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hamsterclaw · 1 month

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Yoongi’s a murder detective fighting burnout when he’s assigned the case that you and your former partner fucked up.

Paring: Yoongi x f! Reader

Genre: Detectives!Yoongi and reader

Rating: 18+

Word count: 6.6k

Warnings: Swearing, descriptions of murder, bloodshed and assault, sex, depression and burnout, mentions of guns

The flashing blue lights in Yoongi’s window are followed by the wail of sirens cutting through the early evening bustle.

Yoongi looks out the window. He’s three floors up from street level, there’s raindrops tracking along the dirty glass, the faint smell of mildew that accompanies any rainfall in this filthy city.

Under the table, his good leather shoes, the ones he saves for weddings and funerals, have rubbed a hole in the skin over his achilles. Yoongi had worn them for his disciplinary hearing today, the part of him that still wants to be a cop temporarily winning over the part of him that doesn’t.

He wonders if this is what burnout feels like.

His superior, Kim Namjoon, had called him into his office after the hearing to tell him he was on probation, to clean up his act because he wouldn’t be so lucky as to get off next time.

The truth is, Yoongi had known while he was pressing the suspect’s face into gravel with his booted foot that it would come back to bite him on the ass.

He’d done it anyway.

Yoongi’s never been kind to scum who exploit children, but his partner, Jung Hoseok, had seen something in Yoongi’s face that day that had made him report Yoongi.

Yoongi doesn’t blame him. Hoseok has been his partner on and off for five years and he’s as sterling as they come. His moral compass is as strong as it was the day they graduated from the academy, despite all the fucked up shit they’ve seen.

Unlike Yoongi.

Yoongi was never black and white to begin with and now he’s so far into the grey he scares himself sometimes. It’s never been his goal to be the kind of cop who metes out his own justice.

Only madness lies that way.

Anyway now Hoseok’s been reassigned temporarily to narcotics, supposedly a break from homicide, and Yoongi’s partnerless.

Probably not for long, there’s always some hungry rookie wanting the credibility of working homicide.

Yoongi sighs, closes the file he’d been skimming. It’s well past seven, there aren’t any open cases that need his immediate attention and he figures he might as well go home to his apartment and his cat, Kenzo.

The pavement’s slippery under the smooth soles of his good shoes, Yoongi pulls his coat tighter against the early autumn chill as he walks the five blocks to his apartment.

The smell of fried wontons fills his nostrils as he passes a conduit street in the back end of Little China, Yoongi’s tempted to stop and pick up dinner.

He’s tempted every time and succumbed yesterday so he soldiers on, not without a pang of regret. He regrets food choices because he’d rather that, than think about his actual regrets.

The bang of a gunshot when he’d been two minutes too late to what then became a crime scene.

Fucking some girl with a cute face because he hadn’t been man enough to treat Mara the way she deserved.

Choosing to stay in homicide even after it had become clear to him that he had plumbed the depths of human depravity. Scarring his psyche repeatedly because it’s easier than making the active choice to request a transfer.

Yoongi unlocks his door, toes his shoes off, hangs up his coat.

There’s a flicker of movement in the corner of his eye, a flash of grey fur as Kenzo skitters across the entryway, close but not touching him.

It’s the kind of greeting Yoongi can get behind.

He pours out a serving of dry food into Kenzo’s dish, heads to the fridge to reheat yesterday’s wontons.

Eats standing at the tiny kitchen island, cracks open a beer to wash it all down.

He catches sight of his face, pinched in the scowl it seems to fall into more often than not these days.

Jesus, is he getting old?

Yoongi avoids looking at his reflection again as he showers. Changes into the same t-shirt he’s been wearing for weeks, contemplates watching porn just to take the edge off, but decides he can’t be bothered.

He falls into sleep, deep and dreamless, wakes up with an almighty crick in his neck just before dawn from the way he’d been huddled in a tight ball under the covers.

He knows he’s not right, but he’s been not right for so long Yoongi wouldn’t even know where to start putting himself together again.

***

Redemption comes in odd packages, Yoongi thinks, as he looks up a case he worked on six months ago, a shady businessman on the fringe of organised crime who’d got high as a kite and beat a sex worker to death.

He’d been killed on the way to serving out his sentence in the cushy prison in Busan his fancy lawyer had managed to negotiate, crushed in the back of the transport vehicle when it had been t-boned by a lorry.

Apparently a freak accident, Yoongi doubts it but he’s also not going to look too closely, it’s out of his jurisdiction and he’s too jaded to mourn the loss of another brutal asshole. They’d had to identify the sex worker by her dental records and DNA, her face had been unrecognisable.

There’s a knock on the frosted glass panel on his office door, Yoongi looks up as Kim Namjoon walks in, followed by the latest hungry rookie angling for a stint in homicide.

‘Min Yoongi, this is Y/N L/N,’ Namjoon says. ‘She’s a new transfer in from the Seoul branch.’

Yoongi doesn’t have to fake his disinterest as he nods politely at you.

‘What’s the case?’ he asks.

Namjoon looks pointedly at the crime scene photo blown up on Yoongi’s screen.

Yoongi waits.

He can feel your gaze on him, but he’ll get to that later.

The anticipation of a new case never gets old, he’s been in homicide since he graduated off the beat ten years ago and he no longer thinks it’s sick of him to get excited about another murder.

It’s the thrill of the hunt that he lives for, the translation of nebulous facts and witness statements into a puzzle that he can solve.

Yoongi’s damn good at his job. It almost makes the sacrifices in the rest of his so-called life worth it.

Namjoon hands Yoongi a case file, crisp, sharp edges waiting to razor his fingertips open. Flat.

Inside, the standard cover page, then a note that makes Yoongi sit up straight out of his slouch.

He looks at Namjoon to find Namjoon’s already looking at him.

‘The reaper of Seoul?’

Yoongi realises as he says the words out loud how it sounds.

The capture and subsequent conviction of the serial killer who’d terrorised the citizens of Seoul for three years had made headlines nationwide.

Last year.

‘Yeah,’ Namjoon says, the tension in his jaw evident now that Yoongi’s looking at him properly.

Namjoon glances at you. ‘It would seem he never left.’

You shift your weight and your eyes meet Yoongi’s.

‘My partner and I broke the case,’ you say. There’s a brittle smoothness to your voice that Yoongi recognises as a paper thin facade over the hauntedness underneath. ‘Turns out we didn’t.’

***

The note in the case file is a single sheet of letter paper, lined in blue.

The handwriting is precise, neat between the lines.

Oh dear.

Better luck this time?

Best regards from your neighbourhood Reaper.

Yoongi looks at you, sitting across the room at the desk Hoseok’s temporarily vacated.

You’re staring at your screen, face backlit in blue, expression unreadable. You’re in black, nondescript knitwear, your hair pushed back from your face, eyes narrowed.

He clears his throat. ‘You worked the case with your partner.’

It’s a statement you answer to like a question.

‘It was the first case I picked up when I joined homicide,’ you say, turning to Yoongi. ‘It started with -‘

‘Kim Seulgi,’ Yoongi says.

You nod, almost grimacing at the name of the Seoul Reaper’s first high profile victim.

‘Her family wanted answers.’

Kim Seulgi had been born of Seoul’s elite, an architect with her grandfather’s firm who had picked up a number of accolades for her work on the National Opera House.

She’d been engaged to an equally accomplished classical pianist, Jeong Minho, and had been the only offspring of her wealthy parents.

She’d disappeared three days before her wedding, only to turn up on her wedding day, floating in the Hangang, dressed in the clothes she’d disappeared in.

You say, ‘She was an ambitious first target.’

‘Was she the first?’ Yoongi asks.

The flicker in your eyes tells him this isn’t the first time you’ve considered this.

‘My partner Kiho.’ There’s strain in your voice. You start again. ‘My partner, Kiho, and I thought he’d killed before.’

You shrug. ‘The captain felt we were wasting time looking back into his early years.’

Yoongi says, neutral, ‘Budgets are limited, your case must have passed the thresholds for plausible deniability.’

‘It seemed to fit,’ you agree.

Your eyes meet again. ‘Not all of it, though.’

Yoongi knows, intimately, what it’s like to not be certain. Sometimes all you have is your instinct. It’s one thing to build a case no reasonable person would doubt, but you’re also betting on your gut. You’re betting on being a good enough detective to know that the pieces fit, without forcing them to fit.

You’re betting on being honest with yourself, and Yoongi knows more than anyone how tempting the lies can be.

Now you’re the one watching him, taking the measure of him.

His email pings.

‘That’s the link to the full case file,’ you say.

You get up, carry a stack of notebooks to his desk.

‘Our notebooks,’ you say.

Yoongi looks at the stack.

Every cop’s got their own collection of notebooks, raw data and impressions that don’t always make it into official reports.

The equivalent of dirty underwear when you’re not expecting company versus lingerie when you’re down to fuck.

This close, he can smell your shampoo, bright and faintly floral.

You blink at him.

‘I need to sort something with human resources,’ you say. ‘I’ll see you later.’

In actual fact it’s 36 hours later when he next sees you, at 4am, at a crime scene.

***

The rain falling is more than a drizzle, enough that the tent around the victim is the first priority.

There’s an imprint of violence in the air, Yoongi knows you feel it too by the way your lips tighten as you duck under the yellow tape to join him.

You nod at him in greeting, then there’s silence as you enter the tent.

The victim’s on her front, face turned to the right, hand tucked under her cheek.

She hasn’t been dead long enough for livedo to set in, she would almost look asleep if it weren’t for the purple of her lips, the greyness to her complexion.

The bath of blood she’s lying in.

Yoongi can just see the edge of the gaping wound on her neck.

You wait until forensics turns her body over.

The top three buttons of her silk blouse are undone, her chest slick with blood.

Yoongi’s reading the crime scene like he’s reading you, and he knows what you’re going to say before you say it.

‘It’s him,’ you breathe. The devastation in your eyes makes it difficult for him to look at you. ‘Fuck, it’s him.’

***

You’re shivering visibly despite the hot coffee Yoongi’s poured you, despite the fact that he’s turned the heating in his ancient Hyundai up as far as it’ll go.

There are droplets of water in your hair, sparkling incongruously in the gloom.

You’re waiting till first light to knock on neighbourhood doors, the victim was found in a quiet cul-de-sac.

Two minutes from her own front door.

Not much chills Yoongi these days but that fact does make him pause.

The audacity of it.

He says, ‘I have a blanket in the trunk.’

You’re protesting but Yoongi gets back out in the rain anyway, grabs the blanket and gets back in.

Hands it to you, takes your cup as you drape the blanket around yourself.

‘It gets colder here than Seoul,’ Yoongi offers, handing you your coffee back.

‘We fucked it up,’ you say, and Yoongi knows that’s what you’ve been thinking since you saw the body.

He’s just been waiting for you to be ready to say it.

‘So make it right,’ he says, simple.

‘An innocent man’s in prison because Kiho and I fucked up,’ you say.

Yoongi doesn’t want to minimise it but he doubts the man you put away was completely innocent.

‘I read your notebooks,’ he says. ‘Who’s Jeon Bogyeol?’

There had been twelve murders before the arrest. All women in their late twenties to mid thirties, all living alone.

They’d all lived in the same part of Seoul, but apart from that there was nothing to link them that he could find.

You look at him warily. ‘He was a night watchman at the apartments of seven of the women.’

Yoongi waits.

‘We cross-referenced staff at all the addresses, and his name kept coming up. Like Jang Daeseong.’

You flinch at the name of the man convicted of the murders, as though it didn’t fall from your own lips.

You keep talking, though, your voice never faltering. ‘We never found any links between Jeon Bogyeol and the other five women.’

‘Did he have a history?’ Yoongi asks. He’s looking out the window at the first rays of sunrise, muted orange through the rain. His shoulder aches, an old injury he doesn’t think about except when he’s tired, and cold.

‘There was a neighbour,’ you say. You’re chewing on your bottom lip, a tell Yoongi’s noticed for the first time tonight.

‘She called the police once saying she’d seen Bogyeol taking a woman into his apartment against her will.’

You’re frowning. ‘The beat cops who responded to the call out said there was no sign of anyone else in his apartment. The neighbour moved away.’

‘Moved away?’ Yoongi asks, and you glance at him, understanding the sharpness in his tone.

‘I was going to look into it when the Chief shut us down,’ you say. It’s stated simply, like a fact, no sign of defensiveness.

Yoongi offers you more coffee from his flask.

‘Where’s Bogyeol now?’

‘When the new letter came in I looked him up,’ you say. The steam rising from your cup obscures part of your expression for a moment, but Yoongi can hear the tremor in your voice.

‘He’s less than fifty miles east of here.’

Dawn’s breaking, the rain’s finally starting to peter out, but Yoongi’s chilled anyway.

***

The morning sun is high in the sky by the time Yoongi and you finish interviewing the neighbours and the new victim’s friends and family.

Yoongi’s phone rings. It’s Namjoon.

‘Can you talk?’ Namjoon asks.

Yoongi mouths ‘Namjoon’ in response to your inquiring expression, puts some distance between you and him.

‘Yeah,’ he answers.

‘The post-mortem results are back, and the preliminary tox screen is negative. The ME’s put the cause of death as exsanguination.’

Yoongi processes this. ‘It’s the same MO as the previous Seoul reaper victims,’ he says.

Namjoon sighs. ‘Has anything new come out of your interviews?’

‘No,’ Yoongi says. The victim had been well-liked, none of the neighbours had seen or heard anything, and on the surface of it there were no conflicts he could see. Her boyfriend of two years had been away on a work trip, his location confirmed around the window of the crime.

Yoongi’s looking at you as you wait against the car, and when your name comes out of Namjoon’s mouth he’s already got an inkling of what Namjoon wants to know.

‘I reviewed the case,’ Namjoon says. ‘There are no obvious flaws or errors in their investigation.’

Yoongi grunts. ‘There was a lead that they didn’t follow up on.’

He fills Namjoon in.

‘I’ll follow it up.’

Namjoon says, thoughtfully, ‘I wonder where her partner’s working now.’

Yoongi’s surprised Namjoon doesn’t already know, to be honest, he’s always two steps ahead of Yoongi.

He flicks his gaze to you again. You’re still waiting against the car, and there’s a loneliness to your posture, a fatigued downturn to your mouth that makes him say, ‘Hey Joon, I’ll call you back, ok?’

He ends the call, unlocks the car.

‘We should get back and compare notes,’ Yoongi says. His voice has dropped the way it does when he’s tired, and shit, he is tired. He hasn’t slept well for a while.

‘Let me drive,’ you offer. You take his keys, and your fingers brush his for an instant.

The contact, brief though it is, makes Yoongi’s skin tingle.

He wonders if you notice his reaction, but you’re already sliding in, adjusting the seat, starting up the car.

***

Yoongi wakes when you’re parking the car, sits up, a little embarrassed.

‘I’m sorry,’ he says, looking to gauge your reaction.

‘Don’t be,’ you reply. ‘I would have done the same if you’d driven.’

There’s a hint of mischief in the curve of your half-smile.

‘You mumble in your sleep.’

Yoongi rubs a hand over his face. ‘What’d I say?’

‘I couldn’t make out any words,’ you tell him, but there’s a twinkle in your eye that makes him wonder if that’s really true.

Mara is the only person who’s shared his bed in recent years, and she’d never mentioned anything.

You swipe your ID to get into the station, hit the lifts.

In the dire grey lighting you look almost as tired as he does.

‘Coffee?’ Yoongi offers, when you pass the vending machine on the way to the office.

‘Yeah,’ you say. You’re on your phone, frowning over a text.

Yoongi passes you a cup.

‘Problem?’ he asks.

‘Kiho,’ you say. You look at him. ‘My old partner. He wants to meet up.’

‘It’d be useful to talk through the case with him,’ Yoongi agrees.

Your expression is difficult to read. ‘He’s in a retreat a couple hours drive from here. He took time off after we closed the case.’

Yoongi gulps his coffee. ‘There isn’t anything else we can do here anyway, we’re waiting on leads.’

He reaches out his hand for the car keys. ‘I can drive.’

***

The retreat Kiho is staying in is set amongst the foothills of a mountain, rolling grounds all around, a view of the cliffs overlooking the sea.

It seems to Yoongi like a place only the very rich or the very damaged would live.

Unless you get better pay packets in Seoul he’s apprehensive about meeting Kiho.

You sign in at the front desk, the receptionist greets you warmly, like she’s met you a few times before.

You lead Yoongi through a huge lounge, through open patio doors and into a green. Yoongi’s looking around at the residents, scanning the area the way he does automatically whenever he’s in an unfamiliar place.

You’re waving a hand, and then you’re embracing a tall man tightly. Neither of you say anything but Yoongi can see the way your shoulders slump, like the tension’s draining out of you.

It’s only when the tall man looks up at Yoongi inquiringly that Yoongi notices the long scar running along his neck. Tracing the path of his jugular, vertical rather than horizontal.

Kiho extends a hand.

‘So you’re going to get our guy,’ he says.

Yoongi doesn’t know what to say to that.

‘We’re going to get him,’ he says, finally.

Kiho turns to you. ‘You haven’t told him,’ he says to you.

You’re looking at Yoongi.

‘We can tell him now.’

***

‘I started getting notes after Jang Daeseong was convicted,’ you say. You’re sitting in a gazebo with Yoongi and Kiho, mugs of coffee in front of you.

Yoongi raises an eyebrow.

You flick your eyes to his, then look away, unlock your phone.

Yoongi takes your phone, scrolls through a gallery of pictures.

Lined paper, handwriting he’s seen before.

Yoongi reads through the content, then returns your phone to you.

‘The originals are with forensics,’ you tell him. ‘The paper and ink are generic, impossible to trace. There’s no trace of DNA, not so much as a partial print.’

‘The notes stopped coming last month,’ you say. ��Right around the time I moved.’

Kiho’s scratching his neck absently, Yoongi catches how your gaze drops to his scar.

The length of it’s longer than a stab wound, he thinks the surgeons might have had to extend the scar to repair the vessels beneath.

You turn to Yoongi.

‘We have to stop him,’ you say. ‘Use me to lure him out.’

‘He nearly killed me,’ Kiho says. His expression is sober, his tone flat.

He stops there, but Yoongi can hear his next words, loud and clear.

What’s he going to do to you?

‘We can’t let him keep going like this,’ you say, very gently.

Kiho meets Yoongi’s gaze.

Yoongi doesn’t falter.

‘He has to be stopped,’ he agrees.

***

The drive back to the police station goes quicker - there’s something about seeing your old partner that’s given you a bump of energy.

Yoongi can practically feel the adrenaline fizzing in your blood, coming off you in waves.

He’s worried about the crash when the adrenaline ebbs.

He sure as fuck hopes you can cope with the lows better than he can.

He’d put in a call before you left the retreat, Namjoon’s fast tracking a last known address on the neighbour of Jeon Bogyeol who’d moved away.

You’re typing an address into the satnav yourself, face drawn, eyes serious.

Yoongi doesn’t have to ask whose address it is.

‘Are you sure you’re up to this?’ he asks.

His voice is as neutral as he can make it but he already knows that you’ve made your decision.

It’s written all over you, in the way your shoulders are squared, in the tilt of your chin, in the way your hands are tensed into fists in your lap.

‘I need to see this through, Yoongi,’ you say.

Yoongi takes a moment.

‘What happened to Kiho?’ he asks.

‘He didn’t see who it was,’ you answer. Your eyes are fixed in front of you, jaw tensed.

‘He was heading home in between shifts and he got jumped in the car park under his apartment. If he hadn’t been found by the car park attendant —‘ you voice trails off, and you shiver.

‘He was lucky the car park attendant called for help right away. That his next door neighbour, fresh off a shift in the trauma department, arrived home when she did and was there to take over. That he lives five minutes on blue lights away from the best trauma centre in Seoul.’

You look at Yoongi. ‘Kiho’s damned lucky to be alive.’

‘It’s a different injury from the reaper’s usual MO,’ Yoongi says slowly.

You nod. ‘He was toying with us.’

‘You said you received notes from the Reaper,’ Yoongi says. He’s watching you carefully in the rearview. ‘What did they say?’

Your lips press together in a line, but your voice is steady when you answer.

‘He said he’d been watching me, and that he was coming for me. That I’d be his final kill.’

***

The address you’ve put in for Jeon Bogyeol is a house in a run down suburban neighbourhood, the type of place Yoongi grew up.

The houses are haphazardly arranged, like a careless scatter on a Monopoly board, connected by a warren of roads too narrow for more than one car to pass.

Yoongi can see you tensing up the closer you get to your destination, and after he parks and switches off the engine, he places his hand on your arm.

Your eyes are expressive, more so than your voice.

‘We haven’t got grounds yet for an arrest warrant,’ you say, flat.

‘We’re working the case,’ Yoongi replies. ‘And if it’s right, we’ll work it until it’s airtight.’

Your response is to stare at him a moment, then to push open the car door.

Yoongi notices that you’ve unzipped your jacket, making your holstered gun more visible.

His own gun presses against his hip, the weight of it reminding him that although he’s only drawn it a handful of times, each time has been with intent.

He sure as fuck hopes neither of you will have reason to draw your gun today.

***

The address is little more than a shack, a rickety door that looks like it’ll give under a strong kick, a boarded up window that’s visibly cracked.

Yoongi knocks, identifies you both.

Follows procedure because he’s determined to get it all right this time.

Get the monster locked up where he belongs.

You don’t have grounds to break down the door, at least not until you go round to the back and see the pink tricycle upended in the dirt, streamers splayed tendrils of pink and white.

There isn’t much that sends Yoongi into the grey as much as the suggestion that a child might be involved.

He doesn’t really recall looking at you to confirm, just knows that one minute he’s outside in the chill and the next he’s inside the shack, gun drawn, the metallic tang of blood in the back of his throat.

There’s nowhere to hide in the empty shack, Jeon Bogyeol is gone.

You do a cursory search but both of you know you aren’t going to find your answers here.

Then Yoongi must blank out, because the next thing he hears is your voice, firm, saying his name.

He’s panting, covered in sweat, back against a wall, your hands grabbing fistfuls of his jacket to keep him upright.

He blinks, and you snap into focus. There’s ringing in his ears.

Your mouth opens, and the ringing stops. He hears your voice.

‘Let’s go, Yoongi.’

He lets you lead him out, folds himself into the passenger seat of your car, notes distantly how you put your hand on the top of the doorframe like you’re worried he’s going to bang his head.

You start the engine and then you drive, and Yoongi’s grateful that you don’t say anything at all, don’t ask for an explanation of why a fucking tricycle sent him into a tailspin.

Yoongi looks down in his lap because he’s not ready to see if you’re looking at him differently now that you’ve seen him wig out.

You put the radio on after a few minutes, stop at a drive thru after an hour.

It’s only when you hand him a coffee, silently, that he’s moved to speak.

He clears his throat, and you’re the one who speaks, still looking straight ahead, out the windscreen.

‘You don’t have to tell me. I mean, I’ll listen if you do, but you don’t have to.’

Yoongi chews on that a moment.

‘Three years ago I worked what we thought was a murder in Busan. It turned out to be an abduction.’

Yoongi laughs. There’s no humour in it.

‘We found her. She was still warm. If we’d been ten minutes quicker at figuring it out, if her fucking dad had told us about the business deal he had that had gone sour sooner, if I’d even just tried harder…’

His voice trails off.

He risks a glance at you.

You’re still not looking at him.

‘I can’t speak to whether you could have prevented it, Yoongi. All I know is that none of us come to work to do a bad job.’

Your hand lands on his forearm briefly.

‘Some days are just bad days at the office.’

It’s not the first time Yoongi’s heard it, but it’s the first time it’s been said to him with no judgement that he can hear.

***

When you get back to the precinct, Namjoon’s waiting.

He hands Yoongi another case file.

‘I got Jimin to follow up on those leads we talked about,’ Namjoon says, no preamble.

‘We visited Jeon Bogyeol’s last known address,’ you say. ‘There’s no one there now, but it hasn’t been long since he moved out.’

Namjoon says, ‘Keep me informed.’

He nods to the case file. ‘There’s some interesting information in there.’

As Namjoon walks off, you turn to Yoongi.

‘I’m going down to visit someone I know in forensics, see if they can check the house.’

Yoongi heads for your joint office.

There’s a cleaning cart parked just outside the door, which opens just as Yoongi reaches for the doorknob.

The cleaner apologises and bows politely.

Yoongi steps aside to let her pass.

‘You forgot this,’ he says, spotting the dusting cloth left on your desk.

He hands it to her and places the file on his desk.

Outside, it’s raining again.

***

Yoongi wakes with a jolt.

You’re perched on the edge of his desk.

‘You should go home, get some sleep.’

‘In the middle of an active murder investigation?’ Yoongi mumbles.

‘I’m one of the potential targets, remember?’ you say, grimacing. ‘He might come to us.’

At Yoongi’s expression, you say, ‘We’ve been doing nothing but following up leads since the last murder. The last investigation took months, almost a year. What are you going to do, not sleep until he’s caught?’

‘I don’t sleep much anyway,’ Yoongi says, but he knows you’re right.

‘I know you don’t,’ you reply. There’s an empathy in your tone that reminds him you’re a homicide detective too.

You exchange a look, and then you both speak at the same time.

‘I should go —‘

‘Do you like wontons?’ Yoongi blurts out.

You raise an eyebrow. ‘Is this like inviting me in for ramen?’

‘What?’ Yoongi splutters. ‘No, not like that. There’s this place I go. They have—-‘

‘Wontons, I get it,’ you say. You get up. ‘Yeah. Let’s go.’

***

It’s been a while since Yoongi shared a meal with someone else, the last person was Hoseok, who could go straight from a crime scene to a steakhouse without turning a hair.

You’re chasing a wonton around your plate, fatigue lining the corners of your mouth.

Yoongi asks, ‘Where do you live?’

‘The other side of town,’ you tell him. ‘Near the financial district.’

‘Fancy,’ Yoongi muses.

‘More than I can afford,’ you say darkly. ‘If this case goes on for a while I’m going to need to move.’

You look up at him. ‘Where do you live?’

‘Close to here,’ Yoongi says.

‘Yeah?’

You put your chopsticks down. ‘I should —-‘

This time, Yoongi interrupts.

‘Do you want to come round for ramen?’

Your eyes meet, and there’s a beat of silence. Then a pulse of connection that sends heat through Yoongi’s veins.

Your knee brushes his under the table.

‘Yeah,’ you answer, deliberate. ‘Fuck, yeah.’

***

Yoongi’s always hated the preamble to a hookup, in his line of work uncertainty is a thing to be avoided.

You work the case until you get an explanation no reasonable person would doubt.

He finds himself waiting, though, now that you’re standing in his apartment.

You’re looking around, and he wonders if his existence seems as lonely on the outside as it feels on the inside.

He’s wondering if you’ve changed your mind, if you really did think he meant ramen, when you reach out and grasp the front of his shirt.

Slip the tips of your fingers just under, hold the placket as you use your other hand to unbutton. Start at his throat, work your way down, slowly.

His skin prickles under the warmth of your fingers.

You lean forward and press a kiss to the base of his neck.

Yoongi reaches up, slides a hand around the nape of your neck, and you tilt your face to his.

Close up, you’re soft.

Yoongi traces your bottom lip with his thumb, and your lips part.

You don’t say anything, though, and that’s ok, because Yoongi thinks you’re as talked out as he is.

It’s been a hell of a fucking day.

You’re kissing his neck again, instead of his mouth, and that’s ok, because this isn’t love, it’s comfort.

A human connection in a day filled with monsters.

Yoongi sighs as your hands slip over his bare chest, round to his back.

He helps you lift your top over your head, admires your breasts, nipples pressing against the fabric of your bra.

He cups the weight of them in his hands, and you moan.

Yoongi’s cock is filling out, and you’re undoing his belt like you want to see for yourself.

You drop to your knees in front of him, press your mouth onto the length of him over his boxer briefs, sigh with pleasure.

‘Not too much,’ Yoongi warns, ‘not if you want me to fuck you.’

You look up at him, hair mussed, a smile curving your lips.

You tug his boxer briefs down, and Yoongi curls a hand around himself so as not to hit you in the face.

‘Just let me —‘

You open your mouth to take him in, and Yoongi groans at the feel of your warmth.

When did he last —

His crown nudges the back of your throat, and you swallow, and he loses his train of thought.

He grabs your shoulder, tugs you up, kisses the smear of his own stickiness at the corner of your mouth.

The light slanting in through the window is hues of gold and orange, filling in the hollows of your face, outlining the curves of your body.

Yoongi has to stop looking at you because he doesn’t want to cry at how much he’s missed being close to someone like this.

‘Where do you want me?’ he asks, voice taut.

‘Anywhere,’ you say. ‘Just turn these fucking lights out.’

***

In the dark, Yoongi’s most enraptured by the warmth of you.

Your skin is smooth, so soft under his hands as he wraps his fingers around the curve of your hips.

His cock glides in and out of the heat between your legs, and your moans are beautiful but what really gets him are the hitches in your breathing as he moves.

He turns you over, onto your back, and you pull him to you. Your mouth opens on his shoulder in what would be a kiss if you weren’t biting down. Your tongue flicks over his bruised skin, an apology.

You haven’t spoken to each other in words in a while but Yoongi doesn’t think either of you need words right now.

At least he doesn’t.

You’re tightening around his cock now, your cries quickening until you gasp his name in a tone that makes him grunt and his hips jerk, taking him deep as he can go.

Even in his pleasure he makes sure not to crush you as he collapses next to you.

Then you’re up, walking over to the window, pulling up the sash, lighting a cigarette without asking if he’s ok with it.

Yoongi admires the outline of your profile against the glass.

‘I needed that,’ you say, taking a drag, hunching a little to blow smoke out of his window.

‘Me too,’ Yoongi says, honestly.

He ties off the condom, gets up to toss it in the trash on top of yesterday’s takeout.

Pours you a glass of water on his way back to bed.

He half expects you to be dressed, and you are, but in his clothes, not your own, an old t-shirt he’d tossed on the chair by the bed yesterday morning before he left for work.

He can’t see your face clearly in the dark. It makes it easy to find his voice.

‘You should stay,’ he says. ‘We can get coffee in the morning.’

You’re quiet. ‘I want to.’

Yoongi climbs into bed, and after a moment you slide in next to him.

Your bodies aren’t touching at all, but somehow having you there with him is enough.

Yoongi means to check on you, but he’s asleep so quickly he doesn’t get a chance to.

***

There’s a basketball hoop set into the wall in the back end of the station, a concrete square with a chain-link fence.

The building opposite is a block of offices, as is the building next to it.

Yoongi makes the shot, and you grab the ball on its first bounce.

You say, ‘Forensics got nothing from Jeon Bogyeol’s shack. He bleached the shit out of the place before he left.’

Yoongi grunts, watches you point and shoot.

He’d read through the file Namjoon gave him on the neighbour - it’s incomplete but she was last seen alive twelve weeks ago in a coastal town.

There’s something niggling at the back of his brain, he’d suggested shooting hoops in the hopes that the activity might shake the thought loose so his conscious mind can make the connection.

His phone vibrates in his pocket.

Namjoon.

‘I’m going up to see Namjoon,’ he says. ‘You coming?’

‘I’ll stay here for a bit,’ you say. ‘I’ll be up in a sec.’

Yoongi shrugs, lets himself back in.

Takes the stairs up to Namjoon’s office on the third floor.

There’s a cleaning cart parked next to the staff kitchen as he rounds the corner.

Yoongi’s about to knock on Namjoon’s door when his scattered thoughts crystallise.

The case file Namjoon had given him had a grainy photo of Jeon Bogyeol’s neighbour, the one who’d reported him and then disappeared.

He’s seen her face before, and recently.

Coming out of your office.

‘Fuck,’ he swears.

He grabs his phone out of his pocket, dials your number.

Your phone rings, and rings.

Yoongi takes off, down the stairs, back the way he came.

By the time he bursts out of the back door of the station, gun drawn, his heart’s thumping triple speed, but his hand is steady as he aims it at the man with a knife standing over you.

His finger goes from trigger guard to trigger.

‘Fucking drop it,’ Yoongi warns.

He doesn’t, so Yoongi shoots.

***

Jeon Bogyeol’s neighbour who had reported him was called Seo Hyerin.

She was in her early forties, an ex-teacher who he’d coerced into helping him by turning up at her new place even after she’d moved to get away from him.

She’d been too scared to disobey him, but in forcing her to help him, Jeon Bogyeol had given her access to enough information to clinch the case against him.

Once she’d found out he’d been shot and was likely to go straight from hospital to prison, she’d shared all that information with Yoongi and you.

The pieces fell into place so easily there was no need to make any of it fit.

And now Yoongi’s sitting in the kitchen of your apartment, watching as you pack things up.

He’d been right. Your place was fancy.

You were being transferred back to Seoul to finish up, see things through with the case.

He realises you’re looking at him.

‘My new place is a couple hours drive from here,’ you say.

‘Yeah?’ Yoongi says, like he hadn’t already looked it up.

He’d also looked up timed automated cat food dispensers, just because it was one thing to have a neighbour drop in and feed Kenzo if he’s stuck with a case occasionally, but it’s another thing if he’s regularly going to be driving down to see you.

If he’s regularly going to be spending the night away.

It’s uncharacteristic, for him, but he’s hopeful.

‘I slept pretty well that time,’ you say, looking down into your box.

You look up at him, and the curve of your lips makes Yoongi think to himself that he’d like to kiss you, sometime.

‘In your apartment,’ you clarify, like he wouldn’t already know.

‘I make good ramen,’ Yoongi says. ‘I can make it again for you, you know.’

You laugh, and the sound makes Yoongi feel warm.

He realises that he’s smiling.

Fuck, it’s been a while.

#bts fanfiction #bts smut #yoongi x reader #bts fanfic #yoongi fic #yoongi smut

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wildestdreamsblog · 1 year

Text

When you found out they cheated on you

Pairing: Hyung line x Reader

Warnings: Soft Yandere, Cheating, Obsessiveness, Possessiveness, Manipulative behavior, Sexual themes, If you’re not 18+ please, PLEASE, do not interact. Be mindful of the warnings. Let me know if I miss anything.

A/N: because if there’s maknae story, there should be the hyung line story! Work and school have been exhausting me lately sksks I’m glad I made time to finish this! I hope you enjoy!

Namjoon

“It was a stupid mistake!” Namjoon, who rarely raised his voice, implored you to believe him. But you were done believing him. It didn’t matter if it only happened once, or that it was a mistake- none of that mattered because what mattered was that for that short span of moments, his lust overpowered his supposedly love for you.

“Stupid mistake? Namjoon, you’re one of the smartest man on earth for fuck’s sake! What you did wasn’t stupid! It cannot even be considered a mistake!” You screamed at him, your emotions getting the best of you because he kept on blocking your path. You gentle giant would never put his hand on you in anger, but he sure did use his form to stop you from leaving the studio. Jungkook looked traumatized as he inadvertently watched his hyung that he looked up to, and his noona in this terrible scenario.

“Flower, it’s the truth. It was nothing but a mistake! You’re the only one who has my heart! You’re the only one I love-“

“Do you? Really? Do you really love me?”

“I do!”

You shook your head before he could even finished his sentence. “No, Namjoon. I love you. I would never cheat on you. I would never betray your trust. But you did. And now I can’t even love you,” you argued softly, feeling all the energy draining out from you. Suddenly, you were just too tired of it all, and your words made Namjoon faltered.

He felt himself panic, felt himself at lost for the first time. He was a man who always knew what to do, always soldiered on through the toughest of times. But you saying you could no longer love him made him lose his composure. And with his stoic form, you walked past him.

You thought you could leave, really thought you could escape this messed up situation when the golden maknae suddenly stepped in front of you, blocking you from opening the door.

“Jungkook,” you whispered, closing your eyes as tears fell. “Please. Move.”

Jungkook’s lips quivered as he looked at your broken, desolate form, and to his leader who looked so lost, his head bent down as he looked so forlone. He knew he had to help just like how Namjoon was always ready to lend him a helping hand. He was always there to make the difficult decisions, always there to make sure that the members were doing fine.

And now, his leader was anything but fine. And you were the only one who held the great leader together. If you left, Jungkook was terrified to think of what would happen to his hyung.

You attempted to walk around him when he only moved with you, softly stopping you from leaving.

“Please noona, just listen to hyung first, okay?”

“No. I have nothing to say to him anymore.”

“I-I’m sorry, I can’t let you leave-“

You forcedly pushed him to the side, but the muscular golden maknae barely even moved. You were full on crying as you felt so emotionally drained and physically helpless that you didn’t notice Namjoon was standing behind you. His huge hand, the one that you always admired, snaked around you, pulling you closer to his chest.

“Let me go! Let me leave-“ He cut you off, his head bent to nuzzle your neck, his voice deep as the words he said made you paused.

“You and I know that I can’t ever let you go, flower. We’ll talk. We’ll resolve this. We’ll be happy again. You’re mine, flower. You’re never going to leave me.”

You whipped your head to look at him. Was he so disillusioned that he thought you would stay with him after cheating on you? Did he really think you’d still accept him?

Namjoon met your eyes with his determined ones, his other arm wrapping around your waist, effectively preventing you from leaving his side.

No.

Never would you leave him.

Never would he let you.

Without breaking eye contact, his deep voice resounded on the quietness of the studio. “Thanks, Jungkook. And lock the door when you leave.”

Seokjin

“I just can’t stand and see you live a lie. Y/N, we saw Seokjin and a girl kissing…I’m sorry you had to hear this from me.”

You heard what she said, could understand what she said. But why then were you frozen in tracks? Why then were your hands suspended as you poured her coffee? Why then did you desperately not want to believe her?

Why then did you want to run away from this situation?

She was your close friend, practically grew up with you. And you knew she would never lie about something like this. The picture she was showing on her phone was all the proof you needed.

You wouldn’t live with the disrespect, would never allow yourself to stay on a relationship that didn’t value honesty. And so, immediately you resigned from their company after spending so many years working in finance. The HR refrained from asking as though they had an inkling of idea why you were leaving. You set the effectivity as soon as possible, sacrificing your career just as he sacrificed your relationship for a fleeting lust. You were as though on an autopilot, your face stoic as you went out of the house and faced the world, only breaking down once you were safe in the four walls of your house.

Your house.

You were so glad that you didn’t jump right at the prospect of living with him when he begged you to move in with him. You were smart not to uproot your whole life and independence and space. But God were you tempted to wake up everyday in his arms, to see his sleepy face first thing in the morning, to cook and experiment with him.

But all of those were now gone with the wind.

You were avoiding him successfully from the day you were informed, leaving his messages and calls unanswered, leaving the door locked whenever he knocked which made him think you weren’t home.

So where were you?

If only you saw Jin right now, you’d feel a little bit pity for the man you still loved. That was the thing with love, it didn’t just fade away because someone did a mistake. It stayed, it lingered…until it festered from the inside.

He hadn’t seen you in weeks, his messages getting increasingly agitated, angry, sad, and frantic- all of which were left unanswered.

You owed him nothing but your silence, yet his last message sent shivers down your spine.

‘You know I hate being ignored, sweetheart. I don’t know what I’m capable to do if I ever lose you.’

Everyone knew Jin was a good man, someone who was always soft and always looking out for the members. Everyone knew he was selfless. But only you saw the swirling darkness in his eyes whenever he looked at you, only you felt how tight he was holding you whenever someone was near you, or how hard he made love to you on nights when he had no choice but to leave you for work.

But this was different. You felt like his message was a form of promise…or a threat.

Finally, his company contacted you for the documents you needed in order to secure another job, as well as your final pay. You were glad to get this done. You were planning on accepting another job far, far, far away from Jin, his lies, and the relationship you thought would survived. You went to the company after asking your friend that worked there if the group was in the building. Apparently, they were doing a guesting on a radio show which made you feel some kind of thing.

The last time you saw Jin was when he left your apartment before going abroad. You remembered how tight he hugged you, how warm his chest was, and how you were almost crying just thinking about him being gone for a week- which apparently was enough time for him to cheat on you.

“Sweetheart, don’t cry,” he said with a small laugh, wiping your tears with his thumb. “I’ll be back before you know it. I’m going to call everyday! Every hour!”

You laughed at his ridiculousness, and once you did, he gifted you with his beautiful smile. “That’s impossible. You’ll be busy-“

“Nothing is impossible for your boyfriend. I’ll even call you every thirty minutes!”

You scoffed at his cuteness. “It’s true! I’ll even be more clingy or else some asshole might snatch you up while you’re all alone.”

And when you stopped crying, he kissed you so tenderly, so slowly, savoring every moment with you that when you opened your eyes, you were smiling from how much he loved you.

You were an idiot.

You stepped out of the office after bidding your coworkers that turned close friends goodbye, and after securing the documents, the radio station where the group was guesting was playing on the huge screen on the hallway. You frowned when you noticed there were only six of them…with no Jin in sight.

“I see there’s only six of you. Is the world wide handsome doing okay?” The radio host asked the group members in concern, in which Namjoon took the lead.

“He has an emergency right now that sadly cannot wait. But I assure you, our hyung is okay, and he will be resolving the issue as soon as possible.”

Your heart skipped a beat. You couldn’t believe your ears. And you certainly cannot believe your eyes when you suddenly felt a hand gripped your wrist, and dragged you down the hall. Your eyes were wide as you stared at Jin’s broad back, his breaths hard as he pulled you with him. You were too shocked to even resist, not until he pulled you inside his office and locked the door behind him.

His jaw was clenched as he took you in, his face missing the usual playfulness in it.

“I thought something bad happened to you,” he began in the deepest voice you heard him used. His form was rigid as he took you in, searching for any harm that may have come your way since you started ghosting him. And only when he were assured that you were unharmed did he meet your eyes. You were unharmed and that should calmed him down, but it didn’t. It didn’t get passed his observation that you appeared thinner than the last time he saw you. And he loathed that. Jin took pride in the fact taking care of you, of making sure that your well-being was his main priority that your weight dropped was like a knife to his heart. “I thought someone took you away from me,” he continued, walking closer to you as though he was a predator, and you a prey that had been successfully evading him for quite some time. And it enraged him, that when he got closed enough to you, he trapped you in his arms never to let you go. “Sweetheart, I thought I lost you,” he whispered in a dark tone, yet an underlying terrified emotion passed through his eyes.

You looked at him with hard eyes, “Don’t touch me.”

“First you ran away from me and now you don’t want me touching you?” He scoffed in disbelief.

“First you claimed to love me and then you threw our relationship to the ground and cheated on me,” you snapped back, pushing the tall man away from you with all your strength and the asshole only moved few inches.

“W-what? Sweetheart, what are you talking about?” He visibly paled, his hand was shaking with sudden stressed and anxiety.

“You’re not an idiot, Seokjin. So stop acting like one.”

“I don’t understand. Is that why you’re avoiding me? Because you think I cheated-“

“Don’t you dare make me feel like an idiot, Kim Seokjin.”

“I’m not, sweetheart. But that is not true! I’ll never cheat on-“

You showed him your phone, the one that your friend showed you and broke your heart. His eyes were on the screen of your phone, his eyes went round that you had proof of his infidelity. After a moment of silence, you deleted the picture.

“Don’t worry. Your image is safe,” you smiled at him sadly, assuring him that you would never use this against him despite how much he devastated you. At this point, you were just damn tired and his presence would never put you whole again.

You wanted to be away from him.

You managed to render him speechless, managed to put much distance between the two of you, before going straight to the door.

“She meant nothing,” his voice was pleading, watching you with pitiful eyes.

“Apparently, I mean nothing, too.”

You were about to open the door when his words stopped you.

“Do you want me to destroy her? You know I can…Just tell me what you need so we can move past this, sweetheart…”

You knew your Jin’s family was powerful, something that he never bragged about. He was so humble that he even chose to start from the very bottom, growing with the members through hardship despite the fact that he had a rich family. And now that he was saying these words, offering you to destroy someone just because he could proved to you how much you never knew him.

Your eyes were terrified as you looked up at the tall man, his jaw clenched, seriousness and madness crossing his face. “What I want is for you to go back in time and be faithful to me, but we cannot have that, can we?”

His handsome face visibly flinched from your verbal attack, but you had to get this out of your chest. “What I want is for you to leave me alone. I’m done with you, Kim Seokjin.”

And finally, when you opened the door, he didn’t stop you. Yet, his parting words to you assured you that this wouldn’t be the last you saw of him.

“I’ll give you time. I’ll give you space. But please don’t make me be the villain in our story, sweetheart. Because I can be the villain if it means keeping you with me.”

Yoongi

Your Yoongi was staying up late in his studio for almost a month now, pouring in so many hours just to perfect his craft that more often than not, you slept and woke up alone. And you would admit that you were feeling quite lonely, the fancy apartment he got for you and him was screaming in elegance, but you had never felt so alone than you did right now.

You missed your Yoongi.

With your mind made up, you cooked him his favorite food. You’d surprised him in his studio.

But when you got there, it was you who was surprised.

You wished you didn’t come, wished that you never locked eyes with him. You wished you never met him.

Yet most of all, you wish you never knew. It was true what they said, ignorance was a fucking bliss because having seen him thrusting behind a bent girl, one that you recognized, sent sharp stabs of pain and betrayal in your heart.

Did you ever really know him?

Because the man who opened his eyes in time to see your tears fell was not the one you fell in love with, he wasn’t the man who promised never to cheat on you because he knew how it felt, knew how damaging it was,

He experienced it, he lived it- so why then was he making you live the nightmare he escaped?

Yoongi’s movement faltered when he saw you. He wanted so bad to wake up from this, wanted so bad to consider this a mere nightmare. But it wasn’t. You were really looking at him with hurt and betrayal in your eyes.

But didn’t he mean for this to happen? Wasn‘t he the one to always self-destruct when things were becoming too good to be true? And weren’t you too good to be true?

You were too good for him.

And now he was regretting giving in to temptation, he regretted destroying the one good and pure thing in his life.

“K-Kitten,” he called out to you as he removed himself from the woman. And you winced when you heard the sickening sound of the proof of his infidelity. Before he could even tucked himself, you left.

You couldn’t even stay one second with him.

You couldn’t even breathe in that room because it reeked of them.

You couldn’t breath. God, you couldn’t breathe.

You heard him screaming for you as you ran, his deep voice resounding on the hallway as the remaining staff looked at you with bewilderment in their eyes. They never heard the Min Yoongi that desperate and fearful until that day.

You didn’t know how, but you managed to pack your stuff and left him and his lies. Or maybe he just didn’t care enough to go after you. It did hurt, but you were glad he didn’t. You couldn’t believe he made a fool of you when you did nothing but love and understand his hectic schedule. And now you didn’t want to see him.

You thought you’d never hear from him again. You were sure he was ashamed of himself that he’d never show up in front of you again. But you couldn’t be anymore wrong.

It was almost a week when you came home from work. Your apartment was small, and not something you’d rent for a long time. But it was exactly what you needed- somewhere far away from him. So imagine your surprise when you walked to your apartment only to find him waiting for you.

Yoongi looked thinner, he looked paler and his eyes looked like they had not rested since forever. He stepped near you but you acted like he wasn’t there, fishing your keys from your bag.

“Kitten-“

You evaded his touch, not looking at his way and instead, attempted to open your door.

“Kitten, let’s talk. Please. I haven’t slept since you left. I’ve been going crazy because I couldn’t find you,” he said desperately, his voice showing agitation despite him trying to say his piece calmly. You pretended to not hear him. You promised yourself that the next time you’d see him, you would act as if he didn’t exist, because why shouldn’t you? In the first place, he acted as if you didn’t exist and proceeded on fucking someone else.

You cursed when you dropped your keys in your haste. You bent down and tried again, praying to heavens that your hand stopped trembling.

“I didn’t know where you were. I went around, I looked for you. I went to your family, I went to your friends but none of them knew where you are. I thought something bad happened to you. I thought I’d never see you again,” he sputtered out, his eyes desperately searching yours as he stood beside you. His form looked defeated, yet you knew he was a stubborn man.

He wouldn’t let this go.

“As you can see, I am alive and well. So leave,” you said in a cold voice, not once removing your eyes from your door that was as equally stubborn as Yoongi.

“Why would I? My girlfriend is here. Shouldn’t lovers stay together?” He asked, his head tilted to the side in confusion.

You sighed in frustration before finally, finally looking at the lunatic beside you.

“Oh, I don’t know. I thought our relationship was done from the time you cheated on me.”

If he was affected by your verbal attack, he didn’t show. Instead, his eyes lost their desperation, and in their place was determination. He stepped near you that it left you no choice but to back away from him until you felt the door behind you.

“Oh, kitten, you thought we were done? That’s why you’ve been avoiding me?” He whispered as he bent down to look into your eyes. He smiled at you, his smile so sweet yet so cold, as though some switch was turned. “That’s okay. I understand. But we’re not done because you promised me before that you were never going to leave me, isn’t that right, kitten?”

He tucked your hair behind your ear. Having touched you calmed him down enough to know that you needed space from him. But it was alright. He’d give you space. He’d let you breathe.

But there was no way he was going to let you go.

But you were smart, because the very next day, you moved.

Hoseok

“Don’t! Don’t touch me. You disgust me!” You screamed at him as you pushed his desperate hands away from you.

You couldn’t believe how idiotic you were. You thought surprising him in the hotel he was staying in Japan was a smart move. You thought he’d be happy to see you because why wouldn’t he want to see you when it was your fucking anniversary today.

And yet here you were, shocked to see him in bed with another woman.

The staff were hesitant to tell you his room number this time. But it would rather be more suspicious if they didn’t give Jung Hoseok’s longtime girlfriend his room number when they were used to you surprising him.

As soon as Hoseok opened the door wearing only a robe, you jumped and planted kisses on his handsome face. But when you finally opened your eyes, you saw a woman hastily wearing her clothes with her hair all over her face, and her lipstick smudged. Slowly, you turned to look at his lips only to find the same shade there.

You never laid hands on him, not even in playful fights.

But this time, you slapped him so hard his head turned to the side.

“Angel, I-I’m sorry!” He sobbed as you pushed him further away from you, your eyes never leaving the crumpled bedsheets, his scattered clothes on the floor, the glasses of wine on the table. You couldn’t believe he could do this to you. You couldn’t believe he would ever do this to you.

He was full on sobbing as he held you to him. And you were still too shocked of everything- yet you knew you didn’t want him touching you.

You struggled against him, pushing him away. He still smelled like her. The girl had long ran out of the room, yet her presence still lingered.

“Don’t touch me. We’re done, Hoseok,” you declared in a strong voice before turning away from him. You didn’t even make it halfway to the hallway when you heard his scream that were so loud that the members all went out of their rooms thinking it was an emergency.

You heard him before you could even turn to look at him.

“Please please please, don’t leave me please,” he croaked as you looked at his tear-stained eyes. He was inconsolable, his breathing rapid as he implored you to believe him, to not leave him.

You shook your head at him, aware of the members who were all watching the two of you with anguish and surprised in their eyes. They weren’t used to see Hoseok this vulnerable, and they had known you for so long and yet this was the first time they saw the two of you like this.

What happened?

He was so in love with you..

Hoseok attempted to touch you when you slapped him once again, your anger getting the best of you. “I told you not to touch me. Never touch me again,” you fumed at him, never minding his distressed state. “Not when you fucked someone else minutes ago!”

“I’m sorry. Don’t leave me. Don’t. Please.”

At that point, Hoseok was even more incoherent, his cries making his words come out short that Jimin couldn’t take it any longer and went closer to his hyung in an attempt to calm him down.

“No. You deserved to be alone,” you spat at him before walking away only to be once again stopped by him. He tugged your hand, and to your surprised, he knelt down. He bowed down his head as though he was praying for you not to leave, your hand trapped in his larger ones.

“Hyung-“

“I’ll do anything. I’ll do anything for you to forgive me. Just please!” His voice was loud as he wailed, his shoulders shaking. He looked up to you. “Please don’t leave me.”

But his tears wouldn’t move you. Not when you gave him all of you. Not when you loved him with all your heart only for him to cheat on you.

At your cold stare and silence, Jimin squatted down beside him. “Hyung, maybe you two should talk again when both of you are calmer.”

Namjoon’s mind started shifting gears. He knew no one should see Hoseok like this, knew that the dancer could not control his emotions. He stepped near you, touching your elbow gently as he leaned down to look at you.

“Right. Hyung, the two of you will talk tomorrow. I’m sure Y/N is still exhausted from her flight,” he started before looking at the still crying man. He nodded his head at him in assurance. And only when Hoseok nodded did Jimin helped his hyung to stand up. “Jimin, bring him to his room first. I’ll take care of Y/N.”

He didn’t leave, not before telling you he loved you and that he’d talk to you tomorrow. Not before you and Namjoon left first.

“I don’t want to talk to him,” you whispered to the tall man beside you.

“I know. It’s just to calm him down for tonight, Y/N,” he assured you, knowing that what his hyung did was wrong. He heard enough to know that his hyung was in the wrong. “But I hope you know he’s never going to let you go that easily.”

And when you looked behind you, there he still was, standing with tears in his eyes- yet his face was clouded with darkness and a promise that he would make this right, whether you wanted to or not.

#bts fic #yandere bts #kim namjoon fic #kim seokjin fic #Min yoongi fic #jung hoseok fic #yandere namjoon #yandere seokjin #yandere yoongi #yandere hoseok #namjoon x reader #seokjin x y/n #min yoongi x you #suga x reader #seokjin x reader #namjoon x you #hoseok x reader

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bangtangalicious · 3 months

Text

placebo (m) | pjm (3)

pairing: jimin x reader (ft. jungkook & namjoon)

premise: you're assigned a soulmate backed by the science of compatibility that hopes to promote healthier, long-lasting, loving relationships. you find yours: park jimin is the exact opposite of you. a member of a notorious resistance gang, he doesn't believe in science, love, or the state.

summary: you find out that jimin isn't your true soulmate. he was a placebo - a series of control trials to see if simply thinking someone is your soulmate would be enough to make you fall in love. the issue is, you did. you did fall in love. hard.

genre: 18+ romance, smut, angst, soulmate!au, dystopian, love triangle, romeo-juliet, opposites attract, hurt-comfort

characters: student!reader, vigilante!jimin, student!jungkook, scientist!namjoon

warnings: 18+, contains smut, angsty smut, rough penetrative sex, creampie, cock warming, breast play, a lot of kissing. like a lot. emotional sex, oral sex (m), fingering, praise kink, jimin is a pro at snapping that bra off, a lot of stimulation, a lot of foreplay, aftercare, they're in love okay it's cheesy, feelings of fear, hurt, government conspiracy, medical procedure, memory loss, cursing

taglist: @tornparts @loona15 @effielumiere @agustdream8 @jnghs @dragons-flare @xiusmarshmallow @ratherbefangirling @infires-imagines @aretha170 @dvalitaes @kookiejeonie @ddaeng-angmoh @idk123906 @cuteipat @uarmyhore @natalie-rdr @yawnkive @sukunabitch @withluvjm @thesmeraldogirl @theceraunophilegirl

Jimin—

“We’re not actually soulmates.”

Disappointment couldn’t even begin to explain what Jimin was feeling as he saw your eyes shatter in front of him. His heart was already beating wildly with a sense of pounding worry—all from your tears. He wasn’t the kind of guy who expressed himself. He was a pawn. A soldier, of sorts. He took action.

Right now, he was paralyzed. Every drop of blood drained from him in one rush of cold. He was left with nothing. Not even your touch held enough comfort to warm the life back into him. His breath even, mocking him with a charade of calmness.

You continued to explain. He heard you—he swore he did, but everything seemed to numb him from comprehending.

“It was a placebo, where the chip signals but we aren’t actually compatible. So the basis for everything we felt—or everything we think we feel, was a lie. Jungkook found out and,”

Jimin blinked. Looking at you. You were still there. You were still real. Your eyes swollen with tears. Hearing your words hurt, but seeing you like this hurt even more. He needed to be strong for you—you were falling apart in front of him, and he was too stubborn to let you.

He wasn’t going to let you go.

Because he didn’t care. He didn’t care—in fact, a rush seemed to pulse into him, beckoning him onwards—the fact that you might have been some government-implanted craving he had was the only reason he was trying to stay away from you initially. You fought for him. And fuck, he loved you. It was too soon to say it. Hell—probably too soon to feel it but he didn’t have a doubt in his mind.

Last night, as he fell asleep in your arms, all he could wish for was to have that every day for the rest of his life. He had never felt so strongly bound to another person. Never felt so seen, so cherished.

This wasn’t about some microchip in your necks. To him, it never had been. You cared for him when he was hurt. You were a fucking nerd, obsessed with your geeky job in a way that enamored him. You worked so hard, were so fiercely determined and dedicated to your cause. You were messy, clumsy, a stickler for rules where Jimin liked to bend them, break them, or ignore them altogether.

He loved the person you were, unfiltered—he loved the person you wanted to become, and most of all he loved the way you loved him. Your heart on your sleeve. Calling out his bullshit. And always being exactly what he needed even if he didn’t know it himself.

And he knew all of this. So why did he feel so fucking terrified?

Jimin swallowed deeply. His hand leaving your face as you searched him for a reaction through glassy eyes.

“Tell me what this means to you, doctor” His words were hushed. His fingers gliding over your wrists before circling them into his hold. His lips hovered over yours, foreheads resting against one another.

Jimin wasn’t an idiot. He knew exactly what it meant to you. But he needed to hear you say it. He knew how hard you had fought for him. He had tried so hard to push you away, but you persisted because you believed in the Soulmate Initiative so strongly. That had been the catalyst. For you—it had been the condition of your love.

“Jimin” You exhaled. The regret in your voice carved into his heart.

“You know that never mattered to me” His grip on your wrists tightened, as if his touch would make you understand. It was all he could do to not scream—not begin to pathetically beg you not to care. Not to change anything—not to leave him.

He could see you scrambling for words. “There’s still a chance—” You attempted to reason. Because that’s who you were. Hard facts and logic. Your voice choked—Jimin couldn’t look at you a second longer. It was too fucking painful. Too painful to sit there and watch as you gave up on him.

He needed to leave. Get far away from you and think. Because right now he felt so helpless, so powerless—he didn’t trust himself not to say something he’d ultimately regret.

His eyes were red, wet with anger. A façade to cover the shattering in his chest.

“I have to get to class, doctor” His voice was serene. His gaze, tumultuous.

“Jimin please,” You tried to pull him back as he stood up. He yanked his hand away from you, rougher than he meant to, but enough for you to get the hint. “I’m so sorry”

He took a few steps towards the door. Turning back, he looked at you one last time. Your tear-stained cheeks. Your quivering lips.

“I’m not sorry” He swallowed thickly. Pulling on his leather jacket and grabbing his helmet, he tucked in under his arm. “I will never be sorry for falling for you, doctor”

“There might—” Jimin held up his palm.

“I’ll come back” His eyes softened as if to ease your anxiety, “We can talk about this later”

He was out of the door in seconds, unable to look you in the eye again. The fresh, cold air hit him like salvation from the tension. He gasped, breathing the sharp air in as his tears unleashed.

Sinking to the floor, he buried his head between his knees. His fingers gripping his hair in frustration as he sobbed quietly. He jerked his head back, hitting the door as he punched the ground next to him. Cursing loudly as he crumbled.

You—

Jimin would be back any second. You’d never felt quite so nervous. So anxious—not even when you opened your decision letter for your PhD program—not ever. He’d be back. Be home. And you two would have to face the impending doom you’d introduced to him.

More than anything, you felt guilty. Guilty that you were responsible for what he was going through right now. After trying so hard to convince him that he even deserved love, let alone from you—to gain his trust and then put him into this grey space of uncertainty. It wasn’t lost on you how unfair it was.

The mere thought of living your life like you had before Jimin—was pointless. He had awoken something within you. As frustrating as he was, as much of a tease and a flirt—he made every day feel like an adventure. He brought you to life in a way nothing else quite did.

But if your real soulmate was out there, you couldn’t help but wonder. Was it all fake attraction? Was what you could find with someone you were truly compatible with even better than this? More magical? More right?

You had to know.

And you knew Jimin wouldn’t see it that way. But even if you chose to ignore it—to let it go, it would drive a wedge between the two of you inevitably. Jimin’s flaws seemed to glare at you in a way that they hadn’t before. Everything impossible about your relationship seemed to weigh on you because you didn’t have the blind faith in the system anymore. You didn’t have the promise that this is how it was supposed to be.

The ring of your doorbell sent your heart into somersaults. You buzzed him, nervously tugging at your sleeves. You wanted to look pretty for him—unsure if that was cruel of you, but you couldn’t help but think that these were a collection of your final moments together.

He walked inside. Tired eyes, raven hair wispy from the wind. The cold tinting his cheek and nose. His black motorcycle jacket hugged his figure. The familiar scent of cigarettes and gasoline which you had come to associate with comfort. A scent that once made you nauseous.

Slugging his backpack off, he set it aside. Neatly, he unlaced his boots before stepping inside. He regarded you with a soft smile. His deep brown eyes were simultaneously relieved and broken.

“Hey you”

You approached him slowly, immediately wrapping your arms around his torso. You inhaled him. His unadulterated bliss. He was cold, but so warm. And when his arms wrapped around you, cradling your head to the crook of his neck, leaning into you—you wanted to simply melt.

You looked up. His pretty eyes—the way he looked at you—God. His touch flushed you over with heat as his palm reached your cheek, thumb caressing over your jaw, teasing your bottom lip.

You didn’t know what to say to him. It seemed, you didn’t need to say anything. Jimin sighed into you, his lips relaxing against yours. So soft. So tender. Incredibly sweet.

And you wouldn’t stop him. Maybe it was avoidance. The impending melancholy of the night you were about to have. The inevitable heartache. You deepened the kiss, pulling Jimin closer to you desperately.

He grinned against your lips as you did. Hands falling to your hips before cupping the backs of your thighs. He lifted you up, still kissing you with the same delicateness. Taking you to the couch where he sat you both down.

Falling to his back, you crawled on top of him. Lips not parting. Breaths getting heavier.

Because when you kissed, nothing else mattered. Nothing else even existed. There was only him. Him and the storm of pleasure brewing in your chest. The heat coursing through your veins. The dizziness spinning in your head.

His fingers curled over your hip as he flipped you down. Hovering over you now, he admired you. Eyes memorizing your every crevice. His chain fell from his neck, the cool metal making you shiver as it glided across your hot skin.

He peeled off his jacket, leaving only his tight white t-shirt, before returning to you. Body caging yours in. Forearms resting on either side of your face as his fingers traced your cheeks.

“I don’t tell you enough” He murmured. You raised your eyebrows, curious. “You’re so fucking beautiful, doctor. So pretty,” His eyes were half-lidded, kissing you chastely, “Sexy..gorgeous..mine” He smacked against your lips between each word—sending a rush of praise to your head.

And you loved it. You loved his words like they were feathers tickling against you. His voice was silk and you wanted to dance in it for eternity.

The pressure of his body felt incredible against yours, his heat like a blanket. You’d never felt so safe—so cherished in his hold.

“Where the hell did you even come from, doctor?” He hummed playfully against your lips, “How the hell find me? You’re a fever. You’re my disease and my cure”

You tugged at his chain, urging him to kiss you harder. To glue his lips to yours.

He groaned, hips rolling flush against yours as his mouth worked you into serenity. You could feel how badly he needed you, but he was taking his time. On the other hand, you were frantic. Your fingers tugging at the hem of his shirt. Tugging it up his torso as he chuckled. You could feel his scalding skin on your fingertips. Exploring the expanse of him. The contours of his body, the soft skin.

His teeth tugged at your lip, nipping at you playfully as you scratched your nails against his chest. He finally allowed you to pull this shirt over his head, giving you a moment to admire him, chain contrasting against his golden skin before you tugged off your own top.

You were left in sheer light green bra. Delicate. Something you had bought as a joke a long time ago, wondering if it would actually make you feel more confident. Jimin’s pupils darkened.

“Let me” He exhaled shakily. You turned over, on your knees as Jimin held you up—one hand on your neck pulling you back to him. His fingers gripped your jaw as he kissed your cheek, smirking against you as his other hand expertly snapped your bra off. So fast that it sent shivers down your spine. He replaced where the latch once was pressing into your back with his own lips, kissing up your spine until melting at your nape.

You arched your back as the bra slid down your arms, onto the floor. Jimin’s coarse fingers immediately covering your breasts. Pinching your nipple between his fingers sensually. Trailing butterfly kisses up your neck. You twitched under his touch. Small, needy gasps leaving your parted lips.

He hummed with pleasure, tasting you across your jaw, chest pressed against your back.

“So good to me,” He kissed your cheek. The blisters on his fingers against the soft skin of your breasts making his touch so incredibly erotic, it had you weeping in your core. His touches so subtle, and yet you were reacting to him so desperately. Craving him, overwhelmed by how fucking good it felt when he touched you.

“Please” You weren’t even sure what you were asking for. He chuckled softly, teeth grazing against your ear. “Jimin p-please”

“I love that. I love it when you ask me so nicely like that” He pushed you down on all fours. You let out a surprised gasp at his sudden roughness, but your cunt tightened. He pulled off your jeans, and then his own. Leaving your panties on he grabbed a handful of your ass and squeezed it.

“So fucking perfect,” His large hands moved all over the flesh of your thighs. He let two fingers tease along your damp slit. “What’s this huh? Wet for me already baby?”

His fingers pushed the cloth aside, finding your tender clit. You bit back a moan as he began to trace small, slow circles. He leaned down on you, the feeling of skin on skin riling you up even further. His lips caressed the back of your shoulders with hums of approval as his fingers continued to coax you. His other hand holding your hip steady. Pinching your ass tenderly.

“Jimin” You gasped breathlessly, fingers gripping the couch tight. His fingers continued to push you further and further towards nirvana. He pulled you up suddenly, fingers still on your clit—but he needed to see you. Needed to look into your eyes as you came. Hand wrapped around your neck, enough to feel his control but not enough to choke you.

“You gonna cum for me doctor?” Jimin teased, forcing your jaw towards him. A grin on his lips mirrored the mischievous glint in his eyes. You nodded pathetically.

“Yeah?” His tone raised, taunting you further as he smashed his lips back on yours. Tongue pushing through your lips as his fingers circled your clit faster. Your moans were swallowed by him—body going limp as waves of pleasure crashed down on you. Your body bucking forward, taking Jimin down with you. Twitching all over as your cunt leaked onto his hand. His rough, desperate kisses muffling your screams.

“That’s it baby, so good for me” His fingers led you through the aftershocks before dipping into your sensitive cunt. “So good and wet all for me, right?”

He pulled himself off of you, and you turned, on your knees—reaching for his cock.

“I want to suck your cock”

Jimin blinked at you incredulously.

But you were determined. You began to stroke him gently. He hissed, reaching behind you to steady himself against the back of the couch.

“You’re so desperate for me, aren’t you baby?” He leaned down to kiss you cheek. You looked up at him, eyes earnest—because you wanted him to feel so good.

You wanted to make up for all the pain you knew you were about to cause him. He deserved everything—heaven and the stars and everything beyond, you wanted him to have it all. For now, you let your lips kiss the flushed tip of his cock.

“F-fuck,” He reached for your chin, stroking your jaw tenderly. “You’re so good to me baby fuck”

“I,” You diverted your eyes with shame as heat crawled over your cheeks. “Tell me what to do”

Jimin gulped, eyes shifting as he understood your words.

“Open wide” He pushed two fingers against your lips until your mouth opened enough for him to slide them inside. “No teeth okay baby—and then just take it in as far—” He pushed his fingers down your throat. You tried your best not to gag, until finally you couldn’t help it. He pulled his fingers out, a string of saliva following. “As you can”

His thumb brushed against your bottom lip, tugging on it playfully as he cooed at you. It was the eagerness in your eyes. The fierce determination he knew you were feeling to please him.

“You’re so” He chuckled softly, “God I—” He choked on his words.

Now was hardly the time.

You beamed at him, taking his cock into your mouth little by little. His head tilted back as he cursed to himself.

You loved seeing him like this—amazed that you could make him feel like this. Motivated by his response, you began to slowly bob your head. He exhaled verbally, letting out a loud groan.

“Just like that baby, fuck—good girl” His voice was pained as if he was losing his resolve and it only fueled you to move faster. He tugged your hair, giving you a warning stare. “If you do that I’m gonna cum baby. Slow down”

You gave him a mischievous look, deciding to disobey.

“Y/n” His voice was low, demanding. He recognized you were teasing him, and as much as he wanted to fuck you—he couldn’t bring himself to stop you. His thumb swiped at the drool from the edge of your lips. A shock rippled through his body as he reached for your shoulder to keep him steady.

“Fuck. Fuck. Baby I’m—” His hips bucked, cock twitching inside your mouth as you felt his warm cum on your tongue. You let him go, swallowing his cum—and before you could even process it, he lifted you up, forcing your legs around his waist and carried you to your bedroom.

He laid you down on the covers gently, kissing the inside of your thighs, all the way up your stomach, where he showed you a little extra love, up to your breasts—he nibbled on them playfully, loving the way you’d twitch for him. His eyes stayed glued to yours. Dark and needy.

“I’m gonna need a little bit” Jimin confessed after deciding your breasts had been abused enough by his mouth. For now. He let his fingers continue to toy with them as he hovered over you. “But we should talk, hm?”

You inhaled sharply.

“Y-yeah we should”

Jimin grinned, taking a peak back into his mouth, this time letting his tongue run rampant on the plushness.

“Jimin” You hissed, grabbing his hair.

“You taste so good baby, I can’t help it” He kept on kissing your chest. Rolling onto his side, he pulled you into his embrace. Your naked bodies intertwined as his hands roamed all over you. You cradled his head against you, fingers running through his silky black hair.

You whimpered, hopelessly aroused by his actions. Your pussy pulsing, wishing so badly to be stuffed.

“I need you” You nudged him. “I need you so bad”

Jimin grinned, pulling away from you. He kissed you softly.

Then his eyes grew serious.

“Y/n” His tone had changed. He wasn’t teasing anymore. “If I asked you to just let it go,”

“You know I can’t” You responded. Jimin looked away. His fingers still tracing your sides.

“Yeah” He said after some time, kissing your cheek, “I know”

You gulped, cupping his face in your hands. “Can I just say that, right now, in this moment, based on every experience I’ve had in my life up to this point—I love you?”

Jimin scoffed, but he couldn’t hide the smile in his eyes.

“I just need to know”

“If there’s someone else, you mean.” Jimin gave you a pointed look. “What happens then, doctor?”

“If someone else is my soulmate, that also means someone else is yours. I can’t keep you from that”

“I know I don’t want that” Jimin gripped your hips possessively, pulling you impossibly closer. “I don’t care. I love you”

A tear rolled down your cheek. The hurt that you so blissfully ignored moments before, returning.

“I’ll meet Dr. Kim Namjoon at the conference in a few days. He can check for us, and then”

“You already know though, don’t you?” Jimin challenged. “You think we aren’t compatible”

You paused. “Well I—”

“Go ahead, doctor” Jimin smiled, a hint of despair in his gaze, “Go meet your soulmate. No one in this universe will love you the way I do, I am sure of it. So sure that I’ll take the chance of losing you forever if it means you’ll believe me one day”

He began to get emotional. You ached for him. Ached for the pain he felt in his chest. The pain you didn’t want him to feel.

Your hand rested on his chest. Feeling the beat of his heart against the tense silence.

He kissed you again. Desperately. His fingers tugging your panties aside as his now hard cock slid against your folds.

You kissed him back—even more desperately. Savoring whatever you had left with him. Losing yourself in him as though time were running out. Spreading your thighs to grant him entrance, he fucked into effortlessly. Filling you up until you felt so right—so whole. He stilled, nose tracing yours as he gazed into your eyes.

Tears threatened the edges of his pretty brown eyes.

“I don’t trust them Y/n” He whispered, the tear unleashing, “What if they brainwash you—what if seeing your soulmate resets your brain chip and—” He gasped, lip trembling.

“I won’t forget you, Jimin” You assured him with a comforting hand stroking his back.

“You don’t know that” Jimin gulped.

The true fear in his eyes hit you like a reality check. Reminding you that this man had no trust in the system, and you were asking him to take a gamble on it.

“Maybe you’re not supposed to know about the Placebo. Maybe they’ll do something to you, and me—and you’ll be in danger and I won’t know”

You kissed him sweetly. “Baby” You mumbled, knowing you’d never called him that— “Don’t think like that”

“I mean the fact that we fell in love, without the compatibility assessment, means the whole system is bullshit—doesn’t it? They could pick any two people and condition them to love one another with the chip. That’s not something they’d be okay with people knowing”

“N-not necessarily” You sighed. “Baby—move” You urged him, as if he forgot his cock was nestled deep inside of you. He hadn’t.

He gave you a tight thrust. Your lips parted, and he did it again, watching your expression intently. He held you close—you held him close. He buried his face into your neck, pushing you onto your back so he could fuck you deeper. His hips slammed against yours, deep, quick thrusts that you could feel throughout every inch of your body.

“You’re heaven” Jimin gasped, kissing your cheek again, “I don’t think you fucking understand what I feel for you, doctor—I swear I”

“I do, Jimin” You assured him, “I feel it” He began fucking you faster. “And I love you”

He stilled so he could kiss you again. “Say it again” He begged, “Please. Say it, mean it, please”

“I love you” You stared into his starry eyes. His fingers intertwined with yours, pushing your arms above your head as he resumed his ruthless pace. His lips pasting against yours in between your confession, “I love you Jimin—I do—So much”

He burst inside you, but he couldn’t stop. The moment was too charged, too emotionally ripe. He kept himself sheathed inside of you, cum stuffed deep. Hugging you close, he kissed you—a man addicted, and you were his vice.

You fell asleep, at some point.

You heard him whisper against your eyelids—I won’t give up, at some point.

You woke up, at some point.

He was gone.

You—

You arrived at the conference. You hadn’t heard from Jimin since that night—but preparation kept you distracted. This was a huge moment for your career—and you’d worked too hard to fall short now.

Jungkook was by your side, dressed in a light grey suit—the conference badge contrasting the plain white button-down shirt that gripped his chiseled chest. Around you were folks of similar adornment—chatting with their colleagues, setting up posters and grabbing coffee.

“Good—you made it” Your boss, Jung Hoseok, who you loathed approached the both of you. “Is everything set up for my talk later?”

You exchanged an irritated look with Jungkook, who bit back a smile. “Yes, sir”

Dr. Jung hummed, pleased with your response. “Very well. Go network. This conference has the best of the best. Y/n, I know you were interested in meeting Dr. Kim, would you like me to make an introduction?”

You stiffened. Dr. Kim Namjoon. He was the most brilliant biochemist of your time. He single-handedly piloted the Soulmate initiative with the help of his neuro-engineering team. He developed the compatibility algorithm that you spent your whole life studying. Appreciating.

He was infamous. And it didn’t hurt that he was gorgeous too—you had all of his books, memoirs, magazine articles. It was safe to say you knew quite a bit about the man. And soon he’d be right in front of you. In the flesh.

“If you don’t mind” You held back your excitement, but your hand trembled, gripping onto the pamphlet that a volunteer had forced into your hold earlier. Dr. Jung nodded, motioning for you to follow him.

“I’ll come too, if that’s okay” Jungkook quipped. You made a face, but knew you had no right to take this opportunity from him either, as much as you preferred to meet him alone to discuss your dilemma.

Up the elevator, Dr. Jung led the both of you to the top floor of the hotel in which the conference was taking place. From the clear glass, you could see the city sprawled out—serene, snow beginning to melt off of the ground. More folks were out and about. Children playing in the now cleared-up parks. Spring was coming, soon.

You stepped out of the elevator, and were met with a series of guards lining the hallway. It made sense; you mused. Kim Namjoon was a high-ranked State scientist. Which meant he was a prime target for a Resistance kidnapping or attack.

Your lips wavered. A part of you was disappointed at the lack of hope you had that you’d find out you and Jimin were compatible. Your gut knew you weren’t. But you loved him, so it could be. It could be him, right?

Why did you love him, if you weren’t compatible? It was so easy to think of all the reasons—so simple in your mind, but hard to find the words. You trusted him with your life. He was attractive, kind, in a bad situation but had big dreams. Dreams to make change, and you admired that.

As you walked past the guards, Jungkook’s hand brushed against yours. You looked his way and he winked at you excitedly. “You ready?”

He whispered against your neck. Too close—maybe it hadn’t been before, but now it felt too close. Nevertheless, you smiled back at him and nodded.

It occurred to you that Jungkook might be your real soulmate.

“Namjoon!” Dr. Jung opened the double doors to the suite. You took the room in. Hardly a room—there was a whole lab set up in there. Humming with the soft whirr of state-of-the-art machinery, bright white lights everywhere. Translucent monitors display complex molecular structures and neural pathways. Simulations.

The middle of the room had a holographic interface projected a three-dimensional model of a chip. The chip. Tiny filaments extended from the chip, resembling delicate neurons connecting to an unseen network.

Your heart skipped a beat. This was paradise.

There was not a drop of chemicals in this lab. Everything was tech-based, simulation and modeling predicting chemical interactions, hormonal regulation, neural response and bodily action.

“Hey Hobi” You heard a low, smooth voice. Your clenched your fingers into your palm. Taking a deep breath, you turned the corner where Dr. Kim was sitting.

God.

He sat casually on a stool set up by a plain workstation. He was dressed in a black turtleneck, black trousers—his black hair gelled up. You’d neve seen him without a white-coat on, as that’s how he tended to appear in media pictures. Here, in front of you now, he was relaxed. He was just a person. He was a man.

His dimpled smile made your throat tighten. A smile that reached his eyes with such a genuine glimmer. He greeted Dr. Jung with a suave fistbump, exchanging some words with him before chuckling lightly, patting him on the back and swiveling his chair towards you and Jungkook.

His smile widened.

“Hey there” He nodded his head politely. Both you and Jungkook bowed slightly. “So you’re the poor kids who got looped into helping this motherfucker” Your eyes widened at his comment, but Dr. Jung simply rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, yeah—I’ll see you downstairs. Drinks tonight? The usual?” Dr. Jung pointed at him for confirmation as he reached the door. Namjoon nodded.

“Of course Hobi, I’ll see you later” He redirected his full attention to the both of you, shutting the computer in front of him. “Please, take a seat” He motioned behind him and a small robot pushed two stools over to where you were standing.

“I’m Y/n L/n” You extended your hand to him.

“Ah yes, I’ve heard about you. You study my work, huh?” He winked, making your face rush with heat. His eyes passed over to Jungkook. “And you?”

“Jeon Jungkook, honored to be here, sir”

“Good. Good, so tell me about yourselves”

“Actually” You exhaled. “Dr. Kim, if you don’t mind—there’s a matter I’d like to discuss with you”

He raised his eyebrows. Folding his arms over his strong chest in a way that made you aware that this man worked out, he leaned back. “Oh, sure. Let’s hear it then”

You were about to speak when Jungkook interrupted.

“Y/n’s soulmate was a placebo. We’d like to run the compatibility test to find out who her real soulmate is”

Your mouth felt dry. Namjoon’s eyes flashed with interest, gaze remaining steady on you.

“How’d you figure it out?”

You looked at Jungkook.

“I uh, hacked some data” Jungkook confessed, shyly.

Namjoon let out a soft laugh.

“Well alright. As you know, any scientific RCT trial needs a control group. We use these placebos to understand the actual effect of the Soulmate algorithm’s deployment on the outcomes of interest. Procreation, individual health and wellness, etc.”

He was speaking to you. Directly to you, even though Jungkook was right by your side.

“The way the chip works is that you see someone who surpasses your compatibility threshold. There isn’t one soulmate. I suppose there could be, but we have to factor in proximity and chance for encounter. That’s why the microchip will only give the Soulmate signal once you meet someone who has also passed the cognitive-sexual threshold who surpasses your compatibility level. Another threshold, unique to each person and defined by many metrics”

It was nothing you didn’t know. Jungkook on the other hand, was fascinated.

“Wait so, both and Y/n and I were past out cognitive-sexual threshold and we saw each other all the time before she met…her placebo. I didn’t meet her compatibility threshold?”

Namjoon seemed to bit back a giggle. “Well, Jungkook? Is it? Right, it goes both ways. She didn’t meet yours either” His eyes flashed at you. You couldn’t help but notice that they were honey-brown, almost gleaming gold in the light.

Jungkook seemed to recede into himself.

“Is there a way I can check my compatibility with my placebo soulmate?” You asked, tugging at your sleeves.

“Well, I suppose” Namjoon took a second to think, “If you know where they are right now, and get to them without looking too many people in the eye” He chuckled.

Right, you mused.

“Because if you reset my chip, and I see someone else, it’ll register they’re my soulmate before I can even look Jimin in the eye” You mumbled.

“Exactly. We can do that, if you’d like. But no law says you must be romantically involved with your soulmate. Either way, your choice is still your own”

You gulped. You just had to know.

“Please, if it’s alright, can you reset my chip?” The words felt like acid leaving your mouth. Namjoon shrugged nonchalantly.

“Sure thing. Jungkook—this is a medical procedure, technically. We will need some privacy”

“Oh, right” Jungkook scrambled to his feet, rushing out the door rather quickly. Namjoon reached for a tablet set near the window and tapped a few buttons. Some robots arrived, removing the table and stools and setting up a medical bed in it’s place.

“Do you not like your placebo soulmate?” Namjoon asked, while the robots were at work.

“Actually I like him a lot.” You confessed. “But I believe so strongly in the benefits of your algorithm. So I just need to know for sure”

Namjoon squinted at you, but nodded.

“Do most placebos work out?” You blurted, covering your stomach with your crossed arms. “Is there a statistically significant difference between outcomes with truly compatible soulmates and placebo ones?”

A grin tugged at Namjoon’s lips. The robots finished setting up the medical equipment and he motioned for you to lie down.

“What do you think, Y/n?” Namjoon mused as he connected a few wires to the back of your neck. “Do you think placebos would work out the same way? Is believing someone is your true love enough to make you love them?”

You gulped. His fingers brushed against your nape as he plugged in your chip.

Until it hit you.

“It doesn’t matter” The thoughts came to you as the words left your mouth, “It isn’t even about love. Compatibility. Or health.” Your eyes quivered as you noticed Namjoon’s grin widening.

“I-It’s about your faith in the State” You drawled, “If you believe in the State—in the Soulmate Initiative, then it’ll work. And if you don’t—”

You sat upright suddenly, feeling uneasy. Jimin’s fears echoing in the back of your mind.

“Don’t worry—you did fall in love. You clearly believe, so you have nothing to worry about.” Namjoon admired you for a moment. “You’re very smart, Miss. Y/n. It’s a shame it took us until now to meet”

Namjoon proceeded to tap a few more things on his tablet.

“Now before we do this, you should know. There is a small chance the reset will cause both you and your placebo soulmate to forget that you’ve seen each other. Not to worry, though, I can make sure that you head his way after the procedure to see if you two are compatible”

You gripped the edges of the seat with your trembling fingers.

“But don’t worry, you’ll be unharmed”

Forgetting Jimin—that’s harm. That’s fucking harm. Your mind was screaming warning.

“Wait actually I don’t—”

“Relax,” Namjoon placed a hand gently on your shoulder, pushing you back to your chair. “I’m here. I’ll tell you to go find this fella and look him straight in the eye before anyone else. You can trust me”

Strangely enough, you believed him.

“Okay”

“What’s his name?”

You hesitated. Drawing attention to Jimin’s citizen file wasn’t a smart idea given what you knew about him.

“P-park Jimin”

“Good. Now close your eyes. This might give you a brief migraine”

Jimin—

It had been pathetic. Jimin showed up at the steps of Jin’s home—the home he shared with a few other members of the resistance. It was late—he could hear the debauchery happening inside loud and clear. The familiar stench of tobacco and liquor radiated from the dim light behind the shuttered windows.

He inhaled sharply. He spent the whole day wandering. Trying to drown himself in schoolwork until even that seemed pointless. He needed a distraction. Something to ease the pain. Until he figured out how the hell he would get you back. He needed anything.

He sat down on the splintered porch steps, ignoring the fleet of giggles from what he assumed were sex workers. Staring at his palms, he recalled the sensation of your touch. His fingers curled into his palm, wishing your hand was there but instead grasping at the crisp late winter air.

“Well look here,” Jin’s familiar voice boomed from the entryway. Jimin looked back to see him, a flimsy tank top under his leather jacket which was being pulled off by a beautiful, voluptuous woman. “Ay, fuck off whore—that’s my little brother and oh,” Jin pouted, shoving the woman off of him, “He looks so sad” Jin leaned down to tug Jimin’s cheeks in a way he always used to do when Jimin was younger.

“Why you sad baby boy?” The woman cooed, “If you’d like, I can make it all better”

Jimin rolled his eyes, “No, thank you.” Redirecting his attention to Jin who slid down to sit by his side, a bottle of beer in his hand— “God, doesn’t it ever get a bit old hyung?”

Jin scoffed, “I’ve had about enough of you sitting on your high horse and judging us, Jimin. You are one of us. We’re at war. Well—” He took a sip, “We will be, soon enough, and we need you. Your brother was—”

Jimin hissed. Jin took the hint, luckily.

“Look,” His tone grew serious, “We had one of our mole’s hack into the microchip database. We were right. The kind of data they collect and the way they use it to strategically puppet aspects of our society—it’s robbing free will. Altering memories. Manipulating thought through exposure and environment. And because there’s not specific legislature that oppresses people, they play it off as the way the world works. No. They built these structures, Jimin-ah. We have proof.”

Jimin gazed up at the obscured night sky. Clouds veiled any semblance of starlight, mirroring the shadow over his thoughts.

“She isn’t even really my soulmate” Jimin chuckled bitterly. “It was a fucking placebo”

Jin stared at him for a moment, before his eyes softened with pity. “Fuck Jimin,” He handed him the bottle. Jimin took it, sipping the sour & bitter liquid. “You really like the bitch, huh?”

“Hyung” Jimin snapped. Jin simply chuckled.

“My bad, my bad. The scientist. Whatever the fuck her name is. Listen. If you want to know if your feelings are genuine or not, you need to take out your microchip. It’s the only way you’d know for sure. The fact that there is a placebo cohort for something like this is kinda fucked up. Whatever happened to ethics?” Jin scoffed. Jimin took another swig of the beer.

Should he? Should he take it out? The microchip was the physical embodiment of the state's reach into his very soul.

Jin could sense that Jimin was considering his idea.

“Honestly, it’s about damn time you did Jimin. Things are getting serious around here. We’re going to start taking real action, advocating for our cause. We want you in—we’ve always known you’re a smart kid. Good with words and all that. Hell, you’re not meant for the battlefield Jimin. You’re meant for a throne”

Jimin set the bottle down, again looking up to the skies. “I don’t want a throne. I just want to not be a fucking puppet anymore. For them, or for you guys”

“Then take what’s yours. This is what your brother wanted, Jimin. Be more involved. Take charge. Your girl didn’t give up on you—the state fucking manipulated her to give up on you. They took everything from you—it’s damn time you see that. It’s damn time you fight for what you deserve”

Fight. He was going to fight for you. He had promised you that. Promised himself that.

He reached for the back of his neck.

“Fuck the State” He mumbled, “I want this out. Let’s go”

Jin grinned ear to ear, “Fuck yeah!” He patted Jimin on the ack excitedly. “We’ve got a bot that can do it in the back, come on”

You—

“Y/n?” The soft call echoed in the sterile room. Your eyes, weighed down by the fog of unconsciousness, fluttered open. The harsh fluorescent lights above you forced a squint. A lingering scent of antiseptic filled the air, accompanied by the gentle hum of machines.

Behind you, a subtle tug and disconnect confirmed the unplugging of your chip from the machine. The cool room air kissed your skin, sending a shiver of unease through you.

“Good, your vitals are all normal. You’re doing great,” Namjoon's voice reassured. Turning, you saw his back as he typed notes on his laptop.

It came back to you: where you were. Who you were. Everything seemed to click. Your heart seemed to hurt. You couldn’t understand why.

“Do you remember Park Jimin?” Namjoon asked. You blinked in his direction.

“Who?” Your response was automatic, a clouded memory of someone fading into obscurity. The emptiness inside of you seemed to pulse.

Namjoon continued typing, his focus on the screen. “There’s a man,” he hummed, “I need you to go directly to him and look him in the eye to see if he is your soulmate or not. His file suggests he may be at the University Law Library. Try to minimize eye contact with strangers as you head there.” Namjoon turned back around.

You looked at him.

In those honey eyes. Those sweet, smiling, kind eyes.

A sharp pain in your neck burned.

They say you’ll just know.

come scream in my asks! thanks for reading you hotties~ lmk what you think <3

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4

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effortandmore · 10 months

Text

the sleeping hours | knj x f!reader

summary: namjoon thinks there must be infinite versions of the universe, and in every one he’s known, he’s meant to love you.

pairing: namjoon x f!reader

rating: explicit (18+ please)

genre: fluff, smut, angst

au: okay. so this is canon-compliant but also maybe a little bit of a time-travel/multiverse au

warnings/tags: here we go... time travel (kind of), discussions of war, descriptions of famine, talks of anarchy/revolution, descriptions of ww2 germany and nazis, minor character death (not a tannie), implied gun violence, the japanese occupation of korea, sex worker!namjoon, soldier!namjoon, architect!namjoon, idol!namjoon, spy!reader, namjoon has a big dick (ofc), mentions of blood... smut, including: biting, unprotected sex, sex work (this is not the unprotected sex), oral sex (f!receiving), a little bit of cumplay... idk i think that's all but honestly it's not as weird as it sounds i promise

word count: ~12k

a/n: i have wanted to write a songfic for "here i dreamt i was an architect" by the decemberists for... years now. and with my three month vacation from work, i've finally done it! listening to the song will help this make more sense, but essentially there are three verses, and they start like this: "here i dreamt i was a soldier," "here i dreamt i was an architect," & "and in spain i was a spaniard." so, i thought it would be fun to turn that into a story about namjoon and reader across all these different universes. my research for this fic was completely unhinged, and i'm sure i still got some things wrong. if you need translations for any of the dutch, german, or spanish in this, lmk but i think it's pretty readable given context. i hope you like it, but even if you don't, i'm glad i wrote it. thank you so so so much to @ugh-yoongi who assured me this was not too unhinged for the locals—ily and i appreciate you

read on ao3

Namjoon always tells people he doesn’t have dreams, but it’s a lie… Sort of.

If these are dreams, he doesn’t know how billions of people aren’t talking about them like they’re magical experiences, can’t fathom why so many people still don’t believe in multiverse theory.

Lying about it seems infinitely easier than trying to explain it to people. His “dreams,” if that’s what they are, seem so real. He can smell the scents, he can feel the rain and the blood and the orgasm that courses through him when he inevitably, in every single one, finds a version of you. When he wakes up, he can feel the phantom pain, feels like his skin’s just barely dried out from a shower, feels loose and lazy with the pleasure he’d felt while he was asleep.

So, he says he doesn’t dream, because he’s halfway convinced they’re actually happening, and he has absolutely no clue how to explain that to anyone. He thinks there must be infinite versions of the universe, infinite versions of him. At first, he thought maybe it was a past-lives sort of thing, but he’s lived parallel paths on different parts of the planet during the same time frames. Or, he’s dreamt that he has, anyway… maybe they’re dreams. Maybe not. What he’s sure of, though, is that you must be out there in the universe he lives in—you must exist outside of this near fugue state where he always finds you. If you’re on the streets of Germany during the war, if you’re in Andalucia dancing the flamenco and catching his eye on every twirl… If you’re fleeing with him to Jeju as more and more Japanese soldiers encircle your small farm town… If you’re all of those places, he knows you must be here, too.

There must be infinite versions of the universe, and in every one he’s known, he’s meant to love you.

Every dream is different, but the love he feels for you? It’s always the same, and it goes like this:

Birkenau, Germany — April, 1942

He comes to, and he’s lying in a cot. It’s dark. It would be pitch black, except there’s a crack of light on the floor that’s muted and warm-looking even though the air around him still carries a bit of leftover winter chill. Somehow, he knows there’s a coal shortage this spring because of the war. There’s an everything shortage, really. No coal, no clothes, no food… He can’t think of a time he’d eaten anything but potatoes in days… Namjoon can’t think of anything, really. It’s strange, his memories feel dull, rounded around the edges and blurred out, everything just slightly out of reach. Maybe it’s lack of sleep, maybe it’s hypothermia (he’s a little dramatic), maybe it’s hunger; he doesn’t know. Doesn’t want to know, because there’s not much to be done about whatever it is. Knowing the future doesn’t always mean you can change it, he thinks, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

The clothes he is wearing are stiff—they make it hard for him to bend his elbow to reach his own face. There’s a worn crease in his right sleeve from saluting, dirt that will never scrub out on his lapels… his badges and patches do a poor job of covering the wear and tear. Although his brain isn’t fully awake, the thoughts still cloudy, two are clear: he is ready for this war to be over and he is terrified that he is a little in love with the woman lying next to him.

If someone asked him how he got here, to Birkenau, Germany in the middle of the spring in 1942, he couldn’t tell them (a consequence of for some reason not remembering anything concrete prior to this week at the moment—just feelings and sensations and language and you). He feels as if he doesn’t belong at all and at the same time, as if he’s always existed right here.

He teases you awake slowly. Whispers sweet nothings to you in a language he finds himself surprisingly fluent in—it’s not his native one. He doesn’t know if it’s yours, either, but he knows you like hearing his voice. Remembers how you ask him to tell you stories of his home, how you hum softly along with the folk songs he sings to you when he thinks you’re almost asleep in his arms. He knows he likes the noises you make as you start to come to, knows you need a soft re-entry into wakefulness or else you’re a little off for the rest of the day.

You’d both fallen asleep after what some people would call lunch, although the persistent pit in Namjoon’s stomach would argue that. It’s hard to have energy when you can’t really eat, so the two of you do your best to conserve it.

Tonight, though, tonight he wants to be special. The carnival is in Birkenau this week, maybe longer, but he won’t know. He’ll leave soon, onto the next base, the next battle. It’s a miracle he’s able to go tonight, being a foreign soldier here is dangerous and the demands on him are high. He wears his uniform while he sleeps to stay warm, but doesn’t dare wear it in this town outside of this private and safe space that you’ve carved out for him. It’s been going on for a while, this sneaking away to be with you. There’s another soldier, Seokjin, on his base, who always covers for him. Namjoon doesn’t know how, it’s one of the fuzzy things he can’t figure out. Regardless, he’s here with you now and he knows he’s always grateful to his fellow soldier. And here, he’s someone different. He’s not Namjoon the soldier, he’s Namjoon who loves you, who will give up almost anything to be with you.

Except the one thing you ask him to.

He may be grateful to escape for a while, but he is duty-bound—loyal to his country, to the cause. He is, above everything, a soldier, and that cannot change. The Remington on the cheap bedside table is his best friend, and a reminder that this between you is dangerous, that it has a time limit.

And you? You have to leave, too. He knows it, you know it. It’s not safe for you here, probably just as dangerous as it is for him.

You don’t wear a uniform, you don’t carry a gun (often), but you move under the cover of the night and you deal in secrets you’re not supposed to know. The work you do is just as important as his—sometimes he thinks it’s probably even moreso. He admires you, adores you, thinks you’re brave and beautiful and brilliant. Maybe he thinks some of those things because of how dangerous you are, because of the risks you’re willing to take. Being with him, hiding him here with you is a big one.

Beside him, you stir. Your voice is a melody, always lilting, tumbling from one word to the next. “Love you, Namjoon. What time is it, baby?” Later, he won’t know why he never thinks it’s strange that you weave words across several languages. Maybe that’s just how all spies are; and that’s what you are, at the core of it, isn’t it?

“Is it time?” you ask into the darkness.

“Yes. I need to change and then we can go.”

“Do you think we’ll find something to eat there?”

Namjoon smiles even though you can’t see him in the dark. “We will. Sausages and sauerkraut, I’m sure.” He waits for you to make the gagging sound he knows you’re about to.

You do. “I hate German food,” you complain. “Can’t wait to get out of here once and for all.”

“They’ll have schnitzel,” he says, trying to make you laugh.

“Germans and their pork,” you say dismissively, “swine for swine.”

“They’re not all bad.” He means it, but it sounds a little weak when he says it. It’s hard to see the forest for the trees, sometimes. Doesn’t help that the both of you see the worst of people… that the both of you sometimes are the worst of people.

“Hmm…” you hum, he knows you agree with him. “I know, I'm sorry. I’m just tired. And don’t want to leave you.”

“I know.”

“You could come with me. Run away with me, Namjoonie.”

When you say it, he almost believes it could work. Knows it wouldn’t, knows you’d both end up dead or worse, knows he could never go home, never see his mother again. Knows it would break his heart to bear witness to the secrets you have to keep, to the lives you take.

He never responds, just lumbers off of the cot and strips his uniform off, trades it for the street clothes you keep here for him. They’re ill-fitting, cheap and scratchy. He loves them because they smell like you, smell like the soap you carry with you from France—lavender from Provence—the one luxury you allow yourself.

The two of you walk hand in hand through back alleys and quaint cobblestoned neighborhoods, making your way to the carnival. He hears the barkers getting louder the closer you get, promising fun and winnings and love and only happy fortunes told. In reality, there are no happy fortunes here, and you both know that. But Namjoon’s happy to give into the fantasy of it all, just for tonight. Just to see you smile. He’d do anything to see you smile. Except…

“Win me a prize,” you coo sweetly. It’s futile, since you never take anything with you, and later tonight (or very early in the morning), you will leave Birkenau for good—a mission needs completing, and dead or alive, you won’t be back here again.

“Whatever you want, jagiya.”

You bounce on your heels in excitement and drag him to a booth, one offering cheap stuffed birds. There are swans, peacocks, parrots, ducks… He doesn’t know what you’re drawn by, but he’ll knock over as many milk jugs as he has to get you what you want.

“My strong soldier,” you whisper in his ear after he knocks the top three over. It makes him grin, makes him show you his dimples. He loves you so much, loves how you tease and bait him with your words—then with your body in the privacy of your hideaway. Loves your confidence and your unwavering belief. Loves your conviction. “You can do it, Namjoon.”

He does.

The final three jugs topple off the ledge. With you by his side, he thinks he can do anything. He knows he can.

“Wähle eins,” the barker shouts at him, Dutch accent thick in his German.

“De pauw,” you answer immediately in his native tongue, pointing to the top shelf.

The man pulls one of the blue birds down and hands it to you with a smile. You can charm anyone, Namjoon thinks. A skill you’ve honed doing the work you do, he supposes. “Voor de dame,” the huckster says with a bow and a flourish of his hand.

You giggle as you take it. Namjoon’s enamored with you.

As the two of you wander (you clutching the peacock tightly under your arm), he watches as you make friends with a fortune teller and charm free pieces of chicken schnitzel from a mustached French man. Your greatest feat is sneaking the two of you onto the ferris wheel. Namjoon’s in awe of how you move—though sleight of hand is usually what he catches you at, you’re not as skilled a pickpocket as you are a liar—how you can weave in and out of a crowd unnoticed, how you can blend in with any surrounding, any language, any group… It’s a skill he wishes he possessed, too. He’s too large, a little lumbering, a little awkward in his long limbs made to feel longer as he loses muscle to months of being malnourished. But somehow, you make him nimble, you make him invisible to everyone but you. He wants to chase that feeling forever, wants to bottle it up and uncork it again when you’re gone, when he’s so desperate with the want of you that he’s got no other solace.

Bellies unusually full, legs tired, and peacock secured, he leads you back to your basement apartment. He pulls you along to follow a different path to return than the one you took there—a trick he’s learned from you. Don’t give people the opportunity to see your face twice.

It’s still dark, and you have no electricity, no oil for your lamps, so Namjoon makes love to you by memory.

He feels so foggy, but this he knows how to do, like he’s done it a million times and will do it a million more until you and he become different versions of the same thing. Maybe you already are.

Slowly, using time you don’t have, he undresses you. He’s careful with the buttons of your blouse after he slides your cardigan off of your shoulders. Takes time to press his nose into the skin of your neck once it’s exposed, to try and remember the way that you smell, that lavender soap and the iron of the hard bathwater and the danger that rolls off of you in waves.

When he lets his arms drop from your body, you walk backward toward the cot, unlacing your skirt as you go. Namjoon can’t see you well, but he hears the sounds of the cotton strings being pulled through the gussets, the soft swoosh of it hitting the floor when you shimmy out of it.

“Come here, Namjoonie,” you whisper. He would, even if you didn’t ask. Wouldn’t be able to help himself. Always pulled to you like a magnet.

“Yes, jagiya,” he breathes, now trembling fingers removing his own clothes as he moves. When he finally can feel your skin under his hand, he’s fully undressed, thinks you are, too. Lets his fingertips explore your limbs just to confirm.

You straddle him on the cot, press your thumbs into the meat of his thighs and tell him he’s brave, powerful, that you’re so lucky he’s chosen you. But he knows it wasn’t a choice. Can’t explain it, but he’s always existed for you, would always find you. Couldn’t choose anyone else if he wanted to.

He doesn’t.

The way you kiss him feels like forever, but he knows better. Chases something deeper and messier as his heart rate rises. Knows you don’t have time to draw it out, knows he won’t be able to be as gentle with you as you deserve. No one’s ever gentle with you, is what you always tell him. People who know you know how dangerous you are and they treat you accordingly. Except Namjoon. Namjoon who reveres you and knows you and he are cut from the same cloth—the one where you need to fight for what’s right at any cost. It doesn’t make you dangerous to people who don’t deserve the battle scars you dole out, he thinks. It makes you a hero. To him, you are a lionheart.

Your palms press into his chest above his own heart and you sink onto his length. Every time you’ve been together seems to bleed together for him, but he knows you know exactly how to move to bring him bliss, knows you feel like the god who seems to have abandoned you made the two of you for one another.

It’s a risk, but he reaches up to pull the thick curtain back just a few millimeters. Wants the sliver of light to illuminate the tendons in your neck with your head thrown back as you ride him. Wants to see the peaks of your nipples, the smooth skin over your ribcage, the mole you have right on the plateau of your collarbone. Wants to let his eyes roll back in his skull, that’s how good you feel, but can’t let himself pull his attention from your body.

“Come here,” he says quietly, wraps his spindly arms around you and pulls you down so your chest is flush with his. “Be with me,” he almost begs, “look at me, love.”

Your hands cup his face, and his guide your hips on top of his.

“I want to feel like this forever,” he thinks he hears you say, and Namjoon can see a tear dripping down your cheek before you lean in to press your lips to his. He licks at your mouth, gets you to open for him, plays melodies along your tongue with his.

He thinks they’re love songs.

He hopes you know.

You’re all tight heat around him, and your nipples brush his chest in time with his tongue brushing yours. Your lavender scent is a balm, your tears drip onto his cheeks from above, and your breaths come shallow and labored as he fucks into you.

“I think I’ll love you forever,” he says.

“Mijn schat...” You whisper, brushing your thumb across his cheekbone and smiling the sad kind of smile. Quietly, you tell him that you want to feel him, beg him to move.

He knows he shouldn’t, but he doesn’t stop. Thrusts into you, lets the sound of his skin against yours get louder and filthier. He knows he should stop. Can’t make himself. “Are you sure?” he asks, but it’s probably too late.

You’re nodding anyway, letting out a sweet little moan when his fingers find your clit and he comes, deep inside of you. Feels like a claim he shouldn’t be making. Gets one back from you just moments later when you squeeze around his softening cock, shuddering with your release above him.

Against his chest, you breathe, and he waits for the moment when your inhales align with his. It’s going to be the last time you share the same air, he thinks.

Your work tonight will be messy. He doesn’t ask what that means, thinks he already knows. Eyes the Remington in his periphery and you give him a tight-lipped confirmation. Yes, you have things you have to do. Yes, they’re worth sacrificing your life if you have to.

Namjoon spends a lot of time wondering about the balance between sacrifice and selfishness.

Never seems to decide where he sits on the spectrum.

Lithe like you are, he should barely feel it when you climb off of him, but it’s a crushing weight. Feels like his heart might be melting, like his lungs can’t expand anymore.

Once you’re dressed—in clothes he’s never seen before, those usually given to people of a different gender, maybe a different time—he watches you toss your skirt into the hearth first, then the clothes you’ve been lending him for your trysts. He watches you find the smallest vial of kerosene and some tinder you’d been collecting and add those, too. It’s as if he can see you in your full vibrancy now: focused on the mission, focused on destroying the you that has existed in this space, the him that has loved you.

The fire burns more brightly than he could have imagined after all the time you’ve spent together in the dark. It allows him to see the hope in your eyes when you lean down to kiss him one last time. Allows him to see the tears you no longer let fall when you hand him the peacock, press it close to him so he can hold it like a child.

“Why the peacock?” he asks when you turn to leave. It’s the only question he can think of that he suspects you’ll give him an answer to.

“Immortality, Joonie. You know, the Greeks thought the flesh of the peacock would never decay? Perfect and enduring even in death.”

“Are you the peacock or am I?”

“I guess we’ll find out,” you say as you heave open the door.

He shudders with the cold gust and wishes he knew what to say. Wishes he could choose you over his gun. Wishes you would choose him over yours.

“Until next time, Joonbug,” you say against the wind.

You pull the door hard behind you, and when it punches shut, Namjoon is startled out of his dream.

Seoul, South Korea — Present Day

“You gotta stop falling asleep in here, hyung.” Jeongguk’s voice is almost drowned out by Seokjin’s laugh.

“I covered for you at the last meeting, told them you were chasing down an idea… don’t interrupt a genius… creative flow… you know.”

Namjoon rubs his eyes and sits up. Of course he’s not in Germany during World War two. Of course he’s in his studio in Gangnam, and apparently he’s slept through a meeting.

He hates these dreams because he feels so thrown off when he wakes up. The pain of losing you always sticks with him for a while afterwards, makes his whole world tilt about one degree. Not enough to change anyone but him, but more than enough to notice.

He loves the dreams because he gets to be with you—tries not to let that thought be concerning.

“What’s that smell?” he asks, still half asleep.

“What smell?”

“Mmm… you know, the lavender smell.”

“Hyung, are you having a stroke?”

“I think people who have strokes smell toast,” Jin says.

“Nevermind,” Namjoon sighs as he gets off the couch. “Thanks for covering for me, hyung.”

“You owe me now.”

“Sure, yeah. Of course.” Agreeing is always easier than arguing with Jin.

Namjoon’s awake enough now to notice the looks that Jeongguk and Seokjin are passing between each other. He knows they know something’s going on with him, sees how they adjust the ways they move around him after these dreams, when he’s out of sorts and halfway out of commission for a half a day or so. It’s not just them, either. Jimin has tried to talk to him about it, but didn’t get very far. Hoseok knows Namjoon’s had a few bad dreams, but that’s the extent of it.

It’s not that he doesn’t want to tell them, it’s more that he doesn’t know how to explain it without sounding like he’s completely batshit. Doesn’t know how to tell them that he knows you’re real, that he believes in you the same way he believes in the existence of his sister or his best friend, Heeyoung. It’s part of the problem, really. Because every time he has one of these dreams, he finds himself actually looking for you. In real life. In Seoul. In every city they have a show in. Thought he saw you once in Switzerland, but was too afraid to get close enough to know for sure… Still isn’t sure if he regrets that or not.

It really messes with him when he’s in a city that he’s dreamed you in. Once, in Sevilla, he was too fucked up about it to even leave the hotel room. Tried to explain to one of the managers that something bad had happened last time he was there, but it got complicated when Namjoon couldn’t explain when exactly that was.

“What’s on your mind, Namjoonie?” Seokjin’s tone is gentler now, cautious.

“Spain.”

Another look of concern between Jeongguk and their hyung.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Jeongguk asks softly. “Sometimes it helps to talk about things—you taught me that.”

He can’t help but smile at that. Caught in his own words. And he’s so tired of this, so tired of feeling like no one will understand… he’s tempted. To be honest, he could probably talk about it with Taehyung. Maybe that’s what he should do, he thinks. Tae would listen, wouldn’t judge him. But maybe Jeongguk and Seokjin wouldn’t either. Namjoon has assuredly done more questionable things than possibly believe in a ghost. Or whatever you are.

He sits back down on the couch. “I’ve been having these weird dreams,” he says.

“About Spain?” Jeongguk and Seokjin find seats to settle into, too.

“About a girl, mostly.”

“Want to tell us about her? Is she Spanish? Is she someone you know?”

“I’m not sure,” Namjoon admits. “She’s whoever I want her to be, I think.”

Seokjin’s eyebrows almost lift off his face. “Okay, Namjoonie. Why don’t you tell us about these dreams?”

Namjoon nods. “Well, the one I just woke up from, we were in Germany.”

“All of us?” Jeongguk asks.

“No, I don’t think so. Just her and me. I think hyung maybe, too, but I never saw him in the dream.” He gestures to Seokjin.

“But you have these dreams often?”

“Yeah.”

“And one of them was in Spain?”

Namjoon’s not sure what they’ll think of him once he tells them, but maybe he doesn’t have to give everything away, he decides. Maybe he can just tell him about one of the dreams and see what they think.

“Yeah, I can tell you about it if you want.”

Jeongguk nods eagerly and Jin does, too. He supposes he can’t back out now.

“Alright… well, here’s what I remember…”

Andalucia, Spain — Summer, 1913

The heat is relentless.

Namjoon sweats so much under normal conditions—this is borderline torture. If it were up to him, he’d be back in Sevilla with you, content in the small pension you both scrape together rent for every week. It’s shaded by the orange trees surrounding it, feels safe and private and cool, and most importantly, it’s yours.

Ronda is less forgiving. Maybe because he doesn’t know it as well, isn’t sure who might be someone to know and who might just be pretending. He’s done this for long enough that he thinks he has a pretty good sense for it, but he’s still sucked into having his time wasted on occasion. Wouldn’t mind it so much except it’s time spent away from you.

Blas Infante has been yelling on the steps for a while. His throat should be raw, but the adrenaline of agitating the people of Andalucia keeps him fresh, voice ringing clearly through the square. Namjoon has been watching the wealthiest in the crowd drift away, paying attention to where they’re going, making sure he’s got a line on which bars and cafes will be the best to move on to. The time is about right, he thinks. They’ll be a few drinks in and soon the wider crowd will disperse. Wants to make sure he can find a seat at the bar next to someone rich, attractive if possible. If they’re a little desperate that’s even better.

They probably all will be given the way the political winds are shifting in Andalucia.

As he turns from the crowd, he hears Padre de la Patria Andaluza shout, “the moment has come for the privileged to die!” The remaining crowd roars like the lions on their flags, angry and proud. He agrees with them—as long as he gets his money first.

When he slides onto the barstool, he makes sure to order his own drink first. Chilled palo cortado says he’s from around here but maybe a little down on his luck, otherwise, he’d be drinking Fundador.

It’s strange, he knows he grew up poor, but he can’t remember any of the details. It’s as if his whole life before knowing you is completely out of focus. He feels the resentment, though, the frustration of knowing there’s more for the taking if you have the right family, the right education, the right skin color.

But he’s older now and while it’s there, it’s in the background. Because he knows how to get his share, knows now that it’s also for the taking if you have a nice smile, a silver tongue, and a willingness to do whatever it takes to succeed—including changing your definition of success. Including sacrificing the things you believe in the most.

Good thing the only thing Namjoon believes in anymore is you, and you’re willing to stick by his side no matter what.

She’s not anywhere near as attractive to him as you are. She’s round in all the places he likes—soft hips, soft stomach, thick ass, but there’s something with her face. Too drawn, a little gaunt in a way that doesn’t suit her. It’s age maybe, she’s got to be thirty years older than him.

Age is another one of those tricky things that feels a little elusive to him.

He thinks he’s around nineteen and she’s probably fifty. Doesn’t care, really, as long as she’s got pesetas.

She does. A lot of them.

He fucks her slow in a room above the bar and calls her “Princesa” because she asks him to. Because she’ll pay him more if he does, because he knows how women like her work. It’s been quiet between them since he took her upstairs. They don’t talk about her husband, her children… They don’t talk about you.

She shifts a little below him and it almost hurts. He’s not used to sex so dry like this—makes it hard to imagine it’s you beneath him. Digs his thumbs into the flesh at her hips and tries to picture you instead, but her noises aren’t as sweet as yours, her skin isn’t as supple.

At least, he thinks as he thrusts over and over to her guttural cries, he’s doing this for you. For the future the two of you have dreamed of since you were basically kids and he would throw stones at your window after dark to sneak a piece of your attention. He’s fairly certain you almost have enough saved up to escape, to get away from your father and brother who have never once approved of Namjoon. In their eyes, it’s bad enough he’s a foreigner, but then he has the audacity to be poor in addition.

He wants to give you a good life. There’s still a part of him that thinks someday he can give you an honest one, as well. There’s a part of him that hopes he’s not only his mistakes like your father thinks, that he’s capable of so much more than the world has allowed him to give so far. He thinks you see it, too. He’s pretty sure that’s why you stay.

As the work drags on, he realizes he’s made a critical mistake—he didn’t ask her how much she’d had to drink, didn’t think to slip the bartender a note to water it down a bit. Feels like she’s never going to come, and he can’t leave a job undone. God, he just wants to get home to you. Wants to take a lavender-laced bath with you and cleanse himself of this sin and the thousand others he’s committed before it. Wants to start on new ones with you.

The thought of you: in your orange grove, smelling of sun-dried linen and laughing while he chases you… it gives him the will to keep going.

Ironic that his love for you is the reason his cock is buried in someone else.

Eventually, she comes, and he lies and says he does, too. Makes quick work of ridding himself of the condom with his back to her. This isn’t the first time he’s lied. Would he sound like too much of a romantic if he said he’s only ever had an orgasm with you?

For tonight, his patron seems satisfied, romanticism or not. She asks to see him again the following week and he tells her all about how he’d love to, but he just doesn’t have the money, see? So, if she wants to see him, it wouldn’t be possible unless…

She’s more generous than he’s expected. What she gives him to come back to Ronda will pay for a month of your pension. He shoves it in his pockets and tells her he’s going to get them another bottle of sherry from the bar.

When he slinks out into the finally cool night air, all he feels is relief. He’s going to make it in time to hop the late train back to Sevilla, back to you.

He looks up and down the cobblestone street, taking a second to remember which direction he came from. Notices a man watching him, seems like it should matter, but all that matters is getting back to you.

Namjoon counts his earnings under the moonlight as the train rumbles through the countryside. It’s enough. He’ll need to count what’s at your home to be absolutely sure, but he thinks it’s enough to get you out of there. You dream of Valencia—of a different kind of orange grove, of thick and salty sea air, of vacations in Madrid or Barcelona, strolling the markets and church grounds.

He looks out the window at the moon and thinks of how bright your face will be when he tells you the good news. He looks at the stars and hopes they will guide you both faithfully to a better life.

The train pulls into the station at Sevilla several hours later. Namjoon feels like the time just slipped away, doesn’t quite know how he passed it. Maybe the wine was stronger than he’d first thought…

It’s quiet in Sevilla at this time of night, but he doesn’t pay too much attention to the bustle in front of him, the same man from outside the bar in Ronda rushing up the road ahead of him. Must be in a hurry to get somewhere—Namjoon can relate, he’s in a hurry to get home to you. His bag is weighed down from the coin he’s bringing home, but oddly enough, he feels lighter than ever knowing he may never have to give himself to someone that isn’t you again.

It’s freedom.

After years of conning and scraping and scratching to climb out of the poverty he’s known, he finally has hope for something better. Because of you, because you gave him something to believe in and to fight for.

Tomorrow, he’ll take you to the gardens at the Alcazar, and amongst the flowers and the peacocks you love, he’ll give you the news—tell you it’s finally time. Maybe you can even take the train to the sea that night.

He loves you so much, owes you everything because he gets all that he needs from your company and your faith in him.

As he draws nearer to you, dirt road narrowing as he approaches the pension, he hears raised voices. Yours and someone else’s. Maybe more. It’s all he needs to take off running, can’t fathom why you’d need to be fighting with anyone in the orchard after midnight.

“Namjoon!” you exclaim when you see him sprinting up the road.

He can hear the fear in your voice, and it only makes him come to you faster. “What is it? What’s going on?” he calls. And then he sees them: your father and your brother, gesturing wildly and yelling.

“Mija, you know what he’s doing in Ronda? How disgusting he is? How he’s making a fool out of you, making fools out of our family?”

You’re calmer than they deserve, standing your ground with your arms crossed over your chest, full skirts whipping around you in the breeze. You look brave, intimidating, and more beautiful than ever.

Namjoon starts to understand, realizes he should have known something wasn’t right, that the man in two places would be a problem. Hadn’t let himself believe your father would have had him followed, but why wouldn’t he?

“You know nothing,” you snap at your father. “Mind your own business, old man. I’m not your family anymore. He’s my family now.”

Namjoon joins you in front of the pension, stands by your side, wraps an arm around your waist and presses a kiss to your temple. “I think you should leave,” he says to the men facing you.

Your father spits in his direction, your brother makes rude gestures with both hands. They call him a whore, call him disgusting, claim he’s giving you diseases and ruining you for the god they say you need to meet one day.

(They still believe, Namjoon never has, and you think you already know god—that he lives in the way the birds call a bright greeting to the morning sun and the flowers bend to offer the bees what they both need to live.)

“Leave,” you say firmly. “We’re leaving for Valencia soon—you’ll never have to see us again. I’ll change my name, no one will know the disgrace you think we’ve brought to the family. Just let us be.”

And if Namjoon thought the crowd in Ronda was loud, he hadn’t yet had the screams of your father to compare it to. His face is a violent red, his whole body shakes with his anger, and Namjoon feels scared for the first time in a long time. The arm he has around your waist tightens as your brother pulls a revolver from the back of his trousers.

You are ever courageous—Namjoon can hear your racing heart, but you betray nothing, staring down your brother with iron conviction and pressing in tightly to the man at your side.

“No one will take you from us!” your father yells.

The barrel is pointed straight at the two of you. Namjoon can see your brother’s finger shaking and it’s as if he knows what’s about to happen. He can’t let it, would sacrifice anything for you, already has given up his body and his soul to you in some ways. He’s prepared to do it again. Would never make a choice that wasn’t to protect you. Loves you like you’re oxygen, like he needs you to survive.

He’s nothing without you, but you can be something without him. So, he moves.

And as Namjoon twists to pull you behind him, a single shot rings out through the Andalucian night, louder than a firecracker.

Seoul, South Korea — Present Day

“And then what?” Jeongguk asks, leaning so far in he looks like he’ll topple at any second.

“I don’t know,” Namjoon shrugs, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. “That’s when I woke up. I had the window open and I think there was a car accident or one backfiring or something. Startled me awake.”

“That’s so romantic,” Jeongguk sighs. “Don’t you think, hyung?”

Seokjin nods along. “How often do you dream about her?”

“Every few weeks… for a couple of years now.”

“Shit.”

Namjoon explains how he can’t stop thinking about you for days after the dreams, how you always look different in them but he knows it’s you every time. There’s something in the way you speak to him, in the way you know his mind, in the way you move across each time and space so self-assured and brave and admirable. And then the words just keep coming. He tells them about how he always dreams of you existing at night—never in the morning. Never had a dream where the two of you have made it through the night and woken up together in love with no tragedy befalling you. He almost cries when he tells them how badly he wants to find you, how he knows you must be real, a person he’s just yet to meet… Says he’s not sure he believes in something like soulmates, but that sometimes his chest actually aches with the need to know you, to be with you. Tells them that you’re never perfect in any of his dreams, but you’re perfect for him: a partner in crime, a lover, an intellectual rival, a battleground ally, just always by his side making him sharper and better and happier. Tells them that all he wants is the chance to wake up next to you just once, sunlight and joy and no crisis clapping him awake. Tells them how lonely he is in the mornings.

When he finally trails off, out of ways to explain that each time he dreams of you, the desire to find you seems that much more urgent, Seokjin and Jeongguk are speechless. Jin looks like the fish he loves, mouth opening and closing but no sound coming out. Jeongguk is a little teary-eyed and his hand is rubbing careful circles between Namjoon’s shoulder blades.

“You have to find her, hyung,” Jeongguk says softly.

“I know.”

“We’ll help you find her, I promise.”

Namjoon thinks the commitment from Jeongguk is sweet, but doesn’t know how they could possibly help. You look different in every dream, a different voice, name, language… It’s an impossible task made even more challenging by the fact that you probably don’t actually exist. Just a figment of his imagination his brain has made to give him some stress relief, some friendship. He says as much, and he can tell Seokjin agrees with him, but Jeongguk is insistent. At the very least, it’s a little comforting that he’s told them what he feels like is probably his weirdest, deepest secret, and they didn’t laugh at him, didn’t march him upstairs to the company therapist.

After that day, Namjoon feels a little bit better about everything. Better enough that he doesn’t dream about you for a few weeks, starts to forget to look for you in the face of every person he passes. The best part is that he’s really able to focus on their upcoming tour, and by the time he boards the plane to another continent with the rest of the members, he wonders if he’ll ever dream about you again.

It’s been long enough that he misses you a little bit, as ridiculous as it sounds. He doesn’t mention that part to Jeongguk or Seokjin.

They touch down in a new city, and Namjoon rubs the sleep out of his eyes. He’d fallen asleep on the flight—no dreams. It’s early, but they don’t get the day to themselves. They’ll eat a snack in the cars on the way to the venue, run a short rehearsal for blocking and then Namjoon will do some foreign-language interviews from the hotel. He runs a hand through his hair and pulls his mask up, trying to mentally prepare himself a little bit for the remainder of the day. And then he smells it, as he steps into the airport, a gentle lavender scent that’s so familiar he thinks he might be imagining it.

Namjoon stops in his tracks right outside the gate and starts looking. It’s practically instinctual at this point, head on a swivel trying to spot you. It’s so ridiculous and he knows it. But there’s just something… it’s like he knows you’re here.

Unfortunately, it’s a terrible place to be having a crisis, and he’s literally knocked out of his search when another passenger on their phone runs right into the back of him.

“Fuck, sorry,” you say, only glancing up from your phone for a second.

Namjoon doesn’t look at you, just flushes with embarrassment as if anyone could possibly know what he’s thinking. Keeps his head down, says, “no problem,” and tells himself that the weird pit in his stomach is nothing and the smell he’s so drawn to is in his head. The you of his dreams isn’t possibly in this airport in a city on the other side of the world.

He tries to shake it off all afternoon, all evening, but doesn’t think he’s too successful. Thinks he probably fucked up a couple of the interviews, hopes one of his managers would have stopped him if he was too off the mark, though. It’s probably fine.

That night, for the first time in weeks, he dreams of you.

Gyeongsangnam-do, South Korea — Summer, 1931

In these most uncertain of times, Namjoon is sure of two things: you are the most beautiful woman he’s ever known, and he is so much in love with you that he feels shaky with it.

It’s quiet in your father’s farmhouse save for your soft moans. With a rare stroke of luck, your mother and father have left to negotiate with the angry man who owns their land now, and Namjoon has taken advantage of sneaking away from Pukyong’s campus to be with you. He’d come to review plans for a new barn with your father, but finding him gone was a blessing.

You and Namjoon haven’t been able to find much time alone since he left for Busan. He comes back when he can, which isn’t often, and you sneak out to the edge of the fields to meet him under the moonlight. He’s gotten used to fucking you quietly and in a hurry, helping you brush grass and twigs out of inappropriate places when you’re done. This though, this is a luxury, to be with you in your own bed, in the daylight. To be as loud as you both want—Namjoon could write a dissertation on how nice you sound when he fucks you.

You’re slick and tight, and you’re the only home Namjoon’s ever really known. He sucks one of your nipples into his mouth and watches as you arch your back underneath him, whine a little, tell him not to leave marks where your parents might see.

Because you’re young and reckless and you’ve both only ever loved each other, he knows he’s got to pull out soon, but it’s hard to remember in the heat of the moment.

You call him “Namjoonah,” you tell him how good he feels inside you, breathy and sweet, running your fingers through his hair to brush it off of his forehead. It’s gentle, the way you touch him, like he’s something worth taking care of. You say all the nicest things to him when he fucks you—you tell him he’s strong and handsome and so big, you always emphasize, widening your eyes and palming his cock through his trousers. It’s probably giving him a little bit of an ego, he thinks, but he likes it anyway. Being the focus of your attention is so flattering. He always wants your eyes on him, your hands on him, your thoughts about him. You make him greedy and selfless at the same time—he wants everything you’re willing to give him and he wants to give you even more in return. Wishes this fucking war were over so he wouldn’t have to be on edge all the time. Knows he’s lucky not to have been conscripted to the Imperial Army yet, but that it’s probably a matter of time.

It’s a blessing, being smart, which people have told Namjoon that he is since he can remember. At least they’ve spared him so far because he’s of more use to them at Pukyong, learning how to be the best architect he can be, than he would be as a soldier. Someday, his own father says, he will build castles for a Korean leader, walls to keep the Japanese soldiers out. Those conversations are had in secret, in whispers and gestures. It’s dangerous to be someone like his father, to think there’s a chance for Korean independence, to fight for it in secret… But it’s dangerous to be fucking you into your mattress when your parents could come home any moment, too, and that doesn’t stop Namjoon.

Like father, like son, as they say.

He’s sure it’s not a secret that he’s your boyfriend. Your parents know him, invite him for meals, they like him. They think he’s a sweet, smart, college boy who’s going to give their daughter a better life than they can someday, and they’re not wrong.

Though, he’s also sure they’d like him a lot less if they knew he was a sweet, smart, college boy who loves your body, loves the way your soft thighs feel around his head when he licks at your core, loves the way he can throw your calves over his shoulders and hold you in place as he thrusts home. Loves the small violet bruises he bites into your skin, hidden away under your long skirts and long linen sleeves. Loves how you let him pull out and cover those bruises with his cum, and then especially loves when you run a finger through it and lick it off—when you tell him he tastes good and you thank him for sharing with you.

They’d think he’s ruined you, and he’d cop to it even though it is absolutely the other way around.

You come with a sweet, loud moan. Your throat sounds a little raw when you say his name again, which only turns him on more. With a few strokes, he follows you, leaving his release across your stomach and breasts and thinking that if all art looked like you do in this moment, he’d change his major.

Lazily, he lies next to you and pulls you close. You should clean up, you should get dressed, Namjoon should be sitting at the kitchen table studying his drawings with his shoulders back and glasses smart across his nose when your father gets home. You don’t want him to leave though, asking him to stay just a little longer, turning your head to kiss him softly.

When he wakes up, it’s dark, and he panics. You’re pliant in his arms, still sleeping, and your parents should be home—what if they’ve seen you? What if they know that Namjoon is taking something sweet from you at every opportunity, paying you back with pieces of his heart?

Maybe it’s time he faces this like an adult, he decides. He’s going to marry you someday anyway, it’s a foregone conclusion. They may not like that you’ve been breaking so many of their rules in secret, but someday you will be his wife, and he will care for all of your family as his own, and hopefully that buys him a little leniency with your father. He kisses your temple and gets out of bed as quietly as he can, pulls his clothes back on, and pads out of your room to meet his fate.

He spots them immediately, and as soon as he has the thought that he’s going to be sick, he heaves all over your kitchen floor. It’s going to wake you up, but he needs to spare you from the scene. Somehow, he gets their bodies covered before you get up. It’s the best he can do but it’s not enough—the scream you let out is haunting, half shock and half anguish. When you crumple to your knees, he holds you, lets you sob and scream into his chest and rocks you steadily. He doesn’t know what else to do.

After that day, he files for a leave from school and essentially moves in with you. You use your anger to fuel you, fighting for independence in secret alongside the bravest Koreans Namjoon knows. Your landlord comes around and neither you nor Namjoon even try to hide your rage and disgust. You spit at his feet and he warns you to be polite unless you want to end up like your parents. Namjoon tries to convince you that the old man isn’t even worth your anger, that you’re better off serving your parents’ memory alive than alongside them in a grave.

As the war picks up, so does conscription. Namjoon thinks he’ll be called any day, but the idea of fighting in the Imperial Army makes him ill. So instead, he makes a plan.

It’s only a matter of months before you’re on the ferry to join him on Jeju. He’s been there, building and fortifying. Perhaps it’s cowardly to cut and run, but he doesn’t care. It’s the only way he can be with you, the only way he can keep you safe. With the farm equipment sold off and a bit of his family’s money, he’s made you a home there, and it’s finally ready for you.

There’s a tearful reunion on the dock, and it’s followed by a trip to the courthouse to get married. It all happens in a daze, the memories hazy and dim, but the way he felt as he kissed you and made you his wife burns in him bright, bright, bright.

He makes love to you on the floor of the new cottage that night, slow and sweet. Tries to make you understand how much he’s missed you, how much he loves you. Thinks he succeeds when you tell him you love him as you come, thinks he’s never seen or heard something more beautiful in his whole life.

Finally, he leads you up the narrow staircase to the room he’s built for you. It’s got a big bed, but not too big, because you always want to be close to him when you sleep. Its wooden floors are made warmer with a rug his mother made for you, a wedding gift. The balcony is small, but he designed it himself, based on a wish you’d told him about, that you’ve always dreamed of a place to read in the mornings. It’s shaded from the eastern sun with a balustrade you can kick your feet up onto. There are crude drawings of your favorite animals carved into the balusters, alternating lions and peacocks. Protection and immortality, built into the home he’s made for the two of you. When you see it, you look like maybe you finally understand the way he cares for you, the way he will do anything he can for as long as he lives to keep you happy and safe.

You let yourself out there, and light up the night with your happiness. Namjoon watches you from the bed. He’s been on the balcony, and it’s small. He’s not technically the architect he always thought he would be since he’s left school for good, but he tried his best with this design, and then tried even more when he built it for you.

Maybe he should have seen it coming, maybe he shouldn’t have been so confident. The funny thing about light and sound is that he sees it happen just barely before he hears it. Sees you stumble a little to your right, sees the balcony wobble and thinks his eyes are playing tricks on him. Then he hears the deafening crack and it’s perfectly timed with his stomach sinking and you disappearing from his view, the balustrade going with you.

New York City — Present Day

Namjoon wakes up in a cold sweat, the alarm blaring next to him. He hates this feeling—the one immediately after the dreams. At least he has most of the day off. The company always gives them time for the jetlag, supposed to be for sleeping, but he’ll use it to shake himself out of this fog that settles in after the dreams. Maybe the Met this time; he saw the Whitney last time he was here and he sort of wants to get out of Chelsea, anyway—thinks the walk might help him clear his head.

He sees you when he’s standing in front of a moon jar, wondering to himself what right these people have to even store this piece and then charge people to see it. Wonders if he could get it back to Korea somehow where it belongs, mutters something under his breath about colonialism and notices you smile at that out of the corner of his eye.

It’s exactly like he’d always thought it would be to see you: immediately he knows. There’s no question. You look different again, not quite like you have in any of his dreams, but you smell the same and you’re wearing a blue and green dress, tight around your figure and flouncy at the hem that reminds him so specifically of a peacock he wants to cry. You smell like fancy French lavender soap and you have a smile that could bring world peace.

The sight of you makes him freeze. What would he even say? There’s nothing he could tell you that wouldn’t make him sound insane, nothing that he’s willing to admit to a stranger, even if that stranger is you. His heart races and he feels himself start to sweat nervously. He’s been looking for you for years, and when he finally finds you, it sends him into a panic. How perfect for him.

He can’t stand in front of the same moon jar forever, though, so he swallows his nerves and stands up a little straighter and begins to turn to you, even if just to introduce himself like a normal person.

Namjoon’s heart sinks when he realizes you’re already gone.

He’s talking to Jeongguk while he sits on the steps of the Met, phone pressed to his ear.

“I know it’s her,” he says, sending Jeongguk into a frenzy of questions.

Namjoon is contemplating the possibility that he’s fucked up his only chance to meet you, when you appear, out of the blue, to take a seat a few feet away from him, he rushes out a “Gotta go, Kookie, bye,” and hangs up as Jeongguk is still talking.

“Hi,” you say.

“Hi.”

“This is probably so weird, but…” You straighten out your skirt and don’t make eye contact. You look equal parts beautiful and nervous. “Do I know you from somewhere?”

Namjoon gets this question a lot. Usually, it’s fans trying to ‘play it cool’ when they run into him in Seoul, trying to give the impression that they don’t immediately know who he is. And yeah, he thinks he’s more humble than some people less famous than him, hates to assume, but it’s always pretty transparent. But, for as much as he gets this question, as often as he brushes it off with an, “I don’t think so,” and a rushed exit from wherever he’s been recognized, he has no idea how to answer it when it comes to you. So, he just gapes at you. It’s mortifying.

“Sorry,” you continue. “It’s just that… Well, this is probably gonna sound crazy, but I think I’ve had dreams about you.”

“Holy shit,” Namjoon says, living up to his reputation as a certified genius and a clever songwriter.

This response flusters you even more, it’s clear you’re embarrassed. The way your eyes flit around and look for an exit from the situation tells him everything he needs to know.

“Sorry again,” you groan more than speak. “Nevermind.”

You start to stand, and Namjoon barely gets his shit together in time to grab your wrist and finally speak. “It’s not weird. I have them, too. The dreams.”

“No fucking way,” you whisper, your eyes wide.

“Yeah.” Namjoon nods in agreement. “How’d you know it was me?” He asks.

“Just knew it,” you shrug, wrist still kept tight in his grasp. “I’m not sure. It’s like… you feel the same. You smell like you, too.”

“Come on,” he says, dropping your wrist finally and standing. “Want to get coffee or something?”

To his relief, you do.

It’s awkward at first. Where do you start with someone you feel like you’ve known forever but you’ve never actually met? Namjoon has a million questions he wants to ask you but none of them seem to fully form in his head. It’s bad enough he has to think through how to not be seen with you—his lifestyle adds a whole layer of complication you’d never faced together in his dreams. Eventually, you knock on his hotel room door about ten minutes after he gets in. It had been a little stressful, waiting for you. He made you promise three times you’d actually show up and then on the fourth one, he made you pinky promise. When you took his little finger solemnly, instead of laughing at him, he was finally (mostly) convinced you’d be there.

And now, here you are, sitting at the little table in his room, clearly trying to be polite and not look at the mess of stuff he’s accumulated in just one night. After all this time wishing he could find you, he’s got no idea what to say to you.

“So… why the Met?”

You smile a little sheepish and shake your head. “You’ll think it’s stupid.”

“I doubt that,” he says, trying to be as reassuring as he can for such a weird situation.

“I thought it’s where the lion statues were… you know… on the steps. I thought if I went there, maybe you’d be there. I was sure it was you at the airport but by the time I realized it, you were gone. So, I guess it was the only place I could think to look for you where you might look for me, too. But they’re at the library.”

“The lions?”

His confusion seems to make you a little shy; you duck your head and shake it, like you’re telling yourself off before you even explain. “You always say I’m like a lion in the dreams. No matter where we are or what’s happened to us. You say I’m strong and brave and beautiful—”

“A lionheart,” Namjoon whispers.

“Yeah,” you brighten at that. “Is it like that in your dreams, too?”

Namjoon tells you it is. And then he tells you about all the dreams he can remember. Not in detail, and not the worst of the bad endings, but enough that the two of you can compare notes. Enough that you realize you’ve been having basically the same dreams, although not at the same time. Both of you have had some the other hasn’t had yet. He loves it when you tell him about one that ended happily, the two of you betrothed in the Joseon era and figuring out how to fall in love. You think it’s supposed to mean something that the two of you are always facing something that’s keeping you apart—you wonder out loud what might keep you apart in reality, too.

“I hope nothing will,” he says without thinking.

“You don’t even know me!” You’re laughing, but he’s clearly taken you by surprise.

“Don’t I, though?” And the mood changes. You swallow thickly and he tries his best not to break eye contact with you even though he thinks you’re so gorgeous he might not make it through the day without passing out. “Can I kiss you?” he asks quietly, but he’s already moving to your side of the table and you’re already scooting your chair back to make space for him.

You don’t kiss like you do in the dreams. In the dreams, you kiss him like he’s the beginning and end, like you’ll take anything he gives you. There’s something nice about that, makes him feel wanted and strong. In reality, you kiss him like you know it’s the other way around. You’re confident, teasing—you smile against his lips when you do a thing with your tongue that makes him let out a moan.

In the dreams, he can’t remember ever kissing anyone but you. But now he’s got your lips on his and you’re definitely not the first person he’s kissed by a long shot, but you’re absolutely the best. It’s almost like having something to compare it to makes it even better.

Maybe there should be some hesitation, but neither of you seem to have any. Not when he pulls you up from the chair so he can kiss you without bending all the way over, not when he walks you back toward the hotel room bed, leaving a trail of tender kisses up your neck and across your jaw in a surprising show of coordination.

It’s inexplicable, he thinks, how he feels like he’s done this a million times with you before but in the best way. He can kiss you without any of the awkward, nervous, first time worries he normally has. He can trust you without knowing quite why, and that part is probably the weirdest thing about all of this because he can’t trust anyone outside of the members and his family usually.

“Is it weird I feel like we’ve done this before?” you ask as you run your hands from his shoulders down his arms.

Namjoon just shakes his head and winds his fingers with yours, leaning in to kiss you again. “No, it’s the same for me,” he says.

Because of the familiarity, maybe, it’s not urgent when you undress each other. He takes time to appreciate this version of you, the one he’s actually holding in his arms, the one who pinches his side gently and then laughs. “Just making sure you’re real,” you say when he yelps in protest.

There’s a moment when you’re both naked, standing in front of the bed, when the air feels thick between you. You’re holding his jaw in your palm and he’s got his hands around your back and neither of you speak for a long beat. For him, it just feels incredible to be here with you. He doesn’t care that he has no idea what you do for a living, where you live… Doesn’t know anything about you except that he thinks he has loved you for a long time. Thinks maybe he was put on this planet specifically to love you. Wonders how the two of you could have messed this up so badly in every other universe, but is actually really glad you did, because maybe that’s why you’re finally here with him now.

“I… I think I love you,” he says timidly. “Makes me feel crazy.”

You have a tear falling down your cheek, but you’re smiling—Namjoon is pretty sure you’re not supposed to be crying before sex like this, but you seem happy. “S’not crazy, I think I love you, too. I’m so happy I finally found you.”

“I looked for you in every city,” he confesses before he presses his lips back to yours, then kisses the tears off your cheeks.

You go soft under him, body pressed into his, and he guides you onto the bed. The two of you laugh into each other’s mouths, mutter how you can’t believe it’s happening, let your breath grow heavier as you take time to learn each other. Namjoon loves it when your lips move against his pulse point, when you get a little rough with him, leaving small bites and bruises in places the stylists won’t give him shit for. You like when he talks to you, tells you how you make him feel, how much he wants to be with you—he whispers right into your ear, the sweetest confessions sandwiched by pure filth that makes your breath hitch and a shiver travel down your spine.

Namjoon’s dreamed you a hundred ways, in a hundred places, but here, spread naked underneath him in this hotel bed and laughing with him while he fucks you slowly is better than any dream he’s ever had.

“Can’t believe you’re real, baby,” he breathes as you run your fingertips down his sides. He looks down to see where his cock is moving inside of you, and he thinks this must actually be a dream. You’re perfect, he thinks as he moves fingers to your clit and presses there gently. When you pull him down to kiss you, it feels familiar again. You brush his hair off of his forehead like you’ve done in every one of his dreams, and now he feels like he could cry—he’s just so overwhelmed by you, so in awe just like he knew he would be. Just as he always has been.

You whisper his name when he makes you come. You tighten around him and dig your nails into his shoulders and Namjoon thinks this is the closest to heaven he might ever get. When you finally work through your orgasm, you encourage him to change positions, to lay on his back and let you ride him.

The way you know exactly what he likes is magical, that deep grinding of your hips in his lap. You don’t have to ask to know what makes him tick, bringing his hand to your lips as you move, sucking two of his fingers into your mouth and whining around them.

He’s always preferred this to something faster. This way, he gets to watch you, feels like you’re taking your pleasure from him, feels like you’re both getting precisely what you want from each other. He could lift his hips and fuck into you, could hold your waist and get you to bounce on his cock like you’re making a sex tape. But this is better. This is you and him, moving like you’re meant to be connected.

You absolutely are, he’s sure of it.

It’s a movie script ending when you come again just as he does for the first time—he wishes he could feel all of you when he spills into the condom, wishes he’d found you years ago and built a more tangible history with you. Hopes more than anything that you want to try to do that with him now.

The two of you clean up with a little bit of shyness; you hide your face as he cleans you carefully with a warm washcloth, and he tries not to let you see him get rid of the condom. It’s not as easy as the dreams where those things sort themselves out, but Namjoon wouldn’t trade these awkward moments for anything.

There’s not really a need to ask you to stay, he knows somehow that you will, but he asks anyway, preens when you agree and ask to borrow a shirt.

He can’t really risk room service with you here, but he gets a manager to bring you food (hand stuck shyly through a crack in the door as to not interrupt), and while you eat, he peppers you with questions about your life. Feels like he knows the important things that are the same as in his dreams (he loves you, you’re loyal), but wants to learn all the mundane stuff, too.

Much later, before the sun rises but after some people would already call it morning, you fall asleep in his arms and he lets himself drift off thinking of lavender and peacocks and falling in love.

Namjoon’s alarm goes off, and the sun must be high in the sky because the light in the room is a bit muted. It’s the first time in a long time he’s woken up content, hesitates for a second before he remembers why, remembers everything that happened the day before, remembers that you were real and here and in his bed and his arms. He lets himself just exist there for a minute, eyes closed, thinking about what might come next, how he’ll explain you to his family…

Then it sort of dawns on him that you should be right there, that he fell asleep wrapped around you and now he isn’t. He panics for a split second when he realizes you’re not pressed against him, doesn’t think he could handle it if this was a dream, too. Tries to be rational, but for some reason can’t quite bring himself just to tip his head over and open his eyes.

Instead, he takes a deep breath, smells hotel laundry detergent and sex and the faintest hint of lavender. He says a silent prayer and then sticks his hand out to the other side of the bed to feel for yours. Thinks he might scream when he doesn’t feel you there immediately.

Namjoon snakes his hand across the sheet and hopes he never has to dream to see you again.

#bts x reader #namjoon x reader #rm x reader #namjoon smut #namjoon angst #namjoon fluff #rm smut #rm fluff #rm angst #bts imagines #namjoon imagine #rm imagine #kvanity #bts smut #bts angst #bts fanfic #namjoon fanfic #rm fanfic

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jmdbjk · 5 months

Text

Looking back and forward.

2023 was one for the books.

It is Thursday, Dec. 7 where I am... Friday, Dec. 8 in Korea.

It is the last Friday for Namjoon, Taehyung, Jimin and Jungkook to be civilians. This is their last weekend to spend in their homes, at the company to work, running along the river, doing boxing workouts, ordering delivery food, loving on their dogs, doing the things they've been doing the last over ten years. It will be about 100 days until they get time off and can maybe spend some time back at home.

They are tying up loose ends, getting their shit together, preparing to put their lives on hold.

They will return to us in mid-June 2025.

I've watched their last group live several times after the english subs were up. There were a lot of things I saw and I have a lot of mixed emotions about it all.

None of us know these men, we are observers and all we know is what they choose to show us. Unfortunately, they can't control every single thing and people and the media insist on prying and publishing images and things about them that lead to unconfirmed rumors and misinformation.

In the approximately 38 minutes they shared with us, they conveyed that they are getting ready to go, they seemed in positive spirits. They conveyed that they were still working on things for us (except Jungkook).

They said there was A LOT of content coming, so much... they've NEVER ever reassured us like this before.

They asked fans to NOT show up at the induction site out of respect for the other men and their families also entering the military those days. They explicitly said "we are their face and to do them proud."

During this live, I saw Tae being the fantastically funny guy that he is. Tae was alight with excitement. He was anxious to learn from his fellow soldiers. He is a flower waiting to bloom. And seeing his friendship with Jimin maturing, flourishing, same age friends forever was wonderful.

And Namjoon trying to keep up with the crazy shenanigans of the maknae line. Trying to be the voice of reason: "it'll go by quick, we've left a lot of content. Jin will be back soon. We'll all get strong." But there seemed to be a bit of push and pull between he and Jimin... it was interesting. But he was lighthearted, positive, going into with an open mind. Get in, get out, get back to work.

Jimin, Jimin, Jimin... There was a bit of resignation wrapped up in Jimin's positivity. He wouldn't agree that it would go by fast and he didn't want to show himself with the buzz cut. I wanted to reach through the screen and hold his hand and reassure him we'd be here waiting and that we know it's hard to leave everything right now to do this. This man lives to do work on his passion. He's already had to stop once. Now he has to do it again. I think he is going into his MS kicking and screaming because he does not want to leave his youth behind. It is unfinished.

He said he had been sick. He coughed, sneezed and sniffled the entire live. I hope all of these symptoms have disappeared by Monday/Tuesday. I remember his friend Sungwoon had to delay his enlistment date because he tested positive for covid. Please don't let that happen to any of our four.

During this last group live, I saw a Jungkook that I'd never seen before. His vibe was so in tune to Jimin. I know he's been that way since... 2017? 2018? But this was so in your face I was dumbfounded. Jungkook constantly soothing Jiminie. The things they probably talked about while they were in Japan a few weeks ago, man, to be a fly on the wall.

ALL of those lives he did this past year flashed through my head, how unhinged he was the first few months, falling asleep drunk with the candle, calling out stalkers. ALL those times WE said he was missing Jimin because he was begging him to come eat chicken and drink beer, or come do a boxing workout, or better yet, "let me come over and we can shower together..." No... I meant to say: he can go over to Jimin's and wash up and do a live together. Yes, that's what he said. Beggged him. Tried to use Army as leverage. And all we got was Jimin saying he "can handle it" and "you know how my personality is"...

Jungkook watching all that Jimin content... something happened, some decision was made early in the year. Jungkook embraced it and ran with it.

And to know they are going into the service together, it still has me astonished but it all makes sense now. Y'all... they knew they were going to do this wayyyyyy back, not just in August or September when they applied. Jungkook said back in February (before someone lit a fire under his butt in March to start working on music) that he had to take care of his body for the next year. This has been the plan and Jungkook said "no worries, I got this."

2023 was A LOT.

Jimin, Face: the melodies poured out (as they seem to be free-flowing from him at any given moment) but he had to pry those lyrics out of himself. Jimin achieved a #1 BBHot100. And yes, it appears there were not just one, but TWO of those blasted cakes. I didn't know much about PDogg before Jimin's documentary but now I know how much he supported Jimin during this process.

Yoongi, D-Day: I got to see Yoongi in real life. That weekend flew by for me. One of the best weekends ever. As soon as the concert was over I said out loud, I need to see all seven on that stage. His concert tour filled a void for us. We needed that so bad after last year's gut-wrenching news that there would be no tour. And now he's fulfilling his social service. Let him serve quietly with dignity.

Hobi, Military: after tearfully sending him off, what we hear now is he's cracking the whip, though ever-so empathetically (not to be confused with emphatically) over those new enlistees every day. I need to see his boom chakalaka marching drills. Jimin said when he visited Hobi, he wasn't greeted with his ebullient "Jaman!" but more of a lowkey "oh, you're here."

Jungkook, his solo songs and album: Jungkookie chose to go the route of choosing songs that resonated with him. Over the course of years, Kookie has always shared songs with us. We used to love his song recs and his covers of very poignant songs. He KILLED those songs with his vocals. He did what HE wanted to do. And look how well he did with it, also a #1 BBHot100.

Taehyung, Layover: again, Taehyung did what he wanted to do. Not on his album, but Taehyung singing along with Karen Carpenter was never on my bingo card, ever! (a clip on his Instagram stories where he was singing along to "Close to You")

RM, we kept wondering: why isn't he enlisted yet? Someone had to wrangle the maknae. Not that he ever did that this past year. He cut himself over his left eye and had to get stitches... that's gonna leave a scar. Good thing there are 40 bajillion plastic surgeons in Seoul...

Jin is coming. The Head of Ministry of the Military making the decision that no celeb will be doing anything special, instead they will serve just like regular civilians. Sergeant Kim Seokjin will become civilian Jin of BTS on June 12, 2024.

Their constant looking forward to 2025

Skipping over 2024 for the moment...

BTS has to evolve. They must evolve. They are not going to be a 30 something year old K-pop boy band. Some groups might be stuck but BTS will not stay stagnant, they never have. They have to step forward out of that niche and they have been trying to do that incrementally for a while now. They’ve taken us in baby steps already through chapter 2, and Joon said the REAL chapter 2 will begin when they are back from fulfilling their service.

What will they be like? Will they reinvent themselves? Perhaps, but not overnight. I don’t see any sort of extreme makeover for BTS once they come back together. I do see them addressing more mature topics (as we’ve seen), I do hope we see songwriting from all members.

They don't need to abandon their Korean-ness in order to accomplish this. There is nothing stopping them from being a mainstream artist who just happens to be from Korea and who release songs that are in Korean.

I think the accomplishments that Jungkook achieved will continue to pull BTS out of the K-pop realm and into the main stream Pop music realm. They worked that western market. They got pushback, especially western industry institutions: Billboard and the Grammys. And they learned.

Progress is slow but progress nevertheless. They will cross over to general pop one way or the other. They are not going to stay in the kpop box in the future. Straddle both at the same time. They can do it.

For 2024:

I think comeback/HYYH 10th anniversary reboot is already in the works and has been.

I think PDogg will be working on the songs over the next year. I think they have recorded all this year.

I think when Jin and Hobi get back, they might record their parts. I also am pretty sure we'll see a full-bodied solo effort from Jin and more from Hobi. I think we'll get a ramp up to his discharge with some Hope on the Street content that he recorded before he enlisted.

I think we'll slowly see wheels start turning to get the machine going again much sooner than we imagined.

I think what we see next year will all be primed to pre-promote and whip up the excitement for 2025.

I just feel strongly that Bang PD would NOT have mentioned that specific thing and we would not be hearing the members constantly saying 2025. And especially saying 2025 is not that far in the future and that they are looking forward to the incredible synergy the group will have when they get back together. They've got a lot of work done already. They know already.

They said there is A LOT coming to us.

In about two weeks BTS: Beyond the Star docu-series will begin.

We know we're getting some sort of Jimin and Jungkook traveling content, whether a series or not...I'm leaning toward it being a multi-episode series. Camping? Drinking? Breweries? Beaches? Boating or sailing or both but separate? Fishing? Snow sports? They said it was fun.

We will see activity around all the solo album anniversaries. We still have an RM documentary, a Taehyung documentary and a Jungkook documentary. I bet the latter two will come out towards the end of 2024.

We might have Tae acting, we know he'll be in an IU MV soon.

About aging bangtan ...

Remember when we said this is Bangtan in 20 years?

I joke about it but seriously they are aware that things will be different as they evolve and age as people and as artists.

There are new groups debuting all the time and BTS is aging out of a certain demographic (as they should).

Yoongi saying "cruise with BTS" would be the best case scenario for their future.

I would love to be on that cruise if it ever happens.

#bts chapter 2 #bts military service #jimin #jungkook #namjoon #j-hope #jin #taehyung #yoongi #jikook #instagram is going to be soooo quiet without daily updates from @rkive and @thv #no more tiktok dance challenges #this was a long ass ramble but i had a lot of thinking fragments #purge purge purge #the most beautiful moment in life is yet to come

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smokingtiger · 4 months

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Don't Be Weird

a reminder during this difficult time...

if you are willingly seeking out unofficial pictures of the boys, trying to find their military schedules, looking up what they're eating every day, describing throwing/using weapons of mass destruction as a fun 'adrenaline' inducing activity... please respectfully get help. If you are trying to actively romanticize the military despite this being a forced conscription, you need to reevaluate your position as a fan and realize that this isn't some fun summer camp. They are being taught how to kill people. They are being forced to give up over eighteen months of their lives for a war decades older than they are. Both Namjoon and Yoongi have written about the subject of enlistment in quite a harrowing manner. I recommend you look into their works and stop viewing a government institution built on turning Korean men into personal property as something cute and quirky.

I have seen way too many people look into military schedules and make heart-and-rose-type posts about the members throwing grenades. Fucking grenades. BTS are already going through an extremely difficult time and they do not need an army of stalkers endangering them further.

Also...

DON'T FUCKING WRITE THEM LETTERS.

The company already addressed this several times with both Jin and Hoseok's enlistment, so if you write them a letter, you're not a fan -- you're a terrible person. I'm not going to sugarcoat that because you're actively going against their wishes.

Anyone who makes the military about ships gets a hard block from me. Anyone who tries to leak personal information gets a hard block from me. You will also be reported for actively trying to doxx someone. I've seen some people pass around that blurry picture of Jimin and Jungkook in a military classroom being like "SEE, THEY'RE NOT SITTING TOGETHER SO THEY'RE NOT ACTUALLY COMPANION SOLDIERS/DATING" as if you know how the seating chart works in the fucking military. No Sasaengs. No unconfirmed sources. No shippers. Nothing.

Get. A. Grip.

This type of obsession is not normal.

I'm stuck with you all until 2025, so I'm not going to sit here and watch you all call forced conscription sexy. As a non-religious person, I'll still say that you're going to hell for that.

See y'all in six months when Jin is discharged; we're in for a hell of a ride.

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hollyhomburg · 1 year

Text

Before I Leave you (Pt.53)

(Omegaverse au, Mafia au, Bts x Reader)

Summary: A snippet of the future- a flash forward- in which you and jimin reach an agreement.

Tags: Pleasure dom Jimin, pillow princess m/c, oral (f. receiving), fingering, pussy spanking, excessive squirting, knotting, Overstimulation, Dacryphilia, Breeding kink, Jimin gets a little mean once he tastes her slick, slick-drunk minnie, talks of safe words but no safeword usage, talks of gender and sex, murder, talking ill of the dead, assassin! jimin, implied autistic! jimin, Flash Forwards, intentionally vague moments, brief mention of mommy/daddy kink, brief talks of clothing control

W/c: 10.0k

A/N: please be patient with me regarding the rut chapter ie the chapter after this one! i’m visiting my brother next week in LA so!!! please recommend me some stuff to do in la! i’m hoping it’s going to be a restful trip but ngl…it’s not looking great…. i don’t like planning things that other people are going to potentially not enjoy 😠 i’m meant to be a passenger princess threw and threw

Previous Chapter - Masterlist

(Flash Forward, 6 days after Namjoon’s rut, Jimin)

Jimin lays out the plastic sheeting with a ripple. Making sure it covers most of the corners and the baseboards of the back room of the house. Taking more effort than usual not to be messy.

It would look normal to anyone else as you watch him work from the hallway. But you have a lurch in your stomach as Jimin fucks with the plastic, making sure it lies flat.

Jimin setting out plastic sheeting would look totally normal to you if you didn’t have an inkling of all the other times he’s probably done it. How many times has he watched blood and viscera soak plastic? How many times has he melted it after at high heat to destroy DNA evidence?

You watch him work, feeling like you’re witnessing something you shouldn’t.

But today, if you happen to have an accident and drip paint onto the floor, Yoongi will refinish them anyways. You’re just glad you’re not painting the sunroom red.

That's the plan for the day. Primer, paint rollers, the whole shebang. They litter the 10 x 10 room like fallen soldiers. At this point, you've helped Yoongi paint just about every room in the house. This will be the last one for a little while.

The sunroom at the end of the hall is the last unfinished room in the house. Mostly unused due to its decrepit aura until now. The space is sunlit in the afternoon light, no longer dampened by the old dirty windows.

Today is the first day since Namjoon’s rut that everyone’s been out of the house. It’s just you and Jimin here. The quiet feels overfull, like something is lingering overhead, a storm or a fever yet to break.

Jimin straightens when he sees you through the mottled windows- not quite frosted but ripply, like looking through water. Yoongi put the doors back on finally yesterday after the workmen left. Hobi and Jin helped him hold the doors in place while he put them back on their hinges and you and Tae and Jungkook cooked while Jimin and namjoon opened all the windows to rid the house of the smell of strangers.

He was mindful of the strangers, as had the rest of the pack been yesterday with no less than 5 of them here. Tae’s hand had been practically glued to your lower back, herding you towards a secluded corner in the library room for some cuddling and a nap. Yoongi had been worried about them possibly breaking his labour of love.

They’re similar to the door he put in for Tae’s library only this one is varying textures of mottled glass, most opaque, but some clear with white ribbons or rainbow films like bubbles.

Yesterday was a little bit hard for Namjoon especially with his post-rut pheromones already elevated. But the windows are finally done, and no more strangers need to set foot in your house for the foreseeable future, and that’s something.

It’s been a race against time. As the temperature begins to plummet the windows have finally been tended to, the drafty space transformed into a sunlit puddle that captures the afternoon light like a suncatcher. Hopefully, it will help the pack wait out the winter months and fend off any seasonal depression which more than a few packmates are prone to.

Yoongi doesn't like to name names but Tae and Hobi are vulnerable that way. Like stout magnolia trees and pink echinacea their happiness is prone to bouts of dormancy.

You wandered in here with Yoongi and Jin last night after dinner to talk colors. A glass in each of your hands full of Sweet pink wine, the kind that Tae likes. She would have joined you, had the pack alpha not pulled her and hobi and a dejectedly shy Jimin into some alpha bonding time upstairs.

“We can’t paint every room in this house varying shades of pink hyung, even if it’s for Tae.” The word sounds especially sweet on Yoongi’s tongue; Jin is the only one Yoongi can ever call ‘hyung’. A special sort of pet name between the two of them.

The pack omega had curled especially close to your mate with you happily sandwiched between them. Your fingers hooked into Yoongi's pocket and Jin's sleeve. He'd pressed his pink button mouth to Yoongi’s easily, the way he’d kissed the beta a thousand times. And replied stubbornly “Why can’t we?”

Yoongi always aquiecess, even if he is a little stressed, “Remember Jungkook’s already chosen lilac for the outside. you’ll hate it if it clashes”

"I want to paint stars on the ceiling with glow in the dark paint and maybe the outside too!"

Jin had saved another special kiss for you, just as soft as the one he gave your mate. "Of course you do sweetheart." Yoongi had only sighed, and pulled out his phone to look it up.

They’d settled on a shade of salmon pink this morning when they went to home depot (and coffee, because any outing with the pack omega is sort of a date). the color is so light it looks almost white in the morning and honey in the afternoon. Not quite as dove slipper pink as the upstairs closet, or as muted terracotta as the pack’s bedroom.

There are several different colors of pink and red sitting by the doorway, mini bottles that the pack used for swatches. Not just pink but yellow too (the color you thought you wanted to paint your bathroom once upon a time) and dark teal blue (the color Yoongi had chosen for your bedroom).

Of course, no painting can happen until the ceiling is fixed. (Yoongi started peeling back the paint, intent to fix it before you started, only to find that the whole corner was rotted out. If Yoongi gets back from Home Depot with a drywall patch by a reasonable hour, you might be able to start tomorrow. until then, you and Jimin will prime the living daylights out of the trim.

Jimin spots you and flushes- a light pink on his cheeks a shade redder than the color in the paint buckets. “Hey,” he says, soft, pausing. Sheepish at being discovered.

“That’s not-“ you gesture to the plastic sheeting, leaning up against the doorframe. “For me, is it?”

“Yes,” Jimin says. Then he bobs, urgent when he realizes what you mean, what just the two of you in the house means. His grip on the screwdriver goes slack. “No! not in that-“ but then he sees your grin and realizes that you’re just teasing him.

His plush lips pout. Round and glossy like he kissed Tae earlier and hadn't remembered to wipe away traces of her lip gloss. Seeing that is enough for you to get a bit of pep in your step. “That really isn’t something we should even tease about-“ You drum your fingers on the doorframe smiling nonetheless.

He opens his arms, and you fold yourself closer to him, stepping over the layer of plastic and drop cloth, and- is that canvas? It’s pleasantly rough beneath your bare feet. His hands smooth up your tank top to your upper back. Your tank top hides very little of you- but Jimin supposes that’s half the draw. The thin straps don't give you too much support. He tries not to get distracted by the faint squish as you press your whole body up against his chest.

Before, he might not have really mused on the slight differences between hugging you and the others but now Jimin’s gotten used to calculating the differences in gender the last few weeks, more important now because it affects Tae. You nuzzle into his chest and then pull back, Jimin’s eyes are puffy, his scent is normal and his hair is washed but-

“You look...“ Jimin scrubs a hand across his cheekbones, trying to banish the slight haunted look in his eyes. Not like there's something weighing on him but weighing on his soul.

“I know I look like shit.”

“It’s okay, I like my alphas a little bit ruffled.” You tease, but your eyes flash from his face to his chest and back again. “Is it about Tae?” Jimin looks away rubbing his cheek. And you know that’s a yes without having him confirm it. Jimin's anguish and happiness can always be boiled down to her.

Especially given what happened during Namjoon's Rut.

“I wanted to ask you for something. A favor.”

You wait. Through the window you watch the trees bob in the wind, the train chugs passed, its lights as limey yellow as the ginkgo trees that lay interspersed with the pine trees on the edge of your property. Not quite as orange opulence as the tall maple tree that plunges your backyard in shadow. You watch as some of the oak leaves are tossed onto your narrow back lawn, a space that any of you rarely venture to because it’s steep and because it tends to be a little mossy and muddy.

Jimin tugs you to the floor, helping you sit cross-legged without teetering. The layers of plastic and cloth on the floor make it a little slippery and a bit squishy. It's a little bit more comfortable than it might be ordinarily.

Jimin hesitates and his scent goes sour, not exactly angry or overstimulated sour (the kind of scent you’re more used to when it comes from him) but more scared sour. Sharp and grating to your senses the kind of angry alpha scent that once upon a time would have had you ducking for cover.

You shuffle closer to him smoothing your hand over his knee. "Minnie, what's got you so spooked, why are you so nervous? You know you can tell me anything. Literally."

Your attempt at being funny does little to soothe him. Jimin talks quickly when he's nervous. A habit he definitely picked up from Tae.

“Like with you and Namjoon- like with his rut. I don’t want our first time to be in the heat of the moment. I don’t want to do this without thinking because I feel like- when I do that I fuck up, and I might fuck it up with you. If there are two things I’m most scared of it's fucking it up with you and Tae.”

But it's more than that. Jimin knows that since Namjoon's rut, Tae has pulled you into her favorite secluded corners of the house more often than not. That you've chased those hidden moments of pleasure with love confessions.

Is he surprised that you've begun to fuck like rabbits now? A little. Not because he's been excluded from it (Not excluded intentionally, it's just that you spend most of your moments together late at night or in the afternoon before he comes home, and he comes back to the house to find you both smelling sweet and sated.)

You haven't stolen his soulmate from him. It's more like you've uncovered a layer to her that Jimin hadn't even known existed. A flower that he just thought was a bud, a dandelion turned puffy-wish. Only more spectacular than that, because if Jimin could choose one flower to represent Tae it would take fields and fields of them, and probably Hobi's help to make the levels of pretty match properly.

Is it Tae's hormones? Tae has never been the most sexual creature, at least not compared to other packmates. Jimin practically wanted to live inside her skin. To consume his lovers again and again until their pleasure became a part of him.

It's not that Jimin's love language is sex (at least not the way Kookie might consider it his) It's just that there's something about the way he loves that's all-consuming. Perfectionistic almost. Jimin will love them well, and learn how to fuck them well- because he simply won't compromise for anything less.

Tae would say that there's something about the way that he loves that's all poetry. Not at all Plath or Service but maybe Wilde if Tae is feeling particularly sentimental for the person she’s doing her best to leave behind. In Tae's words- and she's written books and books of poems about Jimin at this point- Jimin's love is all:

Let me press my lips to your skin and make every inch known, my lips the pen and your moans the ink, let me show you how good 'good' can feel. Let me do it again and again until bliss feels boring. Let me claim your pleasure as proof of how much I am yours and you are mine. Let me make you hope for nights quiet. For afternoons spent in sheets. Let me make you scorn the morning.

But then again, you're the only one who's read Tae's poetry; so really Jimin has no idea.

Tae has always been the least sexually active of all the packmates, even compared to Yoongi. Jimin knows it’s a bit prejudiced; to think of Betas as being less sexually active especially when he knows the kind of kinky shit Yoongi liked to get up to before you. But there was a time when Tae's sexual activity outside of rut was few and far between. Jimin knows because he and Jin tracked it one year.

Which is why your cries of "Mommy! Mommy please" That Jimin has overheard on more than one occasion over the past two or three weeks- even before Namjoon's rut- coming from the library room- is so strange.

He'd noted the subtle sound of a chair creaking back and forth and a wet slap every now and then and had not had the strength to peer through the more translucent sections of the glass door. But the encounter had left him with his cheeks hot and his pants uncomfortably tight. A hot shower and the warmth of his own fist had left him feeling only guilty, not satisfied. It was the first time that Jimin had ever felt... unwelcome in the pack's escapades.

Maybe he's a little hurt too- because you hadn't come to him and asked to call him Daddy too. That special pet Name remains reserved for the pack omega.

The packs dynamic is also something that tae’s been mostly left out of, in the hierarchy somewhere in the middle in only the barest of terms. because tae has never been interested in the dominant and submissive shit the rest of the pack gets up to.

And yet Jimin doubts this is something you forced on her, doubts that anything about your relationship isn't organic and natural. Which leaves only one possible conclusion;

Jimin simply cannot fuck Tae the way you can. There is something more, that you do better when it comes to loving her that Jimin lacks.

It's stupid to feel insecure, Jimin has loved Tae for almost his whole life. But jealousy is only a secondary emotion when it comes to you and tae- the primary one Is relief. (and also guilt, but Jimin feels sort of guilty about everything so that’s barely a blip in his radar).

You can’t be scared of change forever. He can’t be scared of change when it’s staring him right in the face when you’re sitting pretty and cute and representative of everything Jimin wants not only for Tae but for himself too. Of course, just because you know how to give Tae what she needs doesn't mean Jimin should be complacent.

Jimin puts down the screwdriver, and the last bit of paint cracked open. “After this last week, It’s clear to me that I don’t know how to love women right.” You read into his words. And suddenly standing there feels a lot less normal, your back straightens, mouth falling into a little ‘oh’. There is a stain on the edge of your checkered gingham shorts, the kind you like to wear when you sleep. Suddenly it feels like it matters that you're not put together.

It's okay, Jimin's going to take you apart today anyways.

Jimin's eyes are intense and focused when he stares you down. “I want you to teach me- I want you to teach me how to make love to Tae properly- the way you do.”

Your breath comes in one stuttering gasp and-

Jimin promptly takes one of the tubes of paint, a light blue- the same light blue that you ended up painting the upstairs bathroom, and squishes it out onto the canvas below you. Near your hand but not on it.

The breath you were holding rushes out in a single jagged laugh, “Okay, now I’m lost- I thought the whole point of the plastic and drop cloths was not to get paint on them.”

The look he shoots you asks you to suspend your disbelief and tugs you closer by your knee, "Sit closer so that I can spread more around you." He starts dishing out the other colors. Enough careful drops of paint that it would take a lot of concentration to get out of the room without tracking dark blue or pink or yellow or red halfway across the house.

You wonder what exactly Jimin plans to do to you. Paint included. He puts out a spurt of yellow paint on your side and then another.

Surely sooner rather than later, noodle is going to wander in here in search of a pool of sunlight, track his paws or tail through the paint and leave pawprints everywhere throughout the house. Yoongi will probably complain about them, but you might make him keep them instead of washing them away.

When he’s finished, Jimin turns a yellow tube over in his hands. Back and forth, the cap flashing like a rising and setting small yellow sun. Jimin’s voice is low when he speaks, near reverent. “You’re the first woman I was ever with- that I ever knew I was with.”

It’s an admission and an admonishment, one that you and the rest of your pack have been tiptoeing around. Even though Tae’s a woman now she hadn’t always been. While new lines in the sand are drawn that doesn’t mean the old lines totally fade away. It will take a few more cycles of low and high tide to completely grow used to this.

Jimin fiddles with a small red tube of paint. “I’m a rigid person, I know I am. I don’t like change most of the time and I know, I know things shouldn’t be so planned, I know that’s not the way things usually go but-” You nuzzle close to Jimin, and his words extinguish into a sigh. His hands cradle your sides, the same place he always likes to hold, between your shoulder blade and your ribcage.

You peck under his jaw, “But you need them to be this way sometimes. Planned? So you can make sure everything’s done right?” You press. Mirth playing at the end of your sentence. Jimin is terribly fun to tease.

He bristles, “If you’re expecting me not to make loving you guys perfect when I can make it that way then-”

“You’re such a control freak Minnie.” You say it with a smile, playing your fingers through some of the milky pink white, feeling the tackiness between your fingers.

“You don’t hate it?”

You shrug. “Jin’s that way too sometimes. So no, I guess I don’t hate it. Maybe it’s just because I like- really fucking hate making decisions- so.”

He grimaces, but Jimin’s eyes dart from your face down to your crossed legs. settling on something. “Do you care if those clothes get dirty?”

“A little- I like these shorts.”

“Then you should take them off.”

Your heart thuds as Jimin leans over you, tugging on the strap of your Tank Top with his teeth, lips pressed to the bare skin of your shoulder, dragging them down. He plays at being sexy but decides not to be, settling for leaning his cheek on your shoulder and watching you.

“I had this stupid idea, if you don’t want to do it just say so. But this is every shade of pink that we ever painted the house. Tae’s favorite color is pink- and the canvas- I thought it might be nice to have like- some art in her library room- that’s what I meant about making it planned.”

“Are you saying you want to make sex art for Tae or something?” Jimin blushes yet again. You should be keeping track of how many times he has and use them for leverage.

"Her favorite color is pink." He says, like that justifies it. “And you know gift giving is like, my second love language if that bullshit is to be believed and-”

“-Oh my god you actually do want to make sex art!” your playful shove at his shoulders almost sends you spilling into a splotch of blue. But Jimin is as immovable as ever.

He leans over, growling, nipping at your throat- an alpha tired of being teased. “Do you really think it’s so strange that I want to remember this later, or do you just think it’s odd that I want to treasure you specifically?”

You lean, you’re awfully close to a splotch of yellow that he poured out. You don’t have a good answer for him, or at least- one that will make him stop looking a little sad.

He shouldn't be so surprised that you kiss him to avoid answering. And yet his hands hit a splotch of blue to support himself when he's suddenly made dizzy. Your laugh tastes sweet pressed to his mouth, and the quirk of your lips says ‘That’s what you get,’

You guess the floors need to be replaced anyway, and he's a trained professional when it comes to clean up so it’s not like it will matter if you and Jimin get a little messy here. If Jimin really wants to learn (and you have no doubt that he does) you’ll gladly teach him.

Unhurried kisses become your hands pushing his flannel off his shoulders. Laughing when you look down and realize you've definitely left pink all along the collar. Jimin has the perfect lips for kissing, soft and strong in all the right ways, his hands go to your hips then up to your waist and back again, and his kiss goes sloppy- like he’s distracted by the feel of you.

He separates briefly, to very carefully and neatly, take off your shorts and place them near the edge of the room where there is less of a risk of them getting ruined. Leaving you in just your little panties, you wonder if Jimin knows this is one of a set- that Tae has the other ones and is wearing them today.

(You might have decided to match today, getting ready in your bedroom. She might have liked picking out your clothes a little bit too much, heart fluttering at the idea that you’d be wearing what mommy wanted you to wear all day).

But then he surges forward, pressing a kiss to your lips gently except for the way that you can feel him get jumpy and nervous, and when he pulls back, he’s uncharacteristically shy. “I-“ Jimin is blushing, his cheeks rosy pink, like the buckets of paint have jumped up and left splotches there. “I wanted to come find you once I was done setting up- to kiss you and then-“ he tucks his face down not meeting your eyes.

“You love Tae so well,” Jimin sounds sick with it. A confession maybe, that you love her better than he ever could. How is it that you’ve mastered it? Jimin’s world begins and ends with Tae, and Tae’s world is all you colored these days. And yet, you love her better- love her more.

He leans forward holding your hip, hand hovering on that space between love handle and stomach. It's the first time in the night that you push back, covering his hand with yours and sitting back. “I don’t know how that feels on men but on me, that’s kind of ticklish and kind of anxiety-inducing so-”

“Sorry,” Jimin takes his hands off of you, flexing them, “Wait how should I do it then-” you make him sit back, straddling him, narrowly avoiding putting your palm in a puddle of pink paint.

You slide your hands up his waist to cup his ribcage, and you feel the frantic thudding of his heart under your fingers. “Like this, if you had tits, I’d be just barely touching them, right? Boobs on their own are not like- the most sensitive things to be honest, but if you don’t touch them strong at first and kind of tease around them- it makes it feels better.”

You sit back again, letting Jimin touch his fill, letting his hands rough in all the right places. His fingers skimming up your ribcage, cupping underneath them with a blush on his cheeks, pulling back carefully to watch your expression and make sure he's doing it right. “Yeah- like that” you ignore the way that your breath goes heavy but Jimin’s smile goes a little feline. Like he knows how affected you are but won’t call you out on it.

“Did you know- until you I thought I was like- truly only into men?” you shrug, as Jimin slips off your tank top reverently. The dusky rose of your nipple is so similar in color to one of the pinks he just placed, or is it closer to the rose brown purple that comes when you mix the swatch from the upstairs with the pack's bedroom? Jimin couldn’t tear his eyes away from you if he tried. There’s a fleck of it on the shorter baby hairs near your face too.

You tap your fingers across Jimin's shoulders, narrower and comparatively more feminine than Tae's. You don't like thinking of any part of her as particularly masculine, but her shoulders have always been particularly dysphoria-inducing for her.

It's sad to think that maybe if she looked a little bit more like Jimin and had his proportions some parts of her transition might be easier on her. You can only tell her she's got the proportions of a victoria's Secret model so many times before it starts to feel a little disingenuous.

“It always seemed a little bit nebulous to me- women, men- gender- secondary and otherwise." You shrug, and maybe that's not what Jimin expects from you. Especially with Tae- that you'd have more keen answers for the differences. Not that there were none between the secondary and primary sexes.

His fingers slide down your hip, petting over your hip bone. his touches exploratory, uninhibited as you talk. Waiting for you to check him. He leaves his fingerprints- yellow blue and pink, over the cusp of your hip, and you can tell you're smearing some color beneath you as you shift to let him have his way with you.

Your breath gets heavy as Jimin's touches get bolder and bolder. Petting up and down your thigh as he kisses softly down your chest, hair tickling your skin. He gestures to your boobs, “No biting?”

“Yes but also no. It depends.”

Jimin sighs, pulling himself closer to you, face level with your chest, nudging your nipple with his nose. “That’s frustrating, I’m used to penis rules. No teeth. not ever.”

You bark a laugh, and Jimin touches your chest softly, your nipples pebbled against his palms, a little heavy as he feels their weight. “They’re so-“

“Squishy? Soft?”

“I was going to say weird, why do you have pillows attached to your chest?” you slap his shoulder in retaliation but Jimin’s smiling. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay” You mean it too- you don’t expect Jimin to adjust instantaneously. Maybe it’s too honest for you to confess it, but you understand how love and sexual attraction can be two different things. Jimin might love you because you’re you and might want to show that love in the way he knows how but that doesn’t mean your body won’t at first be very new and very odd to him. Sometimes it takes a second to properly enjoy the people you love.

Tae is the way you find yourselves back to each other. “Did you ever love a woman besides Tae? Before her?” A flash of red lips and a short black bob of hair runs through your mind, but you shove it down and away because no- desperation isn’t the same thing as love.

Jimin continues to touch your chest, his hands moving from cupping them to teasing at the nipple gently, probably the way he’s done to Jungkook before. You can’t say it doesn’t make your tummy start to tighten, the way he does it- unsure but eager.

“Yes and no, I think I had like- crushes maybe? In high school? But never like Tae.”

"Maybe that’s only because I started to love your soulmate after I knew. I never had to change the way I loved her like you did. You've loved her for a long ass time Jimin." Jimin flushes with that- the acknowledgment of it never feels any less lucky. Tae could have been loved by anyone- yet she chose Jimin. Tae has always felt like Jimin's own personal slice of heaven, the only piece he might ever touch.

Jimin looks at you and sees a second sliver, a second chance at salvation. “I've only ever loved her as Tae- not-” You don't say Tae's deadname. To utter it here among all this pink feels sinful when it's done in the name of loving her.

Jimin touches you so reverently, fingers skimming up and down your slit, finger pads pressing against your clit, gentle but explorative.

He watches you, watching your lips part in a soft gasp. The wet glimmer of slick builds, wetting the tips of his fingers. You're so soft and silky down there. knuckles pressed to your mouth to try and keep the sounds in, eyes fluttering shut. Very very pretty in the sunlit room where Jimin can see all of you, the soft fold of your stomach, the freckle on your hip, the one just under your chin.

If freckles hold all of the places that you were kissed in a past life, Jimin thinks you’re going to be covered in them for the next.

You're breathing heavy, but you still find the air to instruct him, “You're doing well- ah- soft touches like that make me feel- Tae likes to feel pretty. I don’t know if it’s like that with all women but-“ You grab his wrist but don’t tug it away, so Jimin keeps drawing endless circles on you, “B-but it’s like that with her. I called her cock pretty once and she came all over me on accident. Said it was just the hormones but-”

“She is really pretty” Jimin’s eyes go far away like he’s thinking about it. And you laugh to bite back a moan. You reach over, pawing at his pants and his belt, making him pull back to take them off not only to make your positions more equal but also because Jimin's all-black outfit is honestly being ruined by all the paint.

You lean back and watch him lift his shirt over his head. “I know! It’s honestly so annoying like- how is it that she was so pretty as a boy and as a girl- I’m honestly so jealous of her sometimes if we’re like-“ you break off. Going quiet wondering how much is normal to reveal. “Talking about gender and stuff.”

Jimin grips your knee, “If I keep going, are you going to tell me when I do something right and when I do something wrong?”

“Of course, but take off your pants first.”

He huffs, but it's all put upon "What a demanding little pup I've got. As you wish."

You’d forgotten that Jimin a quite frankly unfairly pretty cock. Pink at the tip and well-manicured. All of your packmates keep their downstairs area mostly trimmed- the furriest of the bunch being your mate and Namjoon. Somehow you thought Jimin might want to keep it wilder and yet he's smooth. Perfectly manicured.

“Her, but not you,” Jimin says, needing clarification but knowing the answer. your foot hits something wet smearing. The mess gets messier when he jerks you up into his lap, sitting you across it with an impressive show of strength. His cock is wet and hard and pink where it’s pressed against your thigh.

To be mean you arch your hips forward, dragging your clothed cunt across it, Jimin's lips part, and his scent goes thick, like melting vanilla ice cream or baking sugar cones.

The hair on his happy trail tickles your tummy, his hands supporting you as he sets you back against the drop cloth, making sure you don’t bang your head. Jimin holds himself over you, crouching low. “You don’t like to be called pretty- you like to be called cute,” he nips at your collarbones and makes your pulse quicken.

You squirm, but he settles you with a hand on your stomach. “You will get red paint in your hair if you’re not careful.”

He's telling the truth, you know you have to be half-covered with paint by now. You're doing a good job of making the canvas all pretty. He catches your hand, covered with different shades of pink and white spread across your fingertips, and kisses them anyways, a tiny splotch near the edge of his lips.

You’re worried. Of course you're worried about the effect your slick will have on all of them, especially Jimin- who's already at the mercy of his instincts on a good day. And yet, you let him pull himself down, knees sliding through pink and yellow and blue. Tossing your panties into some forgotten less paint splatter corner because they’re actually really fucking cute.

It’s like before Namjoon’s rut, the day you sub-dropped. When Jimin looks up at you to check that this is okay you have the same look on your face; half afraid and half nervous. Like you don’t want to say anything.

Loving Jimin is very good for you because he doesn’t let you stew in those emotions.

“You don’t have to be nervous. I want to do this, I’m not doing this just because I think you’re more likely to suck my dick later, or because I think you deserve to have your pussy eaten- that's last part is like 1/3 of it.”

"Are we describing love with fractions now?" you tease, trying to make it lighter. but your heart hurts, Jimin is so very good at making you feel comfortable. “I always have a hard time believing that.” You confess because today seems to be about honesty. Jimin kisses his way up your inner thigh. Leaving splotches of pink in his wake. “You guys are all so giving, it makes me feel selfish.”

Jimin presses a first slow kiss where you're sensitive. Slowly, Waiting, hurting for you to push him off. You don’t.

“It’s not like that,” he struggles with his words for a second but you’ll wait as long as he needs. “You know how sometimes when you eat food and it makes you full but it tastes so good you only want more?”

“Oh, great now you're comparing me to food" Jimin cuts off your words by pushing your knee to your chest. Unwrapping your pussy for him, the most sensitive part of you wide and open.

“Shut up you know what I mean.” He pales, “I didn’t mean like- shut up literally-“

“Minnie I’m just teasing. I’m not actually upset.” he huffs, but lets you laugh, back against the canvas. "Honestly, I’m just surprised. I didn’t think because of your whole 'I’m a gay alpha thing' that you'd ever want to fuck me. Or if you did we'd at least be with Tae.”

Contrary to what might be believed, the idea of Jimin only wanting you with Tae doesn't hurt you. The truth is that you have so many people now to please; you were sort of okay with Jimin and Tae being a package deal in the bedroom. If only because it makes things on your end slightly easier.

Jimin presses a kiss to your knee, “I want to do more than fuck you- I want to make you cum so many times you cry.”

Your stomach swoops, in a way that might just be you clenching a little at the idea of it. “I don’t think anyone’s ever fucked me till I cried, at least not in the good way.”

Jimin’s growl is a dangerous thing as he pulls himself up to look at you. There’s paint drying on your inner thigh and a whole puddle of it by your hip. And you know you must be a sight. Jimin’s eyes go cold, a little unforgiving at the thought of it and his scent darkens, almost imperceptibly.

You wonder how many people have seen him look exactly like that just before they’ve died under the same touch that makes your heart race. Jimin skims his fingers along your hand, gripping it after a moment, hard, tangled fingers stained with pink and red. Your love for Tae and your other, darker secrets.

“Remind me to piss on your ex’s grave next time we go into the city.”

Your laugh is a bright thing, and you miss Jimin’s smile when he pulls himself back down to your cunt. "In case no one's ever told you, I'm proud of you for killing him. I know it couldn't have been easy.”

You swallow, you don't want to think about that right now, probably the least sexy thing you've ever done. You don't want to think about any of that right now. “You really want to like- Make me cry?”

“Yes,” he says, and even you have to admit that you don’t find any ulterior motive or any sort of underlying motivation in his eyes. Other than wanting, something dark and roiling- an alpha with something to prove. A shaft of daylight cuts across his face, his body.

Jimin’s so pretty. You wonder if he’s this pretty in every universe.

“You’re welcome to try I guess,” Jimin’s fingers brush over the front of your pussy. Keeping his eyes locked with yours as he softly- ever so softly- pets over your pussy. Your breath hitches.

With one hand braced against you Jimin uses his other hand to brush back the top of your cunt, pinning your clit to your pubic bone. Your lips parting around his thumb, his other finger that just barely, teases the top of your hole. You grab his wrist, cursing low.

Every ounce of your self-control goes to keeping yourself from letting out so many embarrassing noises as Jimin draws light circles over your clit. Touching you firmer than before. “You get so wet so fast- it’s precious.” You squeak, jerking when he presses a little harder. Hand flinging out to grab onto something.

It sends a bit of pink paint splattering, and Jimin’s laugh bounces off the high ceiling. A little gets on the wall. You hope Yoongi won't get too angry at you. You and Jimin are going to make the canvases lovely, probably all blotchy and blended together, by the time you're finished here.

It’s hard for you to concentrate, Jimin’s fingers work so diligently, pushing against your hole even as his thumb digs into your clit, you grab his wrist, “gentle” you say, and he slows his pace, “the estrogen makes Tae-“ Jimin slowly drags his thumb down your clit then back up- the hard nub twitches under his touch. “Sensitive. You have to be gentle. Tae likes it gentle, and so do I sometimes.” He remembers the guise of this, you teaching him.

“Sometimes, but not all the time.” You nod, and Jimin continues his slow, torturous circles. “You can be a little bit rough. If it's too much I’ll tell you.” He nods obediently. “Safeword rules still apply?” you ask, because although this isn’t a scene, you can’t help but feel like you might need them.

You don’t know when you started to need them like a safety net. When it started to feel important to have them, But Jimin nods, agreeing. “Of course. They always do with me. I’ll hold you to them.”

The gentle small slap he lands over your cunt has you jumping, cursing, the skin hotter under his touch. "Jin told me you liked that."

"I do- fuck" Jimin alternates, loving the way your whole body jerks when the sensitive part of you is tapped. They're not even rough slaps but you bet the sound of slapping is sounding through the whole house. juxtaposed with the slow pressure that he rubs against your clit, your heartbeat is just under your skin. The slaps make your pussy more sensitive and especially hot when he begins to press kisses there too.

He draws his fingers into a pinch and then drags them up and down your clit, making your legs kick weakly. He does it again just to see you shake. figuring out the best way to toy with you, the quickest way to rile you up.

With cocks- Jimin is used to it being fast and wet and hard, but the slower he goes with you the more it seems to rile you up and push you to the edge. You shouldn’t be so surprised that someone so kissed by Cupid is so good at lovemaking too. (Tae has a thing for people touched by love, you should know by now to trust her judgement.)

His fingers press into your hole gently, crooking up with gentle pressure at the same time he lightly circles his fingers over your clit, fingers glossy with your slick, the glide of them wet and easy. “Do you belive I want you yet? or do i need to spank you cute pussy a few more times for the message to get across?”

You cum on Jimin’s fingers like that, clenching down on them as they press up. With him just sitting there, just watching, eyes transfixed on you. he taps over your clit once, twice, and then a third time before you’re arching away with a jagged exhale. You pawing at his hand to get him to stop or at least slow down.

but he’s true to his word, he doesn’t let you get far. His fingers grip your thighs the chub there dimpling like dough. “I was serious,” he says, eyes bright, “about making you cum so many times you cry.”

You wheeze, and he laughs again. You’ve never heard a laugh that sounded so hot, it’s kind of funny how it goes that way; the more you love someone the hotter the little things about them get.

“Lie back-“ he says, “just let me-” You do- because you’re honestly too boneless to protest right now. He pulls you by the hips through the mess of paint, getting it all on his elbows but he doesn’t care when confronted with you, stretched out like a meal before them. Clit pink from cumming, pussy lips hot under his touch from the spanking, wet hole twitching in invitation. Even though he’s seen you take Namjoon’s cock, it still looks so cute and tiny.

You've come back to yourself enough to tease him. Threading your fingers through his hair as he brazenly watches you. Dismissing the heat in your face as just a conciquence of your orgasam. “If you get paint in my pussy, you better help me clean it later.”

“I’d clean you with my fucking mouth.” He growls against the skin of your inner thigh.

Your retort gets stolen from your throat when he presses his mouth to you.

If you thought Jimin was good at kissing, it’s nothing compared to how he kisses your pussy. Making out with it, his tongue darts out, shy at first. Sending hot licks of pleasure up your stomach. his palm presses flat, against your hip spreading pink and red there. His hand smooths down your knee, and Jimin-

The thing about jimin is that even though he loves giving oral he's never explicitly liked the taste of cock. It was more the fact that it was Tae’s dick that made it good, or Namjoon’s or anyone else’s, that made him love the act of oral so much. Enough to beg for it during rut, to spend countless hours on his knees. To fall asleep during a rut with a soft length in his mouth, mostly Yoongi's, Jungkook's, or Jin's because they're on the smaller side. Happy to have them make his jaw sore.

There is no more complete show of devotion than an alpha getting on their knees for their pack. by comparison, kissing your pussy feels selfish.

At the taste of your, the grating buzz that’s always in his brain- the mental background noise of overstimulation. Like His awareness of the feeling of his knees sliding against the rough cotton drop cloth, the tacky feeling of the paint on his back drying, the tickle of his too-long hair brushing his ears. The vague soreness and hunger in his stomach from eating something that wasn't right earlier. All of that which usually grates on him, that which usually takes from him- all of it goes quiet when your slick hits his tongue.

Jimin's scent thickens, goes so thick it smells just as potent as it does when he's in rut, vanilla cloud covering you, making you leak more.

The second that your slick hits his tongue, the world fades into bliss. The bliss of clean black sheets, the bliss of fuzzy socks on a cold day, of Hobi's sweatshirt that's worn just right at the cuffs or Jin's nest after everyone's slept in it exactly 3 nights after changing the sheets, just enough for it to smell like them and not enough for it to feel dirty.

Your slick tastes like the buzz that fills his head when he touches Tae's hair, like comfort incarnate, when he touches her skin. He leaves his tongue in soft licks, licks that are more about tasting more than giving you pleasure. You don't really notice the difference.

You try to squirm away, clit still sensitive from cumming earlier, but leashes a snarl. Fisting your love handles. His nose brushes your pubic mound, eyes rolling back. Purely animal when he holds you and pin’s you. Fingers digging in hard enough to leave bruises later.

Maybe they shouldn't have underestimated what 'addictive slick' really did meant. Because this jimin- is another monster entirely.

His senses, usually friable and bright, like sour candy- go sweet and soft and blissfully quiet. consumed with the quiet of you you you, your slick, hot and sweet on the back of his throat, your warmth, your skin your everything.

jimin wants to keep you right her, right under his tongue, forever.

he pushes your knees up roughly keeping you open and prone for him. You yelp, his teeth teasing at sensitive bits, “Minnie- fuck-”

The growl he lets out is possessive, loud, and echoic in the quiet house, vibrating pressed against your clit. It doesn't end, echoing until his voice goes hard and small.

Your clit is so hard and small. The perfect little nub for Jimin’s lips to toy with. they circle and mouth at it mindlessly. Sucking with gentle pressure just to feel it squish against his tongue. It twitches a little again.

Dicks and clits, they’re not all that different. Only this one- this one doesn’t make Jimin’s jaw ache, doesn’t cut off his breathing. This one's so small it lets him let out soft huffs pressed to slick skin, his hands go hard around your fluffy thighs, spreading pink. When he sucks again your hand goes from a puddle of white paint to his hair, painting it.

“Fuck- Jimin-”

All too soon you’re shaking, Jimin’s soothing growls making your pleasure spike wildly, especially when he looks up from between your thighs, eyes wild and hair messy,

You cum against his mouth. But this time when you try to squirm away Jimin pulls you back by your hips. You try to twist away, but Jimin doesn't let you go, yanking you back by your knees to bend over his face, keeping your cunt right where he wants it. His voice sounds darker, rougher- than you've ever heard it, "squirmy little omega, let alpha taste you. don’t you want to be good for me?"

Maybe you should have been more careful, but even at the rough treatment you drip onto the canvas, and you wonder if your slick will stain it too. You can do little more than rest your face against a piece of dry canvas and try not to cum again so soon. You don’t have the brain cells to respond, not when Jimin licks you like that.

Jimin continues to snarl, throat raw, “Poor little thing, like alphas tongue so much that it made you a little fucked out huh? A little dumb omega? You don’t have to worry pup, alphas got you. Alpha doesn't mind if you're a little messy, I'll take care of you.”

It takes you another orgasam before you're squirting. Your pussy's hot beneath his tongue, ravished and licked so much you can hardly keep your knees under you. Half supported by Jimin's hands as he keeps you on his mouth even as you try and squirm away and save yourself from the embarrassment. The hot gush of slick misses his mouth, trickling down his throat and wetting his collarbones. You'd be embarrassed if you weren't trying so hard not to pass out.

Jimin is going to turn making you squirt into a fucking art form.

But surprisingly, you’re just hiccupping not crying yet. So he keeps going. One orgasm bleeds into another, as one hour becomes two. Sometimes when you squirt, it's just a trickle, other times, it's wet and messy and almost /loud/ for the way that Jimin snarls. He tries every angle, palm pressed to your stomach, fingers inside of you pressing up just under his tongue, lapping at your clit like a lollipop, all of it.

even pressing in deeper, rubbing gently at the spot where namjoon bread you barely last week, a spot so deep that only your alphas have touched, that jimin strokes over just to hear you squeek. his mouth runs an endless trail of filth, sometimes it’s “you’ve got such a cute little breeding hole, so sweet i have half a mind to keep you plugged and full all the time, such a cute hole deserves to be kissed and fucked” other times it’s "give it to me, fuck- please- i need it-"

Your legs are jelly, trembling uncontrollably and Jimin's fingers are Pruny by the time it truly starts to get too much. He’s slick drunk and crazy on the drive to wrench one more orgasam from you. His cock lying hard and unattended against his thigh, dripping thick white cum. The pleasure fading from good to painful, one orgasm wrenched from your body after another, unyielding.

our clit is so sensitive that even his pressing the flat of his tongue and lapping at your clit makes you see stars, makes you scrabble against the paint-colored floor and try to get away.

"Can't take anymore," you whimper, "please alpha- s'too much."

Jimin pulls back, giving you a second to catch your breath, before he presses a hand to your lower back and forces you back down. "That's not a safeword pup. If you really want me to stop. Say it."

You hiccup, but you can't you can't safeword because you know deep down- you really do want him to make you cry. You really do what to see what lies over the next cup, the next minute he spends taking you apart.

It's the pussy spanking that finally takes you over that edge.

He's unrelentingly diligent with taking you apart, alternating between rubbing tight circles and tapping your clit as he suckles at your hole, wrenching another few drops of slick from you with every tap, until he pauses, and drags his teeth over you. You're already jerking away from sensitivity when he pulls back and lands a hard spank over your sensitive clit.

You think you actually might pass out for a second.

When you come too, there's not only a puddle underneath your hips- but also wetness on your lashes, your mouth, hiccuping sobs as the pleasures finally stopped, and Jimin, wet cheeks and all, licks your tears from your face too. “good omega, alpha loves you so much, such a good little pet for me.”

Jimin licks your slick from his lips, wet and messy from you, glossy almost, he bends down, prostrate, kissing the pink splotch on your tummy, “I swear to fucking god-”Jimin does swear to God, in the confines of his own head, that unless Tae gets that surgery in particular, your pussy will be the only one he ever tastes.

He pulls himself up to your level, answering the weak twitch of your arms with his own around your middle. You’re hiccupping too much to speak and shivering too hard to stay still. Your alpha is hot beneath your touch, the mess of your body and his body, not just paint but slick and sweat and tears, all pressed together like a balm to everything. The tightness in your chest released, you sob and it’s a good thing.

Something wretched and broken slips out, Jimin presses a kiss over your heart, covering you with his body, with no foe as witness, when there is nothing to protect you from.

The kiss Jimin presses to your mouth is just as soft as the ones he pressed to your pussy. You grimace at the taste of your slick, but Jimin is having none of it, cupping the back of your neck and soothing your cries with a few more kisses.

“Can you give me one more sweetheart?” His cock is pressing up against your hip, hot, dripping, and insistent. You sniffle but nod. You just want him close.

He pulls your hips through the mess of your slick, turning smudge of red paint all pastel-ly and more watercolor than acrylic as it bleeds.

He feeds his cock into your hungry entrance, still clenching hard around nothing. It feels like you’re still cumming. You don't know if Jimin kept track or if you could put a number to your orgasms if you tried.

You sniffle. And he tugs you along the warm line of his body. Nosing along your cheek. Keeping your bodies pressed close as he rocks his hip deep. Jimin’s stamina must be endless, each roll of his hips is punishing and firm, grinding the head of his cock in deep. He grinds more than thrusts, nudging the sensitive spots he explored with his fingers.

Jimin pulls your hands away from your face, looking down, fixing you with a look as he does it again, encouraging another weak pulse and hot clench.

Jimin gets more and more mouthy the closer he gets, he almost talks like Namjoon did in rut when he gets slick drunk. “Gonna fuck you so deep you feel it for days, gonna fuck you so deep there's no way it doesn't take, fuck- you’re mine- you’re fucking mine.” you let out a broken mewl and Jimin tucks his face into your shoulder.

Jimin doesn't need any schooling, he just needs to love Tae just like this, and they'll be fine.

Jimin grinds his hips in at just the right angle and it forces a rough brutal noise from your throat. A sob that he kisses away. He holds your hips using them for leverage as he breeds you. Hair hanging over his eyes and tickling your brow as he works you closer and closer. The canvas slides against the plastic, but even if you have rug burn later- it will have been fucking worth it.

“Fuck- I’d do anything for you.” You know it’s true. Despite what happened before. You know now all of that has changed now.

Your fingers leave red splotches against his stomach, and Jimin trembles. His body over sensitive from all the pleasure, from keeping his orgasam off for so long

“Would you kill for me?” You ask quietly. Jimin doesn’t stop his pace, doesn’t stop his movements.

You think about Yoongi and that night more than you’re willing to admit; You think about his face, bruised and screwed into a snarl, holding the gun to Geumjae but unable to pull the trigger. You know he couldn't for more than one reason; both because killing him could have killed you and because it was his brother.

But at the same time, You don’t know if one day the memory will ever make you feel anything but emptiness. A bleak almost disappointment. Sure- he’d been willing to bind his soul to yours to keep you alive. He’d devoted himself to you wholly and completely since but-

But maybe that was partially to ease his guilt. Guilt and love. Love and guilt. Are they really so different? Yoongi loves you. You know this as surely as you know that the sun will rise tomorrow. But even he hadn’t been able to pull the trigger. You had to do it instead.

"I'm proud of you for killing him, I know it must not have been easy"

Watching Jimin fuck you within an inch of your life, you decide you don’t know if that makes Yoongi a better man than Jimin, or a worse one.

Jimin leans his body low over yours, grinds his cock in deep, and presses his lips to your ear. “Kill for you? I’d do worse.” Jimin drives his cock deeper. Chasing his own release now, not just yours.

“For you and Tae, I’d do fucking anything.”

You squirt around his knot, just a trickle of it as it starts to inflate. He doesn’t stop fucking it back and forth, simple millimeters that tug more squirt from you as it fills you up and tugs at your sensitive entrance. You wet the red on his stomach with how hard you clench down making it dribble.

There’s even a splotch of red on his shoulder, milky white and crimson. Both of you are absolutely covered in paint.

Jimin doesn’t think he’s ever going to get tired of it as he takes a bit of your slick and presses it to his tongue. My sweet pup. our sweet pup the voice devoted to Tae reminds him in his head. Of course, she deserves the most delectable omega in existence, of course, this sweetness is worth protecting.

Of course, I’d kill for you.

It's your taste that drives him over the edge that makes his knot twitch and cum start to fill you up, locked deep inside of you. Your abdomen tightens against his as he cums. You’re so warm and wet, so comfortable as he rocks into you. knot too inflated to yank it out.

The instinct to breed and claim there as he drags his teeth up the Column of your throat and makes you keen. Your hand buried in his hair, the other resting between his shoulder blades, nails resting against his skin, tired of scratching although you’ve already left your marks on his skin. Up and down his back

Afterward, it’s comparatively quiet.

He flips you over so that you can rest against his chest. He’s warm and hot underneath you. Warm enough that you don’t feel the cold or lack of covering. Knotted together as close as you can be Jimin lets your sniffles quiet. His fingers paint mindless circles over your lower back as your breathing slows. Pressing kisses against the top of your head, your cheek against his chest, listening to the rapid thud of his heartbeat slow.

Even though you’re quiet, your mind races. Slowly treading toward dangerous territory. Tae’s voice, the memory of Tae’s words- “Minnie. I don’t think I want you to touch me right now, please just- please don’t”

It’s you who dares to punctuate the quiet. “Did you want to do this because of what happened during Namjoon’s rut?”

“Maybe.”

You lift your head, “Have you and Tae talked about it yet?” Jimin tips his throat up towards the ceiling, the cracked plaster that Yoongi hasn’t yet fixed. Avoiding your gaze. He just ate you out, but he can't look at you when you ask about this.

Jimin’s hand continues its endless circles across your sternum, winding down and down.

“To be honest, I don’t know if we’ll ever talk about it.”

~-~

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not-goldy · 14 days

Note

I'll believe discharged buddy soldiers over homophobic anons, solos & Jikook antis who've decided to make up rules for the buddy system to help them cope.

There's a interview on two buddy soldiers who've been dischagred, on the ministry site to read. One a cook, one a gunner. Who talked about their experience being together every day & dealing with arguments. One said, "since we lived in the same & shared a bed the entire time we were there until discharge, we would just get in bed & hug it out". Right there you have two confirmed buddy soldiers, with confirmed different jobs, with one being a confirmed cook, telling you straight from the horse's mouth, they were still together every day, living together & sleeping together. So Susan from Oklahoma who knows a friend who knows a korean person, trying to explain the buddy system with their made up rules cause of her homophobic agenda, isn't gonna convince me military changed rules for Jikook. Jikook aren't enlisted separately. They are enlisted companions, so buddy rules will apply for them til discharged regardless of separate jobs. You morons.

Sad knowing Jk has said often he can't concentrate, focus & can't sit still in interviews & all of BTS confirming he doesn't listen or pay attention & how its possible the high stress situation was a bit too much & was assigned something else, we don't know, but instead his fucked up fans are ready to throw him under the bus. Paint him as an asshole who ditched his buddy with no proof & lying he's away from him to cope. Straight up shitting on Jk's month's long hard work he put in to be with Jimin. The application process, the 5 week boot camp training where they were glued 24/7 & picking a harder unit on purpose just to enlist with Jimin. And his fans keep twisting it. So you are saying Jk picked the hardest unit to be a cook in? Braindead losers. ONLY Jk knows why he's cooking & for how long. Leg Injury, too stressful, or a choice doesn't matter, because regardless they are together every single day for the next 2 years & your lies won't change that. Seeing each other breakfast, lunch, dinner and at night in their shared living space. Stay mad.

Damn I hit my little toe trying to rush to the site

Link please and thank you

You doing the lords work

Namjoon's underarms can wait. I have more pressing needs atm😆

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daechwitatamic · 1 month

Text

Of Ruin: Chapter 15 | KTH

(banner by @itaeewon)

Of Ruin (Masterpost)

Rating: NSFW - minors dni Genre: vampire!au magic!au royalty!au, s2l, slow burn, eventual smut, angst and fluff

Summary: Taehyung of House Rune, Prince of Infracticus has been cursed. You’re the human world’s leading curse-breaker. It should be simple. But unraveling the curse becomes the least of your problems in the face of a world on the brink of civil war… and the love you start to feel for the prince.

A/N: Thank you endlessly to @sailoryooons for betaing!!! 💕

Section Warnings: angst, kissing, not explicit penetrative sex wc: 5k

All of you need sleep. You and Namjoon had pulled an all-nighter in his grandfather’s office last night, writing the countercurse. Taehyung had spent the night, as he does every night, fighting to get out of his rooms, trying to hunt. Probably Jimin slept, but he’d also just fought off at least four Score soldiers.

Taehyung offers to let you sleep in his quarters, but you decline, wanting to practice the countercurse in private, work on the phrasing, and sit alone with your decision.

When his face falls, you step closer, pressing your palm to his cheek. He closes his eyes, exhausted, and leans into the touch.

“You should sleep,” you tell him gently. “Do you want my help?”

He shakes his head, and you lower your hand.

“No,” he says. “The cabinet is about to meet to discuss this morning’s attack. I imagine… Seokjin’s father will be arrested. Or, at least, an attempt will be made.”

“Have you heard from them?” you ask, meaning Seokjin and Jungkook.

Taehyung shakes his head. “I’ll find out soon enough - either they’ll be listed among the dead soldiers, or they’ll have gotten away. I don’t know anything yet.”

“Let me come back tonight?” you ask. “I want to know what’s happening.”

You’re not sure why you feel so tentative about it, after everything you’ve gone through together. You know by now that he wants you there. But it still feels, in your bones, like you’re stepping into a role that doesn’t belong to you, that you should not be allowed to claim.

“After supper?” he suggests. “Will that give you enough time?”

You shrug. “I would certainly hope so.”

You spend the rest of the day in your own rooms; Namjoon paces, anxious over Satuel.

“I think she’ll be okay,” you try to reassure him. “Taehyung’s a strong healer. Her speaking to us was a good sign.”

After a while, you rise and go to take a shower. You have dried vampire blood caked on your hands.

—

You go to Taehyung’s rooms earlier than planned. You meant to wait for him to summon you, but you are - like Namjoon - itching to find out if there’s news about Satuel, news about Seokjin, news about the attack. You’re itching to let the prince wrap his arms around you, to find comfort from the horrors you’d faced together only hours ago.

You’re surprised when Namjoon waves you off, surprised again when Dansoo agrees to escort you to the prince’s wing without an invitation.

Things are changing around here, you realize. People are starting to treat you like you belong in the prince’s rooms, like it’s natural for you to be there instead of in your own space.

When his personal guards open the door to let you in, you expect to find Taehyung on one of the couches, long legs stretched before him. Instead, his front room is empty. You continue on, calling his name, peering into the bedroom where you’d slept after your first night - and morning - together.

It’s empty as well.

You find him in what looks like an office, tall bookshelves flanking a floor-to-ceiling window that looks out over the sea. Taehyung stands with his back to you, head bowed, one hand played flat on the wood of the desk at the center of the room, his other hand buried in his hair.

“Taehyung?” you say quietly, taking a single step into the silent room.

He doesn’t turn. His shoulders shake. In the quiet, you can hear him take a shuddering breath.

“Tae?” you venture. You’re scared, suddenly. Did Satuel not make it? Seokjin, or Jungkook? Has Taehyung’s plan fallen apart before it could even begin?

When he turns, his eyes are red-rimmed and jet-black.

“What’s wrong?” you ask in a whisper. You’re so scared of the answer you can barely speak.

“I can’t do this,” he tells you, hoarse, almost sounding like his cursed self.

You step forward slowly, regarding him. “Which part?” you ask.

He shakes his head, chest jumping as he struggles to control his breathing. “Any of it. All of it. I’m not… I’m not smart enough for this, I’m not capable enough - I thought I could just wipe out hundreds of thousands of years of my people’s way of ruling and just… make my own?”

He starts pacing, and you watch him, worry starting to churn behind your belly button.

“Your plan is good,” you say firmly. “It’s good, Taehyung, and it’s important.”

“What if it fails?” he asks you, his voice breaking like shattered glass, littering the carpet between you. “What if I take power from my father, rip down tradition, and it just leads to more killing, more centuries of war? What if all I accomplish is the ruination of my house?”

“Then we try again,” you say, overcome by the urge to sweep up his fractured pieces and cup them in your bleeding hands. “If the first try fails, we step back and figure out a new way forward. That’s what you’re forgetting, Taehyung - you’re not alone. You’re not doing this on your own.”

He looks at you, unchanged, unconvinced.

“You want something better for everybody - something more fair, something that keeps your father’s actions from ever happening again. You’re willing to focus on what’s right, not what’s best for you… and people will see that. People will support you. If you’re forced to try another way, you’ll have the other houses behind you.”

“And if I succeed?” he counters, his expression hollow, his voice shaking. “I promised everyone justice. What if, for my father… justice means death?”

“You’ll be King by then,” you whisper. “Can’t you make sure that doesn’t happen?”

“That’s what I’m fighting against!” he shouts, a fist slamming the desk beside him before coming to cover his mouth. He bends around it, caving in with grief. Your hands itch to reach for him, to pull him close, to soothe his hurts. “If I am being fair, if I am being good, and right, and all that other bullshit you just told me I stand for - wouldn’t I let him face the justice he deserves?”

You don’t answer this. You don’t think you should.

He lowers his fist, meets your eyes again. Tears leak gently over his cheekbones, and you feel yourself welling up in response.

“I know what he did was terrible,” Taehyung whispers, still hoarse. “But he’s my father, and I love him. How can I be the one demanding he go to trial? Even if he lives, how could he ever forgive me?”

You close the space between you, unsure if he’ll allow you to comfort him. To your surprise, he lets you wrap yourself around him, leans his head into the crook of your neck and continues to cry silently, his hands coming around you to cup your shoulder blades.

You run a hand down his back slowly, again and again, and say nothing. When his breaths shudder less, you lean and press a kiss to the back of his head.

“You gave him the chance,” you point out. “He chose to continue. He knows he was wrong. He’ll know you’re trying to be a good king, even if it makes you an imperfect son.”

He lets out a watery laugh. “I’ve always been an imperfect son. I came to peace with that hundreds of years ago.”

“It’s your choice to make,” you tell him gently. “I’ll support you either way.”

His laugh turns a little bitter, but he removes himself from your neck and sits tall again, still leaning against his desk, you standing between his legs.

“Seokjin won’t,” he says darkly. “If I pardoned him, showed him any mercy at all, I’d lose all the Scores. Other families, too. There’s only one right move if I want support. It just happens to suck.”

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, reaching up to smooth down his hair, to brush tear-tracks away with your thumbs. His eyes are still as black as tar; he’s too distraught to worry about changing them. “I’m sorry everything happened this way.”

He sighs, as if to say, me too.

You hold each other for a while longer. Outside the large window, night falls in full, leaving you two standing in the dim light of one little desk lamp.

“What happened today?” you ask finally.

He untangles himself from you and leads you by the hand back to his main room. You settle on one of the couches there, and he rubs at his face, as if he can scrub away the exhaustion, the hurt, the uncertainty.

“My father sent an Officer to arrest Seokjin’s father. They couldn’t find him - he wasn’t there. I haven’t heard from Seokjin, but he’s supposed to meet with me in a few days to discuss my next steps.”

“They won’t arrest him?”

“He’s not his father,” Taehyung says darkly. “Just like I’m not mine.”

“So then… what is the next step?”

He shakes his head, hating every second of this. “In the morning,” he says, voice full of defeat, “you’ll help me blackmail my father.”

Your brow furrows. “I thought you said he’d agree to transfer power.”

Taehyung grimaces. “He wants what I’m offering. I think he’ll agree. But in case he gives us a hard time… you’re my secret weapon.”

You give him a look. He answers it with a wry smile that doesn’t meet his eyes.

“You’re going to tell him you won’t counter the curse unless he gives up the crown.”

“Taehyung!” you gasp. “I can’t do that! You want me to say that to him? The King?”

“I do,” Taehyung says seriously. “It might be the only bargaining chip we have.”

“I can’t,” you whine. But you know you will. You’d do anything Taehyung asked you - as if that wasn’t already clear by the way you’re willing to toss away your mortal existence for his life.

“We don’t have another choice,” he says grimly.

You sit in silence for a little. You’re thinking about the gravity of what you’re about to do - to back the king of Infracticus into a corner, to essentially blackmail him into giving up the crown. Then, helping Taehyung dismantle the monarchy.

God.

“There’s something else,” Taehyung says, pulling you from your thoughts, his voice tight.

“Oh?”

He’s shy, suddenly, avoiding your gaze. “One of the things I’m promising… in exchange for the crown. Part of Father’s motivation when he choreographed all those attacks was… he’s worried about the bloodline. He’s worried I won’t marry, won’t carry on our name. So, in exchange for him transferring the crown to me, I’m promising him that I’ll marry.”

Your heart doesn’t drop to your feet; rather, it dissipates into nothing, leaving you a shell full of unmoving blood. You stare at him, unable to make a peep.

He shifts. “I don’t want you to feel stuck, or trapped, or pressured,” he says, finally peeking up at you. “And it’s important to me that you know that I’d want this even if we removed everything - the curse, my plan for after, all of it. But… I’d really like to walk in there tomorrow and promise him that someday, soon… I’ll marry you.”

“Taehyung,” you whisper, but he doesn’t say anything else, just opens a small, velvet jewelry case that looks about as old as he really is.

“If something changes later, we’ll deal with it,” he says, reading your mind. “But I’ve been alive for six hundred years and never wanted someone at my side the way I do with you.”

The ring is silver, the jewel a deep blue - Rune house colors. You reach for it with shaking hands and then stop, looking up at him.

“I -” you stutter, “I can’t - I don’t deserve this. I’m -”

“If you say you’re nothing to me again, I swear -” he threatens, mouth pulling into a frown.

Your shaking fingertips trace the jewel. “Are you sure?” you ask him, hushed, afraid of his answer.

“If you aren’t with me,” he says seriously, “then I don’t even want to see the other side of this.”

“Okay,” you say, meeting his eyes, hands leaving the velvet box and reaching for his hands instead, needing to be closer, needing to feel him. You feel breathless, dizzy, out of body. It’s like someone else is pushing the words out of you when you breathe, “If you’re sure, then… yes. Yes.”

He kisses you, deep, a hand lingering near your jaw, reverent. “My love. My venefici,” he whispers, kissing you between each title. “My Queen.”

You shoot him a wry smile. “Not yet,” you say.

You spend the night in the prince’s bed. When the clock ticks into tomorrow and the beast curls its lip at you, you kiss him on the nose, call him by his name, and tell him, “Ask nicely.” When he’s done, tongue pressing against the tender wound he’d made on your throat, he wraps you in his arms to sleep.

—

King Sunjae seems to know that his son is up to something. As soon as he enters the room - the same small place you’d tried the previous, failing counter-curses - his eyes are narrowed on you and Taehyung, expression cloudy.

“You requested an audience?” he asks, mock-politely, a sneer all over the words.

“I did,” Taehyung says evenly, his palms pressed flat to the tabletop. You know he’s nervous, know he spent most of the morning practicing with you, rehearsing what he wanted to say. “I came to make a deal with you.”

“A deal,” the King repeats coldly. “I thought we already had a deal.”

“You broke it,” Taehyung says flatly, no room for argument. “I consider it null and void.”

The King lets out a sarcastic whiff of a laugh. “And yet you’ve come to make another.”

Taehyung shifts beside you, his own tone growing chillier. “Not without insurance.”

King Sunjae’s eyes narrow again. “Explain yourself,” he says, a command.

“I’m offering you the same promises I made last time,” Taehyung says, just like you’d practiced together. “A marriage - eventually, an heir.”

The King scoffs, coming very close to rolling his eyes. “You strung me along with that little lie for a year, Taehyung.”

“I’ll let you set the date,” Taehyung counters, and you thrill a little watching the King stiffen as he starts to put the pieces together. “We’ll wed as soon as you want us to.”

The King’s eyes flash to your hands, alighting on the deep blue jewel adorning your finger. You smile beatifically at him. He has no idea how much you’re about to piss him off.

The King’s eyes flash back to Taehyung. “And in exchange?” he bites, as if he already knows, can already intuit that this is a deal not in his favor.

“The crown,” Taehyung says coolly, and you’re filled with pride so strong you want to reach for him, but you clench your hands into fists at your side instead. “You’ll transfer power to me now, and my Queen and I will take over ruling - effective immediately.”

The King stares at him, incredulous, clearly calculating. You watch it all over his face as he tries to find the catch - it’s like offering a fish in exchange for a house. He knows Taehyung’s not stupid enough to walk in here with that bad of a suggestion without, as he’d said minutes ago, some kind of insurance - and he’s trying to figure out what it is.

“If you agree,” you say, trying to match Taehyung’s cold tone, the way you’d practiced in his rooms, “then we’ll set a date for Prince Taehyung’s coronation and begin the preparations.”

King Sunjae sneers. “And if I don’t agree?”

You shrug. “Then I won’t counter his curse.” Insurance.

For a second, you think he’s going to attack you. Taehyung must, too, because he pulls you away from the table, just behind him.

King Sunjae manages to control himself, letting out a hissing breath between his teeth. Jaw still clenched, he manages, “Then I’ll hire someone else.”

“Good luck,” you say, though it’s harder to sound tough now that Taehyung’s tugged you behind him. “You might have trouble finding someone else willing to end their life to save his.”

The King isn’t stupid. He’s lived in the magical world for centuries longer than you have. He knows what you’re saying. He knows what it means.

His face darkens. The three of you are silent for a long time, Taehyung’s hand still protectively wrapped around your forearm, his eyes on his father’s.

The King must know he’s got no move. Taehyung has him in checkmate.

“Let me speak to your mother first,” he says. It’s a request, and a command, and, somehow, an admittance of defeat.

“I’m glad you’ve seen reason,” Taehyung says stonily.

The King stares at him, long and hard. Nervously, you shift behind Taehyung, the King’s glare coming in and out of view.

“And what will become of me after?” the King asks. “My spies tell me you’ve been running around using words like justice. Will I be facing justice, my son?”

The words land like knives. You remember Taehyung last night, mourning his father’s life, mourning their relationship.

“You will,” Taehyung says steadily. “And so will I.”

The King closes his eyes, just like Taehyung does when he has heard something he hates. Like father, like son. “Go,” he says, flapping a hand towards the door. “Go, you fool, and I don’t want to see you again until I call for you.”

—

When his father does send for him, Taehyung convinces you to stay behind.

He feels like a teenager again when he goes to his parents’ wing, ready to be scolded. He wishes he had brought you, despite the danger, just because having you at his side helps ground him, makes him braver.

They don’t speak to him when he arrives, just watch him with unblinking eyes and matching frowns.

“This would have happened eventually,” Taehyung says, by way of greeting. “It’s just sooner.”

Neither of them respond to this.

They sit around a large table, and stiffly, formally discuss the specifics. The coronation ceremony will take place in a week, to make time to prepare for celebrations. The King and Queen will send a joint statement tomorrow, announcing the news. To the public, this will be a planned and welcomed decision.

“When will she cure you?” the Queen asks, a bit of a bite on ‘she’.

“As soon as the crown is on my head,” Taehyung bites back.

“And the wedding?” The King asks, eyes narrowed.

Taehyung shrinks a little. “I’d like to give her time to… heal, and adjust, after turning. So… after?”

His parents look at each other, a silent conversation between partners of hundreds of years.

“As soon as she’s able, we’ll all meet together to discuss the timeline,” the Queen says finally.

Taehyung hates how much this feels like bargaining, how much it feels like asking permission.

Soon, though, he reminds himself, it won’t matter what they decide. Once the crown is his, he can do what he wants.

It’s not as comforting as he’d like.

“I want you to understand something,” Taehyung says, as it becomes clear that everything that needs to be decided now has been handled. His parents look back at him, disinterested.

Taehyung wonders if a day will ever come where they forgive him.

“When I asked you why, a year ago,” he says, pressing forward, looking at his father, “you said it was for us. For the Runes. I want you to understand that I’m doing this for our house, too.”

“Destroying it?” the King clarifies sarcastically.

“Stabilizing it,” Taehyung counters hotly. “Making it stand for something. Making sure all of us, all of Infracticus, don’t turn back into the thing we left behind.”

“So noble,” the King scoffs.

“We’ll be better for this,” Taehyung says. He hopes it’s a promise he can keep. “All of us.”

—

You go home.

This time, with permission. This time, with Namjoon.

This time, knowing you’ll be right back.

You have to go - you have things to handle: a job to quit, an apartment lease to break, belongings to sell or donate.

You work everything out with Taehyung the day before you go. While he’s helping his mother plan a coronation ceremony, you’ll be emptying years of belongings into garbage bags.

“Where will I stay when I come back?” you’d asked Taehyung, one sleepy morning, as you lay between his arms, your mind skipping ahead to plan your time above.

“Where do you want to stay?” he’d asked, his voice like honey, seeping over you just as slow and sweet.

“In a sea-side house with a turret,” you’d replied, and he’d giggled, pulling you close, remembering this joke of yours.

“Considering the ring…” he’d said, when he let you go again. “It would be appropriate to give you your own wing in the palace, for now.”

When you’d opened your mouth, he’d cut you off. “Don’t tell me you don’t deserve it. Maybe I just want my venefici close.”

You’ve gotten used to hearing the term as an honored position, and not a wound.

So now you’re here, in your old apartment, deciding what few things are worth bringing back to the palace. Namjoon, as far as you know, is just getting a few days off - time to see his family, his friends. He’ll return to Infracticus with you before the coronation.

You miss Infracticus the whole time you’re gone. You miss the ancient, mysterious palace corridors. You miss the roaring ocean and the amarisca. You miss the impossibly purple sky.

You miss Taehyung’s voice, his hands, his mouth. You miss his smile, his laugh, his heavy gaze.

You even miss Satuel and Dansoo.

You cave on the second night and ask Namjoon if he wants to get a beer.

“Sorry, with my family,” he sends you back. He follows it quickly with, “you’ll be back in no time”.

Not soon enough, you think.

—

Your return to Infracticus is a jarring experience, a stark opposite from the first time you’d passed through the Ostium.

Then, it had been in the dead of night, sneaking in under heavy cloaks.

This time, you and Namjoon are greeted warmly, brought into sparkling sunlight, where a coach waits.

“Welcome, sperasa,” the Ostium attendant says, and you look at Namjoon with wide eyes.

“What?” he asks, as you climb into the coach. “What’s wrong? What did she call you?”

“Betrothed,” you tell him, eyes still wide.

The coach takes you to the palace’s front entrance. You’ve never come in or out of the palace this way before, and it’s unnerving. You feel like a spectacle, but Taehyung greets you in the majestic, open atrium. He sweeps you into his arms, kisses your head, doesn’t seem to care that there are members of the court families milling about.

“I suppose I’m not a secret anymore,” you murmur.

“No, my love,” he says, smiling down at you. “You’re not the human here to break my curse. You’re the Highest, here to marry her hunter.”

“Cheesy,” you complain, but you’re smiling, your cheeks hot.

“And true,” he says, looking at you sideways.

He brings you to your wing - your wing - of the palace, eager to show it off. Namjoon tags along, smiling openly, out of curiosity.

“You might as well get used to them,” Taehyung points out as he leads you up the staircase towards your new set of golden doors. “After you turn, these are the rooms you’ll be recovering in.”

A shiver runs through you, equal parts thrill and terror.

—

Taehyung grew up knowing he’d be king someday. As a small boy, he’d been taught to conduct himself as a prince. As a young man, he’d been taught to think of the greater good, to be fair, to be wise.

Two out of three, he figured, wasn’t bad.

He’d imagined his coronation thousands of times. He’d imagined whose faces he’d see in the crowd, the music they’d play, what they’d eat, what he’d wear.

He’d never once imagined that he’d wake up, his final morning as Prince of Infracticus, to a smile on his lover’s face. Yet here you are, smiling at him, reaching up to cup his cheek as you kiss him gently.

“Maiesti,” you whisper reverently, a slight tremble to your voice. You say it again when he presses your knees wide, sinks himself deep inside you, rocks against the heat he finds there. Maiesti, you say, but it’s his name you gasp when you come around him, his name you breathe when he pierces the skin above your collarbone, watching the hollow space there fill with crimson.

He knew he’d have a team come make a fuss over his appearance - setting his hair just so, holding up top after top to his chest before pulling them away in search of another. He’d never imagined he’d spend that whole time wishing you were still in the room with him, giggling at the worst options, catching his eye in the mirror.

“Bring my sperasa to my rooms as soon as she’s ready,” he tells his staff. “I want her with me.”

When you appear in his doorway, it takes his breath away. How they’ve done you up, the gown they’ve draped you in - you could pass for Infracti. You could pass for a Queen.

He almost ruins the whole thing by throwing himself at you.

He’d imagined the crowd hundreds of times - all the court families in place. He’d never imagined how he’d heave in relief to see the Scores in attendance, Seokjin at the front, as he belongs. The throne room is full to the brim with Infracti from all the influential families dressed in finery.

His parents sit in their thrones at the front of the room, waiting for him to approach. He’d never imagined that on the day of his coronation their gazes on him as he approached them would feel chilling rather than proud. And yet.

He’d never imagined that the thing that calmed him might be a witch’s hand slipping into his as he walks to the front of the room.

You walk slowly, hand in hand, up the center of the room. Taehyung can feel your pulse slamming in your palm, can hear your heart screaming in fear, can smell your nerves. He gives your hand a squeeze. He’s not sure what’s scaring you most - the crowd of monsters, everyone’s attention on you, or what’s going to happen at the other end of the room. But he’s here- he’s here, and he won’t let anyone touch you.

They’d used you as a cover - to distract from the untraditional transfer of power, they’d announced the engagement. To the court families, it looked like Taehyung was taking power early in conjunction with his nuptials, accepting the crown early to start his rule with his new Queen. It was a good lie. Hardly a lie at all.

Taehyung had imagined his coronation hundreds of times. He’d always imagined this walk alone.

It’s so much better this way.

At the front of the room, he turns to face his people. You step to the side, and Satuel comes to flank you, as planned. Taehyung knows Jimin is nearby too, just in case.

One of the Elders runs the ceremony, standing at a podium to read ancient Infracti out of a book the size of a toy poodle, its yellowed pages flaking. Taehyung tunes it out, floating pleasantly as his eyes skim the crowd. He spies Jimin and Jungkook, and his eyes catch on many of his father’s cabinet members. He wonders absently if any of them will be in his cabinet, or if he should start from scratch.

Eventually, the crown is placed on a dais. He turns and places a hand on it, the cool metal spikes poking into the skin of his palm. His father rises and comes to face him, placing his own meaty hand on the crown.

His father’s black eyes bore into him, and Taehyung wants to wither.

I’m sorry, he wants to say.

You did this to yourself, he wants to point out.

I gave you the chance to stop.

I’m going to do a better job than you.

None of it matters. The Elder is saying the archaic words, Taehyung’s father hates him, and time ticks on.

The crown is lifted, placed carefully on Taehyung’s head. It’s cold and heavy and he can’t wait to take it off again, but he can’t think about that right now. The Elder is speaking, declaring, “Taehyung of Rune, King of Infracticus,” and it feels like the whole fucking room is holding its breath.

This is the moment. His people will either accept or reject him.

In the front row, Seokjin slides to his knees and bows.

The Scores follow. Then the Cleaves. Then, Taehyung’s own house, the Runes. The other houses fall one by one until the only eyes still on Taehyung are the Elder’s, his parents’, and yours.

You settle on your knees, that silver slip of a dress pooling around you, and you bow deeply.

“My King,” you say. “Maiesti.”

When everyone has risen, Taehyung faces his people. He takes one last, desperate look at you. He steels himself, and calls for the arrest of his father.

Then, he leaves his people to feast and revel, and leads you through a passageway behind the imposing thrones.

He will have no more nights as prince. He will have no more nights as a beast, either.

You’ll break his curse tonight.

Through the narrow, stone passageway, he leads you by the hand.

He leads you to your death. <- Prev |

thanks for reading :)

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gimmethatagustd · 4 months

Text

the flower knight (1) | kth + myg

A disciple of the Mugunghwa Temple, Yoongi has lived a pious life free of the vices of the outside world. That is until the temple must become a safehouse for wounded soldiers when war breaks out, and Yoongi catches the eye of a certain military commander.

○ Pairing: Soldier!Taehyung x Healer!Yoongi

○ Rating: Explicit/18+

○ Genre: Historical fantasy, magic, pistilverse, strangers to lovers, forbidden love, angst, eventual smut, eventual fluff

○ Word Count: 3,143

○ Warnings: A minor character experiences public humiliation and slut shaming due to religious beliefs (of a fake religion I made up). Additionally, Yoongi is forced to have his body examined for flower markings. This isn't sexual or violent, and Yoongi isn't upset about it, but it still gives me the ick lmfao so I figured I should put a warning just in case.

○ Notes: I added a glossary at the end of the fic for those of you who aren’t familiar with the Pistilverse AU. If you subscribe to me on AO3, this will probably look familiar to you~

○ Post Date: January 2, 2024

○ Masterlist | Send me ur thots

○ What was Jai listening to? The series playlist

Bad things always come in threes.

Yoongi isn’t sure if he believes in destiny, but he does believe in this rule of thirds. He doesn’t remember where he learned the saying; perhaps he learned it from one of the other temple pistils, the older ones who like to tease the younger ones who are gullible and impressionable. Yoongi doesn’t think he was ever one of those young students, but he believes in the saying, doesn’t he?

Life has allotted Yoongi very few tragedies, for which he is grateful. Despite being an orphan, abandoned at the Mugunghwa temple as an infant to be cared for by the monks, he enjoyed a fulfilling childhood. The monks loved Yoongi with unconditional kindness that can only come from someone touched by the grace of the gods. The other orphaned children, those who had yet to have their awakening, played in harmony and were raised to be future disciples – that is, until their subgenders were awakened.

The monks raise the orphans within the confines of the temple grounds, but Yoongi never yearned for what lies beyond the colorful stone walls separating the temple buildings from the outside world. Yoongi had heard enough about the evil of the secular world, where the villages at the bottom of the mountain succumb to greed, violence, and lust and where suffering runs rampant through the townspeople. To Yoongi, it seems that the gods have forsaken such places. He is more interested in maintaining his quiet temple life.

So one might wonder, how does Min Yoongi, a young temple disciple with no knowledge of the world, know that bad things always come in threes if he has yet to experience bad things?

Twenty-one years of peace is far too long of a streak to maintain. At some point, luck runs out. Although Yoongi is a devout disciple of the gods, he can’t help but wonder if sometimes even the gods do not have control over fate.

The morning of the First Bad Thing starts as every morning does: Yoongi wakes with the sun.

Light streams through the thin curtains drawn across his open windows, illuminating his quaint room with hues of orange and yellow. A breeze gently stirs the curtains, causing them to flutter with each new gust of wind.

Children’s laughter filters in from outside. Yoongi smiles when he hears one of the older pistils, Namjoon, scold the children for being loud so early in the morning. No one cares if the children make noise, and Namjoon knows that. That’s why his threats of putting the children to work are empty and half-hearted.

With a longing for simpler times pulling at his heartstrings, Yoongi forces himself out of bed. There is no time to miss the past when the present urges him to get started.

After washing his face in the washbasin in the small bath adjoining his bedroom, he slips into his white linen hanbok, the simple one that doesn’t weigh heavily on his shoulders. The weather has been unusually warm for the spring, and Yoongi isn’t interested in sweating through his clothes while he does his daily chores. Sometimes, he wishes he could wear less restrictive clothes, like the simple linen shirt and shorts he wears to sleep. Unfortunately, the monks have taught the student disciples that such clothing isn’t becoming of pistils. Less cloth means more exposed skin, and with exposed skin comes the risk of showing off one’s awakening mark.

Yoongi watches himself in the small mirror he keeps on top of his dresser, propped against the wall. In the oval glass, he twists to take a peek over his shoulder by turning his head to the side. He can barely see the tips of the barren tree branches that decorate his spine. As a sign that he was maturing from a teen into a young man, the mark of a barren tree sprouted from the base of his spine one morning. It crept up his back, its dark lines eventually breaking off into branches that spread between his shoulder blades.

When Yoongi fastens his hanbok, the black branches are hidden away, just as he was taught.

Having experienced the extremely uncomfortable awakening nearly ten years ago, Yoongi has reached the point where he rarely looks at his awakening mark. It is a reminder of his status in society, a lowly pistil whose primary purpose in life is to tend to the stamen who desire him.

While some orphaned teens he grew up with were disappointed to awaken as pistils, Yoongi was relieved. Becoming a pistil meant he could stay in the temple as a disciple of god. If he had awakened as a stamen by developing the mark of a flower somewhere on his body rather than branches or vines, the monks would have sent him away to the military – where the monks send all stamen orphans once they’ve reached their awakening. Stamen are naturally stronger and more equipped to handle the violence of war than pistils are.

Yoongi is sure the gods did not make him for military life. He feels sorrow merely from stepping on an ant; he could never handle war.

It is a blessing from the gods that Yoongi was left on the temple grounds by his parents. As a temple pistil, he is privileged to live within a community of only pistils, never once having met a stamen aside from his orphan friends once their status was awakened. And even then, those friends were always gone by the following day, whisked away at night to fulfill their duties as peacekeepers.

Warriors.

Shaking his head to rid himself of thoughts of war, Yoongi leaves his bedroom and follows the hall toward the front doors of the students’ quarters. All students reside in one dormitory on the west side of the temple grounds, just south of the Mugunghwa garden. Yoongi loves the dormitory. He likes the intricate designs that decorate the walls and the proximity to the garden. But most of all, he likes living with his friends.

Yoongi carries a small wicker basket filled with gardening tools in his arms. He is halfway along the meandering stepping stone path toward the Mugunghwa garden when he sees Namjoon rushing toward him.

“Yoongi hyung!”

Namjoon’s sandals slap against the ground, spraying dirt and gravel into the air as he hurries to reach a confused Yoongi. It’s odd; Namjoon is known for his quiet, studious personality. As one of the most promising students, Namjoon carries himself with poise and a gentle confidence Yoongi has admired ever since the two became friends after their awakenings. Yoongi has never seen Namjoon so animated.

“Be careful,” Yoongi warns, motioning toward the mulched flower beds lining the stepping stone path. A small lizard scurries from a patch of ferns across the stones.

Namjoon quickly sidesteps to avoid running too close to the pathway's edge.

Patches of colorful flowers have already poked out of the ground. These are primarily common flowers: roses, marigolds, and peonies – all with little value aside from being pretty and smelling good. It isn’t until one gets deep into the garden, where the well of golden water is, that the magic can be felt flowing through the plants’ roots.

“H-hyung, oh shit,” Namjoon trips forward and grabs Yoongi’s forearm to steady himself.

Yoongi clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth. What has gotten into his friend?

“Don’t make me tell Myeong noona that you’re using such language, Joon-ah.” He speaks through a teasing smile that slowly dissolves into a frown when Namjoon doesn’t smile back. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s Junseo,” Namjoon huffs through loud inhales as he tries to recover from the jog up the steep path.

The altitude in the mountains can easily affect one’s head. It’s one of the many reasons Yoongi avoids exercising unless he has to. He’s mostly a bit lazy, but he supposes that even the temple disciples can afford some vices. Laziness is the closest to rebelling he’ll ever get.

“What trouble has he gotten himself into now, hmm? Got bitten by one of the temple cats again?” Yoongi muses. With Junseo, anything is possible. Yoongi swears no one in the entire temple has needed to be rescued from silly mishaps as often as Junseo.

“No, hyung,” Namjoon rushes to speak. His cheeks are pink, and sweat glistens on his top lip. “Junseo got marked .”

The wicker basket of gardening tools barely misses smashing a bed of marigolds when the handle slips from Yoongi’s loose grasp.

Leaving the basket where it falls, Yoongi grabs Namjoon by the wrist. His expression is stony as he asks, “How do you know?”

“I heard Arem speaking with Misuk-ssi,” Namjoon whispers harshly. He’s breathing heavily as he practically drags Yoongi down the stone pathway toward the dormitory. “She asked her to find Junseo.”

There is nothing more that Namjoon needs to say; everyone knows what it means to be called upon by one of the temple leaders.

The two men are silent as they weave through the stone paths connecting the temple buildings in a winding journey meant to mimic the peacefulness of strolling through the woods. Yoongi has yet to explore the woods, but he supposes he understands the meaning behind the landscaping.

Their journey today is anything but peaceful.

At first, Yoongi is afraid that their frantic hurrying toward the grand temple courtyard will cause suspicion – and he’s sure he and Namjoon aren’t supposed to know about Junseo. But it becomes clear that it isn’t just Yoongi and Namjoon who are privy to the scandal. Despite the early hour, the entire student body is trying to meander toward the courtyard.

If gossip doesn’t bring the students out into the open, Junseo’s cries do.

Yoongi doesn’t hear the wailing until he and Namjoon near the grand temple, where prayers and other religious ceremonies are held. The grand temple is also where the temple leaders reside, though Yoongi has never been in the wing with their living quarters. Trespassing is forbidden, but Yoongi is not interested in their living quarters. He has never admitted it out loud, but some of the leaders scare him.

Misuk and Insu are the most intimidating of all the temple leaders and monks combined, so naturally, they are the leaders whose feet Junseo grovels at as he weeps. The young man’s face is wet with tears and lined with red marks on his cheeks as though he has been clawing at his face. Seeing him with clothes and other small trinkets scattered around his body, his white hanbok soiled by dirt, makes Yoongi’s blood run cold.

“Pick yourself up, Junseo,” Misuk commands. The refreshing breeze has died down, making Misuk's words cut through the spring air and echo between buildings.

“Please don’t make me leave, seonsaengnim!” Junseo presses his forehead to the stone path at the base of the temple stairs. “I am nothing without Mugunghwa!”

Misuk and Insu stand a few steps above him and watch him with eyes as dark as the center of the well of gold water in the garden. Yoongi has never seen such icy glares. Until now, nothing has disrupted the peacefulness of the temple. Sure, they all have occasional quarrels; it’s hard not to bicker when living in such a tight-knit community. Scandal, though, is unheard of. And this certainly is a scandal.

“You have defiled your body, Kang Junseo,” Insu finally speaks, his voice as tight as the grimace on his face. “You are no longer welcome on sacred grounds.”

When Junseo rises to his knees, the group of onlookers gasp. Even Namjoon inhales sharply, the sound quiet but loud enough for Yoongi to hear from where he stands beside him.

Yoongi is silent as he watches Junseo hurry to pull his clothes tighter to his body, but the damage has been done. A large rip in the back of his hanbok runs from just below the collar down to the base of his spine. When he twists his torso, slivers of skin peek out from the rips – skin decorated with the prettiest marks Yoongi has ever seen.

Dozens of flowers line the branches on Junseo’s back. Yoongi can’t make out the types of flowers from where he stands, the markings too small for him to see any details, but he’s close enough to be both amazed and horrified by the variation of colors on the young man’s skin.

Junseo has many flowers on his back, which only means one thing: Junseo is no longer a virgin. From the looks of it, he lost his virginity a long time ago, or he has taken on many lovers in a short period— many lovers.

Whispers erupt around them, but Yoongi can only hear his blood rushing in his ears. It isn’t until he feels lightheaded that he realizes he’s been holding his breath. He’s never seen the mark of a stamen on a pistil’s body before. Disciples are forbidden from having romantic relationships or engaging in sexual activity. One must be pure for the gods, dedicating their time to worship and the betterment of their community rather than to bodily pleasure.

Not to mention the fate of pistils who are outed for having a stamen mark – let alone multiple – out of wedlock.

“What will happen to him?” Yoongi asks Namjoon, never once taking his eyes off Junseo as he gathers his belongings into his arms.

Namjoon shrugs, his eyes, too, still on Junseo. “I don’t know, work at a brothel, most likely. No one will want to marry him, and no self-respecting business owner will hire him.”

Pressing his fingers to his lips, Yoongi tries to suppress a gasp without looking too obvious that he’s shocked by Namjoon’s prediction. “A brothel?” Yoongi knows what one is, but he cannot begin to imagine what it would be like to live and work in one.

“Mhm,” Namjoon hums. “It’s awful. Many brothel pistils run out of room on their branches, so they go through a second awakening. Or a third and fourth. I’ve heard rumors of some brothel pistils completely covered in flowers.”

One awakening was painful enough for Yoongi. To go through multiple… he doesn’t even want to consider it.

In front of him, Junseo stands with his belongings clutched to his chest. He has stopped crying and now stares ahead with a blank expression as though he doesn’t see anything at all. The look makes bile bubble up Yoongi’s throat. Silently, Junseo turns his back on the temple leaders and walks with squared shoulders across the courtyard toward the entrance of the temple grounds.

The students dissipate in waves as Junseo walks through the grounds. There is nothing else to see here; no more drama to ogle. Even Misuk and Insu leave, taking slow, purposeful steps to their wing of the grand temple. In a matter of minutes, the courtyard is empty, aside from Yoongi, Namjoon, and a handful of other students who have returned to talking amongst themselves or studying. Junseo is merely a speck in the distance, moving like an ant until he turns a corner and Yoongi can no longer see him.

Just like that, Junseo is gone, and the temple returns to how it was as if there had never been a Junseo at all.

The only change to temple life after Junseo’s dramatic departure is the immediate implementation of what the monks call a “purity sweep.” They insist to the students that this is a one-time occurrence, merely the opportunity for temple leaders to ensure that no one else has fallen prey to worldly temptations. If the rest of the students are well-behaved, purity sweeps won’t be needed.

Although Yoongi is a virgin, he trembles with nerves when he stands outside the infirmary a week later with Namjoon at his side.

“It’ll be alright,” Namjoon reassures Yoongi, gently squeezing the nape of his neck. “It’ll be over before you know it. I can even go first if you’d like.” Namjoon is too kind for his own good.

Yoongi shakes his head even though having Namjoon go first would be a source of comfort for him. His nerves are irrational. If he was a good student, he’d know how to meditate the fear away like Namjoon had. “No, no, I will be fine.”

Bracing himself for the unknown, Yoongi enters the infirmary. There is a monk there to guide him to the correct examination room. Their sandals click against the stone flooring and echo through the hall. Yoongi doesn’t need the monk to show him where to go, but he doesn’t say anything. Due to his affinity for plants, Yoongi has trained to become a temple healer. Thus, he knows his way around the infirmary due to his regular training hours.

Although magic does not run through the veins of pistils, the Mugunghwa carry magic in their petals from the gold water in the enchanted well at the center of the Mugunghwa garden. Monks like Yoongi, who is patient and kind, know how to nurture the magic within those plants, using their petals to create healing potions that the monks send throughout the kingdom.

Reaching the correct room, the monk allows Yoongi to enter first. He gives Yoongi a gentle smile and gestures to a wooden table against the wall.

“You may remove your hanbok and place it there,” the monk instructs. He’s an unfamiliar face to Yoongi, which isn’t surprising. The Mugunghwa temple is one of the largest in the Mountain region; it’s impossible to know everyone.

Silently, Yoongi follows the monk’s instructions. He shivers once he is standing in nothing but his underwear despite the room being almost uncomfortably warm. Unsure of what to do with himself, Yoongi stands stiffly with his arms at his sides. The stance seems good enough, for the monk doesn’t say anything as he walks a tight circle around Yoongi’s rigid body, looking for any splotches of color along the branches covering Yoongi’s back.

Sweat beads at Yoongi’s hairline, making his blonde bangs stick to his skin. What if the monk finds a blemish on Yoongi’s skin and thinks it’s a stamen’s flower? Will they immediately toss him out like Junseo? Would Yoongi have the chance to explain himself?

Questions swarm his mind, churning around until his brain is clouded with nonsense. He’s so stressed that he nearly misses the light touch on his shoulder.

“Yoongi?” The monk calls out softly, making Yoongi blink rapidly.

“Yes, seonsaengnim?”

“You may get dressed. The examination is over.”

With a sigh of relief, Yoongi scrambles to put his clothes on. As he hurries out of the infirmary to wait for Namjoon in the courtyard, he sends a silent prayer to the gods that the other students remain pure like they’re supposed to. Yoongi doesn’t want to go through another purity sweep ever again.

Series Masterlist

GLOSSARY OF TERMS

(Borrowed from here and revised to fit my fic)

Pistilverse AU - A South Korean fanfic trope wherein almost all humans experience an "awakening" during puberty that assigns them into one of two botanically-inspired groups: Pistils and Stamens. These groups are denoted by marks on the person's body, similar to tattoos.

Pistil and Stamens - Pistils develop a mark of a barren tree that appears along their spine after their awakening, while stamens develop a flower somewhere on their body after their awakening.

Awakening - The moment a flower or tree appears on a person’s body, signifying their status as a pistil or stamen. You could look at it as a coming-of-age moment in a person’s life. These are typically painful for pistils. A pistil might experience more than one awakening if their tree becomes too full of flowers.

Marks/Marking - When a pistil sleeps with a stamen, the stamen’s flower blooms on the pistil’s tree branches. The number of flowers a pistil has is proportional to that of the stamens they had sex with. In this fic, pistils with many flowers are considered promiscuous and experience slut shaming based on religion.

Marked - The term used to describe a pistil who has received a stamen’s flower on their body.

Mugunghwa - The national flower of South Korea.

Gukseon - A Chief officer of a Hwarang group. The Hwarang were an elite warrior group in Silla, an ancient kingdom of the Korean Peninsula until the 10th century.

Seonsaengnim - A respectful honorific for a teacher.

Disclaimer: All my writing is fictional and for entertainment purposes only. None of these characters are meant to actually represent the real people mentioned in the stories.

All rights reserved © @gimmethatagustd - Do not copy, repost, modify, or translate any of my writing. Do not use my writing for any AI purposes whatsoever. Do not use my fics for anything aside from reading and commenting on them. My fics will only be posted on this Tumblr and on AO3 (gimmethatagustd & daddytaehyungie). Request an AO3 account here.

#taehyung x yoongi #taegi #bts fanfic #taehyung fanfic #taehyung angst #taehyung smut #taehyung fluff #bts angst #bts fluff #bts smut #jai writes #gimmethatagustd #yoongi fanfic #yoongi angst #yoongi smut #yoongi fluff #tfk

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intplayboy · 28 days

Text

WITCH'S REFUGE - ROYAL SOLDIERS! BTS OT7 X WITCH! READER [ PART 1 ]

if you wish to be part of the tag list, complete the form.

summary: in an era where the royal family denounces all magic, as one of the few remaining witches, you hide your powers. though you try to lead a normal life, only the seven accepting men make you feel truly understood. yet, what destiny awaits when you must reveal your true identity?

pairing: royal soldiers bts ot7 x female witch reader (high royal commander!kim namjoon, high royal soldier!kim namjoon, high royal soldier!min yoongi, royal assassin!jung hoseok, royal assassin!park jimin, elite warrior!kim taehyung, elite warrior!jeon jungkook)

warnings: mentions of violence, blood, death, slight mentions of SA, disgusting misogyny, witchcraft, slight gore, and swearing.

permanent tag list: @taolucha, @exfolitae, @namjoonswaifu, @rinkud, @queenlouie18, @btsgangleader @m0v3m3ntsblog, @nicholedobre-blog, @bjoriis, @princess-sunshyn, @han-aaaaa, @ejspencer14, @skyys-universe, @thvslvt, @dustyinkpages, @savagemickey03, @aynbookworm, @loveforred, @jwonz, @ghostlyworld, @wagtte, @louisaqueen, @meepsters-world, @carolina-thiell, @svnbangtansworld, @deepestfacedevil

(the tags that are strikethrough could not be tagged)

word count: 19,398

Present day...

In the narrow, cobblestone-laden alleyways of the bustling city, the rhythmic echo of boots pounding against the ground resonates. "Stop, right there!" A man, accompanied by a cadre of others, bellows, their pursuit propelled by an intensity matched only by the pulsing rhythm of your heart. The reminiscence of childhood escapades emerges, an unexpected thrill as you find yourself once more in the precarious position of the pursued, the very spirit of adventure coursing through your veins.

The impetus for this impromptu race stems from the audacious act of liberating an artifact from the clutches of a pledgemart—an establishment known for its shrewd dealings. Your attempt to negotiate a fair price met with obstinacy from the working men within, who sought to exploit you. Frustration simmered, and in a feigned surrender, you declared your departure. Unbeknownst to them, the pilfered artifact nestled discreetly within your sleeve.

As you strolled away with feigned nonchalance, a sudden shout marked their discovery of the missing item. The chase unfolded with a symphony of footsteps and frantic exclamations, your nimble form weaving through the labyrinthine alleyways, adeptly evading both pursuers and obstacles. Yet, as the village streets blurred around you, the relentless pursuit eventually cornered you in a dimly lit cul-de-sac.

"If I didn't know better, I'd reckon you for the famed Mystrogue that's been the talk of our beloved city—renowned seeker and pilferer, and quite proficient at it, if I may add. But I beg to differ, considering you're but a young lass, and such feats would seem nigh impossible for someone of your ilk," one of the men quipped, suspicion and amusement intertwining in his words.

Breathless, you retort, "Your presumptions matter not. I suggest you release me if you value your well-being."

Laughter erupts among the men, a cacophony of disbelief reverberating through the alley. Unfazed, you tighten your grip on the concealed artifact, bracing yourself for the impending confrontation.

As the men lunge forward with an unexpected assault, your nimble reflexes engage. Swiftly eluding the initial blow, you counter with a series of well-aimed strikes, showcasing your prowess in hand-to-hand combat. The alley transforms into a makeshift battleground—a dance between evasion and retaliation.

Despite your impressive display, the sheer numbers eventually overwhelm you. A firm grip seizes you from behind, restraining your movements. The leader, a grizzled man with a scarred visage, steps forward, his voice dripping with menace. "For your audacious theft, girl, we'll have no choice but to sever your thieving hands. A fitting punishment for those who dare defy the order of this city."

The threat hangs in the air, heavy and ominous. A sense of desperation creeps in as you struggle against your captors, but their hold remains unyielding. The narrow alley now feels like a prison, the walls closing in as the leader pronounces your dire fate.

"You're naught but a common thief, and this city won't abide such defiance. Ready yourself for the consequences of your actions," he declares, his words resonating with finality.

As the blade descends towards your restrained hands, a commanding voice resonates through the alley. "Enough!"

The men freeze, turning to the source of the interruption. The figure emerging from the shadows is none other than Namjoon, his presence demanding attention. His eyes bore into the leader, a silent warning. Soon, Yoongi, Hoseok, and Jin appear alongside Namjoon in this narrow alleyway bathed in the sunny glow of mid-morning.

Your brow furrows slightly. Where are the other three? You wondered.

Namjoon's gaze remains locked with the defiant leader of the men. "Release her, and you may yet escape unscathed."

The men exchange glances, their hesitation evident, but their pride and greed prevail. With a signal from their leader, they tighten their grip on you, defiance etched on their faces.

"We don't answer to the likes of you," the leader spits, a malevolent grin stretching across his face. "She stole from us, and we'll be the ones to dispense justice."

Namjoon's hand twitches, signaling the others to prepare for what seems inevitable. The air grows thick with tension as the two factions face off, each refusing to yield.

Meanwhile, your mind races, desperately seeking an escape from this perilous situation. The cold steel of the blade hovers menacingly close to your hands, restrained and vulnerable. The men surrounding you exchange menacing glances, relishing the impending punishment they intend to deliver.

Suddenly, Hoseok steps forward. His eyes, sharp and calculating, survey the alley with a hint of disdain. "Do you truly believe you can challenge us, you fools? Do you even know who we are?"

The men scoff, dismissing Hoseok's words as mere bravado. The atmosphere crackles with anticipation as the standoff reaches its climax.

Namjoon's patience wears thin. "Last chance. Release her, or face the consequences."

The men hesitate, realizing the gravity of the situation. Yet, the leader, fueled by arrogance, signals for the attack. But Namjoon and the others remain still and calm, for the anticipated assault never comes. Perplexed, the leader turns around to be met with Taehyung, Jungkook, and Jimin holding their respective blade weapons at the necks of the erstwhile captors.

"As you were saying," Taehyung muses, a smirk playing on his lips.

"Now, before I was rudely interrupted, you shall desist from troubling this young woman. Do you understand?" Namjoon's eyes darken, fixing upon all four men.

"How dare—" The leader begins to retort defiantly, but Yoongi's swift and undetected actions interrupt him with a sword blade against his neck.

"You wish to defy the orders of the royal family's protectors?" Yoongi intones with a menacing glare.

The man gulps and shakes his head, his bravado replaced by a flicker of fear. "N-no, of course not."

He shifts his gaze back to Namjoon. "Pray accept my humble apologies, my lords. I was unaware this woman was in association with you."

Namjoon approaches, his expression unwavering. "Leave. Consider yourselves fortunate that you still draw breath. Speak not a word of this woman or this encounter, lest you wish dire consequences."

The men, recognizing the futility of further resistance, slink away, leaving behind the echoes of their defeated pride.

With Jimin and Jungkook the ones closest to you, Jimin turns to you, concern etching his features. "Are you hurt, Y/N?"

Your hands throbbed from the ordeal, but you managed a nod of assurance. "I'm fine. Thanks to all of you."

"Then what's this, beneath your shoulder?" Jungkook's brow arches in suspicion, pointing at a bloody cut on your upper arm, presumably from the knife one of the men used on you during the brief skirmish.

You chuckle sheepishly. "Oh, it's nothing... I insist..."

"It's not nothing if you're bleeding, Y/N," Jimin insists. "Come, let's find a place where we can tend to that wound."

With your arm gently supported by Jimin, the group maneuvers through the winding alleyways. The village hums with life around you as the bright hues of the sunlight filter through the labyrinthine streets.

Namjoon's voice resonates, breaking the silence enveloping the group. "This isn't the first instance we've found ourselves intervening on your behalf, Y/N."

A glance of gratitude is cast toward him. "I appreciate your assistance, truly. How did you come upon me, may I inquire?"

Hoseok chuckles. "Perchance because we followed the trail of trouble that seemed to linger on our path leading to you, whether it be your penchant for adventure or your knack for stumbling upon turmoil."

You playfully roll your eyes. "Har har, very humorous, Hoseok."

As the group emerges onto a broader thoroughfare, Taehyung points toward a discreet apothecary nestled between two grander establishments. "That should be a suitable place to address your wound."

The bell above the apothecary's door chimes as you enter, greeted by the scent of various herbs and medicinal potions. The shopkeeper, a wizened figure with spectacles perched on the tip of his nose, looks up from his work. "How may I assist you?"

"We need something to clean and dress this wound," Jimin explains, revealing the extent of the injury.

The apothecary, noticing the wounded state, gestures for you to sit at a small wooden table. "Please, have a seat, young miss. I'll prepare a salve for that cut."

As you settle, Seokjin says. "No, but in all earnestness, Y/N. This has occurred far too frequently. Why do you consistently find yourself embroiled in such trivial affairs? If you find yourself in need of aid or finances, you are well aware that you can turn to us, are you not?"

Your gaze averts. "Well, there is a valid reason for this particular escapade."

Taehyung who is leaning against a nearby shelf, adopting an air of nonchalance. "So, what was the object of this daring escapade, anyway?"

You hesitate for a moment, retrieving the invaluable artifact, revealing it to be a delicate piece of parchment. But this seemingly, "ordinary paper" is none other than a secondary copy of the Kingdom's map, stretching far beyond the borders of your realm into neighboring lands and forbidden mountains rumored to be teeming with magical creatures. The mere existence of such beings has become the stuff of myth since the banishment of magic and its practitioners. How this hidden treasure found its way into the hands of the pledgemarts remains a mystery.

"So, are you insinuating that you risked life and limb for this antiquated map?" Jungkook's brow arched skeptically as he surveyed the document in your hands.

"And pray tell, what makes it so significant, Y/N, that you'd stake your well-being for it?" Jin's tone was dry, though lacking any true malice.

With a measured exhale, you prepared to justify your actions, "It's not merely an old map, if you must know, Jungkook. Do you wonder why it fetched such a high price? Because the original resides within the palace, accessible only to the royal family. Its value lies not only in its rarity but in the history it encapsulates, a history tied to these lands and the events of ages past."

"And what need have you for such a rare relic?" Namjoon inquires, his gaze piercing.

Your gaze shifted momentarily in contemplation before fixing back on him, voice lowered, "May we discuss this elsewhere, please?"

Namjoon nodded, and amidst exchanged glances among your friends, the apothecary completed the mending of your wound, securing a bandage. "Take heed, and tread carefully. Mishaps have a way of finding those who seek them," he advised, sliding a jar of salve towards you. "This should aid in the healing, young miss. Apply it generously."

"Thank you," you murmur gratefully, accepting the remedies.

Jimin, ever the considerate one, inquires about payment, but the apothecary waves it off with a dismissive gesture. "Consider it a token of gratitude for safeguarding our city. The Royal Protectors are always welcome here."

As your group emerges back into the sunlight, Namjoon's gaze settles upon you with a mix of concern and admonishment. "Y/N, you must grasp the consequences of your actions. We cannot always be there to extricate you from every predicament."

"I understand, Namjoon. Truly, I do," you respond earnestly, the weight of your choices settling upon your shoulders.

Hoseok interjects, his tone lightening the mood with a touch of levity. "Nevertheless, trouble seems to have a knack for finding you, or perhaps it's the other way around."

You shoot him a playful glare, a smile playing at the corners of your lips. "Is that your professional opinion, Doctor Hoseok?"

Taehyung, ever the embodiment of carefree spirit, suggests a reprieve. "Shall we indulge in some refreshments? It seems an opportune moment for respite."

"An excellent suggestion. Let us adjourn to my humble abode; I have procured a new selection of teas and treats to share," you offer with a smile.

Jungkook, always quick with a jest, couldn't resist a tease. "New, you say? One must wonder if you've liberated these goods as well..."

You narrow your gaze at him, playfully threatening pursuit as he dodges away. "Come back here, you scamp!"

"Not this time. I used my own funds!" You protest.

"Ah, you say 'this time'? It implies a previous act of pilfering," he counters, evading your lighthearted chase.

"Did not!" You argue.

"Did too." He laughs.

The older six of your group watched fondly as you engaged in playful banter. Despite the drastic difference in social status—your commoner background juxtaposed with their high royal standing—the dynamics of your group remained unchanged. Grateful for the enduring camaraderie, you all continued to revel in the playful interactions that had characterized your friendship.

Back at your cottage, you promptly prepared tea, unveiling your new collection bought with hard-earned money, refuting Jungkook's absurd accusation.

As the fragrant steam rises from the teapot, Hoseok leans forward, curiosity gleaming in his eyes. "Now that we're away from prying ears, Y/N, do tell us why you risked life and limb for that ancient map?"

A weighty sigh escapes your lips; this day, you knew, would inevitably arrive. For the better part of six auroas, you've meticulously laid the groundwork for the moment when you'd disclose your clandestine plans. However, the apprehension gnaws at you, as you grapple with the delicate task of revealing your intentions without causing undue distress to your closest companions.

You understand the impracticality of divulging the whole truth, the veritable reason behind your meticulous planning and subsequent departure from the kingdom. Since the prohibition of magic and the persecution of its wielders, you've been forced to exist in the shadows, concealing your abilities beneath the guise of a commoner.

Your sorcery, a gift passed down through generations, necessitates discretion, especially given the escalating civil unrest in the villages. The imminent arrival of the royal military elite for inquisitions looms over your head like a guillotine. Your nascent mastery of magic is fragile, and an encounter with the inquisitors could shatter the fragile control you've gained.

Recollections of your mother's tales, of covens of witches secluded in the northern realms, lingered in your mind. Legends spoke of their veiled existence, untouched by the meddling hands of humans for lumiras. Your intent was not only a self-indulgent quest for heritage and mastery of your magic but also a calculated move to shield your companions from the impending storm. The military elite, unrelenting in their pursuit, would not hesitate to accuse your friends of collusion, painting them as conspirators in your occult escapades.

"I have intentions of departing the kingdom," you proclaimed, your words resolute, yet tinged with a palpable sorrow. The die was cast, and there could be no retracing of steps.

The room held its breath in suspended animation. Seven pairs of eyes, frozen in astonishment, betrayed the collective disbelief at your revelation. A dissonant shatter punctuated the silence, and your gaze snapped to the fallen tea cup near Jimin, the first to react to your momentous disclosure.

"Oh no! Are you unharmed, Jimin? Allow me to clean this up for you." Hastily procuring a cloth and a dustpan, you endeavored to remedy the scattered shards.

"No, don't, Y/N. You might injure yourself," Jimin implored, breaking through the haze of shock.

A nervous smile adorned your countenance. "It is quite alright, Jimin. I—" A sudden pang interrupted your words, a small cut on your index finger oozing droplets of crimson.

Jimin, ever the caring soul, intervenes, "Y/N, let me tend to your wound."

Yet, it is not Jimin's hands that cradle yours; it is Yoongi's firm grip that takes hold. "Why subject yourself to needless harm when assistance is readily available?" he admonishes, attending to your minor injury with practiced efficiency.

Jin interjects, "Now, kindly resume elucidating the rationale behind this momentous decision of yours."

Resuming your seat at the table, a sigh escapes your lips, laden with the weight of impending revelation. "The kingdom has been steeped in turmoil since the prohibition of magic. I find myself no longer desirous of confining my existence within these walls."

Your utterance reverberates in the hallowed silence, and the gravity of your decision begins to unfurl. However, the disclosure is only partially accurate; the depths of your motivation remain veiled, a necessary smoke screen to shield your dear friends from the harsh reality of your supernatural lineage.

"And how long has this plan been festering in the recesses of your mind?" Jimin questioned, concern etched upon his face.

Shame colors you as you avert your gaze. "Several auroas, I believe."

"Several auroas?! And you saw fit to withhold such momentous plans from us?" Jimin's incredulity is mirrored on the faces of the others, a collective expression of dismay.

"I assure you, my departure is not imminent," you assert in an attempt to assuage their apprehension. "I am still in the contemplative stage."

"In the contemplative stage?" Jimin echoes with palpable frustration. "Pray, how is it that you arrived at such a life-altering decision without deigning to inform us?"

The room simmers with a tension borne of unspoken emotions and uncharted territories. The burden of deception weighs heavily on your shoulders, but the alternative—laying bare the intricate web of magical intrigue and peril—seems too great a cost to impose upon your friends.

Attempting to quell the rising tension, Hoseok intervenes. "Let us temper our emotions. Y/N may have more to expound upon. Is that not so?"

Nodding hesitantly, you affirm, "Indeed, I do. My desire extends beyond the simplicity of a commoner's life within these walls. I yearn to explore, to contribute in ways that transcend the mundane. To achieve this, I must venture beyond our borders."

Jimin's incredulous gaze narrows. "Embarking on such a perilous expedition is no trifling matter. Why, then, did you not summon us to accompany you?"

"Because precisely that — it is perilous. I harbor no desire to subject you to the dangers beyond our borders. It would be unjust to sacrifice your cherished positions for the uncertainties that lie ahead," you explain, your eyes pleading for their understanding.

Jin wears a sorrowful expression. "You underestimate the strength of our bonds, Y/N. To think we would prioritize our positions over your well-being wounds me deeply."

The room falls into a somber silence, the weight of unspoken emotions hanging heavily.

Jimin leans back, "While your intentions may be noble, it remains a considerable deviation from our collective path. Decisions of such magnitude necessitate collective contemplation."

Taehyung, who has been pensively silent, finally speaks, "But what of the dangers you might face alone? Surely, we could lend our strength, provide a united front against the perils that await beyond our borders."

Your heart swells with gratitude for their concern, yet the specter of potential consequences restrains you. "I appreciate your offer, Taehyung, but the dangers I face are mine to endure. To embroil you in these uncertainties is a burden I cannot bear."

Hoseok suggests, "Before definitive decisions are made, let us collectively explore the details of your plan. Knowledge dispels fear, and perhaps together, we can devise a strategy that mitigates the dangers you envision."

"Perhaps we can delve into that matter at a later time. As I mentioned earlier, I don't intend to depart any time soon," you declare.

A hushed silence ensues before you continue, your eyes flitting between each concerned face. "However, there's something else I must impart—a reminder of sorts. I am to return to Valoris once more, and I shall be absent for two duskars." Your words captured by their ears, inciting incredulity once more, eliciting groans and sighs from the group.

(Duskar: a combination of "Dusk" and "Star," Duskar represents both day and night. It acknowledges the importance of celestial transitions and the balance between light and darkness.)

"Pray, tell me you jest, Y/N," Jin articulates with a mixture of incredulity and exasperation, his demeanor embodying the very essence of patience tried. "What compels you to return there yet again?"

"You know well the reason. There is a family in dire need of aid. They teeter on the brink of survival—had I not stumbled upon them, who knows what fate would have befallen them," you protest, a pout forming on your lips.

"Y/N, whilst your benevolence knows no bounds—a trait most admirable, I must urge caution. One cannot ascertain if their plight is as dire as you perceive it to be," Jin responds.

"Do you not find it rather suspicious that after years of barrenness, a family suddenly emerges in such desolate environs?" He counters.

Your eyes sweep over the assembly, prompting a sheepish smile from you as you rub your neck. "I understand it may seem peculiar, but circumstances unravel in curious ways. And I've pledged to aid them, I cannot turn my back on that commitment."

Taehyung, his brow furrowed, interjects, "Y/N, it's been a while since you started assisting this family. May I inquire about the nature of their situation? How did you chance upon them in such desolate surroundings?"

A nostalgic smile graces your lips as you recount the serendipitous encounter. "Whilst exploring the outskirts of Valoris, I happened upon a decrepit cottage. Within its dilapidated walls dwelled a family—a mother, a father, and a young girl. Their existence was a struggle against the elements, barely sustaining themselves. It tugged at my heart, and I couldn't stand idly by."

Jungkook, leaning on his hand, adds, "As Jin has pointed out—not to dispute your compassion, Y/N, but these are challenging times. We must be cautious of unforeseen consequences."

You nod appreciatively at Jungkook's counsel. "I acknowledge the risks, Jungkook. Yet, my conscience compels me to aid those in need."

Namjoon, tilting his head in amusement, chimes in, "Then you wouldn't mind if one of us accompanies you on this mission of mercy?"

"No—! I mean, they're not fond of strangers," you hastily reason.

Namjoon raised his brow skeptically. "They welcomed you warmly, it seems."

"I'm but a small woman; they assumed I posed no threat. Yet, it still required effort to convince them of my harmlessness to them. I just don't want to frighten them off, and if they learn that I've divulged their existence to you all, they'll be afraid," you explain.

Jimin, dryly, responds, "That doesn't ease our concerns, Y/N."

"Listen—" you begin, exhaling softly. "As you rightly pointed out, I have undertaken this task for some time now. I am well-versed in such matters. Trust me, I shall be fine. I give you my word."

The room remains enveloped in contemplative silence before Yoongi, who had been quietly observing, finally speaks up. "If you're so resolute, Y/N, why not let one of us accompany you? It'd ease our minds, and we could lend a hand if need be."

You consider his suggestion, realizing the merit in his words. "I appreciate the concern, but I fear introducing others might disturb the delicate balance I've established with the family. They're wary, and I don't wish to jeopardize the trust I've built."

Seokjin, arms crossed, raises an eyebrow. "Trust, Y/N? How can you trust a family you just stumbled upon in the desolation of Valoris?"

A solemn expression crosses your face as you respond, "Trust is earned, Jin. And over time, they've come to trust me. I've proven my sincerity through actions, not just words."

Jin sighs in reluctant understanding, "Very well, Y/N. But you must promise to exercise caution. Valoris is not a place to be taken lightly."

Your gaze meets each of theirs, a vow implicit in your eyes. "I promise, Jin. I'll tread carefully, and I'll be back before you know it."

With a collective exhale, the tension in the room eases slightly, though an undercurrent of concern lingers. Your friends exchanging glances that spoke volumes of their internal debates. It was clear they harbored reservations, yet your determination seemed to quell the immediate protests.

Namjoon, assuming the role of the tacit leader amongst your circle, spoke with a measured tone, “Like Jin has said, we implore you to remain vigilant and communicate with us at the first sign of distress."

"Your safety is paramount, not just to us, but to those you seek to aid. An unforeseen mishap would not only imperil you but potentially them as well," Jimin adds, the weight of his gaze impressing upon you the gravity of his words.

You nod, the warmth of their concern enveloping you like a comforting embrace. "I am truly blessed to have such steadfast companions. I shall endeavor to proceed with the utmost caution and keep you apprised of my whereabouts and well-being."

A sudden burst of joviality erupts as Hoseok, with a spirited clap of his hands, attempts to dispel the tension. "By the way, whilst we're gathered, might we engage in discourse concerning the choice of furnishings that adorn your abode in recent days?"

The unexpected comment elicits snickers and playful smiles, particularly from the younger three among your seven male friends. Your countenance scrunches as you defend your taste, "Hey—what's amiss with it? I find that it imparts character to my humble abode."

"Oh, character she says..." Taehyung playfully rolls his eyes, accompanying his expression with a hearty snicker.

"Yes," you protest with a spirited defense. "There is merit in uniqueness."

"Is there, though?" Jungkook chimes in with a teasing smirk.

You playfully brandish your teaspoon at Jungkook. "Do not reckon I've forgotten the earlier banter."

Jungkook raises his hands in mock surrender, "Merely suggesting that Hoseok may have a point."

You huff, "I believe the issue lies not in my embellishments, but rather in the judgment of you four."

Abruptly, you turn your gaze to Namjoon, Jin, and Yoongi. "What's your stance on my domicile embellishments? Do you deem them peculiar?"

Namjoon and Jin avert their gazes expeditiously. "Not peculiar, per se, but room for improvement, mayhaps."

Your mouth agape in incredulity, you shift your eyes to Yoongi, who, in nonchalance, utters, "I would counsel against seeking my perspective."

"You gentlemen are unkind; my choice of furnishings are perfectly adequate." You cross your arms with a defeated pout.

Amidst the snickers and amusement of the others, Yoongi breaks the sounds of teasing with unexpected words, "I find your choice of furnishings quite acceptable. They mirror the essence of your beautiful personality, a sentiment often overlooked. It reflects your warm perspective on the external world despite the adversities it has thrust upon you."

A moment of frozen silence follows Yoongi's unexpected words. His usual reserve, both in language and demeanor, makes such an expression of sentiment all the more noteworthy. Your eyes shimmer with appreciation, acknowledging his unusual display of affection.

"Oh, thank you, Yoongi. I had faith in your understanding." Moved by gratitude, you rise from your seat, traversing the table to where Yoongi sits, offering him an embrace.

The others observe this scene with amusement, witnessing Yoongi's stoic countenance in the face of your affectionate display. Yet, beneath the facade, there's an undeniable enjoyment that the astute onlookers can discern.

A twinge of envy courses through the younger trio. "Had it been one of us embracing you, you'd have protested vehemently," Jimin declares, crossing his arms with a playful smirk.

Taehyung joins in, grinning, "Shall we test this theory with our own embraces?"

"Do not test my patience." Yoongi warns, maintaining his composure even as you continue to hug him with unwavering enthusiasm.

"Oh, tread carefully, Y/N; you may inadvertently become the thief of our affections, and then we'll be seven lovers no more," Jin jests, playing along.

"Rest assured, my dear friends," you assure with a laugh, relinquishing Yoongi from your hold and retaking your seat opposite him. "I harbor no intentions of dismantling your polyamorous entanglements. Your relationships with one another are almost as precious to me as my individual friendships with each of you."

"Yet," you muse, "I cannot deny a flicker of envy."

Curiosity dances in Jin's eyes as he tilts his head. "For what reason, may I ask?"

"You all share a love so profound, a bond so unbreakable. I, on the contrary, find myself lacking in that department. I often ponder when the fates shall decree it my turn to discover someone who will cherish me as deeply as you all cherish one another."

Hoseok smiles, his gaze gentle. "Do not lose hope, dear Y/N. In due time, you shall encounter someone worthy of your affection, and they of yours."

"Thank you, Hobi," you respond gratefully. "Until then, I shall cherish the love and friendship we share."

As you approach the outskirts of Valoris, the quaint cottage comes into view, nestled amidst a thicket of gnarled trees and overgrown foliage. The air is thick with the scent of earth and wildflowers, a serene tranquility enveloping the surroundings. With each step, anticipation swells within you, mingled with a sense of familiarity and warmth at the thought of reuniting with the family you've come to know.

Pushing open the creaking gate, you make your way down the winding path, the crunch of gravel beneath your boots a comforting rhythm. The cottage stands before you, its timeworn facade bathed in the golden hues of the setting sun, casting long shadows across the worn wooden porch.

With a soft knock, you announce your arrival, the sound echoing through the quietude of the evening. Moments pass before the door creaks open, revealing the figure of the mother, Esmae is her name, her weary eyes brightening at the sight of you.

"Y/N, you've returned," she murmurs, a smile dancing upon her lips as she steps aside, bidding you entry into the cozy embrace of their abode.

Within, the hearth crackles cheerfully, casting a soft radiance upon the modest surroundings. Jakub, the father, sits by the fire, his calloused hands cradling a steaming cup of tea, while a young girl occupies herself with a worn-out doll in the corner, her laughter a melody that fills the room.

"Yes, and I've brought provisions," you announce, brandishing a basket brimming with necessities.

"Y/N, it's a pleasure to see you once more. Thank you kindly for returning," Jakub greets, his voice laced with warmth as he gestures for you to join them.

The little one, Talia, clutching her tattered companion, peeks out from behind her father's chair, her eyes wide with curiosity. "Y/N, you've come back," she exclaims, a glimmer of delight piercing through the solemnity of their surroundings.

"I made a promise, did I not?" you respond, lowering yourself to meet the child's gaze. "And who might this be?" you inquire, motioning to the doll.

The girl beamed, holding the doll up for inspection. "This is Bonnie. She's my friend."

You couldn't help but smile at the simplicity of the bond between the girl and her tattered companion. "Bonnie is a lovely name for a lovely friend," you remarked.

Seated around the hearth, you regale the family with tales of your adventures since your last visit, their rapt attention hanging on your every word. Particularly Talia, who captivates you with her innocent musings and boundless curiosity.

She listens eagerly as you recount stories from distant lands, dreams that stretch beyond the confines of Valoris. Her eyes shimmer with wonder, momentarily eclipsing the harsh realities of their existence.

Over the past two days, you seamlessly integrate into their daily rhythm. The modest cottage, though weathered by time, brims with love and mirth.

At the first morning, you join the family in their chores, and tending to the modest garden that sustains them. Come afternoon, you explore the surrounding countryside together, wandering along meandering paths and discovering hidden glens, nature's beauty a constant wellspring of marvel and solace.

As night descends, you gather once more around the hearth, the flames casting dancing shadows upon the walls as you share stories and dreams beneath the canopy of stars.

With each passing moment, you find yourself further entwined in the fabric of their lives. Jin's cautionary words linger in the recesses of your mind, yet the genuine warmth of Esmae, Jakub, and Talia dispels any lingering doubts. The simplicity of their existence, juxtaposed against the enigmatic backdrop of Valoris, weaves a tapestry of contrasts that ensnares your soul.

As the sun paints the sky in hues of rose and gold on the second morning, you find yourself engaged in makeshift breakfast preparations with Esmae.

The aroma of a humble yet heartfelt meal permeates the air. "Thank you, Y/N, for bringing brightness into our humble dwelling," Esmae expresses, her eyes shimmering with a blend of gratitude and weariness.

"It's the least I can do," you reply, flipping a slice of bread on the makeshift griddle. "You've welcomed me into your fold, and I am grateful for the chance to be of service."

Throughout the ensuing hours, you assist Jakub in fortifying the cottage, bolstering its timeworn structure against the relentless march of time. Each nail driven into place feels like a vow, a pledge to shore up the foundation upon which this family's aspirations rest.

Later in the day, Talia extends an invitation to explore the outskirts of Valoris. "Mother, father, may Y/N accompany us as we frolic amidst the woods?" she asks with innocent exuberance.

"I see no reason why not," Esmae smiles down at Talia.

"Please, Y/N, ensure her safety," Jakub instructs you, to which you readily assent.

With her tiny hand clasped in yours, you embark on an adventure, uncovering hidden nooks and crannies as Talia regales you with tales of imaginary exploits. You play along, transforming mundane rocks into treasures and the rustling leaves into whispers of ancient lore.

Suddenly struck by inspiration, you yearn to reveal to Talia the enchanting wonders of the world, the magic that lies beyond the confines of Valoris. "Would you care to witness something truly enchanting?" you propose.

"Enchanting? Like magic?" Talia's eyes sparkle with anticipation.

You nod, a smile playing upon your lips. "Precisely so. But we must exercise discretion—recall what I've mentioned earlier."

She nods eagerly, awaiting the magical spectacle you promise. "What sort of enchantment do you possess, Y/N?"

Surveying your surroundings, your gaze alights upon a bedraggled bush of withering white flowers amidst the barren landscape. Therein lies your canvas for displaying your magical prowess.

"Come, follow me right here. You see these withering flowers," you point, and Talia gazes at them with curiosity. "What about it?"

"Watch—" With a flourish, you draw a deep breath and extend your hands over the bush, a glowing aura of dark blue magical energy emanating from the palms of your hands. You perform a cupping motion, turning your palms up and pushing your hands upward.

Through these motions, you coax the wilting flowers to life, their petals unfurling and blossoming into resplendent bloom under your arcane influence.

At the magical transformation, Talia's eyes brighten in amazement. "Wow! That was amazing!"

"Does that mean you're a witch, Miss Y/N?" she curiously wonders aloud.

You chuckle softly, nodding with pride. "Indeed, it does."

"Now, would you like a flower of your own?" you ask.

She nods with enthusiasm. "Yes, please!"

With a graceful gesture, you pluck a flower from the bush, cradling it delicately between your thumb and forefinger. Once again, you motion cast your magic, hand hovering over the white flower. "Here, I've enchanted the flower only for you, so that it may never wither away and may serve as a token of protection for you as long as you wear it."

With a radiant smile, you tuck the flower behind her ear, eliciting a giggle of delight from the child. "Thank you, miss Y/N!"

"Of course, little one." You smiled. "Now, let us return to the cottage; your parents must be awaiting our return. The dusk is upon us."

As the final night of your sojourn unfolded, the glow of the hearth waned, casting a flickering dance upon the walls of the cottage. Jakub, his countenance tinged with gravity, began to speak, "Y/N, Valoris has a knack for ensnaring those who dwell within its confines. Your benevolence, however, has been a guiding light, yet we must impress upon you the importance of discretion. Valoris harbors a history shrouded in shadows. Our family has found refuge here, shielded from prying eyes. The consequences would be dire if our existence were laid bare."

Meeting his gaze, an unspoken understanding passed between you. "I hold in high regard the sanctity of your privacy, Jakub. Your secret remains safe with me."

Esmae, her eyes reflecting a blend of relief and trepidation, nodded in gratitude. "Y/N, you've ushered a glimmer of hope into our lives. We are forever indebted to you."

In humility, you shook your head, but a moment of pause followed. Just as you had disclosed your plans to Jin, Jungkook, Yoongi, Hoseok, Taehyung, and Namjoon, you felt compelled to share it with Esmae and Jakub, as well.

Ensuring Talia lay in peaceful slumber, you returned your attention to the couple. "There is something I must share with you both."

Regret tinged your words as you confessed, "I harbor intentions of departing this kingdom, venturing beyond our borders."

To your surprise, instead of immediate reservations similar to your seven companions, their countenances displayed understanding and acceptance. "We understand," they echoed in unison.

"Pentaraegis is becoming increasingly perilous for you," Esmae sighed. "Though we reside on the outskirts, we are aware of the unrest brewing in the capital villages, and the royal family's eagerness to deploy their elite military unit for impending inquisitions. They merely await the faintest pretext to dispatch them."

A solemn nod conveyed your acknowledgment. "However, my departure is not imminent. I do not plan on it being permanent; Though, I am uncertain of the duration I will be absent..."

Jakub's calloused hand gently alighted upon your shoulder, halting your words. "Do not worry, Y/N. We understand, truly."

His kind eyes shifted to Esmae, who offered a content nod, and then returned to you. "You have bestowed upon us more than words can convey. In times of adversity, remember our home is always open to you."

Moved by their sincerity, you managed a teary smile. "It has been an honor to be acquainted with your family. I shall carry the tales of Valoris with me, returning whenever the opportunity arises."

As the conversation lingered in the twilight hours, Jakub's demeanor softened further. "Y/N, you carry a uniqueness that transcends the bounds of this realm. Your departure, whenever it may be, is a testament to your adventurous spirit. May the winds of fate guide you, and may the memories here remain etched in your heart."

On the following morning your preparations to depart drew the family to the entrance of their quaint cottage. Talia clutched your hand, her eyes reflecting unspoken sentiments. "Will you return, Y/N?" she inquired, her voice carrying a delicate vulnerability that tugged at your heart.

Bending at the knee to level with her, you replied, "I promise, Talia. I'll return whenever I can."

Standing, you exchanged glances with Esmae and Jakub. "Thank you for allowing me to form such bonds with you."

With a gentle upturn of their lips, they responded, "No, thank you, for your persistent kindness, Y/N."

Before your departure, Esmae presented a gift, aware of your loss and the absence of tangible memories of your parents. "I may not stand in your mother's stead, nor can I supplant her memory, but as one mother to another, accept this handmade garment. May it bring warmth on chilly nights."

With eyes filled with emotion, you received the blue cloth garment with delicate care. "It may not be perfection, but—" Esmae began, only to be interrupted by your heartfelt interjection. "It is absolute perfection."

"Thank you," you uttered, your vision blurred by tears of joy, as you enveloped her in an embrace, met with equal fervor. In a whisper, she conveyed her parting wish. "May your travels be marked by safety."

As you retraced your steps through the makeshift cobblestone pathway of Valoris, a profound sense of fulfillment and connection accompanied you. The bonds formed over those two duskars surpassed mere acts of kindness; they transcended the boundaries of secrecy and solitude.

As you approached the entrance of the capital village, a congregation of your companions awaited your return, their countenances a medley of curiosity and concern. A mirthful grin adorned your lips as you beheld their gathering.

Taehyung, with alacrity, snapped his head up upon noticing your approach. "Y/N—! Our princess has graced us with her presence!" His stride towards you mirrored that of a child rushing into the embrace of a long-lost parent.

A melodious giggle escaped your lips as you welcomed his theatrics, allowing him to enfold you in a lavish hug, twirling you about as his arms encircled you.

"Greetings, Taehyung." Laughter lingered as he gently set you down.

The others promptly joined the reunion, hastening toward you. Jimin was the first by your side. "You cannot fathom how preoccupied my mind was with your well-being, though your absence was but brief."

You chuckled, "You need not have worried, Jimin. I have returned unharmed."

He playfully rolled his eyes. "Indeed, we are indebted to the heavens for that."

"I suspect Jimin may suffer from separation anxiety during your impromptu sojourns," Jungkook jestingly interjected.

Jimin feigned a frowning glare. "That is an unfounded accusation!"

Jin, joining the playful banter, added with a smile, "If memory serves me right, Jimin, you were so consumed with worry over Y/N that you sought solace on her couch, claiming it to be the 'closest' you could feel to her in her absence."

A warm blush tinged Jimin's cheeks at the revelation of his clandestine actions during your absence. You shared a laugh over the unexpected disclosure. "Pay no mind to them, Y/N. They simply fail to value you as much as I do."

Taehyung scoffs in mock offense. "Absurd! We cherish Y/N as deeply as you do."

"Indeed, for instance—" Jungkook declared, seizing you suddenly and hoisting you onto his shoulder. You emitted a squeal in response to the abrupt maneuver. With effortless strength and athleticism, he sprinted away.

"Hey—!" Jimin and Taehyung exclaimed in unison, wearing matching pouts.

"Jungkook—! Exercise caution with her!" Jin admonished, giving chase along with the others, his worry akin to a parent scolding their wayward progeny.

As the impromptu race unfolded, the quaint charm of the capital village painted a picturesque scene. Cobblestone streets served as the stage for your lively pursuit, resonating with laughter and jests that danced through the air.

Jungkook's agile strides effortlessly carried you along, his grasp firm yet gentle. The verdant surroundings blurred as he skillfully navigated the thoroughfare, the sun casting a warm, golden hue upon your spirited procession.

"Jungkook, you impetuous scoundrel! Release our friend this instant!" Jin's voice rang out, a mix of concern and amusement evident in his tone.

Jungkook's laughter echoed as he expertly weaved through the labyrinthine alleys. Before long, you all found yourselves in a bustling market square, where stalls overflowed with an assortment of wares. The townsfolk watched with bemusement, their daily routines momentarily interrupted by the eccentricity of your reunion.

Jin, panting slightly as he caught up, spoke between breaths, "You rascal certainly know how to stir up a commotion."

"Well, pardon the commotion, good sir," Jungkook quipped, his grin mischievous as ever. "We merely seek to enliven these dreary streets."

Hoseok, now catching up, adds with a smile. "Ah, the mirth of our reunion! It rivals the finest tales spun by bards in the village square!"

Hoseok, catching up, joined in with a smile. "Ah, the joy of our reunion! It rivals the most captivating tales spun by village bards!"

As the excitement settled, you all found respite in a charming courtyard adorned with vibrant flora and aged benches. Seated amidst this tranquil setting, Jin playfully chided Jungkook, his words tinged with affectionate reproach. "A lively reunion indeed, my dear Jungkook, but let us not forget propriety.”

Jungkook bowed in jest. "My apologies, Jin. The fervor of the moment overcame me."

Amidst the bustle, a quaint tavern caught our eye, its warm glow and enticing aroma beckoning like a siren's song. With enthusiasm, Hoseok proposed a venture into this inviting establishment, a suggestion met with unanimous agreement.

The rustic charm of the tavern enveloped you all, as the eight of you settled at a sturdy wooden table. Jin, ever the gentleman, pulled out your seat with gallant courtesy, earning a nod of gratitude as you took your place.

"Welcome, how may I serve you all?" inquired the server as she approached your table.

Jin turned to the server with a courteous smile. "For our party, might we partake in your specialty, the main dish of the emberis? And as we are humbly celebrating our friend's return," he gestured towards you, "perhaps a pint of cider for the lady, and only for her." A playful wink accompanied his words, causing your face to drop in shock.

(Emberis symbolizes the sparks of activity and intensity within a week. It reflects the dynamic nature of each seven-day period.)

Your expression falters in surprise. "Jin—such extravagance is unwarranted. I've only been away for two duskars. And what about the rest of you? Surely you have as much right to partake in libations."

Hoseok shakes his head with a smile, interjecting, "You forget, dear Y/N, that we are sworn to protect. Though off duty now, we must remain vigilant, especially in the company of our lady."

You concede with a playful huff. "If you all insist..." Then, a sudden realization strikes you. "But what of the expense? It could prove quite burdensome."

Jin places a reassuring hand on your shoulder, his smile gentle. "Do not fret, Y/N. We shall cover the cost. To us, the price is naught compared to the joyous occasion we share together."

At last, the server returns, presenting your cider beside you and placing a plate of food before the party of eight. "Thank you," Jin acknowledges with a slight bow.

"So, Y/N—how fared your time with the kin in Valoris?" Jin inquires as he serves himself a portion.

"It was truly sentimental," you begin, recounting simple yet bonding activities with Esmae, Jakub, and Talia. You omitted the part where you demonstrated your magical abilities to Talia but conveyed that your stay was a joyous time well spent.

"That's heartening to hear, Y/N," Namjoon remarked. "It appears you forged a beautiful bond with this small family."

A small, appreciative smile graced your face. "Indeed, and I'm grateful. They've taught me the beauty of simplicity, despite my yearning for more spontaneous and adventurous pursuits."

"I'm pleased they treated you well," Jimin added, smiling.

"Yes, and I must—" Before you can continue, a morsel of food is swiftly deposited into your mouth. Your eyes widen slightly in response to the unexpected gesture, darting from the hand that fed you to the composed countenance of Yoongi.

"You mustn't neglect sustenance," Yoongi stated matter-of-factly, his actions eliciting laughter from the others gathered around the table.

Meanwhile, on the outskirts of Valoris, young Talia stumbles upon a small note near her makeshift bed, left there in secret by you. With curiosity piqued, she unfolds the paper, reading your handwriting: "To my dear Talia, in my absence, should you find yourself missing me, I've left something to remind you of our bond. Guard it closely and share our secret with no one. Return to the spot where I bestowed upon you your special flower. There, you'll witness a wondrous sight that will always be there."

With excitement dancing in her eyes, Talia tucks the note away and hurries on her tiny feet to the place where you displayed your magical abilities. And there, she discovers a marvel. What was once a barren expanse now blooms with vibrant wildflowers. She gasps in wonder, her wide eyes drinking in the enchanting scene.

Back in the capital village, surrounded by your seven male companions. In all candor, your spirits, elevated beyond the ordinary by the liberal consumption of fermented libations, have led you to a state of inebriation. This amusing spectacle, much to the delight and mild concern of your companions, finds you atop a tavern table, engaging in a spirited dance amidst the company of four gentlemen seated below.

"By the heavens, Y/N, have a care!" Jin exclaims, his voice a harmonious blend of amusement and apprehension. "You'll topple over if you're not mindful."

You wave off his concern with a drunken grin, swaying precariously on the table. "Nonsense, Jin! I'm as steady as a ship in harbor." The tavern's patrons find themselves captivated, drawn to the infectious mirth of your spontaneous performance.

Namjoon, with a bemused shake of his head, counters, "You seem more akin to a ship ensnared by the fury of a storm, if I may be so bold."

Hoseok leaned in, a smile playing on his lips. "It seems our dear Y/N has become the centerpiece of the duskar's entertainment."

Jimin, unable to contain his laughter, adds, "Who could have anticipated such a delightful twist to our celebration?"

Yoongi, the embodiment of composure, observes with a raised brow. "Well, I must confess, this is not the typical mid-duskar I envisioned."

Taehyung, playing along with the revelry, clapped his hands, urging you on. "Encore, Y/N! Let the spirit of festivity direct your movements!"

Jin, with a broad grin, concurs, "Indeed, she has wholeheartedly surrendered to the spirits of the occasion."

Your laughter cascades through the tavern as you daringly attempt a spin, nearly losing your footing. Jungkook extends a hand to steady you, a grin adorning his features. "Careful now, Y/N. A tumble at this juncture would certainly stir quite the commotion."

Yet, their words of caution fall on deaf ears, your heart and soul enraptured by the euphoria of the moment. Intoxicated by both companionship and cider, your impromptu dance continues, filling the midday air with laughter and cheer.

Jungkook, turning his attention back to his six lovers, a smirk playing on his lips at your antics, suggests, "Perchance we ought to ensure she partakes of some sustenance, alongside copious amounts of water to mitigate the effects of her indulgence."

Jimin, catching the sentiment with a nod and a smile, adds. "Indeed, for her diminutive stature seems overly susceptible to the intoxicating effects."

"Yet one cannot deny the entertainment derived from the spectacle," Taehyung remarks with a nonchalant shrug.

A pause ensues before Hoseok ventures, "Pardon my interruption, but may I pose a query?"

"What is it, my love?" Jin responds.

"It has just occurred to me, have we neglected to inform Y/N about the masquerade ball set to occur in two duskars hence? Or has that detail escaped our collective remembrance?"

(duskar represents both day and night. It acknowledges the importance of celestial transitions and the balance between light and darkness.)

A series of awkward exchanges followed, confirming Hoseok's suspicion—that indeed, the event had slipped their minds. A collective sigh of mild frustration escaped him.

Jungkook playfully admonishes Jimin with a swat. "I was under the impression you had already informed her!"

Jimin, momentarily taken aback, retorts with a pout, "Indeed not! The responsibility was Taehyung's, as he was the most vocally enthusiastic about her attendance."

Taehyung, caught off guard, protests, "I beg your pardon! Namjoon advised it was premature for such disclosures, fearing it might dismay her."

All eyes then pivot to Namjoon, who, caught in the crossfire, adopts a stance of mock surrender. "Well—that was a concern of emberises past. I had assumed the matter would have been addressed by now."

Amidst this exchange, Yoongi, whose observance often goes unnoticed, glances towards the table, only to find your absence—and the departure of the four gentlemen as well. His protective instincts trigger, eyes slightly widening, for that could only mean one thing, and it's not a favorable one.

While the others continued their debate, oblivious to your absence, Yoongi attempted to interject. "Gentlemen..."

"Gentlemen..." His efforts to capture their attention were drowned out by the cacophony of their discussion.

Driven by a growing sense of urgency, Yoongi's patience waned, and he raised his voice, "Gentlemen! If you would but notice, our lady is conspicuously absent, and conveniently, so are the four gentlemen!"

The sudden revelation forces the boisterous banter to a halt as the six other men turn their attention to the now vacant table where you once danced. Panic seizes their expressions.

"Where is she?" Jin's voice betrays a mix of concern and urgency.

"She was right there a moment ago!" Hoseok scans the surroundings, his eyes widening with realization.

Jungkook, still attempting to locate you, mumbles, "This is why we shouldn't have let her drink so much."

Jimin looks around frantically, "She can't have gone far. Let's split up and find her."

The seven men scatter in different directions, anxiety clutching at them like an invisible vice. They interrogate patrons and innkeepers, desperately seeking clues about your whereabouts.

Meanwhile, you find yourself in a secluded alley, guided by four gentlemen who lured you away from the revelry. The initial thrill of the impromptu dance fades into confusion as you grapple to comprehend the situation.

"Where are you leading me?" you inquire, a blend of curiosity and unease in your voice.

The lead gentleman, adorned in a fine waistcoat and top hat, smirks. "To a realm where merriment and revelry know no bounds, my dear. A concealed treasure for the privileged few."

The others exchange sly glances, and a sinking feeling settles in as the desolate alley grows more ominous.

Back with your companions, the search intensifies. Jungkook's voice pierces through the tension. "Over here! I found something."

The group converges on Jungkook, who points to a discarded ribbon, a familiar one that once adorned your hair. Anxiety deepens as the realization of potential harm sets in.

"We must find her," Namjoon declares with determination. "Split up and scour every nook and cranny. She can't be far."

The group disperses once more, urgency and concern now replacing the initial joyous atmosphere.

In the hidden gem the gentlemen led you to, a dimly lit haven unfolds with plush furnishings and an air of opulence. The four men encircle you, their intentions growing increasingly apparent.

"Welcome to the Fable Flame," the lead gentleman declares, his smirk widening. "A sanctuary for those seeking pleasures beyond the ordinary."

Your eyes widen with realization, fear and defiance flickering in your gaze. "I did not choose this. Release me!"

The other three men exchange predatory glances, and your attempts to retreat prove futile within the confines of the room.

Back in the bustling capital village, the seven men comb through the streets, their worry escalating. Yoongi, with determination etched on his face, spots a torn piece of fabric on a nearby fence—an unmistakable fragment of your dress.

His heart races as he follows the trail, the search taking a dark turn, the situation growing more dire.

Within the dimly lit chamber, the four men forcefully press you against an ornate bed. The lead gentleman, a sinister smirk etched on his face, handles you with a roughness that sends shivers down your spine. "Resist as you may, my dear, but soon, you'll find solace in surrender."

"P-Please, no—" Your plea barely escapes your lips, swallowed by the heavy air of despair.

Driven by urgency, your companions scour the area fervently, the tattered fabric guiding them to a dilapidated structure.

Yoongi, a resolute figure at the forefront, senses impending danger. "This way," he murmurs, his voice a whisper against the backdrop of doom.

Cautiously, the group ventures into the building, senses alert to the ominous silence. Each creak of the floorboards, each rustle of fabric, echoes with foreboding. As they navigate labyrinthine corridors, a distant door groans open, revealing a chamber steeped in darkness.

Pushing the door ajar, Yoongi's eyes widen—a macabre tableau unfolds within. You, pinned like a sacrificial lamb, beneath the sinister gaze of the lead gentleman and his cohorts. Tension crackles in the air, thick with the scent of fear and defiance.

A moment of silence ensues as the captors take stock of the intruders. The lead gentleman's smirk widens, a predatory glint in his eyes. "Ah, latecomers to the party. How quaint."

Yoongi's gaze hardens, his resolve unyielding. "Release her. Now."

The lead gentleman's grip tightens on your chin, his touch invasive and possessive. "And why would I do that? She's rather enjoying herself, wouldn't you agree?"

Your glassy eyes, wide with terror. "I beg of you, help me..."

Yoongi, accompanied by Namjoon, Jin, Hoseok, Jimin, Taehyung, and Jungkook, refrained from uttering a single word. An unbridled rage burned within them, propelling them forward into an imminent clash with the three assailants.

Simultaneously, as the skirmish erupted, the chief antagonist, maintaining his grip on you, surveyed the unfolding brawl with malevolent intent. His eyes gleamed with malice, and then, shifting his gaze toward you, he declared, "Do you reckon you can elude me with ease? I beg to differ."

With a sudden flourish, he extracted a gleaming blade from his boot, discreetly seizing you by the hair and hauling you off the bed, dragging you into the center of the room. "That's enough!"

Seizing the moment, he pressed the knife against your neck, eliciting a collective pause from your seven companions and the three adversaries. "Any further trouble, and I'll slit her throat without a second thought."

Jungkook moved to intervene, but Namjoon swiftly halted him. "Hold."

"But Namjoon—" Jungkook protested, only to be silenced by a raised hand, signifying a steadfast refusal.

"Listen to him," the captor jeered, grinning spitefully.

"Release her, and there will be no further altercation," Namjoon asserted.

The captor chuckled darkly. "Can't a man enjoy himself a bit first? You lot are men, too, aren't you? Surely, you understand the value of personal pleasures."

"There's a disparity between being merely a man and a true gentleman. The former lacks honor, much like yourself. As gentlemen, we comprehend the significance of consent, a virtue conspicuously absent in your demeanor," Hoseok retorted with a seething tone.

The captor's eyes narrowed at Hoseok's words before abruptly turning his attention back to you. "Come now, my dear, prove to these 'gentlemen' that you welcomed this."

Your silence seemed to irritate him further. The blade traced a perilous path from your neck downward, nearing the delicate contours of your breasts.

Yet, before he could proceed further, a cry of pain erupted as he fell to the ground, a double-ended knife embedded in his shoulder. Your gaze shifted to Jimin, his hand still outstretched from the throw, his eyes ablaze with fury.

Turning toward the remaining captors, Jimin questioned, "Who among you wishes to follow suit?"

Fear flickered across the faces of the trio, their heads shaking vehemently. "Leave, or I'll kill you myself," Jimin commanded, prompting the men to hastily flee.

Empowered by the turn of events, you found strength in your legs, hastening towards your seven guardians. Jimin extended his arms, enveloping you protectively. His nose nestled atop your head, a palpable sigh of relief escaping him.

Yoongi advanced towards the wounded miscreant with a demeanor that brooked no argument. "Should you ever lay a hand on a woman in such a manner again, I shall personally hunt you down and dismantle you limb from limb. Understand?"

The captor nodded fervently, his attempts to suppress his whimpers of pain were futile, as his quivering lip gave away his torment.

Without a flicker of emotion, Yoongi then seized the hilt of the double-ended blade, a cruel reminder of the violence just passed.

With a swift, unyielding yank, he liberated the weapon from flesh, crimson torrents cascading from the gaping wound, staining his hands and the ground beneath him. His face remained a mask of impassive justice, marred only by the flecks of blood that adorned his features like macabre war paint.

Posthaste, Yoongi returned to where you stood, with a gentleness that belied the stern resolve of his previous actions, he divested himself of his royal soldier's coat and placed it upon your shoulders, a protective mantle to shield you from the unusual chill of atmosphere and the ordeal you had endured.

He then turned to Jimin, extending the reclaimed weapon with a nod, "Let us return home." Yoongi declared, his tone now softened.

Back at your humble abode, your companions gallantly escorted you home, forming a protective cocoon around you even upon crossing the threshold. Jimin's strong arms encircled you, a fortress of reassurance.

Not a single word needed to be uttered, for the unspoken understanding prevailed amongst your close-knit group. Jungkook, swift and decisive, took the lead, his movements within your sanctuary as natural as if he were navigating his own domain, seeking flint and steel to kindle a warming blaze in the hearth.

Hoseok hastened to your kitchen, concocting a soothing blend of chamomile and peppermint for a rejuvenating tea. Jin, his hands deftly moving in the manner of an experienced caretaker, joined Hoseok in preparing a basin of cool water, a washcloth, and a small bar of soap, ready to tenderly cleanse away the remnants of the late afternoon’s turmoil. Following suit, Yoongi ventured into the kitchen, presumably to whip up a modest repast that would serve to counteract the intoxicating remnants coursing through you.

As for Taehyung, he proceeded into your bedroom, searching for fresh attire and, albeit awkwardly, extracting your more intimate garments. Their intent on ministering to your well-being, they choreographed their efforts with finesse.

Jimin and Namjoon, however, maintained their steadfast vigil by your side, their protective presence lingering even in the absence of immediate peril. Presently, Taehyung emerged from the sanctity of your bedchamber, announcing with a gentle timbre, “I have your attire prepared for you, Y/N.”

Gazing up at him, a weariness from spirits evident in your eyes, you expressed gratitude, "Thank you, Tae."

Acknowledging your thanks with a nod and a smile, he beckoned, “Come along, now.”

Jimin effortlessly lifted you in his arms, carrying you with bridal grace towards the sanctuary of your bedchamber, with Jin trailing close behind, the basin and its accouterments in hand.

“Before we proceed to clothe you anew, let us first tend to cleansing, shall we?” Jin suggested, his tone one of gentle insistence.

Your response was a weary nod, an assent given as Jimin tenderly deposited you upon your bed. Jin, with delicate precision, moved a portion of your clothing aside to begin the cleansing process. Yet, in an unforeseen twist, you impulsively divested yourself of the garment entirely, sending a ripple of astonishment through Jimin, Taehyung, and Jin, their eyes widening in unison.

Jimin and Taehyung, in a chivalrous retreat, averted their gaze, while Jin, startled, lifted his eyes heavenward, engendering a collective symphony of awkward coughs. A warm flush brushed their cheeks as they realized you had inadvertently exposed yourself. Perhaps, in the closeness of your bond, you had grown accustomed to their presence, regardless of your activities or location.

Namjoon entered the room at that moment, intending to convey updates. However, his eyes widened as he grasped the awkward tableau before him. "Oh—!" Hastily, he turned away, a mirrored action of respect.

Your reaction time, slowed by alcohol, eventually processed their collective retreat. "Why? Is there something amiss with my appearance?" you queried with a subtle pout, oblivious to your own actions.

Jin cleared his throat, attempting to dispel the awkwardness. “N-no! Far from it...” He continued his ministrations without letting his gaze stray to more intimate areas.

Your gaze lifted abruptly, questioning Jin directly, "Am I not beautiful?"

Without premeditation, Jin met your gaze, sincerity softening his features. “No, you are the most enchanting woman my eyes have beheld. No other can compare."

"He speaks true," Taehyung and Jimin murmured in agreement.

Interrupting the moment, Namjoon interjected, “Indeed—apologies for my intrusion. I merely wished to inform you that Jungkook has kindled the fire, Hoseok has concocted the tea, and Yoongi is nearly done preparing a modest yet nourishing repast for you. Freshen up at your pace; we'll be waiting outside."

Namjoon directed a pointed gaze at Jimin and Taehyung, a silent command hanging in the air. “I said, we shall all convene outside. Shall we, gentlemen?” Namjoon emphasized, his message finally registering with the duo.

“Awh, do we truly have to—” Taehyung began to whine, cut short by Namjoon seizing him by the collar and dragging him outside, while Jimin followed without protest. And with a closing door, a semblance of privacy returned.

In the wake of those moments, Jin gracefully exited your chamber, allowing you the privacy to don your fresh attire. The burly gentleman then reentered the kitchen, deftly disposing of the soiled water, and briefly refreshing the washcloth before reinstating the small basin and soap to their rightful places.

Just then, Jin catches a redolence wafting from the viands that Yoongi is diligently culminating, adroitly depositing the contents into an intricately carved wooden bowl. "Oooh, that aroma is quite delightful..."

"Is that pottage you've concocted, Yoongi dear?" Jin inquires, casting a discerning glance as Yoongi continues to ladle the savory mixture into the receptacle, to which Yoongi grunts affirmatively in response.

"How did you acquire the meat for it?" Jin asks, a tad taken aback by the presence of poultry within.

"Leftovers from her pots," Yoongi tersely responds, prompting Jin to nod in comprehension with a soft 'ah' escaping his lips.

Subsequently, the gathering reconvened in the living room, ensconced by the warmth of your fireplace. Taehyung, Jungkook, and Jimin repose upon the floor adjacent to the central coffee table, while Hoseok and Namjoon grace the solitary sofa chairs flanking the table. Jin settled on one end of the three-seater couch, and Yoongi adorns the tray on the table, featuring the potation prepared by Hoseok and the delectable pottage.

Moments later, you emerged from your quarters, resplendent in the attire previously selected by Taehyung. Jungkook, ever the gallant escort, offered his arm, guiding you towards the couch where the tea and Yoongi's culinary creation awaited.

Observing the tray's contents, your eyes traverse the assembly—Taehyung, Jimin, Jungkook, Hoseok, Yoongi, Namjoon, and Jin. "Thank you for attending to my well-being."

Warm smiles were exchanged. "Anything for you," they chorused.

Leaning forward, Jin extended an offer, "Would you care for some pottage? You needn't consume it all, but it might aid your recovery, along with the tea."

"Absolutely, I could never decline sustenance crafted by Lord Yoongi," you chuckled, injecting a touch of levity into the atmosphere despite the recent perilous events.

Jin commences assisting you, offering spoonfuls of pottage and elevating the teacup to your lips with finesse. Meanwhile, the others lounge, engaged in casual conversations as if the now early evening were ordinary.

You lapse into momentary silence, contemplative of recent occurrences. Without premeditation, you articulate your ruminations aloud. "We must put an end to such establishments. None should endure such cruelty."

A collective pause ensued, truth be told, they anticipate such sentiments from you, cognizant of your altruistic nature despite enduring adversity. Jin, wearing a serene smile, interjected, "We shall address that in due course. For now, our primary concern is your well-being."

As Jin brought the spoon to your lips, you swallowed the contents, falling momentarily silent before another thought found its voice. "I just remembered something I forgot to inquire about."

All eyes turned toward you. "What is it, Y/N?"

After a momentary hesitation, you muster the courage to voice your inquiry. "Um... I happened upon a handbill in the capital village mentioning a masquerade ball scheduled in two duskars… I am intrigued and wondered if you all are aware of it."

A measure of astonishment registers on their visages, realizing they had intended to extend an invitation emberises ago but had inadvertently overlooked it, fearing you might eschew the prospect. Now, with your inquiry, a sense of relief washes over them, empowering them to broach the subject.

Hoseok's eyes illuminate with enthusiasm. "That sounds like an excellent proposition!"

"Truly?" You sheepishly smiled, Hoseok nodding enthusiastically. However, your countenance shifted, "Yet, I lack an appropriate gown for such an occasion."

Jin dismisses the concern with a wave of his hand. "Nonsense, Y/N. Have you forgotten the company you keep?" A trace of playful arrogance graces his countenance. "I shall summon the finest tailors to craft a gown that befits your beauty."

"Would you truly do that, Jinnie?" you asked, your eyes alight with gratitude.

"Of course!" he affirmed, as Jimin added, "And fear not, Y/N. Your beauty transcends attire; you shall outshine every woman present at the ball."

"Thank you, Jimin," you murmured shyly. "So, would you all be willing to accompany me?"

Collective nods affirm your query, prompting a grateful smile from you. "I am filled with anticipation! It shall be my first ball. Thank you!"

Fatigue abruptly descends upon you, manifesting in a yawn. The attentive septet takes notice, Jin, seated beside you, gently placing the bowl and spoon aside. "Are you weary?"

You nod in acknowledgment. Hoseok rises. "I shall stow away the dishes."

Jin inquires, "Would you prefer to retire to your chamber for repose, Y/N?" You wearily shake your head. "No, I would rather remain here. Sleep among you all, if that's acceptable."

Jin smiles warmly. "More than acceptable. Come, recline upon me." He nudges you gently, prompting you to rest your head upon his lap, your feet propped upon the couch.

Unseen by you, Jungkook promptly fetched a blanket, draping it over you with care. You adjust yourself for comfort. "Apologies, I realize it is still early evening—"

"It understandable. The exertions from your journey on foot from Valoris earlier this morn, coupled with the spirited dancing at the tavern until the, shall we say, 'mishap' we encountered, surely have wearied you," Taehyung interjects with a chuckle.

"Rest, Y/N. You are deserving of it," Namjoon advises.

Before long, you succumbed to slumber, a serene quietude enveloped the chamber, broken only by the gentle cadence of your breathing, a testament to the peaceful slumber you had found.

"So, are we to dismiss Yoongi's earlier allusion to Y/N as 'our lady'?" Taehyung pondered aloud, his posture relaxed, hands clasped behind his head in a gesture of casual reflection.

The inquiry lingered, casting a shared exchange of glances among the septet, each harboring individual musings on the matter. Yoongi, a man of sparse words, appeared unperturbed by the collective gaze. Yet, a faint amusement flickered across his visage, betraying his stoic exterior.

A playful smirk danced upon Jungkook's lips. "Indeed, we all took note. Might this signify an evolving affection for our esteemed Y/N, dear Yoongi?"

A momentary tension draped the room, only to be dispelled by Yoongi's scoff. "Absurdity. I merely acknowledged her rightful standing among us."

Jungkook's brows arched mischievously. "'Rightful standing,' you say? Be cautious, Yoongi, your words reveal more than you may intend."

"It seems to me," Namjoon interjected with a sly grin, "that we've all discerned a certain... tenderness in Yoongi's address. A sentiment perhaps deeper than he admits."

Jimin, unable to resist joining the banter, shared his insight with a cunning smile. "It is a rare occasion indeed for Yoongi to bestow such a title upon anyone. It does carry a significance, does it not?"

Attempting to steer the conversation away from the burgeoning speculation, Yoongi retorted, "Your interpretations far exceed the bounds of reason. Let us rather concentrate on her welfare and the impending masquerade."

Taehyung leaned in, his expression one of impish delight. "Yet, 'our lady' carries a resonance, does it not? A phrase befitting someone of special regard, not merely a companion."

Jungkook rejoined the conversation with a gleam of mischief, "Mayhap Yoongi's affections have indeed been kindled by our fair Y/N."

Jimin added with a grin, "Well, she is quite captivating. Who wouldn't be enchanted by her?" His gaze then tenderly fell upon you, a warmth evident in his eyes.

This display of affection did not escape the notice of the others. Despite the complex web of their polyamory relationship, no shadow of envy or malcontent marred their feelings towards each other's evident fondness for you, a phenomenon that baffled them yet remained unquestioned.

Hoseok voiced his reflections, his gaze affectionate as he watched you. "Indeed... Our companionship with her, spanning from the innocence of childhood to the cusp of adulthood, has always been a wellspring of mutual care and affection."

Jin, with a gentle demeanor, softly brushed away the errant strands of hair veiling your face, tucking them behind your ear with a tenderness that spoke volumes. "If only she comprehended the depth of her significance to us,” he whispered, more to himself than to the others.

Namjoon, less obvious but still captivated, stared at you. "I believe she perceives it, on some level... she must."

"And I am certain she reciprocates the sentiment," he added.

Two duskars had elapsed, and at last, the eve of the grand ball had arrived. Jin, true to his word, had summoned one of the most esteemed tailors in the kingdom to create a gown for you, meticulously taking your measurements and ensuring the attire aligned with your desires. A bespoke mask was also crafted, intended to complement the elegance of your gown for the impending masquerade.

Admittedly, the experience of being measured was a novel one, with an array of hands adjusting and clothing pins perilously close to your skin. Despite the initial discomfort, the attention bestowed upon you instilled a sense of importance, marking your initiation into the realm of pampering. Jin and, unsurprisingly, Hoseok collaborated to orchestrate a comprehensive makeover. In the fleeting hours leading up to the ball, skilled artisans in makeup and hairdressing dedicated themselves to enhancing your allure. Finally, adorned in your custom gown, the transformation was complete.

The transformation was, without a shadow of a doubt, breathtaking. Though you remained unaware of the extent of your beauty, the moment of reveal was imminent. Descending the staircase of Jin's opulent abode, where preparations for the masquerade had been made, you were about to present yourself to the collective gaze of Jungkook, Hoseok, Jimin, Taehyung, Namjoon, Jin, and Yoongi. They awaited at the foot of the stairs, each garbed in suits of exquisite craftsmanship, their attire reflecting their noble status within the kingdom yet tailored for this special occasion.

The moment your presence graced the final steps, their faces mirrored an awe that rendered them momentarily speechless.

Dressed in a dark blue ball gown, its sleeves adorned with delicate lace and gems that sparkled like stars, you became the focal point of their admiration. The atmosphere hung thick with admiration as your eyes met theirs, and a subtle nervousness crept in, amplified by their prolonged silence. "Is something amiss?" you nervously inquired.

"Do I not appear well in this attire?" you added.

"No!" they exclaimed in unison, their initial shock breaking into a cacophony of reassurances.

Taehyung cleared his throat awkwardly. "Certainly not, Lady Y/N. You're resplendent."

"Arguably the most stunning vision to grace our lives," Jungkook gently interjected.

You looked away, bashfully dismissing their compliments. "Oh, you're all merely attempting to flatter me. I can't possibly—"

"No flattery intended, Y/N," Jin interjected. "You truly are beautiful."

"In any attire, you radiate beauty, but tonight, it's truly exceptional," Jimin stumbled over his words, his gaze unwavering. Enchanted by your presence, all seven pairs of eyes remained fixated on you.

Namjoon took a decisive step forward, capturing your attention as he extended his hand, a silent request for your company. "Shall we make our way to the ball? A full night awaits us."

With a smile, you acquiesced, "We shall."

The grand ballroom, adorned in lavish splendor, embraced the seven of you as you entered. The melodic strains of a waltz commenced, enticing you into the dance with Namjoon. His authoritative yet gentle demeanor guided your steps, immersing you in the graceful whirl of the ballroom. Amidst the elegant rotations, conversation flowed effortlessly like a gentle stream.

"Your gown exudes the regal elegance of a bygone era," Namjoon remarked, his charming smile captivating your gaze.

"You're too gracious," you replied, returning his smile. "It seems I owe you all my deepest gratitude for this enchanting evening."

Namjoon's laughter resonated through the dance, "The pleasure is ours, fair Y/N. Your radiance illuminates this soirée."

As the waltz concluded, Hoseok approached, eager to share a dance. His movements exuded buoyancy, mirroring his exuberant spirit. "May I say, you're a vision, Y/N. A testament to tonight's splendors."

Chuckling, you responded, "I owe this transformation to the skilled hands of many, including yours and Jin’s, Hoseok."

His grin widened. "A collaborative effort to enhance the innate beauty you possess, my lady."

Following suit was Jungkook, his dance exuding youthful vitality. "You resemble a character from a fairy tale, Y/N. A modern-day Cinderella."

"Such flattering comparisons," you chuckled, "but this fairy tale boasts seven charming princes."

Jungkook's laughter echoed. "I am honored to be counted among them, fair maiden."

As the dance with Jungkook concluded, Taehyung approached with a mischievous glint in his eye. "I must confess, Y/N, your beauty leaves us speechless. A rare occurrence, I assure you."

You grinned. "I suppose I should consider it a triumph, then."

Taehyung twirled you in an elaborate spin. "Indeed. A triumph of grace and beauty."

Yoongi then led the subsequent dance with effortless elegance. "You've added an enchanting touch to this gathering, Y/N. A night that shall be etched in memory."

"I am honored to be part of such a memorable occasion," you replied, matching his graceful movements.

Jimin, the final dance partner, led with a flair for the dramatic, whisking you into an energetic dance. "You've captivated us all, Y/N. A true siren amidst this sea of revelry."

Blushing, you playfully retorted, "You exaggerate, Jimin. The enchantment is mutual, I assure you."

A brief breathy chuckle escaped Jimin's lips as he gently swayed you to the music, letting a comfortable silence envelop both of you for a moment. Then, his eyes met yours, a hint of solemnity in his gaze. "Y/N, there's something I wish to express."

You hummed softly, directing your attention to him. "What is it, Jimin?"

He held your gaze, his expression earnest. "I wish to offer my gratitude."

Perplexed, you tilted your head slightly. "Gratitude? For what?"

"At that lake, in our youth, when we casted our wishes," he explained, a fond smile playing on his lips.

You chuckled softly, recalling the memory. "You mean the 'magical' lake escapade?"

Jimin nodded, his smile widening. "Indeed. Your wish, amidst our materialistic desires, was simple yet profound. It shaped our journey in ways we hadn't realized until now."

"You hesitated to voice it initially, but I'm glad you found the courage to do so because it's likely the reason I find myself content where I am now. And it's because we're all together... And I like to think you played a significant role in making that happen. That's why I want to express my gratitude."

You smiled at his sentiment, gently releasing your hand from his to tenderly cup his cheek. "There's no need to thank me, Jimin. It wasn't solely my doing, but the collective effort of all of us. It's a great blessing that our friendship has endured through the years until now. And I hope fervently that it continues indefinitely, just as I wished."

Jimin leaned into your touch. "Well, considering how the wishes of myself and the other gentlemen seem to have come to fruition, I have no doubt yours will remain steadfast."

Returning to your dance position, you closed the distance between you and Jimin, resting your head against his shoulder as you swayed to the music. "Thank you, Jimin. And thank you for remaining my friend despite the disparity in our social standings."

"Nonsense. Our social status shouldn't dictate our friendship nor divide us," he insisted.

As the night progressed, the ballroom was filled with laughter, music, and the rustle of elegant gowns, enveloping the atmosphere. Eventually, you excused yourself to refresh, your throat parched from the laughter and conversation. Approaching the refreshment table, your hand hovered over a glass when a smooth yet unfamiliar voice interrupted.

"Such beauty should never be left unattended, even in a room filled with admirers," the stranger remarked, his tone laden with compliments as his eyes appraised you.

You offered a polite smile, unsure of his intentions. "Thank you, sir. The evening has been most enjoyable," you replied, trying to maintain the courteous yet distant demeanor taught to you for such encounters.

"But surely, it could be improved with the right company," he persisted, stepping closer in a manner that reduced the distance between you. His words were designed to charm, yet they began to weave a web of discomfort around you.

"The company I keep is of my choosing, and it has been most delightful thus far," you countered, your tone firm yet polite, hoping to convey your lack of interest in prolonging this interaction.

Undeterred, the stranger continued, "Allow me to introduce myself. I am Sir Alan, and I must say, your beauty has captivated my every sense."

You nodded in acknowledgment. "It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Sir Alan. I am Y/N."

He extended a gloved hand, adorned with rings that caught the light. "Might I have the honor of this dance, dear Lady? The night is young, and a moment with you is a treasure."

Politely declining, you explained, "I appreciate the offer, sir, but I must return to the festivities."

Undeterred, he insisted, "Just one dance, my lady. I promise it will be a memory to cherish."

Reluctantly, you acquiesced, allowing yourself to be led back onto the dance floor. As the music enveloped you, the stranger's conversation veered toward increasingly personal topics. His compliments escalated, each word designed to captivate and charm. Sir Alan skillfully prolonged the conversation, feeling uncomfortable, you attempted to gracefully disengage, only to find yourself guided toward the secluded gardens, away from prying eyes.

Amidst the moonlit flora, the stranger's intentions became clearer. "Lady Y/N, a night like this deserves to be savored in private. Away from the prying eyes of the crowd, don't you think?"

Your stomach twisted with unease as you struggled to maintain composure. "I am grateful for your company, sir, but I must return to my friends."

A grin adorned his face, concealing a more sinister motive. "Why hasten, my lady? The night is yet youthful, and so are we. Let us venture further into the gardens together, free from the shackles of society."

A sense of alarm tingled at the edges of your consciousness. Politely but firmly, you asserted, "I appreciate your company, but I must insist on returning to the ballroom. My absence may arouse suspicion, and I would not wish to cause any distress."

Undeterred, the stranger persisted, "Why subject yourself to the mundane when an adventure beckons? A stroll amidst the moonlit gardens, a dance beneath the stars—does that not sound infinitely more alluring?"

Struggling against the mounting unease, you firmly declared, "I appreciate the offer, but I must decline. My place is with my companions."

His demeanor shifted, revealing a more assertive side. "My lady, do not be hasty in dismissing the potential for a night of unparalleled delight. Embrace the possibilities, for in the gardens, secrets unfold, and desires are realized."

A chill ran down your spine as his words hung in the air. Determined to extricate yourself from this unsettling encounter, you mustered the strength to firmly assert, "I thank you for the dance, Sir, but I must return to the ballroom."

As you turned to leave, the stranger's grip tightened, his tone taking on a darker hue. "Lady Y/N, the night is full of mysteries, and in the gardens, secrets are shared. Would you not yearn for a tale untold, a moment unrestrained?"

Alarmed, you managed to free yourself from his grasp, hastily retreating back to the ballroom. The warmth and familiarity of the dance floor welcomed you, a stark contrast to the disconcerting encounter in the moonlit gardens.

Unbeknownst to you, the night held further surprises, and the echoes of that encounter lingered, casting a shadow over the revelry. Stepping back into the ballroom, the familiar countenances of Jin, Jungkook, Hoseok, Jimin, Taehyung, Namjoon, and Yoongi greeted you. Their expressions ranged from curiosity to concern, noting your brief absence.

Namjoon, ever astute, observed your return. "Lady Y/N, you have returned! How fared your brief respite?"

Smiling, you replied, "It was an intriguing interlude, to say the least. Sir Alan proves to be quite the charismatic conversationalist."

Jin raised an eyebrow, his noble bearing intact. "Sir Alan, you say? I trust his charm did not overstep its bounds."

You assured them, "Nothing of the sort, Jin. Merely persistent, but I managed to gracefully extricate myself.”

The assembly of gentlemen before you shared a look amongst themselves, a silent pact forming to address any untoward advances. "He has not brought harm to you in any way, has he?" the collective concern in their voices was palpable.

You shook your head, mustering a small smile. “Thankfully, no. I am unharmed.”

Hoseok interjected, seeking to dispel any lingering unease within you. “Well, it gladdens me to hear of your well-being. Now, might we turn our attention to Jungkook's lamentable inability to engage in the simplest of social exchanges without resorting to awkwardness?""

Jungkook, mortified at being the subject of jest, protested in a tone laden with embarrassment. "Must you fault me for my reticence in the company of others beyond our intimate circle?" His words, though tinged with self-deprecation, only served to endear him further to the group, inciting a chorus of snickers and teasing smiles.

As the night waned, the gentlemen gathered around, exchanging words of encouragement, reminiscing about childhood memories, and relishing each other’s company.

As the final notes of the music wafted through the air and the ballroom began to empty, you found yourself waiting outside the grand entrance staircase alone, while Namjoon and Jin went to fetch the quadravicar, Jungkook and Taehyung piled plates with leftovers despite Jin’s reprimands, and Yoongi, Jimin, and Hoseok excused themselves to the bathroom.

It was then, amidst the solitude, that you felt a gentle tap, a discreet summons that turned you to face the ever-persistent Sir Alan. His approach was measured, his gaze alight with an unmistakable admiration.

"Lady Y/N, the evening's end could not pass without me bestowing upon you the accolades your magnificent aura so rightly deserves. Might I have the honor of accompanying you to your quadravicar?" he proposed, his bow imbued with a blend of earnestness and anticipation.

While gratitude tinged your response, caution tempered your words. "Your offer is received with gratitude, Sir Alan, however, my companions have already made provisions for my departure."

His gaze briefly flitted about, seeking, perhaps, confirmation of your words before returning to meet your own. "But as I observe, your companions seem momentarily absent. Pray, allow me the privilege of extending my company a while longer.”

His sudden grasp upon your wrist, though not forceful, was unexpected, prompting a startled response from you. "Sir Alan—"

Before you could articulate your refusal, a familiar presence interposed itself between you and potential impropriety. "And to what destination do you presume to escort my lady?" Hoseok's voice, firm and unyielding, forced Sir Alan's hand to release its hold.

Taken aback, Sir Alan stammered, his composure momentarily faltering in the face of Hoseok's authoritative stance. "O-Oh! Lord Hoseok, I—"

Yet, it was not Hoseok alone who stood in defense; Yoongi and Jimin too had materialized, forming a united front. Jimin, his tone laden with an earnest gravity, pressed for an answer. "We would be most obliged if you would enlighten us, Sir Alan. Your persistence is unwelcome, and it is evident that she has declined your company."

Sir Alan, sensing the gravity of the situation and the unyielded gaze of your companions, chose his words with a care previously unexercised. "Gentlemen, my intentions were naught but to offer the lady a courteous companionship in the absence of her party.”

Hoseok, unwavering, retorted, "Courtesy does not involve disregarding a lady's wishes. Lady Y/N has made her intentions clear, and your company is not desired. Now, I suggest you depart before matters escalate."

Sir Alan chuckles, trying to defend himself. “It seems, however, that my actions were misjudged, and for that, I tender my sincerest apologies."

It was then, amidst the burgeoning tension, that Namjoon and Jin returned, their timely arrival adding to the formidable presence of your companions. With the quadravicar ready and your friends united in their defense, Sir Alan's intentions, however benign he claimed, were deemed unsuitable.

Namjoon, with a diplomatic grace, addressed Sir Alan, "Your intentions, while perhaps noble in your eyes, have trespassed the boundaries of decorum. We thank you for your interest, but Lady Y/N is well accounted for."

Sir Alan, sensing the seriousness of the situation, released a conciliatory sigh. "Apologies, Lady Y/N, Lords Hoseok, Jimin, Yoongi, Jin and Namjoon. I meant no harm. If my presence is unwanted, I shall take my leave." With that, he withdrew, leaving you in the comforting circle of your friends.

The tension that had momentarily clouded the evening dissipated as quickly as it had appeared, leaving behind a sense of unity and protectiveness among you and your companions. Hoseok, breaking the silence, offered a light-hearted quip to restore the evening's jovial atmosphere. "Well, I dare say we've navigated that encounter with the poise of seasoned diplomats. Shall we consider it an adventure to regale in future gatherings?"

Laughter, light and unburdened, filled the air, reaffirming the bonds that tethered your spirits together. Jimin, with a smirk playing on his lips, added, "Indeed, it appears our little assembly can handle more than just casual soirees and diplomatic parleys. We're quite the formidable cohort when the occasion demands."

With spirits buoyed and hearts alight, you made your passage to the quadravicar. The episode with Sir Alan had not tainted the evening's festivity; rather, it had underscored the profound depth of allegiance and affection that defined your relationship with your companions.

Jungkook and Taehyung, the mischievous duo, were the last to clamber into the quadravicar, burdened with an assortment of laden boxes. All eyes turned to them, bemused by their conspicuous cargo.

Jin's gaze flickered between the boxes and the pair before he seized their ears with a swift pinch. "You scoundrels! Did I not explicitly instruct you against overindulgence? Have you no shame?"

The two offenders, wearing expressions of mock innocence, pout in response to Jin's reproach. "But Jin, the offerings were too delectable to resist! Surely even you would have succumbed to temptation!"

"And need I remind you, it was Taehyung's idea in the first place!" Jungkook interjected, attempting to wriggle free from Jin's grasp.

"Outrageous! Yes, I proposed the notion, but didn't you conveniently omitted the fact that you were the one weary of our customary fare back home?" Taehyung defended himself, a hint of indignation in his tone.

"Excuse me?!" Jin exclaimed, aghast. "Ingrates, the pair of you!"

As the quadravicar ambled away from the venue, the celestial canopy above seemed to sparkle with added brilliance, mirroring the mirth that filled the quadravicar as it resounded with laughter and good-natured banter.

"Say, Y/N," Jimin's voice breaks through the jovial atmosphere, his gaze warm and imploring, “would you mind if we all spent the night at your abode? It's been an age since we had a slumber party like in our youth," Jimin chimed in, his eyes sparkling with youthful enthusiasm.

"Of course, you are all welcome under my roof," you replied warmly.

And so, as the quadravicar grinds to a halt outside your humble abode, the final act of the evening unfolds. Stepping out into the crisp night air, the echoes of laughter linger like a sweet refrain, a testament to the enduring bonds that unite your circle of friends.

Entering your quaint abode, the warmth enveloped you like a comforting embrace. You busied yourself in the kitchen, preparing for the morning's repast, ensuring that all would be ready when dawn broke.

Meanwhile, your companions, weary from the night's revelry, began their preparations for slumber. Each found a spot to lay their heads, the weariness of the day gradually giving way to the embrace of sleep. Blankets are unfurled, pillows fluffed, and whispered conversations drift lazily through the air.

As the hour grows late and the weariness of the duskar begins to take its toll, your companions one by one succumb to the embrace of sleep. Soon, the room is filled with the soft symphony of gentle snores, a harmonious testament to the peace that reigns within.

Yet, as the night wears on and the world outside slumbers, you find yourself restless, your mind abuzz with thoughts of the duskar's events. Unable to quiet your thoughts, you rise from your bed and slip silently into the kitchen, intent on preparing a pot of tea to greet the dawn.

The soft clink of china and the faint rustle of linens filled the quietude as you busied yourself in the kitchen, ensuring that everything would be in order for the forthcoming day. Lost in thought, you scarcely noticed the passage of time until a sudden rap at the front door shattered the stillness, jolting you from your reverie.

With a furrowed brow, you approached the door, curiosity mingling with a hint of trepidation as you peered through the peephole, then cautiously opening your door ajar. "Who goes there?" you called out, your voice echoing in the stillness of the night.

"Miss Y/N..." comes a timid yet recognizable voice, causing you to lower your gaze, finally laying eyes on the familiar figure standing outside your threshold.

Your eyes widen in recognition as you realize it's the young Thalia from the outskirts of Valoris. "Thalia! Heavens, what brings you here at such a late hour?"

"More importantly, how did you come here unaccompanied?" you query with urgency.

"I cannot rightly say, Miss. It's as though my feet had a will of their own, leading me to your abode," Thalia responds, her tearful gaze meeting yours, giving you pause as you sense all is not well.

You swing the door open wider, dropping to one knee to meet her eye level. "What’s the matter, little one?"

"It's my mother and father— they're in trouble," Thalia blurts out between hiccups.

Your brows furrow with concern and confusion. "Explain, Thalia. What do you mean they’re in trouble?”

The little girl breaks into fresh tears. “It's all my doing-!”

Thalia recounts the events leading to her arrival at your doorstep. She had been playing near the glade where you performed your magic of the wildflowers, when she caught sight of the approaching guards. Instinctively, she hid, but it seemed her presence had already drawn their attention to the area.

Your face softened into one of sadness and concern for Thalia; you knew precisely why those scavenger guards were now scouring the vicinity. The wildflowers in bloom, coaxed forth by your supernatural abilities, undoubtedly aroused deep suspicion—wildflowers in the waning days of autumn were anything but ordinary... Unless magic was at play.

Indeed, those scavenger guards weren't after this small family; they were after you, the witch, although none of them knew it. In all honesty, it wasn't Thalia's fault; the blame lay squarely with you.

You had brought this calamity upon them, and now you had to make it right. It was unjust that they should suffer for your actions. Foolish of you; you should have known that wildflowers at this time of year would raise eyebrows. Yet, what gnawed at your mind was the presence of scavenger guards in that area to begin with. The royal family typically cared little for the outlying dwellings of the kingdom.

But regardless, that was immaterial now. What mattered was helping Thalia and her parents, whatever the cost. You met Thalia's gaze once more. "It’s okay Thalia. Come, we must hasten to your parents."

Together, you and Thalia set forth into the night, the weight of responsibility heavy upon your shoulders.

As you traverse the moonlit streets, Thalia explains, "It was as if they sensed something amiss," her voice quivering with anxiety. "They spoke of reporting their findings to higher authorities, and I knew then that trouble loomed."

Your heart sinks at her words. You had hoped to keep your abilities concealed, to avoid drawing unwanted attention from the authorities. Yet, here you are, thrust into a situation where secrecy is no longer an option.

As you near the outskirts of Valoris, a sense of foreboding settles over you. The air is thick with tension, and the distant sounds of commotion send a shiver down your spine. Thalia clutches your hand tightly, her eyes wide with fear. Finally, you reach the outskirts, where Thalia's family resides in a modest cottage nestled amidst the trees.

"We must tread carefully," you murmur, casting a wary glance around.

Together, you both drew closer to the source of the disturbance. The scene that greets you is one of chaos and despair. Thalia's parents stand outside their home, surrounded by a group of menacing guards clad in scavenger attire. Their expressions are grim, and you can sense the fear radiating from them.

"We are not the ones you seek, and there are no wielders of magic among us!" Jakub protests, shielding his wife with his own frame. Esmae peers cautiously from behind Jakub, her eyes darting warily over the group of scavengers.

"Then, mayhaps a demonstration would be in order to test the veracity of your claim?" a scavenger guard sneers, a sinister grin stretching across his face. He gestures to one of his comrades, who produces a gleaming metal implement, sharpened to a deadly point.

The guard brandishes the weapon, its surface glinting ominously. "This, my friends, is pure iron. For ages, we've used such tools to unearth those who would dare to consort with the dark arts," he declares, advancing menacingly towards the couple. "And if your words hold true, you'd have no objections to a simple test with the lady beside you, hmm?"

Without hesitation, you step forward, Thalia at your side. "What is the meaning of this intrusion?" you demand, your voice a steady beacon amidst the swirling tempest within.

The leader of the guards fixes you with a steely gaze. "By orders of the Crown, we're here to investigate reports of illicit sorcery in this vicinity," he explains, his tone brooking no dissent.

You swallow hard, the weight of their accusation heavy upon you. Yet, you refuse to be cowed by fear. "And what evidence have you to support such allegations?" you challenge, your voice ringing with defiance.

"We've received credible witness of a sorcery skulking about these parts," he retorts. "Wildflowers blooming in the dead of winter near your dwelling—a curious coincidence, don't you think?"

You scoff at the notion. "The presence of wildflowers proves nothing. How does it incriminate any of us?"

"Are you jesting, miss?" He lets out a derisive chuckle. "Wildflowers during the inaugurate of winter—a clear sign of unnatural meddling."

You glare back, your resolve unyielding. "Your ignorance is matched only by your arrogance."

His gaze shifts to Thalia, who trembles behind you. "I remember you, child," he says, his eyes boring into hers.

You instinctively draw Thalia closer, shielding her from his invasive scrutiny. "Leave her be. She's but a child, innocent in all this."

The situation echoes with eerie familiarity, a haunting reminder of events long past. Memories of a darker time flood your mind, your fists clenching involuntarily at your sides. Yet, before the past can fully consume you, a sudden movement jolts you back to the present.

The scavenger guards seize Thalia, wrenching her from your protective embrace. Her cry of protest pierces the air, a stark reminder of the innocence threatened by their accusations. "No—!"

"This child, seen near the enchanted glade, her presence far too convenient. It lends credence to the suspicion that she and the rest of you harbor secrets—perhaps even the girl herself," the leader asserts, his grip on Thalia tightening as he brandishes the iron implement.

As Thalia struggles against his grasp, her tearful pleas tug at your heartstrings. "Mama, Papa—!"

The guards' harsh grip restrains both Jakub and Esmae, their faces etched with a mixture of fear and desperation. You too find yourself held back, unnoticed amidst the chaos unfolding before you. Anguish wells within you as Thalia's cries echo in the air, the weight of injustice bearing down upon you like a suffocating shroud.

In the face of such injustice, you refuse to remain passive. With a surge of determination, you confront the leader of the guards, your voice ringing with conviction. "Release her this instant. You have no right to subject her to such cruelty!”

The leader meets your gaze, his expression unyielding. "She is a potential threat, as are all who consort with forbidden arts. Our duty is to safeguard the realm from such dangers."

You shake your head, incredulous at his callous disregard for innocence. "You mistake innocence for guilt, blinded by your own paranoia. That girl is no sorceress, nor are any of us."

The guard's grip tightens on Thalia's arm, a grim determination etched upon his features. “We shall see.” Witnessing Thalia’s distress, a surge of emotion welled within you, a turbulent mix of fear and sorrow igniting flashes behind your eyes.

“Mother!” you wail, your eyes welling up with tears as you approach, desperate to render aid, though the gravity of the situation seems beyond your young capabilities.

With a weakening hand, she touched your cheek. “You are strong, my love. The power within you, it will guide you. Embrace it, and remember, I will always be a part of you.” Her voice wavered but held an underlying strength.

"No—!" you cry out, a surge of strength welling up within you. With a sudden burst of power, a telekinetic wave emanates from you, propelling the men restraining you, Jakub and Esmae backward, caught off guard by your unexpected display of magic.

Turning your attention to the man still clutching Thalia, you demand, "Release the girl, and perhaps I shall spare you."

Though a flicker of fear dances in his eyes, the man's pride wins out as he presses the sharp iron weapon against Thalia's delicate neck, causing you to falter momentarily. "Take another step, and this child's life is forfeit…”

Your jaw tightens as you lock gazes with him, taking in the tears glistening in Thalia's eyes. "You would spill innocent blood for what? Recognition? Power?"

"Think yourself righteous, do you?" You challenged, goading him further. His response was swift and violent, the blade biting into Thalia's flesh, drawing forth a crimson stain.

With a pained whimper, Thalia's cry pierces the air, prompting you to act swiftly. "I said, release her!" In a moment of desperation, another telekinetic force, resembling a transparent blade, hurtles toward the man, slicing through flesh and bone with a sickening squelch. Blood sprays in a gruesome arc as his head is violently wrenched from his shoulders.

The scene freezes in horror as the man's severed head tumbles to the ground, blood gushing from the stump of his neck. His lifeless body collapses in a heap, limbs twitching involuntarily. Thalia, freed from his grasp, rushes into her parents' embrace with a relieved cry, their arms wrapping around her protectively amidst the carnage.

Yet, as the realization of your actions sinks in, a sense of dread washes over you. You have taken a life—a man with ties to the royal family. Panic grips you as you comprehend the magnitude of your deed; you are now a fugitive, hunted by those in power.

A gentle hand upon your shoulder shattered the silence, drawing you from your reverie. "You must flee," Jakub's voice, steady and resolute, cut through the turmoil of your thoughts.

"J-Jakub—" Your words stumbled forth, eyes wide with uncertainty. "This is my doing, my fault."

With a reassuring touch, Jakub met your gaze. "No, child, you acted to protect us, to shield us from harm," he reassured you, though his expression betrayed a deeper concern. "Yet now, you are imperiled. Once these men awaken, they will summon the might of the royal court to hunt you down."

"Jakub speaks the truth," Esmae interjected, her voice tinged with urgency. "As a witch revealed, you are no longer safe within these walls. You must flee, and swiftly."

"But what of you?" Worry creased your brow as you considered their fate.

"Fret not for us," Esmae replied, her tone firm yet gentle. "We possess little to bind us here, and Jakub has devised a plan for just such an eventuality. It is time for you to enact your own escape, to leave Pentaraegis behind."

You nod, the urgency of the situation dawning upon you. "I have the map," you confirm, prompting Esmae to continue. "Then make haste. The dawn approaches, and time grows short."

As you prepare to depart, a pang of sorrow grips your heart, and you turn to embrace Jakub, Esmae, and Thalia. "I am grateful, and deeply sorry," you murmur.

Jakub offered a reassuring smile. "There is no need for apologies, child. It is time you prioritized your own well-being."

"How will I find you?” you ask, your voice tinged with uncertainty.

"If the fates be kind," Esmae replies with a chuckle, "our paths shall cross once more."

With a final embrace, you bid them farewell, tears glistening in your eyes as you turn and hasten back to the capital village.

Now returned to the capital village, you dash through its narrow streets with head bowed, the first light of dawn peeking over the horizon, a reminder that time is now of the essence. Navigating with practiced ease, you finally reach your modest home, your pulse racing with anticipation and anxiety.

Upon entering, the door slams shut behind you with an unintended force, startling your seven companions from their slumber. Yet, you pay it no heed, urgency propelling you to your chamber to pack essentials for your impending flight from the kingdom walls, now that the royal court will soon be in pursuit.

Namjoon, Hoseok, and Jin, sprawled out on the floor under a blanket before the fireplace, are the first to awaken, their expressions a mix of surprise and confusion at the abrupt noise. Taehyung and Jimin, nestled on the living room couch, soon follow suit, while Jungkook and Yoongi, curled up in adjacent chairs, groggily come to attention.

"What in blazes..." Jungkook mutters, his voice thick with sleep.

Taehyung stretches with a groan and a yawn. "Goodness, what hour is it?"

"An early one, evidently," Jimin mumbles, still half-asleep as the group begins to stir.

After gathering meager provisions, you hasten to the kitchen, your mind consumed with urgency, disregarding your companions' awakening.

Jungkook's weary eyes catch your passage from room to kitchen. "Y/N, what a sight to behold, you being the first to rise."

Jin perks up. "What's this? Y/N up before us? Could it be you're preparing breakfast, dear Y/N?" He jests, still half-asleep.

Your friends' banter falls on deaf ears as you continue your frenzied movements around the kitchen. However, their curiosity is piqued when you suddenly retrieve something from beneath the couch—a worn map you had secreted away days earlier, signaling to them that something is amiss.

"Hey, what's the rush?" Jin questions, rising from his seat as you dart past him.

"And at such an ungodly hour," Yoongi grumbles, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

You pay their inquiries no heed, unfurling the map upon the table with trembling hands, your focus unwavering, you mutter to yourself, searching for your intended destination. Jin and Jungkook approach, Jin seizing your shoulders.

"Y/N, talk to us," Jin implores, his grip gentle yet firm. "What's going on?"

Your gaze meets Jin's, momentarily clouded with distraction before refocusing. "I must depart the kingdom at once."

Jin's hands fell from your shoulders like startled birds taking flight, the air thick with tension as you made your startling revelation. Hoseok, Namjoon, Jimin, and Taehyung sprang up from their seats, while Yoongi's eyes snapped open, his expression a blend of disbelief and concern.

"I...I'm sorry," you stumbled over the words, the weight of their collective gaze pressing down on you. "But it's imperative."

Hoseok advanced, his voice tinged with incredulity and urgency. "This is abrupt, Y/N. Just days ago, you spoke of leaving, but now, you're insisting on immediate departure? What on earth is happening?"

Regret tugged at your conscience as you attempted to dismiss Hoseok's query, reaching to roll up the map. But before you could stow it away, a firm grip seized your wrist, arresting your movements. Jungkook's voice sliced through the air, unexpectedly grave. "No, you cannot simply brush us aside, Y/N. We are your closest confidants, and your actions are deeply concerning. Please, elucidate."

With a hesitant glance at Jungkook's earnest countenance, you relented, turning back to face your companions. "I have committed...an unspeakable act. The royal court will pursue me for it, and I cannot afford to linger."

Jin's voice was measured as he pressed for clarity. "What have you done?"

A lump formed in your throat as you swallowed hard. "I… I intervened in a skirmish involving the small family in Valoris and scavengers' guards. They were ambushed, and I had to step in."

Namjoon's voice, steady yet tinged with worry, drew closer as he took a step forward. "And how did you intervene?"

"It was a dire moment," you confessed, a shiver rippling down your spine. "A man threatened the life of the young girl, and I had no choice but to stop him... permanently."

A heavy silence hung in the air as you continued, the gravity of your admission sinking in. "I took a life... And now, I must flee."

With a determined tug and eyes brimming with unshed tears, you freed your wrist from Jungkook's grasp, packing away the map. Jimin's voice pierced the silence, his concern palpable in his tone. "But where will you go?"

A bittersweet smile played at the corners of your lips as you met Jimin's gaze. "I cannot disclose it. I fear if I do, you will follow, and I cannot bear to see you imperiled on my behalf. Please, trust me when I say it is for the best."

"Best for whom, precisely?" Jungkook's voice cut through, his frustration simmering beneath the surface.

"For all of you!" you exclaimed, your voice quivering with emotion. "If you accompany me, you will be endangered as well."

Jin exhaled heavily, disbelief etched on his features. "Surely there must be another solution, Y/N. We cannot fathom your departure."

Jimin's frustration bubbled over, his voice rising slightly. "Is it truly beyond comprehension that we harbor deep care for you? We have stood by your side for years, and now, you expect us to let you face this alone?"

Meeting his gaze, you feel the weight of his words pressing down on you. "I know, and I'm sorry. But I can't involve any of you."

"But we're already involved," Namjoon interjects, his voice calm but resolute. "We refuse to let you face it unaccompanied."

"But this is different," you argue, your voice pleading. "I can't risk your safety and positions for my sake."

"Damn it Y/N, why must you be so obstinate?" Taehyung burst forth, his frustration evident. "You incessantly speak of our standings within the royal court. Have you not comprehended a word Jimin has uttered? You are cherished amongst us, and we would go to great lengths for you. Why must you continually bring up such arguments? It vexes me beyond measure."

"Because-! Look at me, look at all of you—" Your voice wavers as you pause, sweeping your gaze across your seven companions. "It's not just your positions I'm concerned about, but your lives. I am but a common lady, and all of you... you all have futures, bright and promising, with or without me."

Hoseok's typically sunny demeanor darkens, a glint of frustration in his eyes. "Mind your words, Y/N."

You whirl toward him, tears threatening to spill from your eyes. "Am I mistaken?! You have each other! I cannot impose upon you to forsake such opulence and happiness because of my errors. It would be unjust."

"No, what's unfair is you leaving!" Yoongi's voice slices through the tension, catching you off guard.

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes. "I'm trying to protect you!"

"You're tearing us apart!" Hoseok's voice rings out, laden with anguish.

"Consider your actions, Y/N," Taehyung advances towards you, his voice tinged with urgency.

"No— you must all think. Reason with yourselves, what do you believe the royal court will decree when they discover their most esteemed and valiant soldiers, their staunch defenders, have turned their backs on them for the sake of a mere commoner like myself—especially one guilty of such a grievous offense! Let me tell you, they shall come for you all, branding you criminals for aiding me or simply for being my friends! Thus, I am performing a service by departing and severing all ties with you!"

"I can't bear to watch you make such a reckless decision!" Taehyung’s voice cracked with emotion.

"You are being selfish, Y/N!" Jungkook's words pierce through the chaos.

"Selfish? Look at yourselves! You are blinded by your loyalty!" you retort, your voice shaking with emotion. "I am doing what is best for all of us!"

Namjoon steps forward, his expression a mixture of determination and concern. "But what about what we want? We want you safe, Y/N. We want you here with us."

"And I want the same for you!" you cried out, your heart heavy with the weight of your decision. "But I can't risk your lives for mine. I will not."

"But we're not cowards, Y/N!" Jungkook's voice resonated with indignation. "We've fought battles together, faced adversity. Do you truly think we'd abandon you now?"

"You misunderstand," you whispered, anguish lacing your words. "This isn't cowardice, it's prudence. I cannot drag you into this turmoil."

"Turmoil or not, we stand with you," Jin asserts, his voice unwavering.

"But at what cost?" you whispered, tears now freely streaming down your cheeks. "I can't bear to see you suffer for my mistakes."

"Your mistakes are our mistakes," Hoseok interjects, his voice tinged with sorrow. "We share in your burdens, Y/N. That is what friendship entails."

You shook your head, their loyalty almost unbearable. "But you have futures, dreams. I can't be the anchor that weighs you down."

"Anchor or not, we refuse to let you drown," Namjoon stated firmly, his gaze unwavering. "You're a part of us, Y/N. We won't abandon you."

"Yet by staying, you risk everything," you argued, desperation seeping into your voice. "Your reputations, your safety—all for a mere commoner like me."

"We're not swayed by titles or status," Hoseok declared, determination echoing in his voice. "We stand by those we love, societal constraints be damned."

Taehyung scoffed, frustration evident. "You spoke as though we're pawns in your game. But we're comrades, bound by loyalty and friendship."

"And yet, you would cast us aside like worn-out garments," Jin added, his voice tinged with hurt.

A flicker of anguish danced in your eyes as you surveyed your friends, the weight of your decision heavy upon your shoulders. "I'm not casting you aside. I'm trying to protect you."

"By abandoning us?!" Jimin's voice cracked, pleading for understanding.

"By preventing you from sharing my fate," you countered, your voice trembling with emotion.

"But we are willing to face whatever comes our way," Jin interjected.

"And what about us?" Taehyung's voice wavered, searching for solace.

"You'll continue without me," you whispered, resignation heavy in your words.

"Without our friend? Our confidante?" Yoongi's voice was disbelieving.

"You're more than a friend," Taehyung's gazes at you. "You're family."

In the midst of the turmoil, Jimin clenches his fists at his sides, anguish wrapped in his cry. "I can't lose you, Y/N!"

Frozen, caught in a whirlwind of emotions, his sob broke through your defenses. In that instant, arguments melted away, replaced by the ache of love and loss.

Without a word, Jimin rushed forward, enveloping you in a tight embrace. His tears mingled with yours, a silent testament to the depth of your bond. Amidst the chaos and uncertainty, you found solace in the arms of your dearest friend.

Silence descended, heavy with tension, as Jin stepped forward, joining the embrace. "We may not understand your reasons," he murmured, his voice choked with emotion, "but we'll stand by you, no matter what."

"And family stands together, no matter the odds," Hoseok added, his tone resolute.

"But what if standing together only leads to ruin?" you countered, your voice choked with emotion.

"Then we shall face that ruin together," Namjoon affirms.

A/N: heyy <3333, you've finally reached the end. i apologize for its unnecessary length. this part aimed to spotlight the friendship between Y/N (you, the reader) and the boys, from childhood (as in the intro) to adulthood. and wanted to included minor intimate scenes to lay the groundwork for the slow-burn trope and scenes leading up to Y/N's departure from the kingdom. i hope you enjoyed it and can follow the plot thus far. have a good night/day wherever you are! <3333

part 2 will be coming soon!!

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