrap yourself up in your fluffy warm blanket and permanently disable that stupid phone feature once and for all. No, it’s not a stupid feature. You’re just stupid for using it.

“You’re so fun to fuck with, Y/N,” he laughs right in your face. “Yes, I got your cute little photo.”

“Stop teasing me,” you pout. Here you are, trying to look all hot for him, and he’s still finding ways to fuck with you. He’s so mean.

“I could ask the same of you.” Yoongi slips his index finger into your bralette between your breasts. He tugs on the stretchy band until it snaps back against your skin. “Or maybe you don’t realize what you do to me when I see you like this.”

“I don’t,” you play innocent as you pull him inside and shut the door behind him. You’d love to be enlightened about what your body does to him just by existing. A demonstration would be much appreciated. The more detail, the better.

He pushes you back against the wall in the narrow hallway and pins you there. You try to distract yourself by staring at the tiny speck of coffee on his white sweater but a strong hand cups your chin and lifts it so you can’t run from his gaze. His eyes are dark.“It's so fucked up how many times I’ve gotten off at the thought of my little sister’s friend in nothing but lingerie.”

Funny, you’ve always thought it was fucked up of you to lust over him given how close you’d been throughout your childhood. You cringe at the thought of Mo learning about all the unholy fantasies you’ve had of her brother—him fucking you against the wet walls of his shower, him shoving his cock down your throat until you cry, and even him tying you up on the bed and doing whatever he wants with your body. Your delusional self has thought about it all with him.

But now you know he’s felt the same way all along.

You slide your hands up his chest to his neck as your eyes hone in on his glossy lips. For as long as you could remember, you’ve always wondered what Min Yoongi tastes like. In your dreams, he tasted of creamy vanilla milkshakes. But now, in this moment…?

You lean in and press your breasts into his chest, but he pulls back just before you can get a taste of those lips.

“I always knew you had a thing for me,” he smirks. The teasing never stops. But that’s what you’ve signed your life away for. “If you want to kiss me so bad, say it.”

The stubborn you who “plays hard to get” would never admit that. The you right now, on the other hand, is yearning, desperate, and painfully horny. In this state, you’d get down on your hands and knees so quick.

“I want to kiss you, you ass—” Your mumble is cut off by his lips. They taste like the iced coffee from earlier with a hint of salt. You want more of it.

Your tongue gets tangled with his. It’s sloppy, but you’ve had enough of keeping it clean with him. You’ve played it safe for far too long.

His hands grab your breasts as he lets out a low moan inside your throat. Funny how perfectly your chest fits in his large hands. When he gives them a squeeze, you lean into him more. Anything to get more of his touch.

But then he slides a hand down your belly and works a few fingers around the fabric between your legs. They glide between your folds so smoothly.

“Did you get this wet just from a little kiss and touch? Poor thing.” He holds up the proof of your lust before licking it off his fingers with that tongue. “I thought you’d put up more of a fight.”

The next thing you know, your hoodie is gone and he’s carrying you off to your room. As soon as your back hits the mattress, he climbs on top of you, bombarding you with more kisses until you’re out of breath.

Your hands fidget with the hem of his sweater until he gets the memo that you want it off. Seeing him shirtless is nothing new—you’ve seen him casually walk out of the shower in nothing more towel on multiple occasions while hanging out with Mo next door, hence all your the shower fantasies. But in this context, with him on top of you on your bed, the butterflies just keep coming.

As the two of you continue to makeout, you unzip him. It’s your turn to slip your hand into his pants. He’s huge, just like your fantasies. You’re not sure your inexperienced throat can handle it.

“You haven’t even seen it yet, and you’re drooling,” he purrs when he leans back to get a good look at your current status—starved for his cock. “Does my cute little neighbor love having her mouth filled with cock?”

“I haven’t…” Your words trail off when you see his erection in full. Your hands latch back on to it like gravity. There’s no way this’ll fit down your throat without making you gag. You lick your lips.

“Wait, this isn’t the first time you’re—”

“I’ve had sex,” you clarify. “Just haven’t given a blowjob…” 

It still feels weird to admit these kinds of things to your neighbor. You’ve always been more careful and closed off about your sex life than him. Meanwhile, you swear you’ve heard the whimpers and moans of all the girls he’s pleasured on the other side of your wall. You’ve never heard the sounds he makes during sex, though.

“How innocent. Depriving yourself of tasting it for this long.” Now he’s got a big ol’ smile on his face as you lie on your stomach and kiss along his length. “You won’t be so innocent by the time I’m done with you.”

You don’t want to be innocent with him anymore.

When you finally take him into your mouth, it’s easy. You swirl your tongue around as you bob your head up and down him. The taste isn’t nearly as bad as you’d thought. In fact, you kind of like it. Or maybe you’re just too horny to care. 

But then you decide you want to gag. So you push your mouth further down his length. The slightest tickle against the back of your throat practically has your whole body jerk in protest. You pull back and let yourself breathe before wrapping your lips back around him.

“Hey, easy,” he chuckles, holding your hair back. “Deepthroating is too advanced for you. You’re still a baby.”

You’ll let the baby comment slide only because you’re too focused on sucking his cock. You wouldn’t mind doing this all night. It could easily become your new addiction.

“Mm,” you moan as flick your eyes up at him. His mouth is open, panting, still trying to fight off the feral instincts you so easily gave in to. Whatever you’re doing, it’s working. Not bad for a first-time blowjob.

“So good,” he praises as he watches your mouth working so hard along his length. You’ve finally earned some praise from him. After all these fucking years. “Fuck, you’re so good.”

The next time you come up for air, he wipes his thumb along your lip to clean you up before flipping you over onto your back. You’d love to suck the glaze off his thumb, but the selfish bastard does it for you right in front of your face.

“I know you’ve grown quite attached to sucking my cock, but I’d like to know how your other hole feels, if that’s alright with you.”

You nod, knowing just how soaked your g-string got while sucking him off. After wiggling out of it and tossing it aside, you spread your legs out for him like a well-trained slut.

He uses his fingers again to make sure you’re coated enough. You feel two curl inside you. Then a third. His thumb brushes gently over your clit exactly one time.

“Fuck,” you whimper from the jolt of pleasure. He needs to do it again.

But he doesn’t.

So you run your own two fingers around your clit as his slip in and out of you. He watches the rhythm of your fingers going around and around like a hypnotic spiral. That smirk is creeping back up again.

“So that’s how my neighbor touches herrself,” he nods like the enthusiastic spectator he is. “That’s how you touch yourself for me.”

You continue to tease your little bud as he grabs a condom from the ass pocket of his jeans and slides it down his length. Finally. Fucking finally.

Your horny little body pounces on top of him, your thighs straddling him beneath you. His cock presses against your ass as you strip off your bralette and lean over to kiss him some more. You’d leave him a nice hickey, but you hate the thought of Mo bringing it up as “a byproduct of another one of his meaningless flings.”

Instead of thinking about that, you grab his cock from behind and ease yourself onto him. You’re sure his ego just got a boost from the amount of time it took you to adjust to his size.

“Don’t worry, I’m not gonna be That Guy who comments on your tight little pussy.” Asshole.

Then you start sliding yourself up and down his cock. You gasp immediately. It feels so fucking good to finally have him inside you.

The boy doesn’t waste any time, either. His hands work their way up your waist back to your breasts. He gives your nipples a few pinches and is delighted to learn just how sensitive you are over there. You toss your head back with each little pinch.

As the pleasure builds, you feel him thrusting back beneath you. Your ass is practically bouncing off his thighs with each thrust. If you don’t hold onto his shoulders, you might fall off of him, which would be quite the tragedy because you happen to like the feeling of his cock pounding inside of you. 

“More…” you huff against his neck. “Harder…”

At your request, he gets back on top and takes the lead, ramming himself in and out of you. You knew Yoongi was a strong guy, but you’ve never been fucked this hard before. Perhaps this is what years of all that sexual tension have amounted to.

You let out another loud moan, this time crying out his name. You should be afraid of Mo coming back from Namjoon’s and hearing the way you cry her brother’s name with such lust. You shouldn’t show what a dirty little slut you’ve become for him. But you’re mind isn’t functioning anymore. Not with him fucking you silly like that.

“I’m gonna—” you yelp.

He speeds up and pounds harder into you until you’re overcome by your orgasm. The wave of pleasure washes over you as you feel your walls tightening around him.

“Fuck, Y/N,” he groans, feeling just how tight you can go. He should be grateful for your tight little pussy. Especially if his high was as good as yours.

As you catch your breath, your thoughts start to come back to you. You’re certainly not looking forward to the conversation you’re gonna have to have with Mo later. But you know it was worth it. And you know you don’t regret anything that happened tonight. It was long overdue, anyway.

Yoongi, on the otherhand, might still have his head in the clouds because he’s just lying down on your pillow with the goofiest smile. He’s been smiling a lot more lately.

“Do you remember that time you invited me to your little tea party in here?” he asks out of nowhere.

“No,” you lie. 

Of course you remember it. You were probably five or six and you’d just watched some teen show where the main girl asked her love interest out on a lunch date. Your naive self was inspired to do the same, but with your love interest—your Yoongi. And initially he said no because he’s mean like that. That was your first heartbreak.

But then he turned around later and crashed the tea party you’d set up for your sobbing self and your teddy bear. He claimed he’d only stick around for the shortbread cookies, but you’re starting to think there was more to it.

“Well I do,” he admits. “That was the first time I thought you were kinda cute.”

“Kinda?”

“Yeah, kinda cute. Because you were also an annoying little brat, you know that?” This is just slander.

“Well I appreciate you putting up with this kinda cute annoying brat for all these years,” you mutter. “No one was forcing you to.”

“I know, that’s my point.” He pinches your cheek. “Even if I tried to run, you always somehow found a way to cling onto me. Like a leech.”

“Okay, buddy, I’ve had enough of this slander,” you hiss in his arms under the blankets. “If you’re going to say something nice, just say it already. No more of your dumb leech metaphors.”

“You’ve always had a hold on me, Y/N.” He presses a soft kiss to your forehead—the first of many, you hope. “And I feel like a lot happened in the past day, but that’s only one small part of what this is.”

“This” as in you and him.

“Like one page in a history book,” you chime in. “Or like a chapter in a memoir, or the chorus of a song, or—”

He chuckles at your rambling because it’s apparently “so fucking cute” to him. What else would you expect? If one page in the history book is dedicated to the past 24 hours, 10,000 pages are filled with him teasing you, you chasing him, and everything in between. 

Today simply marks the start of a new era.

---

the landlord - myg | m

↳ summary- your air conditioner breaks right at the height of a recordbreaking heat wave.  good thing your hot landlord, yoongi, knows how to attend to any needs you may have.

↳ rating- explicit / 18+

↳ word count- 4.3k

↳ pairing- yoongi x reader

↳ genre- smut, light crack, PWP

↳ warnings- basically the plot of a porn, theres no plot, the plot doesn’t make sense, seduction, oral sex (m/f receiving), penetrative sex, dirty talk, fun laughing giggly time during sex, honestly yoongi is great and i love him, maybe exhibitionism if u squint ???, cum sharing, finger sucking, motorboating

↳ a/n- did i just write basically the plotline of a bad porno? yes.  did i love it? also yes.  this was lowkey inspired by my own landlord coming over to my place (that i DIDNT SLEEP WITH) and i answered the door in a state of undress :/ i hate myself lol.  anywwayyss! enjoy yoongi the landlord!  pls feel free to interact with me because i need constant attention uwu

The inside of your apartment feels hotter than the blazing sun outside.  Your air conditioner chose the worst week to fritz on you. A record-breaking heat wave.

Nothing helps.  You open windows, blow fans, sit in front of your fridge, take cold showers. All just momentary bliss that ends too soon.

It finally breaks you and you muster up the courage to text your landlord, Yoongi.  

You inhale a deep breath as you click on the name. Min Yoongi, landlord.  Your eyes flutter shut for a moment without realizing.

Your landlord who lives in the same building as you is likely the hottest and most attractive man you’ve ever met. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t have a crush on the man. Every month, paying rent was torture. You wanted to fling your legs open to him and request he takes his payment another way.

Keep reading

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the bedroom hymns ● chapter iv

⟶ Chapter summary | The time has finally come for you to finally depart from home. You have no idea what to expect from the upcoming journey, but knowing how peculiar the circumstances have been, you probably should have predicted that this trip would not be an average one after all.

⟶Title | The Bedroom Hymns: a Bluebeard’s twist ⟶ Pairings | Min Yoongi x female reader  ⟶Genre | Fairy Prince!Yoongi, Crown Princess!reader, Fantasy au, Fairy Tale retelling au ⟶ Word count | 5,8k words ⟶ Ratings & Warnings | PG-13, +18 / M for Mature in the future scenes; still nothing much on this chapter, but the story may contain classism, threats of abductions, curses, dark magic, fantasy typical violence ⟶ Story Masterlist | ⤎ previous chapter | next chapter ⇢ ⟶ Main Masterlist | Mailbox | Taglist | Feedback | Music Playlist | Ko-fi

chapter iv. in bloom

It is finally time. 

It still feels quite surreal to think that you are going to leave the palace, to finally escape this heavenly-like prison where you grew up in. It still seems unfathomable to think that you are going to be in another place before the next morning arrives. 

But here you are now, standing at the courtyard where the royal carriage is going through its final preparations, with the King standing close by as he is giving his final instructions and commands to the driver of the carriage and the guards who are going to travel alongside you. On the corner of your eyes, you can see Marc and a few guards loading up all the luggage into the carriage, with a couple of other guards making sure that the carriage is safe and secure by checking every detail closely. Meanwhile, you can see Nanny Abigail and Miss Pippa getting busy setting up the seats to make sure that it would be comfortable for your journey, all while fretting about the lack of pillows and blankets to keep you warm inside. 

Aside from Miss Pippa and a small group of guards, you see no sight of any other palace staff around. Not even the advisors or the men who would often work closely with the King. Knowing that your father had intended to keep your departure as a confidential matter, you can only assume that he may have relieved everyone in the palace out of their duties. Except for the people who matters.

As much as you are anxious about leaving, you are also excited for it. To be able to feel a bit of freedom regardless of why you are being sent out of this place, and when it feels like your prayers had been heard—to be given the chance to venture deep into the Elcester Forest and see for yourself the secrets hidden in its gloom. The only apprehension that you have about this trip is the fact that tonight would be the eve of Lemmus Rising—the sacred night that should give more reasons to stay away from the deep forest, where it was said that the souls of the dead would appear once the night has fallen. 

You did wonder the reason why the King would choose this specific evening for your departure. Until you realise that there would not be another night like this one. 

During the evening, everyone in the capital city and the surrounding districts would be paying more attention to their rituals and staying clear from the dark places around the woods, opening up the chance for the royal carriage to make its trip across the Coyne River and into the forest without drawing too much attention. There would also be the thick mist, the fog which would be able to conceal the royal carriage’s movements across the borders until it descends into the deep woods. 

You look up to the sky, watching as the signs of the Lemmus Rising begin to unfold. The bright daylight has been rapidly fading, melting into the warm shade of burnt orange that is dancing across the horizon as the sun continues to descend. Right down below, a thin presence of mist has begun to rise, crawling slowly across the cobblestone-covered ground. You watch it swirling around the wheels of the carriage and passing between the horses’s restless legs as if it has come alive.

While you are closely observing all the movements around you and the changes that are happening as the day turns to dusk, His Majesty finishes his instructions to the driver and the captain of the guards. It draws your attention away from the sunset when you hear the King’s deep voice saying, “I entrust you to do your best to make sure my daughter’s safety.” 

“Indeed, Your Majesty,” you hear the driver speaks. “I will make sure that Her Highness will arrive safely at the home castle by sunrise without any harm.” 

Something that he says draws your curiosity that you quickly turn to look at the driver, just in time to see him bending his waist down to bow at the King. You never paid much attention to the driver when he first arrived with the royal carriage, so you didn’t quite get a good look at the man until now. The driver looks tall, and there is something in the way he presents himself which reminds you of the pub-keeper, Sir Elias. But while he has similar broad shoulders and a pair of arms that look almost as strong, his body is leaner. It makes him look a bit taller than he probably should have once he straightens back up to his height. You cannot tell wether he is old or young, with half of his face covered in a layer of dark, thick moustache and beard, but there is quite a sharpness in his gaze and soft lines appearing around his eyes when he smiles that are showing you that he may not have been that much younger compared to your father. 

You barely have a thing to say when the driver is dismissed, and King Aneas comes to pull you away briefly before letting you go. Once you are in a safe distance away from the other people around you, he surprises you by asking, “Are you armed?” 

“Yes, Father,” you answer him with a low voice. You signal to him the presence of the dagger that is hidden under your dress, tied up to your thigh with the leather-made garter belt that you created with your own hands during one of your crafting lessons. “I carry with me the golden dagger you gave me, and prepared a bow and a substantial amount of arrows. I have them all set up together with my short sword under the seats earlier with Marc’s help.” 

King Aneas, who is known to always hide his expression in front of others, smiles proudly after hearing your answers. “Well done, Princess. I hope that you won’t have to use them during the journey as you will have the guards coming with you to keep you safe, but it’s always good to be prepared,” he says. There is something in his eyes that makes you wonder if there is something else that he may want to say to you, but the look disappears completely as he straightens himself up. “The driver to the carriage is someone who is familiar with the territory and he will take you safely to the home castle. He is also trained to defend himself so you will be safe in his hands. But always stay alert, no matter what.” 

“Father, what—” 

Before you can have a chance to speak, your father immediately adds, “And don’t forget. Never take off your necklace. Make sure that you keep it on you the whole time you are away and never to lose it.” 

Despite the voices nagging in the back of your mind, you choose to keep your questions to yourself. “I promise,” you murmur softly while absentmindedly reaching up to grab your necklace. Pleased with your answer, the King regards you with a nod and begins to usher you towards the awaiting royal carriage. 

“It’s time to go, Your Highness,” the driver calls to you, and with Marc’s assistance, you step into the carriage carefully and settle down in your seat. While the driver and the guards prepare themselves for the departure, you continue to look out the window, unable to look away from your father.  

As the carriage begins to depart through the gate on the south side of the palace, the part of The Citadel which is cleverly hidden from the common folks’ eyes, your eyes remain on the King. His Majesty remains to stand there on the side threshold of the palace, watching you closely with his unwavering gaze. As the carriage continues to drive further away from him, you almost believe that the mist which has been swirling on the ground begin to rise, growing thicker and denser until it almost makes it hard for you to see him, just as much as you are sure that the royal carriage is being concealed. Your gaze remain on your father’s shadow as you look through the back window, until the moment his sight disappears completely with the distance and the obscuring mist, and that is the last you see of him until the palace’s gate is closed behind the departing carriage.  

You finally draw your eyes away from the palace once you notice the carriage slowing down on the bridge passing over the Coyne River. Beyond you appears the short drive towards the woods from the bridge, with the road disappearing between the thickets. Before the driver sets his horses off towards the forest’s borders, he opens the small window separating the front box-seat to the passenger car so he could speak with you and Nanny Abigail. 

“It is the peak of the summer still, so the night will be short. We will still have some sun as we enter the forest, so you’ll get to enjoy the view for a short while before the sky gets dark. Please be aware that it will be mostly pitch-black once we are deep in the forest, but there will be no need for you to be worried. I’ve put up some lamps inside the carriage as you can see, and they will light up once the sunlight is gone so you and the governess can see just as well on the inside,” he nods his chin pointing to the side of your seats, where a couple of lamps—much similar to the regular oil lamps that you have seen uses back at the palace—are hung right by the windows. 

Just as you begin to wonder how to light up the lamps when there are no sight of the oil canisters around you, the driver speaks again. “We do have some fog around us aside from the dense trees, but we should have enough moonlight, so it should be enough to help see around us better,” the driver reassuringly says, as if he can sense how anxious you feel about being in the dark.  

“I can assure you that the sky will be bright once again when we are out of these woods, as I predict that we will be able to reach the home castle at the break of dawn,” he continues, before lowering his voice a little when he adds, “As long as there is no trouble coming in our way, of course.” 

Not knowing what to say, you simply grow silent. Thankfully, Nanny Abigail—who is sitting right across from you and much closer to the driver’s window—takes over by saying to the driver, “Thank you kindly for the assurance, Sir. We are trusting our safety in your hands.” 

The driver nods at her with a grin on his face, and then does the same to you, before closing the window shut and facing forward again to lead his horses, and the carriage steadily moves faster towards the forest’s edge. 

It takes a while, but as soon as the steady sounds of the horses’s foot galloping on top of the cobblestone road fill the air, you begin to grow calmer. Before long the line of trees appear ahead of you, and your agitation soon turns into excitement. 

Once the carriage drives past the borders and into the thicket, your heartbeat picks up rapidly, still in disbelief even as you are surrounded by nothing but trees. The cobblestone road that continues from the palace carries on for a while longer once you are in the woods, with lines of trees standing on either side of the road which seem like they are passing by quickly as the carriage drives past them. It doesn’t take long before the road breaks out into a path covered with gravel, and the forest begins to open up for you to see a lot more from what lies within the grove. 

As you look out the window, beyond you lay endless rows of trees, with a dense layer of foliage formed by the high grass and wild bushes. Through the small openings that you can find between the trees, you get to see the sight of the green sloping land which is adorned with steep hills appearing here and there, all covered in a spread of green grass. There are small hills in the distance which are adorned with clumps of trees crowning each of their tops, and since you are still close to the edge of the forest, you can see the rare sightings of orchards and farmhouses peeking not too far away. 

Everywhere you look, spread a variety of bright and soft colours that are easily drawing your attention. The beauty that comes from the colourful fresh fruits growing from the top of the evergreen and the blooming petals materialising from the shrubberies, all seem to glow under the warmth coming from the setting sun. 

Soon, the darkness will fall, and these colours would no longer be available to your eyes. So you allow yourself to relish on the view and in the moment, until the carriage gets deeper into the woods, just in time for the sun to disappear completely in the horizon. As the sky finally gets darker, the mist around you seems to grow thicker and reaching higher above ground, and the bright colours which you have been admiring is slowly being replaced with dark shadows. The gloom doesn’t have a chance to enter the carriage, however, as the lamps on your side walls suddenly light up out of nowhere, and a gentle glow fills the car immediately as soon as the world outside is covered by the gloom. 

Surrounded by the darkness, the silence within grows almost as thick as the dense trees outside, and that is when your mind becomes louder. Loud enough for the questions that you were forced to silence earlier to come to surface, leaving you wondering to yourself—

If The Citadel was supposed to be your home, then why do people keep referring this new place of solitude that you are heading to as the ‘home castle’?

“What is happening?” 

The journey has been going on without any disturbance for a while, until you finally notice how restless the driver seems to be. With the curtains on the driver’s window left open, you can see it when his demeanour begins to change—he seems distracted by something and starts glancing and turning to his right, looking out into the distance beyond the trees, and his commands sounds more like a mixture of firm shouts and soothing words, as if he is trying to calm his horses while making them march with more haste. Then you look out through the window as two of the guards on horses separate themselves from the group, and another guard leads his horse to ride closely to the carriage so he could talk to the driver. 

Moving on instinct, you jump across your seat and slide open the window just in time to hear the guard’s voice speaking through the loud noises of the horses’ rapid steps and the carriage wheels, “It’s those nosy boys from the Brotherhood of Jorn. They noticed the carriage entering into the forest and are following us close.” 

You hear the driver cursing loudly before asking, “Can you do something about it?” 

“We’ll drive them away from the carriage and apprehend them to find out what they’re up to. In the meantime, focus on getting Her Highness out of here. Fast!” the guard quickly says, before leading his horse towards the trees, as he joins the other guards to chase away the rebel army with a couple of more guards following him. 

Once they departed, the driver looks over his shoulder, looking straight at you with a grin. “Hang on tight, Your Highness. We’re going to have to have a sharp detour right ahead if we want to stay away from the melee,” he yells out, and both you and Nanny Abigail quickly take hold onto the seats to avoid falling as the carriage swerves to the left, just as the gravel-covered road branches out into three different lanes. 

The driver leads the carriage to continue a bit further before he slows down a little, taking his time to make sure that he has taken you away from where the brawl may occur. He looks back through the window, apologising for the crisis at hand before explaining, “Our journey right ahead is going to be a long and exhausting one with us using a different path to be safe. But rest assured, that even in the absence of royal guards, Her Highness’ safety is accounted for. Regardless, we may still have at least two guards with us following in the shadows.” 

You take a quick glance out the window after hearing this, just in time for you to see the shadows of the guards following you from beyond the trees, their horses barely make a sound as they try to match the carriage’s speed. “I shall see it for myself to send Her Highness and the governess to the home castle safely.” 

As you turn back to look and keep your eyes on the driver the whole time he is talking to you, something odd seems to be happening. For a moment, you almost believe that you are seeing his beard glowing faintly with a shade that looks almost blue, and his eyes glimmer in the shade of silver. But they all vanish as quickly as they appear, and the man appears to you as normal as he was before when he smiles at you. Since it is dark around the road, with limited moonlight falling on his face and only the small lamps illuminating inside the carriage, you chalk it all of as nothing more but a trick of the moonlight. 

You don’t have any more chances to make clear what you are seeing, as once the drive is done talking to you, he pulls down the curtains and closes the glass window separating the driver’s seat to the passenger car, covering the whole front of the box-seat as if to make sure that you would no longer be disturbed by his presence or any other incident that might happen. 

The next thing you hear is the sound of his whip cracking in the air, right over his horses, which soon start their steady run once again and the carriage sets off to move along the gravel road. With it, you soon lose sight of your worries and what was possibly a part of your vivid imagination as you continue to take in the scene that you are seeing through the windows as the carriage carries on its journey across the Elcester Forest. 

Never before you truly realised just how far and wide the Elcester Forest was until you are deep within its territory. The journey feels endless, and even if you have let yourself be distracted by the glorious sights around you until the moment darkness fell around you, it feels even more abundantly clear how deep the territory is now once the moonlight is hidden by the tree branches reaching over the road like dark, extended canopy. You see nothing but the eerie shadows crawling between the trees and the gliding mist. Not a sign of this journey ending anytime soon. 

As the evening falls deeper, the air grows colder. Very cold, as a matter of fact, that you feel it piercing through your thick coat even the windows are closed shut. 

“See here, Your Highness, cover yourself with this blanket,” Nanny Abigail says as she hands you a blanket which she pulled out from the storage box beneath the seats. “Best to keep yourself warm until we arrive and catch some sleep, so when you are to see His Royal Majesty, the King father, again, you will be all healthy and well rested. Let us draw the curtains to give you some peace of mind.” 

Taking the blanket in your hands, you simply spread them over your lap while you glance back out into the darkness just as Nanny Abigail starts pulling the curtains to cover most of the windows. “How much longer will this journey take us?” you wonder out loud. “I never knew just how far this forest is spread. Are we even still in Smotia?”

Nanny Abigail gives you a small smile. “My best guest is that we won’t be able to tell until we arrive at dawn, or at least once we’re out of the woods. We might get there a bit later than what the driver promised us if this road leads us through a longer path. Which is why it would be best if we rest through our trip. Have some shut eyes while we can so we can face whatever it is waiting for us on the other end with fresh minds, don’t you agree?” she continues to convince you, though you can still sense the uncertainty in her words. She might still be rattled after the previous crisis, no doubt, so you choose not to say a thing to deny her.

Nanny Abigail soon falls asleep, curling on her side with her head resting against the cushioned armrest under her side of the window. Meanwhile, sleep eludes you, leaving you wide awake even when your body is filled with exhaustion. Still, your mind is loud, still too restless to allow sleep to come and your senses are too high alert for you to relax. In the quietness that falls in the carriage, you can hear nothing but the sound of the soft breathing from Nanny Abigail, the steady pace from the racing horses and the occasional sharp commands coming from the driver. The sounds should have been enough to distract you from your anxiousness, to help your mind to feel at ease, and when they fail to calm you down, you choose to distract yourself with your other surroundings instead. 

After dimming the lamps a little, you pull open the curtain to your side just a little bit to allow you to have a peek of the forest and the one at the front window to be able to see what the driver is seeing. You notice that there are some changes happening with the trees outside, just as there are more bumps on the road and some odd stillness in the air. You may have gotten even deeper into the forest, yet the trees no longer seem as dense as they were, even though they look even more eerie and intimidating with their presence in the gloom. With no more branches reaching over the road, you now had enough opening above to allow you to look up at the sky, and for the moonlight to illuminate through.

You marvel at how the twilight seems to merge into the dark void formed between the gloom of trees and thickets, which would oftentimes swallow the carriage as it drives through the valleys running deep between the spurs of the hills. The mist have grown high enough that you can see it from the window, and it seems as if the fog keeps coming apart around the wheels and crawling closer to engulf the carriage as it drives past. 

Captivated by the sights you are seeing, your hand instinctively reach up to take hold of your necklace, seeking comfort from its presence.

With the tip of your fingers, you trace along the sides of the pendant—a ruby stone shaped as a heart, with a golden frame holding it together, and gold embellishments made in the shape of a smaller heart placed right at the center of the ruby and little curls that almost appear like ancient scriptures circling around the stone and its surrounding frame. You had questioned the meaning of the prettily made twirls to your father once, yet he simply told you that they were nothing but a simple artwork that your mother had designed herself, and she had been wearing the necklace ever since the night of her debutante ball where they first met.

But just like your father, King Aneas, you have been keeping secrets of your own, and one of them has everything to do with the necklace that he had made you swore to never take off wherever you would go. 

For a long time, since the day you received the necklace, you had always admired and loved the beautiful craftwork even as a child. One day, not too long after your twelfth birthday, you had accidentally dropped the necklace while you were playing alone in your bedchamber, accidentally breaking the golden frame holding the stone at its center. 

You remember being so hurt by it, knowing how important the necklace was for both your father and your late mother. But most of all, you were terrified of your father’s wrath if he should find out what had happened. So you locked yourself in your room that night, and tried your best to fix it before you would have to wear it again in the morning, only to find that the necklace held a secret of its own.

The framed ruby stone was a disguised locket, with pictures of your mother hidden inside. On one side, was the image of the young Queen, your mother as a Princess who was no older than you are now today, posing in a lovely dress with a small tiara placed over her head. Just like the one you wore during your debutante ball. On the other side was the image of the Queen once she was just a bit older. In her arms was a small baby who you recognised as yourself from the pictures that you found in your bedchamber. 

You had never told anyone about what you found that night, afraid that your father would take it away if he should find out, just like how he had taken down all the pictures and paintings of your mother from the palace—except for the one he kept in his chamber. You have never truly known the reason why he would do this, so you had kept this necklace close, cherishing it privately as it becomes the only thing that you have left that carries the memory of your mother. That was the true reason why you had been so willing to follow His Majesty’s command to wear it at all times, because it has made you feel closer to your mother while wearing it around your neck, and its presence gives you warmth and comfort whenever you would need it. 

Just like always, you feel a deep longing of your mother’s presence each time you think about her, so you shake away your thoughts before you start getting too emotional and distract yourself by looking out the window again.

Outside, the night continues to grow deeper, while the carriage travels far deeper into the Elcester Forest where the trees are shaped oddly and menacingly than they normally would, and you start noticing how the driver has been making haste. You cannot understand the reason for the sudden urgency as you are unable to see things too clearly in the dark aside from the stars above. And so, at first, you simply reckon that the darkness itself is the reason for the rising speed, assuming that the driver simply wants to get out of the forest quickly as you are lacking guards keeping you secure. 

That is, until the moment you begin to see it. 

For a while longer, you see nothing but the deep dark forest, with the shadows of the trees flashing by at the windows. All the wonderful colours which you had seen by dusk have long disappeared along with the sun, which perhaps becomes the reason why your eyes are quick to find the new colours coming out of the darkness. 

It begins with a faint flickering blue flame emerging through the thicket, a distance away from the road and out of reach from the advancing carriage. At first, you take it in assumption that your eyes are deceiving you. That after straining your eyes to look out into the dark forest, you are beginning to imagine seeing lights and colours appearing against the gloom. You also wonder if you might be dreaming. That sleep has finally come and you have lost the ability to tell the difference between reality and fantasy. 

But soon you can tell that the driver is seeing this at the same time when you can hear the excitement showing in his command as he controls the horses, swerving to start heading towards the source of light. And only then do you finally realise that this is not simply a figment of your imagination, knowing it would be impossible for the driver to know what might be inside your mind. 

From one small flame, another appears on the other side of the road, both flickering from a fair distance from one to the other, then more of it begins to emerge, alternating between the left and right side of the road. You have no idea what to do, or think, as the carriage carries on driving between them while the flames continue to emerge here and there. You wonder if this has anything to do with the Lemmus Rising, and if these blue flames are what the townsfolk has believed to be the souls of the elders, especially when you can see the mist moving as if they are avoiding the flames, crawling away from where they seem to be emerging from.

Surprisingly so, instead of driving out of the road and away from the shady phenomenon, the driver continues leading the carriage to continue the journey by following and turning rapidly towards where the blue flames are rising as if he is using them as a guide to know just where to go. 

The flames continue to emerge more frequently from then on, slowly forming two lines of blue flames on either side of the road and appearing as if they are getting closer and closer while the carriage continues to pick up its speed. Their presence make it seem like the path is growing a bit brighter, yet despite the close proximity, you feel no warmth nor heat inside the carriage. The cold remains strong, and so is the fog that has somehow risen around you, the thick fog dispersing around you as the carriage drives past before gathering back together over the tracks. 

This pattern continues for a moment longer, then what happens next seems to you like a strange optical effect taunting your exhausted mind. The flames suddenly seem to be dancing as the carriage drives past them, while the air ripples around you in a steady current that you almost think of it as being in water instead of a rapidly pacing carriage going through the woods. 

A shout comes from the driver while you are wondering about what might be happening. His unsteady voice startles you, but it does little to worry you when the excitement seems to remain in his voice. You look to the front to see what the driver is seeing, and your jaw nearly drops when something seems to emerge right beyond your eyes. 

Right in the middle of the road ahead, the pair of lines of blue flames unite and form a tall pillar. A massive, roaring blue inferno rises from the ground, as if cutting the end of your journey with its threatening blaze. Once again, the driver’s actions startles you. When seeing this, instead of avoiding it and coming to a halt, the carriage speeds up, as if the driver has every intention of driving the whole carriage and its passengers right into the heart of the burning inferno. 

And that is exactly what he does. 

Before you can react, the driver sends the horses diving straight forward, carrying everything and everyone along with them into the roaring blue pillar of flame. 

On the other side of the forest, Yoongi is awakened by a ripple of strong aura that seems to be passing through the air. He wakes up completely alert but cautious, as he tries to identify the source of this queer force and find out where it is coming from. Just as he pulls out his amulet necklace to help him as a guide, Ansen barges into his tent, his unkempt hair showing that the poor man has rushed his way here after the magic force had awakened him at the same time it did with Yoongi. 

“Your Highness!” Ansen nearly shouts at his Prince with a strained voice. “Did you feel it too?” 

“Yes, I did,” Yoongi says, still feeling obviously astounded as he raises his amulet to see that the black crystal is glowing as it also senses the powerful force reverberating through the air. Yoongi’s brows are furrowed when he realises that the glow appears to be in a shade of iridescent blue, something that seems impossible to happen, not in this realm, but it does help him recognise what kind of magic this one would be. “It’s an ancient magic, an old spell. Seems like someone has gone across the realm.”

“But—how? How was it possible?” 

Before Yoongi can answer him, Yijeong slips into the tent just then and answers for him. “It feels like a portal to me. Whoever it was, they made it across by going through it.” He falls silent, while Ansen seems to be lost in deep thought, until Yijeong openly questions his Prince, “Are you thinking what I’m thinking, Your Highness?”   

Wearing the amulet around his neck, Yoongi slowly nods. “Yes, there’s only one person who can use such a powerful mana to create a portal and send someone away even without him having to be present.” He looks up to his companions with a grim look on his face. “This is his magic. It’s been his magic that we’ve felt all along.” 

There is no need for Yoongi to explain further, as he and his men had been dealing with these old spells for some time now without understanding how it would be possible for such magic to exist in the territory of Smotia. Now that the source of magic has finally shown its true self, they finally have the answers that they needed.

“He really was here the whole time,” Yoongi says, voicing out exactly what the others are thinking. “And I think he knows that we were on to him.” 

Once again, the blue glow shimmers brightly from his black crystal, as if agreeing with him as Yoongi mentions the one name that he hasn’t been able to say out loud for a long time.

“It’s Bluebeard.”

— © 2023 Yoonia, all rights reserved. reposting/modifying of any kind, translations, unsanctioned adaptations are not allowed.

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the bedroom hymns ● chapter x

⟶ Chapter summary | At last, you have finally found the way to continue to explore more places rather than only finding your way back to your old home. As you spread your wings to enjoy your newfound freedom, you unexpectedly find yourself crossing paths with another lost wanderer, whose presence seem to spark your empty soul and bring it back to life.  

⟶ Title | The Bedroom Hymns: a Bluebeard’s twist ⟶ Pairings | Min Yoongi x female reader  ⟶ Genre | Fairy Prince!Yoongi, Crown Princess!reader, Fantasy au, Fairy Tale retelling au ⟶ Word count | 7,2k words ⟶ Ratings | PG-13, +18 / M for Mature for future chapters; magic/dark magic, mention of stalking, criminal act. 

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chapter x. wanderers-1

As someone who appears to be quite oblivious to your own safety, you are still quite hard to track down and follow. 

This thought runs through Yoongi’s head as he threads his way through the market, finding trouble in following your movement as you expertly weaves through the people, delivery carts, and even the stalls. 

As if you are used to slipping into the crowd of people while making sure to remain unnoticed by everyone around you. 

If only that would have been the case with some other people as well. People like himself and the cloaked men who appear to be moving within your shadows because they all noticed your presence. 

Yoongi curses under his breath as he nearly bumps against a burly guard standing in front a nearby drugstore, almost failing to notice the massive guy who was guarding the store while he has been keeping his eyes closely on you. He just cannot afford to look away, albeit briefly, despite risking another collision with an innocent bystander and drawing attention through his recklessness. 

He has learned his mistakes after the previous encounters he had with you. Even when he wasn’t chasing you directly the way he is doing it now, he still cannot shake off the memories of you suddenly vanishing into thin air just when he was finally able to track you down. All he needed to do was to blink, or glance away briefly, anything that he would do to allow you to slip out of his sight, and you were suddenly gone. 

But the risk of losing you is greater now that he senses danger coming in, except that you are not making things easier for him to protect you. One too many times, you would slip out of Yoongi’s line of sight and he would struggle to find you again. Making him question his ability—for the first time ever in his lifetime—to track down a target, a skill which he had taken pride of in cultivating for many years.s.

As the Crown Prince, Yoongi has spent years training his combatting skills and has had many experiences in hunting game together with the forest faeries. Through it all, he garnered all the skills that have been useful for him as he prepares himself for the throne, and he has been crafting these skills further as he joined the mercenary army while in the human realm. 

Used against you, these skills of his seem to be worthless, and he wonders if you are secretly using some kind of a spell to help you escape each time he lays eyes on you. 

A spell, that’s it, he comes to a realisation as he watches you once again expertly avoiding bumping into a passing merchant who isn’t showing any reaction for the near collision. Not even a glance as you slither away to continue your journey. A subtle movement comes from you as you pull the hood of your cloak to fix it into position, and your hand stops to rest on your neck for a brief moment to give Yoongi the answer he needed. 

Of course, the necklace, he muses, recalling the night he visited your dream to see your ruby necklace glowing in response to the magic that he was using to see you. 

The one-sided chase continues until you both finally reaches the open area which seems to be a part of the town’s plaza. Here, the stalls are no longer placed so close together. There is a fountain at the center, where people gather in small groups to admire the marble statue that is standing in the middle while they all cool down next to the water. 

Around the plaza, there are different shops selling out fresh goods and handmade souvenirs. Trees grow here with small patches of green grass forming circles around them to give proper resting stops with shades for the people in need of a moment to rest between their trades. 

Unlike the other part of the market town, the mass of the people here are less dense. It makes it easier for Yoongi to get a clear view of your movements and to finally catch up on you. Yet he still keeps a safe distance, as he worries that his presence may alarm you more than your other suspicious stalkers would have. 

When you suddenly come to a halt in front of a stall selling handmade tapestries, your eyes looking at the goods that are placed on display with wide, amused eyes, Yoongi also stops and slides behind a parked cart to give you some space. He uses this moment to catch his breath while enjoying the view, as he finally gets to take a good look at you. 

He takes in the way you are dressed—the plain blouse and trousers hidden under the worn-out cloak that you are wearing are certainly adequate to hide your identity, and those pair of muddy boots cannot have been something that you simply plucked out of your fancy wardrobe for your late afternoon stroll.

She certainly has done something like this before, he wonders to himself. Just as the thought crosses his mind, he is suddenly reminded of Yijeong’s story about how he first met you at the pub while you were disguising yourself as a passing traveller. 

He wonders just how often you would do something like this, to slip away from your guards and blend with the common people while disguising as someone else. Thinking about this, Yoongi becomes restless. He clenches his hands as he imagines you roaming down the streets like this, yet instead of wandering in a busy market and while the afternoon sun is still glaring above his head, you are wandering in the slum area of Smotia—just like what Yijeong witnessed that one night and what his intel had reported back to him—and during the night. 

No matter how powerful the spell that your necklace possesses, there is no guarantee that it could properly protect you should you ever come across anyone with the right mana to look past it. Someone like himself, for example, who has enough mana to overcome the concealing spell coming from the necklace. 

Or the suspicious thugs that have been chasing your shadow, which—Yoongi only starts to realise now—must not have been regular humans if they manage to repel the spell and become aware of your presence among the other humans around. 

While Yoongi is still deep in his thoughts, you suddenly start moving again. Yoongi nearly misses his chance to follow you when you immediately make a turn towards the row of stores right across the crowded plaza. Right from the corner of his eyes, Yoongi catches the sight of your pursuers entering the side of the plaza where he first came from. And he can tell just by one look at you to know that you have yet to notice them coming, encouraging him to move even faster. 

Just like before, you expertly weave through the crowd, sometimes making it seem like you are using them as cover, concealing your tracks each time you make a sudden turn or switch direction in between the open stalls. You keep picking up your pace, and it seems to Yoongi that he is the only one who is blessed to be the quickest among your other pursuers to be able to keep up with your speed and agility. Soon enough, Yoongi starts losing sight of your other pursuers, much to his relief, as one by one they begin to slip away, as if deciding that pursuing you may no longer worth all the trouble. 

But the relief that he feels is short-lived once he realises where you are heading. 

Instead of walking towards a local store to continue your window shopping, you suddenly slip into a dark alleyway between two small shops that are currently closing down for their late afternoon break. 

Yoongi rushes to follow you into the alleyway. His thoughts are immediately filled with concern as you disappear into the dark shadows and he suddenly loses sight of you. The moment he is welcomed by nothing more but a long, empty alley filled with discarded carts and dumpsters and no sign of your presence in sight, panic strikes him. 

He takes a quick look around, making sure that nobody is following him as he begins walking deeper into the alleyway, noticing how it gets darker the further away he is from the market. 

The only illumination that is helping him see through the dark path is the streaks of the afternoon sunlight penetrating through the lines of broken sunshades above his head, creating a magnificent light-work across the dark alleyway, though it is not enough to light up the entire place completely. He keeps his eyes open as he carefully advances, staying alert to the shadows around him that seem to have come alive in the dark. 

A sudden movement coming from his right catches his attention. He turns and squints his eyes, trying to figure out what it is when all of a sudden, a figure steps into his path and blocks his way. 

“Fates!” he curses loudly as he barely manages to catch himself before crashing into the dark figure. 

He stumbles back with his hand gripping the handle of his short sword hanging against his hips. But the moment he finally gets a clear view of his intruder, everything in him stops. His hands freeze in place and his words simply die on his tongue. Even his breath is caught, causing him to unable to react or say a word until his lovely intruder speaks first,

“Hi!” 

For a moment, Yoongi almost believes that he is imagining things. Yet the cheerful voice that greets him forces him to quickly recover from his shock. Something that is quite a struggle to do when his heartbeat is pacing wildly inside his chest. 

The only thing he can breathe a sigh of relief from is the knowledge that his mask is still intact, helping to partially cover the expression on his face that he has no control over. Though he definitely knows that he looks nowhere near as calm as you are as you—whom he has been trailing—are now standing right before him, right within arm’s reach, with your wide eyes looking back at him completely amused.

For someone who has been moving with such speed through the marketplace and making Yoongi work hard to catch up, you are looking almost too calm for comfort. And you also seem pleased with yourself for having been able to catch him off guard, catching him red-handed while he is in the middle of pursuing you like an obsessed stalker. 

Blasphemy, Yoongi curses at the Fates, ticked off at how easy it was for him to fall for their wicked games. And here he is now, trapped with nowhere else to go, with the risk of revealing himself too soon before he is finally ready to do so. 

I guess there is no way escaping this now, Yoongi says to himself as he takes a deep breath and tries to find some semblance of composure as he comes face to face with the one person that he has been yearning to see. Even if it means that he must endure the fiery look you have in your eyes which is meant solely for him. 

Crossing your arms over your chest, you wait until your mysterious shadow responds back to you. 

You cannot hold back the amused smile that you know is now showing on your face. You simply cannot believe that you have been right all along—that you haven’t really been alone during your expeditions. It had doubt at first, thinking that it was purely due to your own insecurities that you kept feeling like you were being followed, watched, observed, even if you never saw any signs of someone following your shadows. 

But as that ominous presence continued to haunt you like a ghost, no matter where the magic doors kept sending you off to, you knew that you had to investigate further. 

It all started back during your visit to the center of your father’s most prestigious winemaking business, when you instantly felt his presence not long after you stepped out of the royal orchard house where the portal opened for you. The feeling of being watched continued to follow you as you strolled down the vineyard, and while you were never made to feel like you were in imminent danger, that feeling of someone shadowing your every move was quite hard for you to shake off upon your return to the home palace that you became wary ever since.

Once you discerned his presence, you continued to feel his presence around you ever since.

On the night you travelled back to the business district, when you stumbled into the quiet Oakes Village, and then again when you browsed through the transit town of Maplekeep. While he was not always there to shadow you in your travels, you have grown familiar to his lurking presence that you managed to recognise him among the crowd of people while you were trying to blend in with the crowd of people flooding the marketplace. 

Had it been a coincidence? 

You have been wondering about this for a while now, except that you have no idea how that would even be possible as you could barely predict where your journeys through the magic portals would take you to. So how would he be able to occasionally appear at the same place and at the same time as you have been, had it only been purely coincidental? 

That may have been the reason why you finally found courage to confront him directly and find out the truth. Though it didn’t stop you from playing around a little to test and see if you are correct in your assumptions that he has been following you close behind, when you deliberately tried to make him lose your trail and yet he kept managing to come close enough to catch up on you. 

It was through your jest to initiate a play of chase when the idea to ambush him in this dark alleyway abruptly came to you. You didn’t even allow yourself to think twice as slipped into hiding, without any thoughts to plan what to do next. 

Suddenly he is here, standing right in front of you, and you did the first thing that you could think of to finally make contact with your shadow—by saying hi. Like an utter fool that would have put Nanny Abigail to shame. 

You keep a smile on your face while wishing that you can read the expression on his face much better than this. Because aside from the shock you clearly see in his eyes, the rest of his face is partially covered by the silky thin mask that he is wearing as a disguise—much to your disappointment. 

The fright in his eyes vanishes too quickly, however, as he soon sobers up. It is hard to discern his thoughts as you try to study the man under the restricted lights. And he doesn’t give you much to work on as he calmly tilts his head, showing curiosity in return, before surprising you with his own greeting that comes in his deep voice, “Um…hello?”

At the sound of his voice, a sense of familiarity overcomes you from the stranger’s presence. Making you feel as if you had met him before. 

And not simply as your lurking shadow, but from a time before you first sensed him around you. Perhaps even long before you started using the magic doors to travel away from the home castle. 

All of a sudden, you feel a deep longing blooming inside your chest. A feeling that you haven’t felt for quite some time. 

But it is hard to know the reason why you are feeling this way or to recognise him with his face covered by his mask. The darkness around you isn’t helping much either, as the sunlight barely reaches down to this hidden spot where you had chosen to ambush him, not giving you enough illumination to be able to see him as clearly as you wish to.

“Are you perhaps lost, my kind Sir?” you calmly inquire him when he merely gives you silence other than his bemused 'hello’.

You decide to make the first move in the hopes that you can get him to talk to you. Perhaps you can coax him into moving a bit closer, or to simply slide over under the nearby streak of light so you can get a better look at the man. 

Instead, his eyebrows rise in response your question. “Me?” He lets out a deep chuckle which somehow makes you feel a bit fuzzy on the inside with no particular reason. 

“Not that I know of,” he answers with a slight jest in his voice. “I was actually wondering if you had lost your way. Seeing that you are hanging around in such a dark place when there is a whole market with magnificent goods to look at just outside of this alley.” 

This time, you are the one left to feel surprised. He may not be making a move to step out of the shadows as he speaks, but getting a response out of him pleases you. It makes for a good start if you want to find some answers. 

“Then perhaps you can tell me why you have been following me. What are you up to?” 

His gaze flickers with wonder. “I’m not following you,” he says in return while acting as if you have insulted him with your accusations, causing you to roll your eyes. 

“Right. Then I suppose that was all just my imagination,” you playfully scoff at him, and for a second, you almost think that you can see his lips twitching to a smile under his mask. 

But you quickly brush it off since it is a bit too dark to confirm it. You convince yourself that in your need to see a reaction from him, you are made to see things that are not there. 

Yet he seems open to play along as the man lifts both of his hands. “Alright, I must admit, that I may have been unintentionally following your movements,” he confesses, though you doubt that he feels any guilt for doing so. “I may have failed to realise that I was indeed following you until much later. But in my defense, I had probably done it out of instinct at first, and continued on because I was afraid that I would lose sight of you in the busy market.” 

“Lose sight of me?” This time, you are the one raising your eyebrows. “So you saw me browsing through the market and decided to, what—follow me to see wherever I was going?” You raise your chin as if to challenge him. “Now, why would you do something like that to a complete stranger?”

The man takes a small step forward, just enough to allow a faint trace of light to fall on the lower part of his face—the part that is covered by the thin mask—to show you a hint of a smile forming from beneath. 

“You—caught my eyes,” he says, sounding almost mesmerised. “Back in the marketplace, I saw you there and—” 

He suddenly stops himself and immediately looks uneasy. It is quite possible that he can clearly see the look of distrust that is no doubt written all over your face and realises quickly the flaw in his unspoken words. After all, he is merely a stranger confessing to have been following you around for no apparent reason at all.    

Any playfulness that he has been showing you slowly dwindles. Then he begins speaking in a gentle voice as if to reassure you, “I have no ill intention, I promise. I can explain why I was following your trail all the way here.” 

“Is that so? Then do tell,” you challenge him, needing to hear his truth. Yet you keep your voice calm and light to try and get rid of the tension that is rising between you out of distrust. Because for some reason, you do believe him. Even if his actions seems shady, you have never once felt anything that caused you alarm. Still, you will have to listen to his reason to decide whether are not he is trustworthy. “Please kindly explain to me the real reason why you have been stalking me if not to put me in harm’s way.”

There is a twinkle sparkling in his eyes which resembles pride. As if your inquiry amuses him. 

“Hmmm, let’s see—” he starts, acting like he is thinking deeply about how to answer you. “I remember strolling through the market to see if I could find some damsel to rescue. But then a little dove appeared before me, a figure that I had never before seen wandering in a place such as this town, where people from various places would frequently come and go and no binding law nor proper guards to protect her from imminent danger.” 

He makes a dramatic sigh before he continues, “Before I could stop myself, I found myself following the little dove’s tracks, as I suddenly felt a strong desire to keep an eye on her to make sure that this little dove wouldn’t stray too far into the crowds and lose her way home.” 

“A damsel?” You let out an incredulous laugh. “A little dove? Are you actually talking about me?” 

The man tilts his head. There is nothing condescending about the way he is looking at you nor when he was referring you to be a lost damsel, though it does make you flustered to be under his unwavering attention. His intense gaze seems to lock you in place, and it doesn’t seem to be the kind that would be enough to scare you or give you the urge to run away. 

In fact, he intrigues you. There is something about him that draws you in. Maybe it’s his eyes? Or is it his voice? Or perhaps—

He takes another step closer, and you get to see more of his figure. You get to notice that he is also wearing a cloak with its hood pulled up to cover his head, putting more shadows onto his face even when there is enough streak of light falling down on him. 

“Is it not the most fitting name?” he gently asks. He peruses you with his gaze, and you can swear that his eyes linger for a brief moment at your hips, as if he can see through the cloak to find the golden dagger that you carry with you for protection. 

When his eyes rise to meet yours, they light up further with an expression that almost looks like pride and joy. “You may look nothing alike any damsel in distress that one would normally find roaming the streets, but you were moving as freely as a dove would. That’s why I couldn’t resist following your shadows to keep you safe.” 

Just as he says this, your cheeks suddenly grow warm and your heartbeat starts to pick up its pace. You have no idea why you are reacting this way to a complete stranger. Much less someone who you should be the most wary of. But his words of acknowledgement and the way he regards you with his deep eyes are affecting you more than they should. 

“If I haven’t been the damsel that you thought I was, then what did you see in me that still called for your attention?” 

The man strolls even closer until he is standing right before you. Close enough for you to feel his warmth and the flutter of his cloak brushing against yours. Being this close, you are once again struck by the familiar sensation you feel coming out of him in waves. He stands right below a streak of sunlight, finally emerging completely from the dark shadows to make him stand out in your eyes. 

“What I saw was a valiant dove,” he says, referring to you with the new endearment which he has given you, making your heart flutter more intensely, “a dove that was curious and bold, flying with her wings fluttering through the breeze while looking so eager to experience the little adventures which she was so invested in. A dove that glowed under the sun as she was enjoying her small chance of freedom. But in her joy, she seemed to disregard her own safety, forgetting the fact that the world—no matter how beautiful it is—wouldn’t be as safe as she thought it would be.” 

His words draw a smile to your face. “Let me guess,” you playfully point out, “you are a poet.” 

The man laughs. “I’ll be whatever you want me to be, little dove. As long as you would allow me to fly alongside you during your visit to this town. That way I can be your second pair of eyes to keep a look out of your surroundings for you while you get to bask in your little freedom. I might also act as your second dagger to protect you should harm ever decides to come your way.” 

His comment may be light and playful, yet his words strike at you so deeply that they pull at your heartstrings. The way he describes the way you are enjoying your little excursion makes you draw a deep inhale of breath and feel relieved at the same time. 

As if he knows just how much this small chance of freedom truly means to you. 

But how would he know? 

The moment you start wondering about this, you almost laugh at yourself. You cannot believe just how gullible you suddenly sound, even to yourself, for believing that a stranger might know more about you than other people around you would. 

He could be no different than a predator trying to corner his prey. Just like any predator, he can simply be an expert in recognising weaknesses to find someone to prey on. And in this case, that someone could be you.  

But he still recognises your need for freedom. Regardless of how he was able to see it without ever getting too close, it still stirs warm, fuzzy feeling rising in your chest. The feeling that comes from being seen. 

“How did you know that I am not from around here? Was it really that obvious?” you question him further while trying to push down the little spark of joy that you are starting to revel in. 

His gaze softens. “I just know it,” he simply says with a wistful tone of voice, making you wonder just how much he truly knows about you. 

Despite how open he has been in answering your questions, you can tell that he is still hiding something. He may have claimed to have no ill intention, but you have no doubt that he may still have other intentions than to simply protect a lone damsel in a strange land. 

This raises your curiosity enough which leads you to question him directly, “Was it also the reason why you were following me back at the royal orchard house and kept your eyes on me while I was strolling down the vineyard? To keep me safe?” 

He looks taken aback. Unlike before, when you constantly surprised him with snarky returns during your banters, his awe feels more potent. Because, obviously, he would have never expected that you have been noticing his presence on other accounts as well. 

While he takes his time to respond, your lips curl to a coy smile as you add, “Yes, I know that you were also there. I may have grounds to believe that I sensed your presence on other events and places as well.” 

Seeing how much you seem to enjoy catching him off guard, the man lets out a baffled laugh. “So you already caught me.” 

“You’re not even going to deny it?” you ask him with your eyebrows raised.

Your question draws a smile to his face that grows wide enough the mask can barely hide if from you.

“I could try and I know I won’t succeed,” he says while shaking his head. “You already saw right through me before I even tried to make up a lie to cover up my poor lack of judgement. I might be a terrible liar or I just cannot seem to lie to you. Whatever the case may be, I just know for sure that it would be best not to even try and risk making a fool out of myself by giving you an outright denial.”

For some reason, he only intrigues you even more with this confession of his. “A poet who isn’t good at lying. How interesting.” 

He shrugs. “I already told you that I can be whatever you want me to be. I could be nothing more but a traveller who is visiting the town and looking for a place to stay before going to the next destination. Not entirely different than what I’m assuming to be your intention as well. But I must listen to my heart as it decides to do one last good deed before I depart from this town.” 

While he appeals to you with his reasons under the golden streaks of the afternoon sunlight, you take this chance to have a proper look at him. 

The cloak that he is wearing may not have any emblem or embroideries added to its fabric, yet you can easily tell that it is not just a regular cloak that any common people would be wearing. The leather belts he wears over his attire and the golden chains hanging at the front which hold the cloak and his armour together are also showing more truth about him than what he is letting you to believe. 

And unlike you, who keeps your dagger hidden under your cloak, he has his short sword completely exposed, hanging right at the hip. You had even caught him reaching for it right before you revealed yourself to him, so you know for sure that he is capable enough to use it to protect himself and fight against any threat coming at him. 

Even without the emblem to identify himself, his demeanour, the smooth way that he speaks and his gentle gesture, the humming energy that you can somehow sense coming from him, and the way he is meticulously dressed his part are all forcing you to recall a certain mercenary whom you met quite a while ago. Allowing you to have a good guess of who he might be. 

“You and I both know that you are more than just a regular traveller,” you simply state once you are beginning to have a good grasp of his true identity. Looking straight into his eyes, you lay out everything about him that you have surmised through your keen observation. “You are a part of the notorious mercenary army that has been exploring and spreading through the continent. I might even surmise what the people around the continent have been calling you, as I’ve heard the brotherhood’s name being whispered among both the common folks and the nobles.” 

The name of the mercenary group echoes through your thoughts as your eyes linger briefly at his shiny sword. Ever since the day you spoke with your father’s advisors about the possibility that they were behind the rise of rebellion forming in the outer districts of Nythelean’s territory, it seems that their name has been engraved in your memory for good.

The Brotherhood of Jorn. 

The brotherhood of men from all over the continent that have banded together under the same purpose, the same pretext, which is to build an army of capable men to protect their kin and the common folks that are not under the jurisdiction law of the reigning monarch. And the mercenary group has since multiplied in numbers, with so many young men who have not been eligible to become the royal guards and knights joining the brotherhood to earn their keep. 

“You may not be wearing their emblem or the armour that those who are part of the mercenary group would often wear when they are in public,” you continue while pointing at the armour on his chest which is only partly hidden under his cloak and then at his sword, “and your disguise may have fooled others, allowing them to think that you a mere traveller passing through on your way to the Capital. But I can tell that you are one of them. And I wouldn’t be surprised if that is true. I know that your men work for the Barons and merchants who travel through this area and the districts surrounding the Land of Smotia.”

The pride look presented through his eyes becomes clearer. “Seems to me that I had underestimated you,” he says with a low chuckle. “First, you showed me that you have a remarkable sense of awareness when you were weaving your way through the market while trying to shake me off of your trail. And secondly, you are quite knowledgeable about weapons and the politics happening in the continent.” 

His acknowledgement brings a smile to your face. “So I was once again correct with my assumptions?

Once again, he shakes his head. “There was never a point in denying it, is there?” With a soft chuckle, he then straightens himself to his full height. “Perhaps admitting the truth should be enough to show you that I truly have no ill intention upon approaching you.” 

Hearing this, you can only exhale a relieved breath. The truth is, even if you never once felt intimidated by his presence, everything that you said to him just now has been a gamble. You had no idea what kind of threat he may bring upon you and yet, at the risk of your own safety, you still confronted him to finally have some answers.

You may not have all of the right answers to ease your mind just yet, but knowing that he isn’t posing a threat to you is enough for now. Because that means that you will be able to continue with your expeditions while learning about your father’s magic.

And you wouldn’t have to worry about losing your newfound freedom through your secret escape just to avoid danger.

“I suppose I can take your word,” you simply say to him, “for now.”

He nods, understanding your need to be cautious. “Then the only thing that I can do is to make sure I won’t disappoint you by showing you otherwise once you’ve placed your faith in me. And now that the truth is finally out in the open—” he starts to say just as he glances sideways, as if something has caught his attention from the other side of the dark alleyway, “this might be a good time to let you know that I was not the only one in this place who had set their eyes on you.” 

You quickly glance around, despite not sensing any other presence but your own from the other parts of the alley. It is also quite hard to see through the shadows now that the golden sunlight is beginning to descend from the sky above, as the day is shifting towards the coming evening. 

“What do you mean?” 

“This is actually another reason why I had to follow your tracks, even when I told myself that I shouldn’t come any closer. Have you not noticed any other movement following your shadows other than mine?” he questions you with his voice lowered and his hands touching lightly on your upper arms as if to stop you from moving away from his cover, as he is using his body to hide you from sight. “Look over my shoulders, discreetly, and tell me what you see.” 

With your brows furrowed, you lean forward to sneak a glance from over his shoulder. A task that is so simple, yet so hard to do, when the feeling of his chest brushing closely to yours and the woody scent wafting from his body are all too distracting to help you to focus. 

“Do you see now what I meant when I talked about your disregard for your own safety?” he whispers to you. With the lack of distance between you, his deep voice seems to be brushing at your skin. Even as the mask that he has been wearing remains to cover his face.

You blink and try once again to focus on what you are supposed to be doing. The moment you open your eyes again, that is when you finally see them.

Right at the entrance of the alleyway where you came in from, suspicious men are hovering like wild dogs. Two of those men are tall and burly, while the rest are lean, yet they all look equally as rough as the infamous street thugs that you have heard being talked about during your previous travels, with scars on their skin and muscles bulging from beneath their clothes. 

While they are all wearing common people’s clothing, every single one of them are packed with weapons hanging on their chests, hips, and back, even some on their legs, which would be enough to intimidate others—various-sized daggers, knives, and small swords that would be easy for them to swing while being in the crowd. 

“Who are they?” you whisper to him as you slink back down to take cover, making use of his broader body to shield you from their sight. Even though none of those men seem to be paying attention to the dark space within the alleyway. 

Not yet, anyway. As they are still busy looking around towards the market and the streets beyond the alley, as if they are searching for a specific person that may slip in between the people who are moving from one shop to another. 

“Wait—are they looking for me?” you ask him with a sharp whisper. Just thinking about being a target to this thugs seems baffling. You mentally chastise yourself for being so complacent—after being able to have smooth travels where no threats were present, or having anyone noticing your presence at all before—and for celebrating too soon when you found out that the man who is now shielding you in the shadows had been a threat. When the truth is that you have yet to escape the possible danger that was truly threatening to get in your way. 

“My best guess would be that they are the local thugs that have been roaming around the market town. They have been causing disturbances around here, causing troubles with travelling merchants and visitors that had come here to shop. They would steal money, pick their pockets, and oftentimes force small shops to pay up ‘security money’ to keep them from messing up their stores. It is one of the main reasons why more and more merchants and shop-owners hire mercenaries like myself and my brothers to protect their business—and themselves—from thugs like them.”

He looks straight into your eyes after revealing this to you. “I’m sure they could easily tell that you were a newcomer, a fresh face that they could prey on.” 

You merely scoff at this. “Well, if that truly was what they thought about me, they would be wrong. No one is making a prey out of me.” 

His eyes sparkle with awe and pride. “I have no doubt about it at all,” he says, “but I would still advise you to stay close to me to avoid getting into any trouble.” 

He stops to gauge your reaction to his offer. When he notices how wary you are still, he bends down to meet your gaze and reassure you, “I won’t hurt you. I promise.” 

Your lips twitch to a smile. “How am I supposed to trust you when I don’t even know your name?” you question him. “And don’t get me started with that mask. I feel like out of everyone around here, there is more chance of you being a thief or a thug than those men would be.”

“You’re right. How silly of me,” he says with a soft chuckle. Keeping his eyes on you, he brings his hand up and gently plucks his mask off, revealing his face to you.

The moment you see him, something seems to come alive inside your chest. You have no idea what it is or why your body is reacting this way. Even that same sense of familiarity, filled with a peculiar feeling of yearning, returns to you tenfold, even when you cannot remember if you have ever met him before. 

But you find it hard to figure things out when you are too awe-struck by his face, his smile, and the warm gaze he is giving you now. 

“My name is Min Yoongi,” he says, introducing himself as he takes your hand and kisses the back of it. “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss—” 

“Call me _____,” you carefully introduce yourself in return, surprising yourself with how easy it feels. To feel so much weight being lifted from your shoulders when you simply give him your name. 

Just a name. 

Without any title attached to it. Without any attachment to your father, the crown, and the royal palace clinging onto you. As if you have been reborn into a completely different person while still being you. 

And you absolutely love how liberating it feels. 

“________,” Yoongi repeats with a wistful tone of voice, as if he is entranced by your name. The sound he makes brings warmth to your face, which gets more intense when his gaze seems to grow sharper when he is saying your name. 

There is also a peculiar twinkle in his eyes that draws you in once he hears introducing yourself, as if your name itself has become a spell that puts him in a trance. Yet the look disappears too quickly before you get to see it more clearly. 

“Do you trust me, _____?” he asks you while he is still holding your hand in his. 

“Yes,” you find yourself answering him in a similarly wistful tone of voice. Not because you are suddenly put under his spell—though you have no doubt that he may be capable of doing so—but because you do trust him. 

Not only because of how captivated you are by him, but also because for some odd, questionable reason, his presence feels like home. 

And it puts you at ease to simply take his hand and allow him to take you away. For you suddenly have faith on him to believe that he will be able to keep you safe. “Yes, I trust you,” you muse with a smile. “Now take me away from here.” 

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