Drug Lord!Yoongi x Coffee Shop Owner!Reader

Genre: Strangers to Lovers!AU, Angst, Fluff, Smut

Chapter 18.

Series Warnings (Will Be Updated): Mentions of Drugs and Drug Deals, Blood, Smut, Emotional Damage, Love

Warnings For This Chapter: Feelings, Yoongi Opening Up

When you left the compound with Yoongi the sun was still high in the sky.

Now as you drive down the asphalt roads with the top down and the wind caressing your bare shoulders, the sky is a multitude of pastel colors.

The drug lord hasn’t told you where you’re going but the hand that’s intertwined with yours keeps your suspicions at bay.

You find yourself thinking as he switches the headlights on that this just feels so right.

It feels so completely, wonderfully right.

“Why’re your hands so cold? Are you chilly?” Yoongi inquires, tossing his finished cigarette out of the car.

You haven’t even noticed the sudden drop in temperature, you’ve been so focused on your thoughts and the way the colors have been painting the sky.

“I’m okay. I didn’t even notice,” you reply.

The silence between you two carries on for a while, the indie rock music bleeding through the car’s speakers is just enough to keep the mood relaxed.

The roads you’re taking are winding and sharp but your boyfriend hits each curve with accuracy.

“Why do I get the feeling that you’re feeling awkward?” the scarred man breathes, slowing down the vehicle.

Tilting your head to him, you watch as the setting sun highlights every gorgeous feature of his handsome face.

It’s almost impossible to stop yourself from sighing dreamily.

His scar which normally is an angry red seems softer somehow as if the pinkish hues of the once cut skin is healing even now.

You feel caught between a second and forever as the car finally stops.

The drug lord turns his head to you, tilting it playfully and it snaps you out of your reverie.

“Feeling awkward?” Yoongi inquires again.

Shaking your head, you smile up at him. “Not awkward. Just comfortable,” you promise, turning to look at the sight before you.

The car has stopped on a cliff high above the city below. It’s breathtaking to see the multitude of lights that dot the skyline as the sun sets.

“Wow,” you gasp, unbuckling your seatbelt and standing up.

“This is my favorite place to come when I need to take a break and think,” your boyfriend breathes, shutting the car off.

Yoongi looks up at you, watching how your face lights up in the soft rays of moonlight. With your arms crossed atop the windshield, you look completely ethereal.

“Jesus,” he mutters, completely floored by your gorgeous silhouette.

When you rest your temple against your knuckles and smile down at him, he takes a sharp breath between his teeth.

There’s this unspoken conversation you both are having. You’re taking each other into your sights for what feels like the first time and both of your bodies are teetering on the edge of exploding.

Yoongi pulls out both of his phones, the prepaid and his regular one, he switches them off without a second thought.

You watch with curious eyes as he exits the car and grabs the throw blanket and the bottle of wine. He wraps his arm around your waist, hoisting you up effortlessly out of the car and you can’t help but squeal happily.

He smirks, throwing the blanket down in front of the car and flickering on the headlights.

The high beams highlight the flowery patch in front of you and you feel absolutely speechless. You’ve never had a man do anything like this before.

Well, you’ve never had a man do anything for you before unless you’re counting Jeongguk buying you dinner. But he doesn’t count, not really.

“This is a date,” you find yourself uttering as your boyfriend sets you down on your feet.

The drug lord smiles, sitting down on the blanket and patting the spot beside him.

He leans back against the hood of the car, unbuttoning his dress shirt until the black ink of his tattooed torso is on view.

When you sit down beside him, he slings his arm over your shoulders.

“We’ve been on dates before. I’ve taken you out to lunch and dinner numerous times,” he breathes, drifting his thumb over your exposed arm.

“Not one that hasn’t been interrupted,” you reply, opening the bottle of wine.

He hums in agreement, looking over the lit city below.

“This is really beautiful, Yoongi,” you murmur, setting the bottle down beneath you.

“You’re really beautiful,” he vows, putting his index finger beneath your chin and turning your face to look at him.

You can feel the tips of your ears burning with the early hints of a blush at his sweet words.

“No one knows about this place, it’s my own little haven.” the drug lord announces, carding his fingers through his hair.

“I know now,” you quip, moving closer to him when he pulls you.

“Ah, well you aren’t no one, baby doll,” he murmurs, drifting his lips over your shoulder.

He sounds so free, so relaxed and it makes you vibrate with happiness.

“How so?” you inquire.

Yoongi picks up the bottle of wine, smirking as he brings it to his lips. You watch his Adam’s apple bob while he drinks the aged white liquor and there’s something so magnetic about him in this very moment.

It’s gravitational. Pulling. Grounding.

“You should know by now that you mean much more to me than any woman that has stepped within a ten foot distance of me in all these years,” the scarred man professes.

Your heart stammers and your throat tightens. You’re unashamed when you lay your head down on his broad shoulder, staring down at the city below.

A gentle chilly wind sweeps over the both of you and the goosebumps that begin to grace your skin makes your boyfriend frown.

He peels off his suit jacket, slinging it over your shoulders before you can even protest.

When you open your mouth to refute, he presses his lips softly to yours.

“What makes me so different?” you bleat, coursing your fingers over his smooth, neat dress shirt.

Yoongi sighs happily, pulling you into his lap.

“Everything about you is different. Most women that come to know me only know how to open their legs, they don’t know how to open my heart,” the scarred man begins, wrapping his arms around you. You can feel his hard, sinewy torso pressing tightly, comfortingly to your back. “Every single second I’ve spent with you has had my heart race faster than any drug could allow. Sure, you can be stubborn and challenging at times but who wants a meek woman that sits by idly? You are show stopping and strong, completely brazen. I tried so fucking hard to make you hate me – so fucking hard.”

You mold yourself to your boyfriend’s body, burying your face into his neck. He preens gently, running his hands over your body as you tuck your legs beneath you.

“Why?” you bleat, accepting the bottle of wine as he offers it.

Yoongi pulls out a cigarette, packing the bottom of it to his terse thigh. “I wanted you to hate me so badly so that you would push yourself away from me. I wasn’t ready during those angry moments to understand just how well you would reform me. I just knew that you were a good girl and I was an evil that you didn’t need.”

You lift your head when you hear the pain in his voice. His eyebrows are knit together like he’s reliving his worst sin so you do what you need to and hug him tightly.

“And now?” you breathe, drifting your fingers over the dragons that dance along his scalp.

“Now you’re my good girl. Like it should be,” he replies, placing both of his hands on either side of your face.

The drug lord presses his forehead to yours and the peace between the both of you bleeds into the chilly atmosphere.

“I haven’t wanted something like this so badly in so many years. I want to give you… God, everything and anything you desire. I know I seem cold sometimes but that’s all I’ve ever known. You’ve made something inside me just… melt. I was so afraid of that but… I love it.”

You can’t help the smile that graces your face at his words.

“Against everything in my body telling me to close myself up again, I just can’t bring myself to do it. I want this. I want you.”

The tip of his nose trails over the apple of your cheek and you’re so consumed with the man in front of you that you can hardly think of anything else.

“Well, I’m here,” you breathe, watching him light his cigarette.

“Thank God for that,” he replies, blowing the smoke away from you.

If you’re not careful, you’re gonna fall deeply in love with this man.

But you’ve never been careful and you won’t start now.

“I’m really shocked at how open I’ve been with you so far, it hasn’t felt strained or taxing.” Yoongi bleats, taking another swig of the white wine.

“I like how open you’ve been,” you agree, turning back around to look at the dazzling light show beneath you.

“Me too, I’ve never told anyone about my parents before. It was always just a small little secret, a tiny memory to keep for them. But it felt so good just saying it out loud and it felt even better to tell you.” the scarred man avows, rocking you back and forth.

The smile that’s etched onto your face is really starting to hurt your muscles but every moment of joy is so incredibly worth it.

There’s silence for a bit, a calm and collected silence that seems to stretch far and wide. You’ve taken to staring at the blinking tower lights ahead of you, you watch them strobe and pulse in time with the scarred man’s heartbeat behind you.

“I hope to be everything you want. I want to be that man that you love waking up next to.” Yoongi finally says, pushing your hair over your shoulder to pepper soft, warm kisses to the back of your neck.

“I don’t know how Sedra could have left someone as amazing as you.”

You freeze for a moment, widening your eyes at how lackadaisical your mouth has become during the comforting stretch of silence.

Feeling terrible, you turn to look back at him and he only chuckles at the sorrow on your face.

Picking up his hand, he presses his thumb to your knit eyebrows, relaxing the muscles that are wound tightly together with a smile.

“I was so bitter about it for so many years that it ate away at my soul. But in that empty, utterly barren part of my heart began to bloom something so much more important than anger because of you. We can talk about it, I don’t mind actually. I told you I’m open with you and that’s how it will stay,” he promises, kissing you sweetly.

When you just stare at him, taking in every handsome feature of his god-like face, the drug lord feels a weight lift off his body.

He’s been trying to push you away for so long now that now with his heart opening… he’s never gonna be able to go back to how he was before.

You give him something.

Something profound.

Like… water in the desert or food when you’re gaunt.

You’re saving him, like he’s been drowning for the past ten years.

“You know-,” he sighs softly.

Just the small sound has you sitting up straighter. There’s more emotion in that single sigh than you care to analyze but you tilt your head to him when he clears his throat.

“Something deep inside of me wants to just… speak all of my sins and all of my pain to you,” Yoongi whispers, lacing your hands together.

Giving him a small smile, you press your forehead to his temple. “I may not have been in a relationship before but I do know that that’s okay to do. How can you be with someone, really truly be with them, if you can’t tell them everything? You’re supposed to share everything. That’s why they call significant others – people’s other halves.”

The drug lord closes his eyes, letting your words flow through him like a river.

He finds the will to speak after a moment.

“I was trying to protect you by not telling you details of where I was going or what I was doing the other day… I was afraid that in the future if we did get so close and I did tell you those things then it would solidify how I feel about you… And that scared me for a moment. I was afraid that I was losing myself so fast – like I was gripping onto a rope that was fraying.”

You hum in agreement, kissing the back of his hand.

“But I don’t want to be afraid anymore, Y/N,” he breathes, staring at you with shaking mocha irises. “I want to be a person again. I want to live my life instead of living in darkness.”

He leaves your hand for a moment to grab the wine and you watch as he guzzles it to douse the flames of nervousness through his body.

“Well I’m not going anywhere, I’ll be here when you’re ready to open up.”

Yoongi courses his second knuckles over your cheek, appreciating the way the moon highlights your hair like you’ve been given a halo – a rightful halo fit for an angel.

He is silent for a long time, longer than you’ve ever seen before. The drug lord’s eyes take you in as a whole in front of him for what feels like eons.

He pulls from his cigarette, letting the smoke gently exhale from between his plush lips.

“I was trying to get Sedra pregnant back then, that’s why I was so surprised it was Jae’s kid. She was letting me cum inside her for so long while she was also with him that… I thought it was mine,” the scarred man says.

He’s opening up.

You give him your full attention, wrapping your legs around his waist and steadying your hands on his shoulders.

His rough, warm hand runs over your back as he leans his head back against the car to look up at you.

“I never wanted to think of me and her parting. I was so obsessed with her. She was the only family I wanted and what I thought I needed to be whole… She told me she was pregnant and she allowed me to believe it was mine for twenty four hours before I overheard her telling Jae.”

Your eyebrows knit once more, an angry fury crossing your mind until your veins are thumping out of your temples.

Just hearing his past pain makes your heart palpitate sickly.

Yoongi looks past you to the city and his expression is so lost that it feels like he’ll never come back to reality.

“I knew… God, I knew something was up with them. Just the way she looked at him… she never looked at me that way. She never drifted her fingers over my chest like she did with him. But I just couldn’t let her go… I couldn’t.”

He tosses his cigarette aside, looking up at the starry night sky. When you bury your face in his neck, his eyes flutter shut. A protective arm wraps around your waist and he holds you so close to him that he can barely breathe.

“I overheard her telling Jae about the baby. She snuck out with him at night and I was so cautious even back then that I followed them to the treehouse behind the orphanage.”

You shut your eyes, bracing yourself for anything and everything he’s about to tell you.

“When he told her how happy he was that it was his… When she said that she would only let me cum in her on days where she wasn’t ovulating… I vomited all over myself… She lied to me. She-She used me because she couldn’t get rid of me.”

Swallowing thickly, you wrap your arms around his neck.

The drug lord shakes his head, letting a bitter chuckle flow through the air.

“So I got mad… more mad at myself than anything. I was so fucking pissed that I was such a dumbass kid. So I went out to the bar that night. I had been sober from drugs for about a year but I just wanted to forget everything. I wanted to score something that would just make me obsolete. So I did some PCP and I drank until everything was upside down.”

Your shivers aren’t from the cold, they’re from his words.

Yoongi pulls his suit jacket tighter over your shoulders and he buries his face in your hair, almost as if he’s trying to shield himself from his memories.

“Jae came to the bar to celebrate that Sedra was pregnant. I was strung out and drunk, barely able to lift my fingers but when I saw him… I had this beast inside of me just raring to break out. So I broke a beer bottle and rushed at him with all this rage and all this anger… And Jae was just too fast for my fucked up body. He turned my wrist and made me cut my own face open… There was so m-much blood. I couldn’t even feel it because of how wasted I was.”

You whimper gently, squeezing your eyes shut tighter as tears pool.

“No one knows that it was Jae that did this to me. I didn’t want people to know that he kept one-upping me in every point of my life back then, so I just let that part of the night die along with all of my emotions.”

Pulling back, you cup his face. The scarred man swallows thickly, avoiding eye contact with you.

“I'm…I’m telling you this because I really enjoy you around me. I enjoy your company. I enjoy how you make me feel. ‘Cause I haven’t felt… not for an incredibly long time.”

You lean in, pressing your lips softly to the gnarled skin and he completely freezes before you like a statue.

Your voice is shaky but strong, something that makes his heart bleed in an instant. “I don’t care about what happened in your past… I care about your future and if I-I have any say in it… you’ll never be hurt again.”

His hand wraps around the back of your neck, tugging you to look at him.

His eyes are windows to all the deep seated pain he’s held inside for so long.

“It’s gonna be so hard for me to try not to fall in love with you, baby doll.”

“Don’t try… just do.”

His lips are on yours then. Fierce and passionate all at once. His teeth clamp down on your lower lip, tugging and suckling until your hands card through his hair.

He growls against you, a sound that’s so needy and carnal it makes your body want to implode.

Yoongi kisses you until your lips are raw and swollen, his hands trail over your side, kneading and gripping whatever skin he can find.

But when you pull away – the calm between the both of you is deafening.

“I want you… more than I’ve wanted anything in so long,” he breathes, trailing the tip of his nose over your collarbone.

“I’m not going anywhere.” you promise, running your fingers over his inked scalp.

Looking up at you once more, he sighs. “Open my heart up, sweetheart. Tear me to shreds. I’m yours.”

“I’m yours,” you whisper, pressing your forehead to his.

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Drug Lord!Yoongi x Coffee Shop Owner!Reader

Genre: Strangers to Lovers!AU, Angst, Fluff, Smut

Chapter 17.

Series Warnings (Will Be Updated): Mentions of Drugs and Drug Deals, Blood, Smut, Emotional Damage, Love

Warnings For This Chapter: Detective Seokjin, Cunnilingus, Sir Kink, Pet Names, Praise, Edging, Begging, Bratty!Reader, Clit Pinching, Bitch Boy!Jimin

The definition of monogamy has been blurry to Yoongi ever since Sedra left him for dead.

He always found himself changing the description, flipping it from a noun to a not really used adjective to simply pretending like the word didn’t exist at all.

But you, little miss Jeon Y/N has brought the Merriam-Webster definition to life before his very eyes.

You’ve seemed to carve the noun into his chest, into his soul.

“Did you find it?” he drones into the phone, looking up from his desk.

“Finally yeah, I had to go to one of those old sweet shops in a town where there’s only like ten people that live in hanoks,” Taehyung announces.

Yoongi breathes a sigh of relief, leaning back in his chair and putting his hands behind his head.

“How many did you buy?” the drug lord inquires.

“Their whole inventory. Three full boxes.” Tae replies.

“Good, just bring them with you to the coffee shop tomorrow. Jeongguk is gonna come pick them up.”

Yoongi hears a noise that can only be described as a disgusted scoff.

“Must you? Can’t you send Jimin or Namjoon or literally anyone else? Even a homeless man who’s doing it for a two dollar tip will suffice.”

The drug lord smirks, shaking his head at the younger man’s childishness.

“Just because he’s the youngest doesn’t mean you can bully him like everyone else did to you. You were the youngest not too long ago.” Yoongi chides, winking at Namjoon who stands stiffly against the office door.

The usually silent man only rolls his eyes in return, earning a wide smile from the drug lord.

“Hey, man, I was trying to help him out. Seeing as how he’s too pussy to talk to the girl he actually likes.”

There are so many similarities between you two siblings but the one thing that Jeongguk never picked up from you was boldness.

When you want something, Yoongi knows all too well, you’ll get it.

Kicking his feet up onto his desk, the drug lord chuckles.

“Are you gonna hit that?” Yoongi inquires, fixing his cuff links.

“No! She’s for Guk. He should know that already instead of making me beat him black and blue.”

Yoongi lights a cigarette, watching the smoke rise up to the ceiling. “Well, instead of beating him up, why don’t you support him?”

Taehyung whistles long and low. “Wow, his sister must be pegging you with one fat strap-on to get you talking like that.”

“Yeah, alright. You fucking moron.” the drug lord grumbles, ending the call.

Namjoon chuckles then, the sound drawing your boyfriend’s attention.

“Funny?” Yoongi quips, lifting his mug of coffee.

Joon can only shrug. “It’s nice.”

The drug lord blinks. “What’s nice? Pegging?”

The taller man rolls his eyes. “You. Y/N. It’s nice.”

The scarred man isn’t usually one for blushing cheeks but he can feel his skin heating up at the usually silent man’s brisk words.

Namjoon has been by Yoongi’s side since he arrived at the orphanage. He’s never questioned him, he’s never shown an ounce of loyalty to anyone else and he’s always been a trustworthy friend.

“Better than Sedra.” Namjoon rasps, leaning his head back against the steel door.

Yoongi smirks, ashing his cigarette. “I think a venomous snake is better than that one.”

The laugh Joon gives sounds as if it’s pained but the dimples that etch onto his cheeks tell a different story.

The two men relish in each other’s company for a minute before the office door comes barreling open.

“I just got the dash cam footage back from the crash… you’re gonna wanna see this.” Jin announces.

The drug lord’s eyebrows flicker up and he moves his mug out of the way for the eldest’s laptop to settle down.

Joon slowly closes the door, stepping far enough into the room to be able to see the large screen.

Jin taps the spacebar, nodding to the screen and your boyfriend drifts his fingers slowly over the gnarled skin on his face.

Yoongi flinches when the Escalade comes to a screeching halt but the large truck that ends up smashing into them moments later seems completely intentional.

“I thought to myself after watching it, ‘the truck behind us had more than enough time to step on the brakes or to even shift out of the path’ so I did more digging.” the broad shouldered man states, tapping the spacebar and rewinding the video just a few seconds back.

He points at the screen.

“Vanwyck Pharmaceuticals?” Yoongi murmurs, reading the faded letters on the front hood of the truck.

“Mhm. Vanwyck Pharmaceuticals is a subsidiary under Seoshin Medical.” Jin replies, folding his arms.

“Seoshin Medical? Isn’t that run by Hyunwoo’s parents?” the drug lord inquires.

Namjoon nods stiffly, leaning over the large armchair the boss is sitting in. “Cunts.”

Jin claps his hands, earning the attention of both of the men in the room. “It’s owned by the Hyunwoo’s parents. So I called up some of the reps from the company, trying to figure out what truck would be on that route so late in the day. Turns out – there were no deliveries that day, they were all wiped from the system. So that truck should have been in the lot the whole evening.”

The drug lord sighs loudly, coursing his rough hands over his face.

“And just in case I was wrong, I checked through the footage again.” the oldest states, fastforwarding until one image is completely still on the screen.

While it’s blurry, it’s still clear enough to make out.

Both of the drivers have on sunglasses but the snake tattoos that curl beneath the shell of their ears is incredibly apparent. The green head of the snake tattoo curls up their sideburns and the sight makes Yoongi’s teeth grit.

“It was a hit on us.”

The words creep slowly throughout the air of the office.

The drug lord’s hands form fists and none of the men are surprised when he slams them down onto the desk.

He tilts his head to Joon, the silent man already mentally prepared for whatever the boss asks for.

“I want whichever two of those fucking lowlives who were driving that truck in this forest by tomorrow. I want them dead or alive,” your boyfriend seethes through his teeth.

“Yes, Boss.”

The scarred man stands, buttoning up his suit jacket. “I need a drink.”

You’ve become accustomed to daily life in the forest these days.

You start the day off by making coffee, you usually check your laptop for any work emails or pay any bills for the shop, later on you’ll check out the stock list that is diligently updated by Hanna and you’ll order supplies accordingly before sitting out in the gazebo with Yuqi and drinking wine until Yoongi is done with whatever illegal business he’s been taking care of throughout the day.

But you don’t even get past the second step in your routine when the bedroom door opens.

Yoongi is clearly irritated, dragging his fingertips over the large scar beneath his right eye.

“What’s wrong?” you ask immediately, closing your computer.

He doesn’t reply, closing the door and locking it before walking over to you with a swiftness that makes all your joints lock in place.

He grabs your hips, picking you up effortlessly and your breathing all but ceases to exist.

Hooking his hand around the back of your neck, he pulls you to him roughly.

He molds his lips to yours, the searing kiss making your eyes widen. You can feel the need for comfort practically oozing from him and your arms wrap around his shoulders instantly.

Keeping one hand on your lower back, he shoves up your dress until it’s just barely clinging to your breasts.

You hiss softly, burying your face into his sweet smelling neck and you’re more than ready to give him any distraction he needs.

“Fuck,” he curses loudly, tugging your underwear to the side.

His fingers glide over your lower lips, already feeling the arousal that begins to weep from your core and he groans.

Yoongi drops you down onto the bed, pulling off your dress with rough, unforgiving hands.

His cinnamon irises are burning with a deep, hellbent rage that only softens when you unhook your strapless bra.

He hums sweetly, kneeling down onto the floor and dragging you by the back of your calves until your core is in front of his face.

He licks at his lips slowly, looking over your now naked body.

“What’s wron-”

“Uh. Uh.” he tuts, kissing over your thigh.

You sigh shakily, letting your head loll back to the soft mattress.

“Let me just distract myself with your pretty cunt,” he breathes, splaying open your lower lips with his fingers.

You writhe beneath him, eyelids fluttering shut.

He spits on your cunt, watching as his spittle mixes with your spilled juices and he can’t think of a better way to let this burning anger deep inside of him diminish.

He licks up your folds, watching your back arch prettily in the early morning sun.

Your boyfriend suckles at your clit, keeping you pinned down to the bed with his iron-clad grip.

“Yoongi!” you gasp, fisting at the bedsheets.

Over the past few days since the accident he’s allowed himself to open up to you more and more and just this once, until you really ask for it, he’ll open up in the bedroom.

“You call me Sir when you address me,” he informs you.

You lift your head up, eyes widening down at him.

He wants you to do whatnow?

“You got that, baby doll?” he breathes, kissing up your thigh.

You’re completely dumbfounded by his words. When you open your mouth to respond – nothing comes out.

He lifts his head, raising an eyebrow at your silence.

He gives a heady slap to the meat of your inner thigh, eyes lighting up with hedonistic intentions when your hips rise off the bed.

“I won’t ask you twice,” he seethes through his teeth.

“I heard you,” you choke out, allowing him to pin your hips back down.

“Then what do you call me?”

“S-Sir,” you chirp.

The way your entrance throbs at the simple word when it flows past your lips earns a wicked smirk from the drug lord between your legs.

“That’s my girl,” he praises, letting his tongue lap over your sensitive bud.

You can only moan at the praise, whimpering as he takes his sweet time.

Yoongi doesn’t feel the need to get you off within seconds, he wants to draw this out. If it lasts ten minutes, an hour, five hours – he’ll take what he needs until he’s calm again.

He simply grunts at the sweetness of your arousal on his tongue.

“Goddamn,” he hisses, flicking at your clit until your gasps are shorter and stunted.

When he feels the bud throb beneath his tongue, warning him of your release, he stops.

You cry out at the feeling, shivering as your orgasm ebbs away.

“S-Sir?” you whine, spreading your knees wider.

“I’m just playing with what’s mine, sweetheart.” he breathes, running his fingers over your soaked lips.

“But I was gonna cum,” you whimper.

“I know, baby. But I wasn’t ready for you to cum yet,” Yoongi quips, licking up your folds.

With a sweet whinge, you card your fingers through his hair.

“Such a pretty little cunt,” he coos, dragging his wet muscle over your core.

“Fuck me,” you beg, looking down at him.

He smirks then, letting his hands roam over your smooth legs. “No, not yet. Not until you’re begging.”

“I-I am begging,” you blanch, lifting up on your elbows.

He clicks his teeth, lifting the hood of your clit and slowly flicking at it until your arms cave in.

“You’re not begging the way I want you to.” he replies simply.

“How would you like me to do that… Sir?” you gasp, gyrating your hips for more.

“You’ll know when I need you to,” he sighs.

He begins to ravage you once again, suckling and nibbling at your clit until your moans are practically screams.

The drug lord hooks his hands behind your knees, pushing them up until your pussy is spread wide before him.

He groans at the sight, licking at your core until you’re shaking and writhing under his ministrations.

“Finger me!” you gasp, hooking your hands around your legs.

“No,” he replies curtly, reaching up and pinching your nipples.

You whine loudly, undulating your hips.

“Please, Sir!” you beg.

Spitting on your cunt, he pulls away and you sob at the loss.

“Nothing is going in this tight virgin cunt until my cock does,” he coos, drifting the tip of his wet muscle over your entrance.

Your pussy contracts and weeps at the feeling, your chest tightens and your nails dig painfully into your skin.

“So then put your cock in!” you sob, throwing your head back.

Narrowing his eyes at you, he slaps your inner thigh once more. “Don’t take that tone with me, little brat. You’ll get my cock when you’re ready for it.”

“Sorry, Sir,” you murmur, opening your legs wider.

He makes tentative licks to your clit, watching your chest puff up with pleasure. “What’s that? I couldn’t hear you, sweetheart.”

“I’m sorry, Sir.” you croak, squeezing your eyes shut.

“One more time?” he goads, suckling harshly.

“I’m sorry, Sir! Fuck!” you cry out, threading your hands into his black hair.

“Good girl, baby doll.” he praises.

His anger has completely melted away, only finding the sight before him his biggest concern.

The way your arousal drips down your supple cheeks and how your cheeks are tinged with the color of pleasure is all that seems to matter.

And it’s just so easy for him to lap at your core until you’re back to teetering on the precipice of your relief.

“Oh God! Fuck! Yes! Sir, right there!” you sob.

Your boyfriend can feel how your hands shake and shiver against his scalp. He can feel your nails drifting over his skin and he hums against you.

“You wanna cum?” he teases, rubbing circles to your clit with his thumb.

“Please, Sir!” you whimper.

He kisses up your body, suckling at your nipple until he releases it with a wet pop.

“I bet you do, sweetheart.” he coos, rubbing faster against you until you’re shivering beside him.

He kisses you then, gently slapping your core with the tips of his fingers.

“Oh my God, Sir, please! I’ll be such a good girl, I promise! J-Just please, let me,” you beg, tugging at the lapels of his suit jacket.

“You’re already such a good girl,” he murmurs, drifting his lips down your neck.

He pinches your clit sweetly, dragging the hood up and rolling his fingertips over the throbbing bud.

“Christ, your cunt is so fucking wet,” he groans against your skin.

You beg and plead, moaning until your throat is hoarse and dry.

“Cum,” he hisses into your ear, tugging at your earlobe with his teeth.

You whimper softly, feeling the pressing orgasm that’s kept your limbs stiff and shaking suddenly burst through you like a cosmos of stars forming a new planet.

Your body falls boneless onto the bed and Yoongi darkly chuckles as you squirt onto the sheets below you.

“That’s it, sweetheart. Give it to me.” he coos, kissing the top of your head repeatedly until you’re coddling to his chest.

He sighs deeply, the sound completely relaxed and free.

The drug lord wraps his arm around your waist, pulling you into his lap as he leans back against the headboard of his bed.

His lips drift over your shoulder and his eyes flutter shut at the stillness he feels.

In a way, this all feels brand new to him.

When he was younger, when he was with Sedra, he always had a pressing anxiousness deeply rooted in his heart.

He was unsure of himself, unsure of the people around him. But what could he expect? He was a teenager.

Now, with you here in his arms, he’s so fucking comfortable.

The sounds of your breathing returning to normal is a song unlike many others that he’d put down on the soundtrack of his life.

“Why do you have so many movie posters and models of cars?” you inquire, drifting your hands over his arm.

His eyes open and he stares straight ahead at the wall before him.

He hums thoughtfully.

He’s been open with you so far this week, he’ll keep it going, he surmises.

“When I was really young, I’ve told you this before, I ended up at the orphanage after my parents died in a car crash. I had memory loss for a long time. Even now I can’t properly remember what their faces looked like-”

You press your lips into a thin line, burying your face into his neck.

“- but after a while, I started to remember certain small things. Like my father was a really big car buff, I think. He always used to buy me toy cars and those little attachable car tracks that you could link up to make an arena or something. And my mother, she liked movies. We would watch the same movies over and over again, probably because I asked her but she never seemed to have a problem with it. I think she enjoyed spending time with me.”

You smile against his skin, letting the quick heartbeat of his chest resound through you.

It must not be easy to open up like this. Especially when you’ve been so closed off all these years.

“Who wouldn’t enjoy spending time with you? You’re great,” you breathe, looking up at him.

He chuckles, drifting his nose over your cheekbone. “Why’re you being so sweet? You want me to eat your pretty cunt again?”

“Well, I’d never say no to th-”

A knock at the door pulls your attention away from him.

“What?” he calls, kissing down your arm to move back towards the apex of your thighs.

“We know who they were. We’re going out now.” Jin calls back.

Yoongi freezes, letting his lips linger against your hip.

His eyes flicker to you and you can see this restless beginning to grow within him once more.

“Go,” he booms towards the door.

“Yes, Boss.”

The drug lord stands up, extending his hands to you. “Let’s go for a drive.”

You tilt your head, allowing him to pull you up to your feet. “Where?”

He slowly puts your bra back on, kissing over the back of your shoulder. “Somewhere special to me.”

Your boyfriend helps you slip back on your dress and you can’t help the way your heart stutters when he holds out his hand.

You grab his hand, following after him.

When he gets to the living room, he pulls a bottle of wine from the rack above the bar and he takes the throw blanket off of the couch.

“Going somewhere?” Guk quips from the kitchen doorway, a cookie between his teeth.

“Yeah, just going out for a drive.” you reply, smiling at your younger sibling.

He looks between you and his boss, softening at how happy you look.

“Well… just… be careful.” your brother breathes, smiling when you nod at him.

“Where’s Jimin?” Yoongi inquires, lighting a cigarette and draping the throw blanket over his shoulder.

“Right here, Boss. What do you need?” Jimin asks quickly, peeking his head out of the kitchen.

Yoongi smirks, the action completely changing his face.

“Go change my bedsheets.” he orders, pulling you towards the door.

“What? Me? Why?” Chim whines, throwing his head back.

“Cause you’re the bitch boy until you’ve made up for your mistakes,” your boyfriend quips, hooking his arm around your waist and pulling you to his side.

“What’s wrong with your sheets?” your brother inquires through his teeth.

You bury your face into the drug lord’s chest as he chuckles.

“They’re a little… soaked,” he chortles, shoving open the front door.

“Yoongi!” you hiss, smacking his chest as your neck heats up with embarrassment.

The scarred man winks down at you, swatting at your backside playfully. “Get going, sweetheart.”

Jimin and Jeongguk stare at the glass door as it swings shut, both of their eyes twitching for vastlydifferent reasons.

“Well, do you…do you wanna help me?” Jimin guffaws.

Your brother shoves the older man with a grimace, shaking his head like it can erase what he’s just witnessed.

“I’m not the bitch boy, you are.” your sibling quips, narrowly missing the playful slap Jimin tries to etch onto his cheek.

Guk folds his arms, watching the headlights of Yoongi’s car pull out of the long, winding driveway.

When he’s completely alone, he sighs heavily. “Please, just keep her safe,” he begs the heavens.

<—–Last Chapter                                                        Next Chapter—->

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Drug Lord!Yoongi x Coffee Shop Owner!Reader

Genre: Strangers to Lovers!AU, Angst, Fluff, Smut

Chapter 16.

Series Warnings (Will Be Updated): Mentions of Drugs and Drug Deals, Blood, Smut, Emotional Damage, Love

Warnings For This Chapter: Bruising, Bodily Pain, Fellatio, Face Fucking, Praise, Cum Swallowing, Nosy Hoseok, Cunnilingus, Begging, Verbal Argument

There’s an exorbitant amount of groaning that graces your ears the second you wake up.

When your eyes shoot open, you can blearily see Yoongi trying to simply get out of bed.

“Let me help you,” you murmur.

The drug lord practically jumps out of his skin at the sound of your voice.

“Fuck! You scared me! …I’m sorry I woke you,” he gasps, putting his hand over his heart.

Sitting up, you put your hand on his elbow. He hums gratefully, cringing when he lifts himself off of the bed.

“Come on, big guy.” you breathe, kicking the blankets off of you to take him to the bathroom.

Yoongi slings his arm over your shoulder, letting his head hang forward. His breathing is shallow, sucking gentle puffs of air through his teeth.

In the bright morning light that streams through the large windows of the drug lord’s room, you can see the bruises that have formed on his body overnight.

They’re large purple and black spots that decorate his tattooed body all over. It’s a saddening sight to see.

“Thank you, baby doll,” he breathes, leaning against the door post of the bathroom and closing his eyes.

“Let me turn on the shower for you,” you suggest, helping him sit down on the toilet.

He cards his fingers through his hair, bearing the pain and trying to shove it deep down inside of him.

When he looks over at you, watching how quick you are to help him… his heart… it hurts more than any of his limbs.

“Why’d you… Why’d you sleep in your dress? You should have put on one of my shirts.” the drug lord croaks, seeing the indents on your thighs from your tight dress.

“I was so worried that I passed right out.” you inform him, turning the shower on.

He shakes his head, grasping your hand and pulling you toward him even though it hurts like hell.

He flinches when your hands grasp onto his shoulders to steady yourself.

“Listen, Y/N-” he breathes, pressing his forehead to the backs of your hands.

“Just take a shower,” you cut him off.

“I got something to say, let me say it.” he pleads, looking up at you.

His face is shades of blue and black with yellow outlining. Just the sight of the bruises maring his handsome face makes you want to weep.

“I need you to know that last night… what I said about thinking of you before that car crashed…” Yoongi whispers, looking up into your eyes, “What I said about how I was scared I wouldn’t make it back to you… I meant that. And it shouldn’t have taken me a near death experience to want to open up to you like this.”

You widen your eyes at how softly he speaks his words.

“You mean more to me than I expected… If I’m thinking of you in near death experiences… Well… you’ve really torn down a huge chunk of that wall like you wanted.”

The tips of your ears burn from his sweet admission and the back of your neck becomes hot in a mere second.

“I don’t want you going anywhere, baby doll. I want to be able to open up to you and let you in… no matter how long it takes.” he breathes, closing his eyes when you run your thumb softly over his bruised cheekbone.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you promise.

The drug lord runs his hands over the curve of your hips, drifting his eyes over your gorgeous face.

The bathroom seems so still with emotions that are trying to claw their way out of both of your chests.

The hot steam of the shower rolls over the both of you in waves as you stare at each other.

It’s as if you’re frozen – frozen in time, trying not to let the moment pass.

“Fuck,” he curses softly, standing slowly as he grips the marble countertop of the sink.

“Do you want me to leave?” you inquire, opening the glass door for him.

“No, stay, it’s not like you’ll be able to get your rocks off anyway,” he quips, tapping the large black out bar across the glass which would cover his private areas all too well.

It’s practically sinful to enjoy the sight before you as he sheds his briefs.

His backside is taut and firm, his thick thigh muscles flexing and shaking without much effort.

It’s gotten way too hot in this large bathroom but for right now you’re going to blame that on the steam that permeates throughout the room.

You take a seat on the large leather bench beside the shower, allowing your eyes to drift over the top half of the drug lord’s body.

His torso has bruises and scrapes but it could never take away from the perfection before your eyes.

Yoongi hisses when the water begins to patter against his back. His fingers card through his black hair and your mouth practically drops open at how erotic he looks.

“I-I should go…” you announce, feeling your mouth become dry and parched.

His head lolls back, appreciating the hot water that soothes his aching muscles. His hands run over his face and he can’t help the cocky smirk that graces his features.

“You can come in and join me,” he suggests, opening one eye and looking at your frazzled expression.

“I-I…”

You can’t make out words, you don’t even know how to put sentences together anymore.

He chuckles at your demeanor, letting his hands fall from his face. “It’s not often that you’re at a loss for words. No witty comeback? No ’fuck you’? Well I’ll be damned.”

You sneer at his giddy smile.

He’s enjoying this just a little bit too much.

“You know… as my girlfriend, this is all yours. You can take a peek whenever you’d like.” he mumbles, grabbing his body wash.

And that brings an excellent question to mind.

“Am I really your girlfriend though? Or is it still fake?”

The bottle tumbles out of his hands and he blinks at you.

Well, he can’t say he’s too surprised. He never clarified it. He just expected you to know.

“You’re my girlfriend.”

He sounds roughly around twelve years old during his admission. His voice quivers and he has to clear his throat directly after with hopes that he didn’t sound too shocked.

He hasn’t said those words and meant them for… years.

You find yourself nodding.

“Oh… okay.”

When he bends down to grab the body wash, he groans loudly.

The sound is so painful and so sudden that you find yourself standing up in an instant.

“Good Christ Almighty,” he seethes through his teeth, pressing his hands up against the steamy glass divider.

Without a second thought, you strip out of your dress.

His head lifts when he notices the pooling fabric and his eyes slowly work over every inch of your exposed skin.

“What’re you doing, sweetheart?” he inquires, stepping back when you open up the glass door.

He politely shields his loins with his hands, raising an eyebrow when you bend down to grab the bottle of body wash.

The drug lord’s mind races at a mile a minute, rolling his eyes when his cock jumps at the sight of your skin becoming damp from the shower head.

He’s like a virgin in this moment, trying to will his erotic thoughts away.

But it doesn’t do much good when your white lingerie becomes see-through. Your nipples pebble against the fabric and you’re so consumed with helping him wash that you don’t even register your body being on full display.

“I can do it myself, get out.” he instructs softly.

When you stand back up straight, you take in how his chest and abs glisten deliciously.

You swallow thickly, drifting your gaze over him as he does the same.

His tongue sweeps over his bruised and split lips, keeping his gaze affixed to the swell of your breasts.

His bodily pain is nowhere to be found as he wraps his arms around your naked waist.

You gasp loudly when he pulls you roughly to his chest, the bottle falls to the shower floor with a loud thump and your heart picks up speed in an instant.

His hard cock presses into your hip and you can only whimper at the rigidity of it.

“I need to buy you some waterproof underwear,” he quips, pressing you up against the marble tiles of the shower.

The coolness of the wall floods you with relief as your body grows ever hotter.

His large hand cups your cheek, thumb drifting over your parted lips.

“Your skin is so soft,” he croons, dragging his lips over your jaw.

Your mind is blank, only prayers and pleading echo throughout your skull begging him to keep descending.

“Tell me to stop,” he begs, kissing down the column of your neck.

“N-No,” you choke out, angling your face away for him to have more access to your body.

He groans gently, the noise sending your skin alight with goosebumps.

Running his hands over your soaked skin, his thumbs swipe over your pebbled nipples.

When you gasp gently, seeing stars in your vision, he takes the opportunity to kiss you.

His tongue dominates yours in an instant, showing you even when he’s hurt – he’s still in charge.

Your hands are clumsy compared to his, drifting over his abs until his hard cock is in your palm.

He shudders before you, burying his forehead into the nape of your neck.

It’s been a long time since he’s been touched. A long time since he’s had the comfort of a woman.

Wrapping your hand around his generous length, you adore the gentle groans and moans that echo throughout the shower.

With a growl, he rips your bra away, turning it into useless fabric within seconds.

You pump his cock with a whimper, letting your bottom lip tuck safely between your teeth.

“Fuck, just like that baby doll.” Yoongi hisses, kissing down your chest.

His hands come to cup the supple cheeks of your backside, squeezing roughly when you drag your thumb along the tip of his bulbous head.

“I-I’ve never… I’ve never done this before,” you admit softly, preening when his lips suckle marks to the skin around your areolas.

His tongue flicks softly at your stiff peaked nipple, grabbing your hand on his cock and moving it with his own.

“Feels good,” he purrs, palming the skin of your ass.

It’s a fleeting thought that crosses his mind, but an important one.

Jeongguk has mentioned your virginity in passing but the drug lord just assumed that your brother had this rose-colored image of you.

“Baby doll, are you a virg-” his sentence is cut short with a groan as you grip his cock tighter.

He kisses over your heated skin to show attention to your other nipple and you can only whine needily.

In a moment of boldness, you decide to take charge.

You turn your bodies, pressing the drug lord against the wall and his head leans back with a gentle thump.

Kissing down his chest, you take your time over the bruises and marred skin.

“Oh fuck,” he mumbles, carding his fingers through the soaked tendrils of your hair.

Your knees hit the smooth tile beneath your feet and your mind reels at the sight before you.

His cock is long and thick, two toned and throbbing with want. His bulbous head is a needy red and the gentle curve of his cock entices you completely.

Parting your lips, you lick a circle around the head, hoping to not be too clumsy or too uneducated about it.

“Oh my God,” Yoongi seethes, gathering your hair into a makeshift ponytail.

You take his long length slowly into your mouth, allowing your tongue to glide over the throbbing base.

Yoongi can feel your nerves, he can feel your unsure actions and it’s so erotic to him that he tugs your hair roughly.

“Fuck, baby doll, just like that. Keep going,” he coos, pinching and rolling your nipple with his free hand.

You moan against his cock, preening for more.

The vibrations of your mouth make him rigid, his muscles flex and he can’t control the string of curses that pour from his lips.

You swallow around him, taking him deep within your throat. The taste of his precum is musky and thick.

Your boyfriend praises you sweetly, watching with avid eyes as your legs part with erotic intentions.

You work assiduously on his length, getting sloppier and faster with each passing minute.

“Christ, your mouth feels so fucking good,” he whispers, tugging your hair.

You can only think of pleasing this man before you, showing him how much he’s come to mean to you.

“You wanna swallow?” he inquires, thrusting his hips to meet your mouth.

You whine in agreement, grabbing onto his hips as he begins to fuck your face.

“God, I’ve been dying to know what this pretty mouth could do.” he coos, tucking his bottom lip between his teeth.

You can feel his cock beginning to throb in the recesses of your throat and your mind is completely enraptured with wanting him to finish.

You cup his balls with one hand, rolling and squeezing them to further his pleasure.

“Oh sweetheart, shit!” he cries out.

He moans long and low, pumping his cock slowly into your mouth as he cums.

He sighs shakily, combing his fingers through your hair sweetly.

When you pull off of him, he angles your face to look up at him.

“Open your mouth,” he insists, tugging your chin down with his thumb and index finger.

You do as told, whimpering as you do so.

“Good girl,” he praises, peeking into your empty mouth.

He runs his hand over your cheek when the door swings open.

“Boss, we heard something fall. You alright?” Hoseok inquires.

Yoongi rolls his eyes, shielding what can be seen of your body through the glass with his own.

“I’m fine. Get out.” he orders, helping you stand back up.

Hoseok widens his eyes at the sight before him, leaving the bathroom with a quickness.

“C'mere,” Yoongi murmurs, pulling you closer by the back of your neck.

You moan into the heated kiss, allowing him to pull you out of the shower.

Your body tingles with satisfaction and your skin feels on fire with need.

The shivers your body racks with when you enter his cool bedroom bring you back to reality.

The drug lord’s gaze holds something powerful and knowing as he lays you down on his large bed.

He doesn’t care that the sheets are soaked, he doesn’t care that his body is throbbing with pain, not when he spreads your legs.

Tearing off your thong, he groans at the sight before him.

“You’re so gorgeous,” he praises, wrapping his arms around your thighs to keep you in place.

Your breath hitches loudly when he inches his way towards your core.

“Have you ever had your pretty cunt eaten?” he inquires, kissing over your bare pubic bone.

You shake your head softly, lips parting when he suckles on one of your lower lips.

“So you really are a virgin, hmm?” he coos, watching your hips lift off the bed on their own volition.

You would be embarrassed if he wasn’t looking at you like a starving man who’s just entered a five star buffet.

He licks a flat stripe up your sex, adoring how your body becomes boneless atop his mattress.

He’s taken women’s virginities before but he won’t take yours. Not until you ask for it.

He didn’t respect them like he respects you.

And you deserve to be respected. You deserve to be adored.

And he’ll act accordingly.

He flicks the tip of his tongue against your swelling clit, adoring the cry of pleasure you emit.

You’re soaking wet, simply leaking with arousal for your boyfriend before you.

He lets your thighs go, running his hands over your stomach until your breasts are being shielded by his hands.

“Y-Yoongi,” you moan softly, bunching your hands into his thick black hair.

He hums against your core, pinching and rolling your nipples until your hips are lifting and gyrating.

“Just like that, baby doll. You’re soaked for me.” Yoongi murmurs, suckling at your clit until your toes are curling.

The way your boyfriend’s eyes stay glued to your pleasured face and the way his eyebrows knit with each stunted moan and each prayer of his name that falls from your lips bring you that much closer to release.

His finger toys with your entrance, groaning at how impossibly tight it feels.

But he doesn’t dare enter it.

He’ll wait until hell freezes over for you to let him in.

“Cum for me, baby doll. Give it to me.” he begs, licking at your clit faster.

It’s a simple thought that possesses his mind.

He will be the first man to take an orgasm from you.

And once he gets that from you, he’s going to never let go.

“Yoongi!” you sob, tugging on his hair harder.

“Mmm,” he moans against your core, egging you on until your thighs are locking and squeezing around his shoulders.

The roar of pleasure is so loud in your ears that your rising sobs of pleasure feel as if they’re whispers.

The drug lord suckles rougher, letting his teeth graze against your throbbing bud. Your back bows off the bed and you find yourself panting like a dog in heat as the bubble within you threatens to explode.

“Good girl, sweetheart. Cum for me.” Yoongi coos.

Your hands quiver and your eyes squeeze shut when he pinches your nipples gently.

It feels as if your orgasm is forcibly being pulled from your loins, it’s building so high that your moans turn into incoherent babbling.

When your boyfriend nibbles gently on your throbbing bud, the bubble explodes.

He holds down your hips as your body shakes through your throes of pleasure. Your ears ring and your loud moans curdle into soft whimpers.

“Fuck, that was beautiful.” the drug lord breathes, kissing up your body until he’s face to face with you.

You give him a tired, shy smile as he presses his forehead to yours.

He sees how you angle your body as if to hide yourself from his sight and he clicks his teeth accordingly. “You don’t ever need to hide from me, you’re a vision to look at.”

Your cheeks burn at his sweet words.

You can’t even begin to understand what just happened.

“Thank you, baby doll. That was amazing,” he whispers, giving you a gentle kiss.

When he stands up, cringing finally at the pain that echoes throughout his limbs, you can only frown.

“I’m gonna go downstairs and get a drink. Do you want a glass of wine?” he inquires, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it.

“Sure, yeah. Thanks,” you mumble, leaning up on your elbows.

He can hear the caution in your voice and it doesn’t sit well with him.

Kneeling one leg on the bed, he plants a chaste kiss against your lips once more.

“Don’t think this makes me see you any differently, you’re still the same gorgeous, stubborn girl I’ve come to like.” he avows, kissing down your neck until you let out a giggle.

“I’ve just never… y'know… been with someone like that.”

He smiles then, a wicked, breathtaking smile. “Well get used to it, this bed is too big just for me.”

He knocks his forehead into yours gently before standing and easing on a pair of briefs.

“I’ll be right back,” he promises.

The drug lord begins to whistle to himself as he descends the staircase.

Even with this bodily pain, there’s still so much more to be happy about.

Yoongi can count on his fingers the amount of times he’s felt just pure, unadulterated bliss in the last couple of years.

You’re special.

You’re perfect.

You’re his.

When he reaches the bottom of the stairs, he makes eye contact with your brother.

Jeongguk’s jaw is taught, nostrils flaring with unease and Hoseok beside him looks happier than a clam.

Yoongi sighs loudly, brushing past both of the men to grab you a bottle of wine from the wine rack above the bar.

“Did you have fun making my sister damaged goods?” Guk spits, folding his arms.

“Come on Gukkie, Boss didn’t do anything to your sister that she didn’t ask for.” Hoseok chuckles.

This time it’s Yoongi’s job to manhandle the man.

Shoving a chair out of his way, he grabs onto Hoseok’s shirt with both hands. Your boyfriend slams him up against the wall, closing one eye as smoke rises lazily from the cigarette between his lips.

“Don’t talk about my woman like that, you understand me? Whatever you think you saw upstairs better be a figment of your fucking imagination.” Yoongi threatens, pressing his forearm against the man’s throat.

Hoseok holds up his hands, nodding ever so slightly.

“Sorry, Boss,” Seok wheezes, gasping for air when he’s finally released from your boyfriend’s clutches.

Shaking his head, the drug lord pours himself a glass of Scotch.

“And you,” he calls to Jeongguk, “I’d never fucking hurt your sister. So stop being such a little bitch about it. She’s not ’damaged goods.’ She’s not ’ruined’ with me. She’s a good girl and I’d never do anything to hurt her. So man the fuck up. If you wanna complain about it, go complain to your sister who is upstairs in my bed.”

Yoongi grabs a wine glass, staring down your younger sibling. He gives him a moment to move towards the staircase but Jeongguk’s feet are cemented to the floor.

“I’m tired of repeating my-fucking-self. I’m not going to hurt her and I won’t say it again.” Yoongi announces, walking towards the staircase.

“Hyung…” Guk calls when his boss begins to ascend the stairs.

Yoongi turns around, raising an eyebrow at the younger man who seems to make himself smaller under his intense glare.

“I just love her so much, y'know. It’s only ever been us… We’ve always looked out for each other. She’s never had another man to protect her before.” Jeongguk announces, looking down at his bruised hands.

“Nothing is going to happen to her, Guk. I would never allow it.” Yoongi promises, leaning over the banister.

Your brother nods, keeping his eyes affixed to his cut up knuckles.

“Hey,” the drug lord calls to him.

Guk looks up, the expression so lost and so confused.

“I mean it.” Yoongi says, taking off to his bedroom.

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The Deal taglist – @jeon-junggoop,@btsarmy9593,@slothykrueger,@jcsmae,@milesjeon11, @cloudyblisss, @borahae-reads,@secretlycrazyhummingbird,@rjsmochii,@sugas-bbygirl,@ggukkieland,@hyungieyoongi,@chxmachxps,@dvalitaes,@vintageroses10,@maerawrrr,@flowerblu00,@veronawrites,@seoqity,@wozwaid,@hisbutton-nose,@sweetempathprunetree, @jinsearthh, @codeinebelle,@serious-addiction,@bt21chim,@rosquilleta,@dunixxd,@rkchmestizangmaldita,@openup-yourmind, @shesaysweirdthings, @marslena, @deathkat657, @yoonlattesworld, @that-funny-alien-28,@clutterfied, @belladaises, @silentkei, @btsnina, @shydestinyyouth​

Drug Lord!Yoongi x Coffee Shop Owner!Reader

Genre: Strangers to Lovers!AU, Angst, Fluff, Smut

Chapter 20.

Series Warnings (Will Be Updated): Mentions of Drugs and Drug Deals, Blood, Smut, Emotional Damage, Love

Warnings For This Chapter: Namjoon Backstory (It’s A Heartbreaker), Yoongi’s Surprise Gift

Your muscles scream and protest with every step you take on this early Sunday morning.

Yoongi hasn’t woken up yet and you take it upon yourself to make him breakfast in bed – although you find yourself giggling when you realize it’s only a flat white and a cigarette.

Your body is slowly getting used to waking up later and later as you spend more days in this forest. Sometimes you wonder what state your apartment must be in now that Taehyung is the only one who resides there.

You only hope he sleeps in Guk’s bed in the guest room rather than yours.

You think of other things too, you have all the time in the world underneath the thick canopies of trees above you. Thinking of things like just how irrelevant is the deal you’ve made with Yoongi now, how willing is he to start this new open life with you and will he be able to keep it up.

Your hands dance effortlessly as you turn on the intricate coffee machines and you’re so absorbed in your task that you don’t hear the back door open.

When you see slow movement out of the corner of your eye, the first thing your body wants to do is freeze but your training with Yoongi over the past three weeks has provided more than you think it has.

Your body moves on its own, dropping the expensive espresso powder and getting into a protective stance. Your chin lifts as if Yoongi is drawing it upwards with his index finger and your hands clench into fists.

“Relax, Bruce Lee.” Yuqi breathes, throwing a towel at your head.

You turn your head to her, your expression immediately turns into a scowl and she giggles freely.

“You scared me,” you gasp, putting your hand over your heart.

“Well at least you’re ready for trouble,” she quips, jumping up onto the island and crossing her legs.

“What’re you doing up so early?” you inquire, packing the tamper with espresso.

“I got into a fight with Joonie,” she grumbles, grabbing the bag of coffee grinds and examining it.

You’re surprised to hear such words. Yuqi and Namjoon are the most lovey-dovey couple you’ve ever had the pleasure of experiencing.

“What’d you fight about?” you ask timidly, steaming cream.

“You,” she chirps, looking down at her nails.

With wide eyes, you pass her a mug of her favorite morning drink. You start on Yoongi’s flat white with notched eyebrows.

“Wh-What about me? What’d I do wrong?” you bleat, turning to her.

She shakes her head vigorously at your nervous demeanor. “No, don’t worry. It’s nothing that you’ve done. It’s something I brought up that Namjoon told me not to be so nosy. But I don’t know how to mind my own business so I don’t know why he keeps wasting his breath after all these years,” she murmurs, looking down at her wedding band.

“What were you wondering?” you ask, putting together your boyfriend’s drink.

She sets down her coffee and tugs down the front of her shirt to show the tiger tattoo situated above her breast. “I was wondering when you’re gonna get one of these.”

You remember seeing Sedra have a small tattoo that was visible during the last event you went to.

“What does it mean?” you ask, leaning onto the island and staring at the ink that seems like it’s been on her body for years.

“It means that you’re taken for lifeby one of the family. Yours, of course, would be outlined in gold because you’re with the head of the family.”

You do remember seeing some sort of bright outline on Sedra’s but her tattoo looked faded and just the slightest bit clumsy like she’d gotten it years and years ago.

“I see,” you sigh, grabbing Yoongi’s coffee.

“I guess I should go apologize, fighting with Namjoon really sucks. It strains his vocal cords and I feel terrible.” Yuqi announces, setting down her empty mug and tapping the island.

She gives you a kiss on the cheek before she’s out the door with a heavy groan.

Your mind is swimming with thoughts as you climb up the staircase.

There’s so many intricate details to this life that constantly keep you intrigued. In some ways you wish you could just sit Yoongi down for a detailed Q&A but to respect him and his lifestyle, you let him tell you what he deems as important.

Slowly creeping into the bedroom, you’re surprised to see your boyfriend awake. He’s sitting up against the headboard, surrounded by his adorable dogs that shower him with early morning attention.

“Where you been?” he breathes, giving you a smile.

“I was downstairs making you coffee and got caught up talking to Yuqi,” you announce, padding over to him and handing him his coffee.

“Why was she here so early?” he inquires, patting the spot beside him as the dogs jump off the bed at his command.

“She got into a fight with Namjoon,” you tell him, coddling into his side.

He sips his coffee, rolling his eyes. “Why must she strain his voice? What’d they fight about?”

“Us,” you chirp.

Yoongi sighs loudly, lighting a cigarette with an even heavier eye roll than the last.

“Yuqi needs to keep her nose out of things. She’s so fucking nosy. She’s always been nosy, it’s programmed in her DNA or something.” he scoffs, looking up at the ceiling.

“Yuqi said the same thing… that she strained his vocal cords. What happened to him?” you inquire softly, laying your cheek to his muscled chest.

Yoongi lets out a long sigh, one that sounds pained and stuttered. “Just don’t talk about it to anyone, alright? Namjoon doesn’t like to be spoken about, really.”

You give a nod, drifting your fingers over the planes of his abs. The scarred man watches you for a moment, appreciating how freeing this is.

“Before Joon came to the orphanage, he was in a situation quite like mine. He was in the car with his parents when some stupid fuck ran a red light and slammed into his car.”

Your fingers freeze and you squeeze your eyes shut.

“His car kept going and going because his dad’s foot was on the gas pedal when he died. His parents… they didn’t buckle him in properly and when the car was forcibly stopped by the railing of the highway… he flew out of his seat.”

You shake your head at the simple thought, opening your eyes to not see imagined images of the strong, silent man when he was a child.

Yoongi lets out a shaky breath, pulling from his cigarette as he stares at the movie posters just ahead of him.

“He flew so fast into the driver’s seat in front of him that it was almost like a Major League Pitcher threw him. He was going at like… seventy miles an hour just to have his throat slam against the driver’s headrest. So his throat began to collapse. All the cartilage in his throat broke. He was basically choking to death on blood and clogged airways.”

Shivering, you squeeze your boyfriend tighter and he acts accordingly. He runs his hand over your back, shaking his head at the mere memory of seeing Joon arrive at the orphanage.

“When the EMTs got to him, they were able to open up his airways again. After surgery they fixed everything in his throat but they couldn’t save his voice box. It’s all scratchy and pained like that because it still hasn’t healed from when he was a kid. It hurts him to talk so he prefers to stay silent.”

“Oh my God,” you whisper, pressing your face into his chest.

He hums in agreement, setting down his mug and cigarette and wrapping his arms around you.

“People used to make fun of him at school. We took care of them for him. No one and I mean no one gets away with making Joon upset. Not on my watch. That’s my brother.”

You can feel your eyes stinging, how fucking terrible.

The both of you are silent for what feels like hours. You find comfort in one another as you let the solemnity of the tale wash over you like cold waves.

“What’d they fight about?” Yoongi inquires, combing his fingers through your hair.

Pulling back, you tap your fingers to the large tiger tattoo on the side of his neck. “When I’m going to get the gold tiger.”

He sighs loudly, laying down on his back and putting his hands beneath his head as he looks up at the ceiling.

“It’s none of Yuqi’s fucking business. She needs to keep her nose out of shit.”

“I noticed that Sedra had one, that night at the ball. And Yuqi has one on her chest.” you announce, sitting up.

He follows your lead, drifting his lips over your shoulder.

“It means that you’d be mine forever. You know that right? Did Yuqi tell you that? Once you get that ink… you’d be my wife in all things even if it isn’t legally bound.”

Swallowing thickly, you nod. “Yuqi told me.”

Yoongi’s forehead presses to the nape of your neck, his arms wrap around you and he’s so comfortable that if you were to get the tattoo right now, in this very moment, he’d be more than content for the rest of his days.

“I think you’re gonna be the only woman I’m gonna need for the rest of my life,” he breathes, letting the tips of his fingers drift down each notch of your spine.

“You think?” you giggle, turning your head.

“It’s too early to get emotional,” he chuckles, closing his eyes.

“Too early to be emotionally constipated as well,” you jeer.

“Touche,” the drug lord murmurs, looking up at the wall in front of him again.

And after a moment, he lets his heart bleed for you. “You’re smart and funny. You’re headstrong and perfectly resilient. You’re everything I need. I’m completely happy to spend the rest of my life with you, completely okay with having you by my side as my woman for the rest of my days.”

You take in a sharp breath, turning and looking him over for any sign of humor.

But you find none.

He’s completely serious.

“Wow,” you breathe, at a loss for words.

“You tell me when you’re ready for the tiger. I’ll let you get it today, tomorrow, a month from now, two years from now. I want you, Y/N. I want you with me,” he states confidently, running his thumb over your bottom lip.

“I don’t have any tattoos,” you murmur, looking down at your ink free skin.

“The tiger is the only one you’ll need.” he promises, kissing you softly.

It’s difficult for Yoongi to picture his life without you now. He always sees you in every single dream or idea for the future.

You’re becoming this safe haven to him.

You’re a home for him when he’s had none since early childhood.

The drug lord gets pissed at himself when he thinks about how he tried to push you away for so long – how he tried to block you out with some sort of cheap, fabricated wall that in the end did nothing for him.

Staring down at the chocolate bar that he made Taehyung run ragged for, he hopes this shows you just an iota of what you mean to him.

“Sir?” the waiter asks.

“Put this on a plate for dessert please, wrapper and all.” Yoongi instructs, slipping the waiter a crisp one hundred dollar bill.

Striding back over to the private room, he watches you through the cracked door for a moment. You’re constantly smoothing out the skirt of your dress and you look jaw-droppingly gorgeous.

He lets himself just take you in for what feels like days.

You’re just so right for him.

You’re solely his and he knows it so well.

You’re open with him and commanding when you need to be.

You’re his family now.

His foot taps the door and your attention shoots to the room entrance. He curses under his breath, slipping back into the room with a small smile.

“How was it?” he inquires, pointing to your almost empty plate.

“Amazing,” you chirp, resting your chin on your fist.

“Good,” he coos, planting a kiss to the crown of your head.

“Should we order dessert?” you ask, looking up at him as he rounds the beautifully intricate table.

“I got something coming,” he promises, unbuttoning his suit jacket and sitting down across from you.

“Is it a surprise? You love dessert and you love to tell me what we’re eating more so.” you quip, picking up your flute of champagne.

“This is…This is special,” he whispers, drifting his fingers over the pristine table cloth.

His hands are fidgeting and you can practically feel him trying to stop himself from touching his scar. He hasn’t touched the gnarled skin for weeks.

Which makes you painfully curious.

When he picks up his glass of champagne, you watch him guzzle it like he’s dying of thirst.

“Are you… proposing to me?”

He chokes on his alcohol, grabbing his linen napkin and pressing it to his lips with wide eyes.

“Jesus Christ, baby doll. You sure know how to pick your moments.” he gasps, dabbing at his damp black tie.

“Sorry,” you chirp, hiding your giggle with the palm of your hand.

“Do you want me to propose?”

“Do you want to propose?”

You both laugh when you speak at the same time and you laugh louder when you respond with the same exact word at the same time.

“Yes.”

The simple word hangs in the air for quite a long time. You can only stare at one another, as if you’re sketching one another out in your minds.

The dining room doors are pushed open slowly and you smile at the waiter who holds a pretty glass plate in hand.

The glass is put down in front of you and you’re stunned into silence.

You stare down at the chocolate bar, mind reeling with how long it’s been since you’ve actually seen one.

“Lynwicks,” you breathe, looking down at the gold and blue wrapping.

Your eyes sting with fresh tears and you have to tear your gaze away for a moment to try and collect yourself.

“How did you… Oh my God,” you gasp.

Yoongi watches you with a fist tucked beneath his chin, he watches every emotion he can think of flit over your expression before gratefulness is the profound emotion your face tells.

Your hand slides over your heart and you can barely hold back the sob that threatens to rip from your throat.

“Jeongguk told me you really liked these. So I had Taehyung search all over the country until he found some.”

Your laugh is broken, a lump situating itself in your throat while a few stray tears careen over your cheekbones.

Gliding your fingers over the raised letters of the foil, you lean back in your chair.

“I don’t wanna eat it,” you croak, grabbing your champagne and wiping childishly at your tears with the back of your hand.

The drug lord gives a small smile, running his hands over his tattooed scalp. “We have more at the house, you can eat this comfortably.”

You don’t have any words to express just how profoundly he’s stunned you.

He stands up and although he’s a blurry figure, you still watch him with rapt fascination.

He crouches down beside you, tilting your chin upward.

“This bar… it means… it’s not just a chocolate bar,” you sob, putting your hands to his chest.

He chuckles, gliding his thumbs over your wet cheeks. “I see that.”

You smile, sniffling just enough that Yoongi’s heart clenches.

With shaky hands you open up the bar, trying your hardest not to rip the foil or make any creases.

The large L’s on each pre-cut square make you almost dizzy with memory and the crisp snap the tempered chocolate makes has you almost in tears all over again.

With a shaky hand, you bring the chocolate to your lips.

There’s an explosion of flavor in your mouth as it touches your tongue. It’s never a taste that you really enjoyed but it’s a taste that holds so much memory that it feels like heaven.

“How is it?” your boyfriend inquires, combing some hair back behind your ear.

“Tastes like shit. I love it,” you laugh, putting your hand over your mouth.

He laughs loudly, raising an eyebrow at the chocolate in your hand when you offer it to him.

You wash the taste down with champagne, giving a small smile to Yoongi as he takes the chocolate into his mouth. His teeth nibble playfully at the pad of your thumb and he grimaces at the taste at once.

“It’s the most amazing shitty chocolate of all time,” you breathe, pulling him into a hug.

“Why’s it so special, sweetheart?” he coos, drifting his hand over your back.

“My mom, she would get this for me on important days. We didn’t have much money and we barely ever ate dessert. But she would buy me this bar on days when it was important. My kindergarten graduation. My first time at the zoo. My first A in middle school. When she told me she was getting remarried. Even though it tastes so bad, it tastes… amazing. Does that make sense?”

Yoongi pulls back, putting his large, warm hands on either side of your face. “Yeah. It does.” he promises.

“I wanna be your Lynwicks bar,” you whisper softly.

He can hear his heartbeat in his ears when your words creep through the air.

His thumb drifts over your lower lip and his eyes are intense as they stare into yours.

“Youaremy Lynwicks bar.”

Leaning forward, you press your forehead to his.

No one has ever done something like this for you before. No one has ever made you feel this sort of dizzy elation that makes your bones feel like powder every time you look at them. It’s so intense, it’s almost blinding.

You press your lips to his, enjoying the hum of satisfaction that rumbles from his throat.

“I want the tiger,” you avow, against him.

He takes in a sharp breath, pulling back just enough to search your eyes thoroughly.

“You’re sure?” he inquires, cupping your face.

“Yes. I want it.” you state plainly.

“Then you’ll have it,” he promises, kissing you sweetly enough that you feel weightless in the private dining room.

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The Deal taglist – @jeon-junggoop,@btsarmy9593,@slothykrueger,@jcsmae,@milesjeon11, @cloudyblisss, @borahae-reads,@secretlycrazyhummingbird,@rjsmochii,@sugas-bbygirl,@ggukkieland,@hyungieyoongi,@chxmachxps,@dvalitaes,@vintageroses10,@maerawrrr,@flowerblu00,@veronawrites,@seoqity,@wozwaid,@hisbutton-nose,@sweetempathprunetree, @jinsearthh, @codeinebelle,@serious-addiction,@bt21chim,@rosquilleta,@dunixxd,@rkchmestizangmaldita,@openup-yourmind, @shesaysweirdthings, @marslena,@deathkat657​,@yoonlattesworld​,@that-funny-alien-28,@clutterfied,@belladaises​,@silentkei​,@btsnina​,@shydestinyyouth, @thefreddieman, @kkklaudiaaa17,@moonchild1

Drug Lord!Yoongi x Coffee Shop Owner!Reader

Genre: Strangers to Lovers!AU, Angst, Fluff, Smut

Chapter 19.

Series Warnings (Will Be Updated): Mentions of Drugs and Drug Deals, Blood, Smut, Emotional Damage, Love

Warnings For This Chapter: Fluff, Jeongguk Being A Good Idiot

You stayed out with Yoongi just talking and holding each other for so long that you lost track of time.

You hadn’t even remembered falling asleep on him high above the city lights but you’re woken up by shouting.

“Where have you been?!” Jeongguk booms.

You feel weightless and you can feel the fine fabric of your boyfriend’s suit against your cheek.

“Is she alright!?” your brother asks shakily.

When you stir in the drug lord’s arms, he coos softly. “We’re home, sweetheart, keep sleeping.”

“You’ve been gone for hours and you haven’t answered any calls!” Guk yells.

“Simmer down,” Yoongi seethes through his teeth.

Turning your face to look at your brother you can see the sheer amount of worry in his expression.

“I’m okay, we were just on a date.” you promise groggily.

He seems to relax visibly at the sound of your voice but his eyes are still narrowed with a steel-like glaze over them.

“I called and called and calledand neither one of you picked up,” he scoffs, folding his arms.

“You’re not my mother, I can take my girlfriend on a date without having to notify you.” Yoongi breathes, walking towards the staircase.

“Put me down,” you tell your boyfriend.

He rolls his eyes, setting you gently on the ground. “My bedroom,” he tells you, planting a chaste kiss to your hairline.

You give him a nod before turning to your brother.

“I was worried about you, noona!” he hisses, planting his hand on either of your shoulders. “You shouldn’t be out there when we have… things going on in the forest.”

“You mean the two men that were taken here?”

Yoongi did his best to explain to you what was going on, he told you just enough to keep you informed but not enough that could implicate you in any way. You appreciated it. He didn’t have to tell you anything but just knowing that he trusts you enough and cares about you enough to involve you to some degree makes you feel special.

“H-He told you?” your little brother stutters, pulling away from you like you’ve burned him.

“Well yeah, I mean while we were out we got closer and we talked and it was… amazing.” you breathe, smoothing out your dress.

Jeongguk grimaces, shaking his head at the thought. “Chill out. I don’t want to hear about your late night hanky panky sessions.”

“We haven't… done that yet, so…”

“Ew! Stop! I don’t want to hear about anything you and my boss do! It’s gross! It’s so wrong there should be laws against this kinda thing!”

You find yourself smirking as he sticks his fingers in his ears childishly.

You pat his chest with a laugh, walking over to the bar to pour Yoongi a glass of bourbon.

“I just… I just want you to be careful. This life is not what I want for you. You worked hard to move away from where we grew up and I don’t want you getting hurt by the same type of people,” Guk whispers, looking up at the staircase to make sure his boss isn’t around.

The cap to the decanter gives a loud squeak as you jam it back into the crystal bottle and you turn to your brother with a small smile.

“I know, Gukkie. I do. But you’re "the same type of people” now too. Yoongi wouldn’t do anything to hurt me. I know it to be a fact. I really, really like him and he likes me too.“

Your brother sighs, looking up at the brass chandelier above him. "I’ve just known Yoongi for a while now and while I’ve never seen him with a woman… I don’t know if he would ever treat you like you should be treated. You’ve never been in a relationship before and I don’t want you to be consumed with the idea that Yoongi is your end all be a-”

Jeongguk is speaking to you like you’re a child and the notion makes you fucking angry.

Turning on your heel, you narrow your eyes at him. Your manicured finger jabs into his chest and he takes a step back at your widening eyes.

“Jeon Jeongguk, you haven’t been in a relationship either. You lost your virginity at fourteen years old to a prostitute that charged you five dollars and a strawberry Melona bar because you were cute. You don’t get to have a say in what I do! Besides! I’m older than you!”

Guk swallows thickly, running his hand over the clan neck tattoo of the tiger on his neck awkwardly. “Lili wasn’t a prosititute back then… she was a seventeen year old girl that wanted to get into prostitution.”

You roll your eyes, pulling the glass of liquor to your chest.

“I’m old enough to decide what’s best for me. I’m an adult. And little brother, I love you but you gotta let me live my own life. I’ve never had a boyfriend, I’ve never had feelings like this before. Please let me explore them and learn on my own.”

Guk takes the glass of bourbon from your hands and places it on the bar. Without another word he pulls you into his arms. He smells of musk from the forest and the slightest hit on the minty aftershave that his dad gave him.

“You mean everything to me, noona. I just want so much better for you,” he murmurs.

“You don’t know if Yoongi isn’t the best thing for me… he might turn out to be your brother-in-law,” you quip, retaking the glass into your hands.

Your brother cringes at your words, pulling away from you with a quickness. “Don’t fucking speak my nightmares into existence, please.”

You know that you mean so much to the younger man. You know how much he adores his sister. But sooner or later he’s going to have to learn how to separate himself from you.

He needs to learn how to live his own life.

“Goodnight, Gukkie,” you chirp, planting a kiss on his cheek and drifting by him.

He grunts nonchalantly, watching you ascend the stairs with a care. Shaking his head, he grabs the decanter of bourbon before heading to the backdoor.

Stepping into Yoongi’s bedroom, you’re surprised the only light in the room is from the bathroom.

You can hear water sloshing from the adjacent room and you’re surprised the scarred man isn’t in bed yet.

Peeling off your dress, you take off towards the lit room.

Leaning against the door frame, you take in the drug lord as the water within his solid marble tub rolls over his God-like body. His muscles are sinewy and taut, the water adding a delicious sheen over his tanned torso.

Turning his head to you with a cigarette clamped between his teeth, he smiles. “Hey gorgeous, fancy seeing you here.”

You hold up the glass of bourbon and he chuckles softly. “Brought you dinner.”

“Come in the bath, get the chill of the night out of your bones… and your brother’s annoying dad complex.”

You snort softly and hand him the glass of liquor. He watches you over the lip of his cup, slowly letting his eyes traipse over your body.

The drug lord sits in silence, appreciating every inch of skin that is revealed before his eyes.

When you’re completely bare before him, he taps his chest wanting your skin solely on his.

The water is the perfect temperature, pleasantly warm enough to suck out any chill your bones might have captured in the marrow.

He sets down his drink to the floor, burns out his cigarette and wraps his arms around you without a second thought.

“I thought you’d be exhausted,” you whisper, pressing your face to his ink riddled chest.

“I’m never tired around you,” he breathes, running his hand over the back of your head.

“Why do you know all the right things to say?” you murmur.

Yoongi laughs, running the tip of his tongue over his lips. “Are you ready for the answer?”

“Is it cringy?” you inquire with a small smile.

“Yeah, of fucking course it is.”

With a laugh, you lift your head.

His eyes are alight with humor and you find it so difficult to not let your heart thump out of his chest.

“Go on,” you allow with a giggle.

“I know how to say all the right things because,” he breathes, threading his fingers into your hair and pulling you closer until his lips are lightly touching yours, “you make me the right person for you – and you deserve to have the most romantic, cringy… sickeningly sweet words spoken to you.”

“That’s pretty good,” you chuckle, puckering your lips until they connect fully with his.

There’s a sharp scream that makes you jump but your boyfriend looks completely relaxed. He turns his attention to the prepaid phone and when it doesn’t light up with an incoming call, he leans back against the marble tub unbothered.

“S-Should you go check that out?” you chirp, looking up at him.

He waves his hand nonchalantly, picking up his glass of bourbon. “Nah. Namjoon’s got it. The guy is probably crying over a finger or something.”

Swallowing thickly, you suddenly remember what your boyfriend does for a living. He’s so good at taking himself and you out of that atmosphere.

“Namjoon hurt his finger?” you squeak.

Your boyfriend coasts his hand over your arm comfortingly. “No, he probably took it off.”

Your shiver is visible and he immediately coddles you to his body. He shuts his eyes, shaking his head at how completely insensitive he’s just been.

“I’m sorry. I…I don’t explain what I do to people that don’t do what I do normally.” he murmurs.

It shakes you to the core but then you think about Yuqi. She’s so strong and so powerful in her position. You want to be like that, you want to be a rock for this scarred man.

He’s opening up, he’s trusting you and you need to be understanding because he’s putting faith in you – he’s putting stock into this. So you must as well.

“That’s okay, I’ll have to get used to it is all,” you reassure him, running your fingers over his tan skin.

Capturing your chin between his thumb and index finger, he leans in. He’s so close to kissing you when another loud scream pierces the air.

Rolling his eyes, he turns on music from the LED panel beside the tub.

“Why is he being tortured?” you find yourself asking as Yoongi begins to lather your body with the finely carved soap.

The scent of lavender and vanilla breeches your senses and you have the hardest time trying to keep the pleasant sigh that threatens to leave your lips to yourself.

“Those two men in the forest tried to kill us that night the van flipped, we’re just asking them why… forcibly.” he explains, drifting the soap over your shoulders.

The music does a good job of keeping the screeching at bay and you find your eyes shutting at the peace.

“I don’t actually like classical music,” Yoongi clarifies, drifting the soap over your breasts.

It’s such an intimate moment. It’s not erotic or passionate but more tender and calm.

The drug lord never takes his eyes off your body, getting familiar with each freckle and beauty mark that graces your skin.

He finds himself thinking that he could stay here and memorize your body for years and that’d be just fine with him.

“Oh?” you inquire, opening your eyes.

The intensity in his irises grounds you, it pulls you closer to him like he’s tethered you to a rope.

“The orphanage used to make me listen to classical music to calm me. It’s not that I like it – it’s that I’ve been trained to think clearly when hearing it.” Yoongi admits, letting the soap drift down to your core.

He taps your knee, ordering your legs to be spread and you do it without hesitation.

He cleans you thoroughly, keeping his eyes glued to your face. You don’t writhe or wriggle under his ministrations – you just let yourself be.

Yoongi lets himself imagine what this partnership could be like years down the line. He lets his mind wander to future days where you’re his wife and confidant, you’re the only woman he needs and wants for the rest of his days.

He lets that thought marinate with each swipe of soap against your soft skin.

A smirk spreads over his lips as you lay your head on his chest.

Yeah. He could probably get used to that idea.

The incredibly intimate act comes to a close when he drains the tub. He adores the way your eyes slowly blink and when the distant screaming finally stops, he turns off the music.

“Let’s go to bed,” he breathes, lifting you effortlessly into his arms.

Jeongguk is so not thrilled to go run this errand for his boss.

He’s even more angry when he steps back into the coffee shop he swore he’d never enter again.

He dressed up to the nines today, with a pristine white suit and black dress shirt. His long black hair is tied up in a bun and his earrings are long and dangling by his sharp jaw.

Removing his sunglasses, he allows Taehyung to catch a glimpse of him first and the jealousy in the older man’s face practically makes your brother giddy.

“Morning, idiot,” Taehyung breathes.

Guk hates himself for it but he lets his eyes wander the shop and his heart practically stops when he sees her.

Her hair is in a messy braid with small pieces of hair falling into her eyes and her cheeks are rosy from the sheer amount of coffee she’s had to make this morning.

He sighs almost too loudly before turning his attention back to the older man. “You got a delivery for me?”

Just the sound of his voice has Hanna turning on her heel. She’s completely floored by his handsome appearance and she drops the coffee cup in hand to the floor in shock.

Guk looks over at her, watching how she fumbles for napkins and he swallows thickly.

Walking over towards her, he unbuttons his suit jacket. He grabs a wad of napkins, bending down beside her.

“Hey, Hanna bear.” he murmurs, tossing the soaked napkins in the trash.

“H-Hey, Gukkie.” she chirps.

“The package is in the store room, I’m swamped with customers right now. Hanna, can you show Guk the boxes in storage?” Taehyung calls to them, passing a latte over the counter with a smile.

Your brother shakes his head in an instant.

“N-No! She’s probably busy! I’ll find them myse-”

“Yeah, I’ll show him,” she replies, standing up tall and pulling Jeongguk along with her.

He grits his teeth, allowing himself to relish her hand wrapped around his wrist for at least five seconds before he’s ripping his arm away from her grip.

She sighs softly, tugging him inside of the store room and locking the door behind them.

When Jeongguk goes to protest, she pulls the key from the door and slides it into her bra with narrowed eyes.

“Hanna… what’re you doin’?” Guk asks exasperatedly.

“We need to talk,” she breathes, finding her nerve after a moment of silence.

He leans against the stockroom shelf, one foot sliding in front of the other with a raised eyebrow.

“I said everything I had to say the day I left… although it was a little… harsh, I have nothing left to s-”

“I have something to say!” she grinds out, crossing her arms.

Jeongguk takes her in, watching how the ugly fluorescent lights seem to somehow highlight all the best parts of the girl he’s had a crush on since what feels like the dawn of time.

Her hair is slowly unraveling from her loose braid and however disheveled it may be… she looks like she’s stepped out of a poster.

He’s stunned into silence. Which is rare for Jeons, especially you.

“I know everything that you feel the need to tell m-”

“No! You don’t! God, you’re so infuriating!” Hanna explodes, gritting her teeth.

Your brother blinks once. Twice. Three times.

Hanna has never raised her voice in all the time that he’s known her.

“Excuse me?”

“I’ve tried to talk to you a few times now but you just don’t want to hear it! It’s so childish! Why can’t you just listen to what I have to say?!” she screeches.

Now your brother is even angrier that he has to be here. He has to listen to this?! Is she insane?!

“I know what you’re going to say, Hanna! I don’t want to hear any fake ass apologies about how you fell for my friend! I don’t wanna hear how you spread your le-”

Hanna crosses the distance between them before standing on the tips of her toes. She presses her lips to his effectively cutting off whatever nasty sentence he was about to finish.

Stunned by the sudden move, your brother just stands frozen in place. His eyes are wide and he’s still shocked but his lips move in unison with hers. She tastes of wild berries and green tea lattes.

But suddenly as reality hits him again, he grabs her shoulders and pushes her back.

“What’re you doing?!” he hisses, pressing his fingers to his lips that still tingle from her touch.

“I’m not with Taehyung, I don’t want to be with Taehyung. I want to be with you!” she gasps, looking up at him with the doe eyes that make him break into a million little puzzle pieces.

He stutters and bumbles over syllables as his head tries to process the words she’s just spoken

“No…No way! You and hyung… you were laughing and playing around with each other… you-you were flirting! I saw you!” he chokes out.

“I was making you jealous, you fucking idiot!” Taehyung calls through the door, slamming his fist against the metal for good measure.

Your brother’s cheeks burn cherry red and he can only shake his head at his stupidity.

“I really, really like you Jeongguk…” Hanna breathes, looking down at her shoes.

He doesn’t know what to do. He’s never been in this situation before so he lets his heart do as it seems fit.

Wrapping his arms around her waist, he pushes her back against the farthest wall. He kisses her with fervor, allowing his hands to bunch up the black tendrils of her braid.

“Your delivery!” Hanna squeaks as his lips trail down her neck.

“I’m locked in… I can’t go anywhere,” he grumbles against her skin, pulling her back to kiss him.

You fall to the carpeted floor with a heady thump, giggling loudly when Holly climbs over you. He licks at your sweaty cheek, giving sloppy kisses to your exhausted body.

“That’s it? You think you’re done already?” your boyfriend inquires teasingly, crouching down beside you.

He holds out a cold water bottle, shaking it playfully above your head and you don’t think twice as you yank it away from him

“I do-don’t see the point of it all,” you croak, cracking open the bottle and guzzling the water.

“Watch it. Don’t make yourself vomit,” he chides you, planting a kiss to the crown of your head, “When you signed the contract you agreed to getting fighting training. You might need the knowledge at more events. It’s good to know.”

You whine loudly, throwing your head back and squeezing your eyes shut.

“I thought the contract would be obsolete now that I suck your dick every night,” you groan.

He chuckles then, the pretty noise accompanied with the gummy smile that makes you feel like you’re having a stage five heart attack.

“It is obsolete. But you still need training even more so now that you’re my actual girlfriend,” he teases, booping your nose.

When your eyes spring open, you allow them to drift over his gorgeous sweat soaked skin.

Every ridge and hard muscle seems to bulge with new intentions after your hearty work out.

The drug lord doesn’t miss your wandering gaze and he snorts softly at your dilating pupils.

“How about… you train for thirty more minutes and if you do then I’ll eat your pretty cunt in the shower, hmm?” he coos, holding his hands out to you.

He stands tall and you can see just the slightest outline in his shorts of his hardening cock.

“Fine!” you reply with a smile, grabbing his hands and standing up with his help.

As if he’d have to coerce you with anything else.

<—–Last Chapter                                                         Next Chapter——>

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(Namjoon x Reader) Oneshot, Established relationship, Family!au
Ft. side Sope and kids Seokjin Jimin, Taehyung, and Jungkook

Genre: (PG13) Fluff, Domestic, Kid Fic

Warnings: None!

WC: 1.4k

Description: Just an average day with your husband, kids, and best friends and their kids. 

A/N: The title sucks. I will (hopefully) revise it later lol. A last minute entry (a tad late, oops lol) for the @btscreatorscorner​ Secret Valentine event! My Valentine was @bluewhale52​ ! When asking about preferences, I got that she (I hope that’s right, I didn’t see any indication of pronouns but based on your works, I assumed :x Please tell me if I’m wrong, and I’ll adjust the fic to fit too!) is more hyung-line biased, particularly rap line. And loves their interactions with maknae line. So. KID FIC. I could have probably done a better job if it didn’t take me until literally last week to come up with this concept and that long to get around to finishing it lol. But I hope you still like it!

Also, this is a one-shot but I adore kid fics (despite this one being my first) so if anyone requests drabbles for these families, I am not opposed to writing more!

“Yoongi said they’re on their way,” your husband whispered to you as you.

“It should probably be safe to tell them now, right?” you suggested, referring to your twin five-year-olds who were currently playing a game of make-believe. What kind, was impossible to tell. The two communicated on a level that was too themfor you or anyone else to decipher.

You were scared of the day that they would speak in a secret language you would never be able to interpret—an inevitability rather than possibility.

“Yeah, probably,” Namjoon said somewhat hesitantly. “They’re only ten minutes away. Theoretically.”

You chuckled, thinking about the time when Jungkook refused to leave the car because he, for some unknown reason, insisted that he just had to bring ice cream to share with Jimin and Taehyung. Which had delayed the family’s arrival by half an hour and left you with toddlers who were too excited for their own good, resulting in even more chaos than usual.

Taking a deep breath, you mentally prepared yourself for the amount of excitement that was about to explode out of your children. You sat yourself on the floor next to where they were playing, Jimin not hesitating even a second to plop himself down in your lap without stopping their game at all. Your babies were very affectionate and you soaked in every second of it.

You kissed the crown of his head before giving them the news. “If I may interrupt you two for just a moment,” you began, and just like that all their attention was on you. They were so attentive, despite how lost in their own world they could become. “We’re going to be having company over tonight.”

“Is Kookie coming over?!” Taehyung yelled excitedly, dropping the doll he had been using as a prop.

“Yes, Kookie is coming over,” Namjoon said, crouching down next to you. “And so are Jinnie hyung and Uncle Hobi and Uncle Yoongi.”

Jimin jumped out of your lap to yell excitedly and jump around with his brother, an action that for sure would have lost you some health points if you hadn’t preemptively tilted your head backwards, having predicted the movement ahead of time.

You watched as your husband smiled fondly at the two. “You’d think it’s been months since they’ve seen him, rather than just days,” he said.

Your boys absolutely adored little Jungkook and always became excited whenever they’d get to see him. The two of you learned rather quickly that it was best to not say anything to them until the family was on their way to prevent them from anticipating too much and spending all their energy on excitement too early.

Yoongi and Hoseok have been close friends to you and Namjoon for the longest time. They attended your wedding—although they were still ignoring their feelings for each other at that time—and were your go-to babysitters when you needed someone in a pinch. Eventually, spending so much time with your precious boys gave them so much baby fever, they decided to adopt.

Although adopting a pair of brothers hadn’t been even remotely in their plans, they hadn’t stood a chance as soon as they met Seokjin and Jungkook. As soon as the couple met the two boys, they were all they could talk about. The orphanage was honest with them about the chances of the two brothers staying together being low because of their age gap and Seokjin had been so caring and protective toward his baby brother, they couldn’t stand to see them part.

A year and a half later, the two have blended seamlessly into all of your lives.

“Why don’t you both go pick out some toys to play with Jungkook?” you suggested, attempting to redirect their energy into something other than yelling and jumping.

Jimin gasped. “Yes, yes! Taetae, let’s get Kookie’s favorites! The cars and-”

“The dolls!” Taehyung finished. The two’s voices faded as they left down the hallway to their room.

You took the opportunity to continue working on dinner while Namjoon cleaned up the living area as much as he could. Although you knew there would be no judgement about toys being strewn around, you didn’t exactly want your friends to trip as soon as they walked in.

It wasn’t long before they arrived, the doorbell ringing through the house also summoning your five-year-olds to come running down the hall.

Namjoon and yourself each held onto one of your children so they could enter without any obstacles, but once they saw Jungkook being carried in Yoongi’s arms, they wriggled their way out of your grip to greet their best friend.

Luckily, they had (mostly) made it into the doorway by then. Your boys knew their manners well enough to make sure to say hello to everyone, but rushed through their greetings, clearly excited to play with Jungkook. The four-year-old had also managed to worm his way out of Yoongi’s hold as well, and it wasn’t long before the three little ones were making their way down the hall.

“It’s almost like they don’t love us anymore,” Hoseok pouted as he neatly placed his shoes by the door.

“You know they’ll come back to play with us later,” Yoongi shrugged off.

After your own greetings, you went back into the kitchen to finish making the food while the rest of the boys sat in the living room to chat. It wasn’t long before Seokjin appeared in the doorway, shuffling his feet and looking hesitant.

“Hey, Seokjin,” you greeted with a smile, walking towards the young teen. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah. I’m fine, Aunt Y/n.” He not-so-subtly glanced toward where you were cooking, but didn’t say anything, avoiding eye contact.

Something you learned very quickly about the boy was that he had trouble asking for things that he wanted. You never asked about his past family, not wanting to invade his privacy, but that didn’t stop you from wondering if something had happened to make him so shy. When he opened up, he was a firecracker and his smile could light up a room. But it always took him some time to get to that point.

“Would you like to help?”

He finally met your gaze, eyes wide and hopeful. “Can I?” he hesitantly asked.

“Of course you can, sweetie.”

Back in the living room, it sounded like the three young ones already got tired of playing by themselves and decided to include your husband and friends in their playtime as well. The happy squeals of Jungkook being picked up by Namjoon, who was unsurprisingly dubbed the giant monster, and the subsequent yells of your twins to ‘Give him back!’ and recruiting the other two for help put a smile on your face.

Seokjin didn’t play with the little ones too much, which had initially worried you. Even with the seven-to-eight year age gap, you’d expected him to want to try to engage with them a little more. It didn’t take all too long to learn that he was a little more subdued, preferred to watch over the chaos and only enter when invited, rather than be a part of it.

This wasn’t the first time he had an interest to help you out in the kitchen—Namjoon would help if he wasn’t banned due to his clumsiness—and the teen’s presence was incredibly welcome. He seemed very comfortable in this kind of environment, and it made your motherly side very satisfied to give him a place to feel that. He may not be yours necessarily, but Yoongi and Hoseok were family, so of course Seokjin was as well.

Dinner and the rest of the night went just as it usually was when everyone was together. Lots of chatting, laughing, and fake arguments. After, everyone gathered in the living room with even more laughter and the beautiful sounds of giggles and sound effects of the kids playing. Eventually, even Seokjin got dragged in and rightfully so was given a role of protecting Jungkook in whatever fantasy scenario the twins were cooking up this time.

Before you knew it, it had gotten pretty late. It wasn’t the first time that everyone ended up staying the night, time having gotten away from all of you. It didn’t matter—as far as you were all concerned, everyone here was family no matter where they came from. Everyone was here now, and that was what mattered.

Putting the kids to sleep with smiles on their faces, your stomach and heart full, you felt nothing in the world could make you happier.

A/N: Ugh I could have done that better, especially the ending XD But oh well, it is what it is lol. I tried not to make it super long because I need to stop doing that lol.

If you’d like to donate to my Ko-fi, feel free! Absolutely no pressure though :)

You can also check out my Etsy shop for BTS inspired charms as well!

Min Yoongi x reader | Single Parent | Fluff | PG | wc: 1100

For this year’s Secret Valentien project by @btscreatorscorner​  I was assigned the lovely @sunshinerainbowsbts so hereby I present my gift to you, Sunny (Even if its a little late). 

Beta read by @rkivian​ and@mapleglasses27

|MASTERLIST|​

The sun had truly shown itself from its better side today, having peeked through the clouds ever since the early morning hours and warming the chilled winter air. Maybe it too understood the importance of this day. Well, the importance it held for some.

And even though this  was easily  the day your boutique made most of its earnings, you could not help but dread  the day. In itself, the day was hectic at best, but the days up to it were just as chaotic because of all the preparations you had to do. It was also the reason why you were currently running on minimal amounts of sleep.

Fortunately for you, the amount of customers seemed to be decreasing ever so slowly, making it possible for you to finally take a small break. Your tired legs almost buckled under you as you leaned against the counter, eyes darting around the shop.

Finally alone.

“What a day…” you sighed, closing your eyes only for them to shoot open in shock when you suddenly heard the all too familiar sound of the chime on top of the door, warning you that someone had entered the shop. You straightened your back and looked over at the door, but there was no one there.

Maybe, your mind was playing tricks on you? It would not be the first time nor would it be the last time it had done so. But that thought was shot down when your ears picked up on footsteps coming toward you. The steps were hesitant and came to a sudden stop, you held your breath; Fear striking.

Seconds passed before you heard a whimper, immediately you jumped up from the chair and rushed toward the sound. Your eyes darted around, trying to locate the source of the noise. However, it seemed that the source itself had other plans because as you stepped around the counter, something or rather someone tugged at your pant leg.

Chubby fingers clung to the fabric of your pants, their snotty little nose buried in your leg and big doe and teary eyes looking up at you like you held the answers to the world.

“A-app-” The child hiccupped, pressing themself even further onto you.

Without even thinking, you had swiped the child up into your arms and started to comfort them. “Shhh, I am right here,” you murmured, your voice soothing and soft while caressing their hair to provide the comfort they so desperately needed.

As the sobs subsided, the child pulled back and looked at you. Finally, you took the time to look over the child; A mop of dark hair paired with big doe eyes, a cute little button nose sprinkled with freckles and chubby cheeks that matched the chubby legs and arms every child that age should have. They wore a beige dress with small hearts on.

A beautiful little girl.

“Hey there pretty little lady”

The girl let out a squeak and pressed her head into your chest again. You could not help but giggle. A few seconds went by before she peaked up at you from her ‘hiding’ spot.

“Appa.. no appa,” she stuttered, falling over her words in her attempt to communicate with you. You nodded your head knowingly, understanding what she tried to tell you. Your eyes flicked over to the shop windows, but were only met with the darkness from outside.

A sigh passed your lips; this was going to be difficult.

“Would you like some chocolate milk?” you asked, already moving toward the machine as the girl started nodding her head rapidly. Another giggle passed your lips at how cute she looked, her hair tossing around her head and a little pout on her lips.

You settled the girl on the counter and gave her a cup. She wrapped both of her hands around it, moving it up toward her lips before taking a big sip. When she moved the cup away, she let out an ‘ah!” while smacking her lips.

“Does the pretty little lady have a name?”

“Yejun” She answered proudly, puffing out her chest.

“Hello Yejun” you said and introduced yourself, offering your hand to her with a smile. She took your hand into her much smaller one and gave it a light squeeze before going back to sipping on her chocolate milk.

Yejun seemed much more at ease with her chocolate milk in hand even though her father was still missing. Luckily enough it was not long before your eyes caught sight of a frantic looking man outside of the shop windows. The two of you locked eyes for only a split second before his eyes flicked to the child in front of you.

“Yejun! Thank God!” The man ripped open the door and ran toward Yejun, who was making grabby hands toward the man while crying “appa”.

He frantically pulled Yejun into his arms and held her against him tightly for a few moments, before sitting her down on the counter again: “Are you okay?” he was fidgeting over her, feeling and searching for anything that might not have been there before their sudden separation.

Fortunately, he found nothing.

He heaved a sigh of relief and planted a kiss on her forehead, then he turned around to face you.

“Thank you so much for finding Yejun!” He thanked you before beginning to ramble about how she had suddenly disappeared from one moment to another.

You could not help but notice that Yejun’s dad was just as handsome as she was cute. She had inherited his dark hair and cute button nose, but what really made your knees bent was the gummy smile he showed as he looked at his child.

“I understand. Children are hard work, but Yejun has been nothing but an angel,” you assured the man with a gentle touch on his arm.

His eyes lightened up when you complimented his child, chest filling with pride that even in such a highly emotional situation his little girl had been polite.  

“Still..-” He started but stopped when Yejun tugged at his shirt, the man bending down toward her and she whispered something into his ear. He let out a soft ‘ah’ before straightening himself up.

This time when he looked at you, you could not help but notice the light glint he had in his dark eyes.

“Can Yejun and I invite you out for a cup of coffee?” He asked confidently. However, the sudden confidence seemed to diminish as fast as it had come when you did not reply immediately. “Of course only if-”

You touched his arm, making him halter in his sentence. You gave him a shy smile.

“That sounds wonderful, let me just close the shop.”

I choose the prompt: Kid playing matchmaker because who isn’t a sucker for diff BTS?

OT7 x reader | Fantasy | Hybrid | Slice of life | Romance | 18+ | wc: 3100 out of 7300

╰ You leave the stress of everyday life for a simple life in the woods, but apparently, you aren’t the only one who wanted to get away. The goal? To find yourself. And maybe each other along the way.

⟶ warnings: Sadness, anxiety- and panic attacks, talk about death and cursing.

Banner made by the @papillonsgf​.

Beta read by the @moccahobi​ and @hoebii​, thanks to both of you. Truly.

|MASTERLIST|​ 

Previous |Series|Next|

You could not remember how - or when for that matter, you had arrived home after you had been informed of the sudden passing of your foster parents. The only thing you remembered was how you had walked mindlessly around while the lawyer, Mr. Wang’s, words kept echoing in your head, a dark reminder of how you had not known of their passing before fourteen days had already gone by.

You had a hard time believing what Mr. Wang had told you, he must have been pulling a joke on you. A cruel one. They could not be dead. They simply could not. Even as you tried to contact them via phone and they did not answer, your mind kept coming up with alternative reasons for why: Maybe they were on vacation or had forgotten theír phones somewhere - it would not have been the first time. However, as hours went by the relation of the situation settled in, and you cried.

They were gone.

You squeezed your eyes shut tightly, trying to control the tears which were streaming down your face as your knees buckled under the mental and physical strain, collapsing onto the hardwood floor.

The pressure around your chest increased, making it hard for you to breathe.

Once again, it was as if someone was strangling you - or holding you underwater. No matter how hard you tried, you could not catch a breath.

For a short moment, your vision darkened, then flashed with a collage of heartbreaking memories. Memories that now felt empty without them. Your first time meeting Jihoon and Soobin outside of their flower shop, the day they invited you into their home, and the first time they told you that they loved you. The last time you had been more than one around the dining table, enjoying a home-cooked meal and the room was filled with love and laughter. You screamed as the memories blurred and darkness once again took over.

When your vision returned, your breathing had steadied slightly but your lungs were still burning, aching for oxygen. With what little energy you had left, you sought comfort in yourself; bending your upper body toward your legs and tucking your head in between them. You tried to remember the breathing technique you had learned earlier in life before Jihoon and Soobin came into your life.

It took a few tries before you had figured it out. Inhaling through your nose and holding it for a few seconds, and then exhaling through your mouth ever so slowly.  Breath in through the nose, hold it, and out through the mouth. In through the nose, hold it for a moment, and then exhale through the mouth. You kept repeating until your breathing settled down and the burn in your lungs had subsided.

You no longer had any energy left in you, your eyes twitched until darkness consumed you once again.

The following days had passed by without you noticing. You could not remember much of what you had been doing the days after your mental breakdown. You only remember the overwhelming feeling of distress and hopelessness.

However, today seemed slightly better than the day before - and the day before that, and the one before that one too. It might have been because you had actually gotten a full night’s sleep without any form of nightmare, something you had not experienced since that day in the office.

You had woken up from your slumber twenty minutes ago but had yet to leave the comfort - and warmth - of your bed. You shifted out from under the covers and into a half-sitting position with a book in hand. You were completely lost in the book; immersed to the point you had blocked the real world out. The noises of the waking city melted away. The cars, traffic, and voices became silenced and were replaced with a warm humming background noise.

A loud ringing abruptly brought you back to reality. It startled you, causing you to drop your book in fright.

“Fuck me.”  

You had placed a hand on your chest and looked at the fallen book in disbelief before your eyes flickered around for the source of the sound. Your eyes locked upon your phone, screen flashing with an unknown number. You had seen the number before though. A few times actually.

You let out a deep sigh, a mixture of relief and annoyance as you reached for the phone.

“Hell-o-o”

“Miss Yun,” a deep voice pierced through the phone’s speakers.

Instantly, your back stiffened and ice ran down your spine; you recognized the voice as the elderly lawyer, Mr. Wang.

What could he possibly want? You were not ready for any more depressing news. You were not even over the ones he had given you a week or so ago - and you probably never would be.

“What do you want?!” you flinched as soon as the words passed your lips, you sounded so angry and frustrated that you felt embarrassed. This was not how you wanted to come across, neither was it how the Yun’s had raised you. You needed to be respectful towards others - especially your elders.

You became more and more aware of how inappropriate your tone had been as the silence filled the room.

“I am so so sorry, I did not mean any disrespect or hardship, sir” You apologized profusely and vehemently, but the words died in your throat as your ears perked up, registering a chuckle sounding through the phone. Your mind must have been playing tricks on you because you thought you heard him chuckle “funny girl”.

“There is no need to apologize, Miss Yun.”

You let out the breath you had held.

“I would imagine I would have been a little irritated myself if the position had been reversed” Mr. Wang continued.

“Still that is no reason for being disrespectful, sir”

“Do not linger on it, ____.”

It was the first time he had ever called you by your first name and, to be honest, it took you by surprise. It felt so out of character for him.

“Now as for the reason why I am calling: I have news regarding the settlement with the Yun clan and other information I would like to pass along to you.”  

You were nodding your head slowly, trying to comprehend what he was saying. 

“Would it be possible to meet up within the next few days?”

You hummed, still not quite sure where all this would end up.

“How does -” there was a short moment of silence, only the sound of what might have been him flipping through pages of his calendar, before continuing; “- Thursday at 1 pm sound?”

“Yeah, sure” you muttered, already knowing you had nothing planned and even if you had, you would cancel in a heartbeat for whatever information there was regarding your ‘parents’.

“Great! I will send a message with the place and time.”

“Yeah, whatever” you mumbled, hoping he did not hear it and if he did, he ignored it and ended the call with a curt yet quick farewell, then the line went dead. You looked at the phone in frustration and let out a heavy sigh, your mind was already overworking itself, making you fear what was to come.

Thursday arrived way too fast for your liking. Your nerves had been building up ever since Mr. Wang’s call and now that the day had come, they were reaching a breaking point. You had been anxious the whole day; pacing around your apartment since you had awoken and had tried to eat. But even the smallest amount of food had made you sick to your stomach. And now, you were squirming in your metro seat and picking at your cuticles out of habit.

You were not sure of how long you had been picking at your fingers, only stopping when a monotone voice sounded from the speakers, declaring the next stop which just happened to be your stop. As you took a hold of your bag, you noticed how the skin around your fingers was raw and inflamed. It was almost bleeding.

“For fuck sake” you mumbled annoyed, your skin had only just somewhat healed from last time. However, you could not linger on it for too long since you had somewhere to be, so with a heavy sigh, you left the comfort of your seat and went over to the doors, waiting patiently for them to slide open.

You exited the metro station with quick steps stopping shortly when you noted how the mass of people only seemed to grow even denser as you arrived at the street. Your heart raced at the sight of the packed place, starting to feel overwhelmed at the thought of having to go through the sea of people.  You had to zigzag around people, making sure not to collide with anyone while looking for the meeting address Mr. Wang had sent you. Even as you frantically looked for the address, your mind was just as frantically coming up with what-if scenarios. You could not help it. You were not sure what Mr. Wang could possibly want to tell you, that could not be said over the phone. What if he had mistaken and your parents had not wished for you to inherit anything? Or what if it was even more devastating? Another death in the family, maybe?

Finally, as the crowd seemed to thin out, you could look around a little easier and as your eyes flicked around they locked upon a building. Then your eyes darted to your phone, making sure that you were indeed at the right address. You were. So you tucked the phone back into your shoulder bag and your eyes - once again, locked upon the building.

The whole building was made of glass, reflecting the beautiful blue of the autumn sky to glowing with orange hues from pale peach to tangerine whenever the sun peeked through the clouds. It was stretching itself toward the sky, almost as if to break through to the heavens.

Then your eyes slowly traveled back down from the top of the building, until they settled upon the entrance. Immediately, noticing a black-suited man standing in the foyer of the building, staring at you with a stern look almost as if to tell you that you did not belong here. However, you already knew this, but Mr. Wang wanted to meet up here and you could not back down now.

Or could you?

No.

No, you could not do that. You had to know what Mr. Wang could possibly want. He wanted to meet up instead of simply telling you over the phone - like most people would and it had piqued your interest. Moreover, since it was most definitely about your deceased parents, you had to know.

You inhaled and exhaled with a sigh, then began the short walk toward the entrance with shaky legs. You could feel the stern-looking man’s eyes on you as you neared the entrée. It made you uncomfortable; the way he was burning holes into you, confirming you that you did not belong there.

But then again, where did you belong? 

You wrapped your arms around your stomach to shrink into yourself, lowering your head in an attempt to make yourself even smaller. With your head bowed down, you distracted yourself by counting the cracks on the pavement.

You were so preoccupied that you did not notice that someone had opened the door for you. It was only when the warm air slapped you in the face and a gasp slipped past your lips, you realized that you had stepped into the building.

“Can I help you, ma’am?”

Immediately, you whipped your head around and your eyes traveled over the man until they landed on his face, still as serious and stern as a stone. A few seconds went by with you simply looking at him and not uttering a word, so the man rephrased his question.

“Do you have an appointment with someone today, ma’am?” the man asked, face softening slightly as he noticed your disheveled appearance; swollen eyes, cheeks flushed and splotchy, and hair slightly tousled.

“-Yes, sir,” you said timidly. You loosened the scarf around your neck in an attempt to cool yourself down from the sudden heat. In addition, to reduce the uncomfortableness you had felt ever since he had settled his eyes on you.  

“Can I have the name of the person you have an appointment with?” He asked and fished out a tablet from the inner pocket of his jacket.

“Oh. I am here to see Mr. Wang.” As soon as the name passed your lips, the man’s eyes flicked back to the tablet and tapped on its screen. A few moments went by when he suddenly looked at you again, this time with a brow raised; “Miss Yun, I assume then?”

You nodded.

“Do you have any ID on you miss?”

You nodded once again, opening your bag and started looking for your identification card. You scolded yourself as you roamed through the bag, it had to be there somewhere in the mess of a bag. When suddenly your fingers brushed against the chapped sides of a card. You could not hold back the small victory wiggle as you pulled the card out.

The man simply took the card from you. 

He glanced at you to make sure that you were indeed the same person as the one in the photo. His eyes flicked from your face to the card and back. Unable to bear the scrutiny in his eyes, you looked away and started fidgeting with the few loose threads from your scarf. You found yourself getting hotter and hotter, afraid that he would not recognize the person in the photo. You had changed since the photo had been taken.

“Everything seems to check out, miss Yun.” The stern look washed away from his face as soon as your identity was confirmed, a loose smile finding its way onto his face instead. “You will have to take the elevator to the 42nd floor where Mr. Wang is staying, either he or his secretary will be there to welcome you.” He continued while pointing you towards the elevator.

“Thank you,” you said, a shy smile painted on your face. You gave a quick bow, then walked down the long hallway toward the elevator. You did not have to wait long for the elevator - maybe a few minutes, but no more than three.

You leaned against the elevator wall as soon as you entered and waited for the doors to close. As you stood alone inside the empty elevator, the nerves you had tried so hard to ignore ambushed you: you were staring blankly ahead of you while your heartbeat increased to an alarming pace, it felt as if it was about to jump out of your chest. Blood rushed to your ears, flushing out all other noises than the sound of your overworking heart.

A sudden ding chimed and the doors slowly slid open. Your eyes widened and darted over to the screen where the floor number shined brightly. 42nd. The floors had passed by way too quickly for your liking. You did not even have a moment to collect yourself before you stumbled out of the elevator with wobbly legs. You steadied yourself against a wall just outside of the elevator, taking a deep breath while closing your eyes, trying to calm yourself down. Luckily it did not take you long before your heartbeat slowed down to a somewhat normal rate.

With shaking legs you began your small walk down the corridor. Your eyes darted around, trying to find either Mr. Wang or a secretary - anyone for that matter, but none came into view.

You kept walking until you came by an empty desk. You look around, trying to see if anyone was near still, none were to be seen. Then your eyes landed on a dark mahogany door with four golden letters on it: ‘WANG’.

It had to be here.

You took a few steps towards the door and knocked on it, still somewhat scared about what may happen in there. Somehow you were still holding on to the hope that your parents would be standing in there, but you knew better. It would only happen in dreams. And this was anything but a dream.

You fidgeted with your jacket while waiting for any kind of response when suddenly the door was ripped open. A gasp passed your lips as you came face to face with a pair of kind eyes behind a pair of brown eyes behind a pair of glasses. There was a hint of kindness and somehow they seemed to calm you a little - but only a little.

“Thank you for coming, Miss Yun. I hope it was not too much of a problem for you.” Mr. Wang said, stepping aside for you to enter the office. You shook your head to make it clear that it was fine (even if it had been a problem, you probably would not have said anything).

“Then please sit down,” he said, pulling out the chair for you. The corner of your lips quirked up in a small smile in gratitude before sitting down in the chair he had offered.

“Would you like anything to drink? Coffee? Water? A soda?” He asked while walking behind the desk you now sat in front of. The question threw you slightly off, reminding you why you were there. This was not going to be an easy or short conversation.

It was going to be a difficult one, you already knew it.  

“Just water, please.” You answered timidly, suddenly not having the courage to speak any louder in fear of your voice breaking.

He gave you a small nod, walking over to the bar cart in the far corner of the office before grabbing what you assumed to be a water bottle and poured it into two glasses. He strode back to the desk, placing one of the glasses in front of you before taking a seat. He took a sip of water and turned to you with a gentle smile.

“Let us begin then.”

in-flight entertainment

Pairing: Yoongi x reader (f implied)

Genre: fluffy fluff

Warnings: reader gets drunk in an airplane. mentions of vomit.

Wordcount: <1k

Summary: Maybe the fourth mini-bottle of tequila was a little bit too much. Good thing this stranger’s got a very enticing and comfortable shoulder to sleep on for the rest of the flight.

AN: infinite thanks to @miscelunaaa . Written for the talented, kind, hilarious, and always extraordinary @augustbutwinter on our possumversary. Here’s to many more screeches from the dumpster!

The goddamn seatbelt light is on again.

Not that it matters. Even if you wanted to get up, it would involve waking up the snoring grandpa on your right, watching him clack his dentures around and shuffle to his feet, groaning as he makes his way out to the aisle for you to get by.

You’d have to be pretty desperate, anyway. Thirty-eight minutes into a five-hour flight is not the time to break the seal. Pretty desperate, indeed.

The light dings back off and you hit the button to call a flight attendant.

It had been different when you said yes to your best friend and agreed to be her maid of honor. It had been a time of joy, of excitement. You hadn’t spoken it outloud, but you’d had a secret hope that you’d be the one to catch the bouquet, that your boyfriend would propose on the spot, and that you’d get to show off a shiny new rock on your wedding-manicured hand.

Ex-boyfriend, you remind yourself bitterly. He’d broken it off well before the wedding, packing up his bags and going to stay with a friend. Sidepiece. Whatever. Whisky helps. So does rum. Tequila helps most of all, so that’s what you order when the flight attendant comes over. Tequila and orange juice. Two bottles. The first is gone by the time she makes it down the aisle for a trash sweep, so you order a third and fourth. No orange juice.

One hour and sixteen minutes down, and the wedding is still an ocean away.

The man on your left, between you and the window, pulls his phone out of the pocket of his hoodie and changes the song. You can hear it through his AirPods, over the roar of the engine. You can’t tell what song it is but it seems awfully hype for the expression on his face, slack and relaxed.

You ruefully think that you’d be relaxed too if you didn’t have this horror-show of a wedding to deal with. You’d be like Mr Hype Guy, all chill in his comfy hoodie, listening to his tunes without a care in the world. He probably doesn’t need a shot of tequila to get through the flight without crying.

He’s probably not thinking about how much it’s going to suck—having to put on a happy face and dance in your ugly lavender dress with some stranger in a tux and watch your best friend marry the man of her dreams.

You crack open mini-bottle number four and down its contents.

Mr Hot Guy glances over at you, then back out the window.

Lucky fuck. He’s probably one of those nice guys—like the future Mr BFF—one of those guys who meets his perfect woman and hangs on for dear life, knowing how fucking goddamn lucky he is. Knowing how precious a thing like true love is. How fleeting. How—

His hoodie is soft against your cheek. It smells nice. Like fabric softener and cedar.

Against—

You sit up with a start and wipe the drool off your cheek. There’s a wet patch on his shoulder and it’s from your mouth, which doesn’t make any sense because your mouth is dry as cotton now.

He shifts in his seat.

“Feeling better?” He asks.

“Oh god,” you groan. “I am so sorry. Here—” You try to blot at the wet patch on his shoulder with the tiny napkins that came with your first drink.

He takes them from you. “It’ll dry. Trust me, this thing’s seen worse. Let me tell you about the time I thought I lost it. Which, sad. And then I went back to the same pub and it was still stuffed in the booth a week later. So now I know my favorite pub doesn’t clean anything worth a damn and I can never eat there again.”

The contents of your stomach give a nasty churn.

“And this other time,” he continues, “this one time my best friend used it to clean up when he was watching his girlfriend’s dog. That dog got into a full-sized ham. Ate the whole thing. Barf everywhere. And this dumbass — what does he do? Well, he doesn’t want to use his girl’s nice towels to clean it up. So he grabs my sweatshirt out of his car and uses that. She never knew a thing.”

Another churn has you vaulting over the sleeping grandpa and into the aisle, dashing to the bathroom to empty the contents of your stomach into the miniature toilet just as the fasten seatbelt light comes on again and the pilot announces the beginning of your descent.

You see him again at the rehearsal. He winks at you, pats his shoulder teasingly. Stands opposite you, hands over the ring. He holds out your chair for you at the rehearsal dinner and whispers in your ear.

Staying at the same hotel, it’s easy to make excuses to follow him back to his room, to watch him strip off that cozy hoodie. To let him take you in his arms and into his bed.

The next day, decked out in your lavender abomination dress, dancing with him doesn’t seem like a chore at all. He looks damn good in a tux, after all. Even better than he did in a dubious hoodie, which should have been impossible.

At the end of the night, he kisses you before he raises his glass to toast the happy couple. “Let me tell you how I knew she was the one for him: As you probably know, they have a dog…”

Play by Play (myg)

summary- An accidental brush of Yoongi’s fingers suddenly leads to so much more.

word count- 3.1k 

pairing- idol!Yoongi x best friend!Reader

rating- R

genre- idolau, smut, fluff, f2l

warnings- Yoongi in that airport fit with that beautiful luscious hair, reader is obsessed with Yoongi’s fingers, finger sucking, hair pulling, dry humping to completion… yes you read that right

a.n- So after I read @kithtaehyung‘slike that, I went to bed and this is the wild dream I had. Full fantasy fulfilment for ya girl here ngl. A big thank you to @m-yg93 for beta reading and screaming with me.

❃ This fic was written as part of Festivaled Away: Burning Memories hosted by @bangtanbathhouse | ticket: concert/show, main event: musical artist au, games: oral fixation.

As always feedback appreciated, a reblog and a like goes a far way. Send me an ask!

-

The play was heinous. An over the top telling of feminist virtues that was so heavy handed it left a bitter taste in your mouth. And it was a musical. You’re a feminist, of course, but the playwright’s utter discounting of the audience’s intelligence left must to be desired. But Yoongi’s friend was in it and so you tagged along when he asked you to come, weak to your best friend’s whiny pout.

It’s not easy being friends with someone who has a mob of fans around him at all times. Perhaps if you were a man it would be easier, but for now you were relegated to the middle of the small audience while he and his two bodyguards sat front and center. How’s that for feminism?

If it wasn’t bad enough that you had to sit through a man’s awful retelling of the feminist movement, the playwright thought of handing out a quiz at the end just to be quirky. It was worse than any pop quiz in your high school history class, full of questions about dates and people you were sure were part of the play but you had glossed over in an effort to stay awake. The cherry on top was the title: So are you really a feminist?

Blech.

Using the same tactic you used in highschool you added your name on top and then proceeded to check C for every answer, barely bothering to read the questions. It had been three hours and Yoongi definitely owed you for not dozing off. Perhaps you could convince him to take you to a fancy dinner as a reward. Your stomach grumbled at the thought as you handed the sheet back to one of the many people in black roaming around. With an ominous soundtrack, you realized to your eye rolling horror that the lead would not only be grading everyone but announcing the results one by one — for the entire audience of over fifty people.

He started from the back row, calling every individual by name, marking their test and then playing a tune on a little keyboard placed next to him. You had no idea what the tunes meant. The lead himself said nothing but the name, and you could feel your annoyance at the subpar play increase with every little chime that blasted through the speakers. It was one thing to make people endure the garbage writing, it was another to play this travesty of a mind game.

You barely registered when your name was called, rolling your eyes as he played a somewhat melancholic tune, the major scale not uplifting it in the least. Well, at least you knew that only half the room was left. Great.

You zoned out for most of the rest till your best friend’s name was called. Well not his name, his stage name. “Suga!” the man announced to the surprise of the room that had somehow missed him entering earlier. Apparently, a white mask was a pretty good disguise. While the rest of the room was whispering amongst themselves, trying to decipher if the cheery tune meant that their favourite idol was a feminist or not, you couldn’t help but giggle. Did he seriously use his stage name on the test?

Thankfully, the end of the tests meant the end of the evening, with the cast coming out centre stage to bow to the cheering audience. Before the lights came on you spied your friend and his guards making their way to the side entrance, taking it as your cue to finally leave and meet up in the tunnel underground so you both could leave together. Sure, it was more tedious than leaving out the front door, but it was definitely less tedious than having some fan snap a photo of the two of you together. The last thing you needed as a budding artist was a scandal with a pop star, even if there was nothing scandalous happening between you.

Sneaking down the stairs, you heard the commotion coming from the people leaving from the play, Yoongi’s name distinctly coming through the cacophony. It made you laugh a little. It hit you sometimes how the shy, awkward boy from your small hometown was now the talk of the world. It was bizarre. People had multiple thirst accounts dedicated to him — ones that you had of course used to annoy him — but you could never see the sexy Suga they portrayed. To you, he was just Yoongi, annoyingly cocky, often moody Yoongi.

“Hey, good timing,” your best friend’s voice rang through the hallway as he walked over to you, playbill in one hand and the other moving through his long dark hair. One look at him in the white shirt and blue jeans, and you knew that any pictures sneaked of him today would be making Twitter explode in a few hours.

“You owe me like five dinners after this,” you complained, starting your tirade against the terrible production as Yoongi grimaced, the mask under his chin crumpling with his expression. Eyes rolling, he shoved you away as the two of you waited for the car to pull up.

“It wasn’t that bad, was it?” Yoongi asked, frowning and pulling his mask off in the car. The two of you were sitting in the back row of the SUV, leaving the front row empty so as not to be photographed. He slouched in his seat, pulling out his phone by force of habit.

“Wasn’t that bad? Yoongi!” you exasperated. “It was so bad! I hated it so much! I almost fell asleep.” He just chuckled in response, used to you ranting about every piece of media. He hummed along to your critiques, laughing at how thoroughly put off you were by the quiz at the end.

“Honestly, I just circled all C,” he confessed and you couldn’t help the giant laugh that overcame you. There was a reason you both were so close. However his confession reminded you of another thing.

“You put Suga as your name,” you giggled, watching his eyes narrow as he looked at you, thoroughly unamused.

“That’s my name,” he shrugged.

“Oh is that what it says on your passport? Is that what you put on your SATs?” you teased, grinning widely as your friend struggled to remain deadpan, fighting his own smile. “I’m Suga,” you mimicked in a deep baritone hearing his annoyed whine you loved so much.

“Stop! Shut up,” he whined, a hand coming up on your lips but between your laughs, he had somehow missed the mark. Instead of his palm landing on your lips, somehow two of his fingers ended up in your mouth, the laughter between you immediately silencing.

You didn’t know what came over you. If anyone asked, you’d tell them it was brain rot from the terrible 3 hour long tragedy you had sat through. Yet your lips closed around his fingers, tongue licking at the pads as you sucked.

At your movement the smile on Yoongi’s face turned lopsided, his eyes bright as he watched the way the top of his fingers disappeared between your scarlet painted lips. He didn’t know where he got the courage, but after a small pause he was pushing his fingers in further, relishing the way your eyes widened. Before either of you knew it, he was pumping his fingers in and out, your mouth suctioning them in a way that ruined your panties and tented his pants.

“Fuck,” he murmured, his other hand going to your waist out of its own accord, pulling you closer. It seemed your tenth grade crush was back in full force, beating your heart in submission as you climbed onto his lap, tongue laving at his digits, face burning at the little groan that escaped his lips at your actions. You could feel him hard beneath you, your dress riding up to give you the perfect opportunity to grind against him. His hand on your waist tightened at the action before trailing to the other side and pulling you against his chest, the flush on his face matching yours.

The car stopped then, indicating your arrival at Yoongi’s apartment and jarring the two of you back to reality. His fingers left your mouth with a lewd smack, a line of saliva connecting the two of you before you were scrambling to climb over the seat in front to get out, your best friend following suit.

The elevator ride was awkward, quiet and still, except for the loud beating of your heart. It was a novel development that made your skin prickle, carrying even when the two of you were in the apartment and on his couch. He poured you a drink, sitting stiffly next to you, humming in response to your thank you. If someone looked in they would assume that you were strangers, sitting ramrod straight, fist distant apart, sipping on your drinks. But being friends for so long had made Yoongi blunt.

“So you sucked on my fingers,” he began, your face flushing in horror as your head spun to look at him.

“I did no such thing,” you retorted, putting the glass on the table and crossing your arms over your chest. Yoongi just stared at you, mouth open in disbelief and brows furrowed.

“Yes you did!” he exclaimed, slamming his glass down too, turning on the couch to face you.

“No I definitely did not,” you chuckled fakely, needing him to just forget your momentary loss of sanity. However, Yoongi was a petty little bitch and instead of following your lead and pretending that nothing ever happened, he just brought his fingers back to your lips, shocking you into somehow having his fingers back in your mouth. He smirked as your lips closed around his knuckles once again, the mischievous look in his eyes only brightening as he pushed deeper and deeper till you could feel them at the back of your throat, the skin between his fingers marked by your lipstick. Narrowing your eyes at his sudden lewd curiosity, you ran your tongue between the two digits, enjoying the way his smile dropped, his mouth slacking and his own tongue poking at his lips while he stared at you. And then he pressed on the back of your tongue, earning a moan you tried your best to suppress, your pussy fluttering in need.

But Yoongi wasn’t the only petty one in this friendship, with a quick hand you pulled his hair, if only to break him out of the staring match he seemed to be having with your mouth, expecting him to break out of the lust.

Except he moaned.

Loud and needy, the sound rattled around his silent apartment and set your skin on fire. His hand slackened, falling out of your mouth, your spit trailing down your lips. You had never thought about your friend this way, but with the dazed look on his face, you acted on autopilot, your other hand burying itself in his soft silky hair and tugging again.

“Fuck,” he hissed, eyes closing as he leaned back, legs stretched as if taunting you with a throne. He remained slack when you took his silent invitation, climbing into his lap, and matching his fiery gaze. When you tugged his hair again, he mewled, hips rising and hands gripping your waist, your name escaping him in a whimper. Arms locking you against his chest, there were centimeters between your grins and somehow the proximity made you giggle, his own snickers joining yours till your forehead was resting against his.

“When did you get so hot?” you asked between your chuckles as he looked at you from under his eyelashes, pink dusting his cheeks and arms tightening around you. He looked away a little shyly, burying his face in your neck as he inhaled, leaving goosebumps on the skin where his breath ghosted.

“Must be the idol skincare,” he joked, his lips brushing your skin as he spoke, making you shiver, your hips rutting gently against his before he was sitting up straight again, a hand cupping your face. “Can I admit I’ve always found you hot now?”

He spoke more to your lips than you, but Yoongi had always had trouble making eye contact for too long. His words rang in your head, warmth blooming through you as your breath hitched. But the flurry in your head only increased when his tongue poked out, the tip licking at your spit glistening on your lips, making it your turn to moan. The movement was so slow, so tentative, so gentle that it left sparks behind, ones that spread from your lips to your face and down your chest, igniting your heart.

With your tenth grade self jumping in glee in your head, you crashed your lips onto his, fervent and eager. He matched your pace, gasping a little at the sudden move, his tongue meeting yours again and again till you felt drunk off of it, his name echoing through your head and landing on his lips.

Your moans were a melody, harmonizing together as the two of you wrapped your arms around each other but it wasn’t long till his hands were wandering, fingers gripping onto every piece of flesh from your chest to your thighs to your ass. It was like you were combusting, your body in hyperdrive fueled by the way his teeth dug into your bottom lip.

“This is what you wanted in the car, didn’t you,” he teased, teeth blooming roses on your neck as he met each grind of your hips with one of his own, his cock brushing tantalizingly to your centre. “First sucking my fingers and then grinding that pretty little pussy all over me. You gonna stain my pants, baby?”

Yoongi had never spoken this way to you, his dirty words making you gasp. A gasp he took full opportunity of to dive his tongue back into you, sloppy and needy. It was like he had been replaced by someone else, someone who knew every nerve in your body.

“I don’t need a play by play, Yoongs,” you panted, fingers stroking his scalp eliciting a deep groan from him. You wanted him to stop talking, unaware of how much you could take of his dirty mouth, lust coursing through you in waves he controlled with each undulation of his hips.

“You sure? You wanna be surprised?” he taunted, lips moving over your chest, mouth capturing a nipple over your dress, the red satin darkening as his tongue found the peak and roamed it. Before you knew it, he was flipping you over, laying you against the couch. “Don’t wanna know how I’ve been dreaming of making you cum on the couch since I was fifteen?”

“Fifteen?” you moaned, the new angle aligning the seam of his jeans right at your clit, the earlier pressure amplified by his weight now on top of you.

He hummed in response, mouth now working on your other nipple, sending currents through you. Perhaps it was the nostalgia, the fulfilment of a teenage crush, but you felt on the edge already, your chest rising and falling rapidly as he basically dry humped you. A hand on your hip and the other squeezing your chest, his lips suckled at the sensitive crook of your neck, igniting your nerves to technicolor. “Cum with me, cum for me. Please,” he pleaded, motions haphazard and you felt the coil in your stomach wind impossibly tight with his fingers now pinching your nipple.

And then he bit you, sunk his teeth against your skin and it was as if he had electrocuted you, each limb vibrating with energy as your pussy clenched around nothing, your hands tugging his hair at the root. He groaned, loud and raspy, the sound pulling from his chest and reverberating through you as he whispered your name breathlessly, dropping his entire weight on you.

You could hear nothing but your blood pounding and Yoongi’s hard breathing, an unfamiliar combination that suddenly felt so natural. Your arms wrapped around him as you caught your breath, holding him tight as he reciprocated, arms winding under you.

After a few moments he leaned up on his elbows with an impossibly large smile, gums on full display and nose scrunched into a button. His hair stuck out all over his head, messy and tangled and you couldn’t help but laugh, not only at how silly he looked but how you ended up in this situation.

He joined in, kissing you again softly, lips meeting yours once, twice, three times, till he was nuzzling his nose into yours.

“Can’t believe we just came in our pants like teenagers,” you murmured, too amused to be embarrassed.

“Can’t believe we didn’t do this as teenagers,” Yoongi commented, sitting up and pulling you up with him till you both were settled next to each other. You could see a very obvious wet stain on his blue jeans but the man was unbothered, leaning back with his legs spread as if he was proud, an arm around your shoulders.

Your giggles died down after a while, the two of you sitting in silence. You waited for the panic to come, the earth shattering realization that you had just made out, quite wildly, with your best friend, but nothing ever did. You were just content, a goofy grin on your face that matched his as his fingers played with yours on your lap.

“Any chance you’ve had a crush on me since we were kids too or am I gonna have to write another sad song?” he asked, looking at the floor, his smile a little dim but still there like he couldn’t control it. It was endearing, making flowers bloom within your veins.

You leaned over kissing his cheek before resting your head on his shoulder, lacing your fingers between his. “Guess it’s only cheesy love songs from now on.”

“Seriously?” he asked, looking down at you, his eyes wide in surprise. You didn’t know what he expected, but then again he didn’t know you had dreamt of the exact same scenario since you were fifteen too.

“Seriously,” you replied, kissing him once again. He deepened the kiss, his tongue making the earlier heat return before he was standing up, pulling you to him.

“Fuck yes cause I really can’t wait to show you what my fingers can really do,” he whispered giddily making you roll your eyes at his lame flirting.

“Less tell, more show,” you deadpanned only to get kissed again hungrily as he pulled you to his bedroom, a “Yes ma’am” easily flowing off his lips.

You giggled as you fell into his bed, happy that your sudden oral fixation was worth more than just the embarrassment that came with it.

-

permanent taglist- @alpacaseok@raplinesmoon @codeinebelle @aislinnstanaka @miscelunaaa @moonchid1@shydestinyyouth@itsjaneeet@piecesofapril11@yoontaethings@awhnamjoon

platonically kissing (ksj)

checkout the platonic collection masterlist

summary- Seokjin has a strange request and you’re powerless to his pout.

word count- 1.4k

pairing- fwb!Seokjin x Reader

rating- PG-15

genre- fwb2lovers, idiots in love, fluff

warnings- nothing but cuteness overload

a.n.- idk I just had an urge that needed to be fulfilled. also, I missed this couple.

Unedited cause why not.

As always reblogs, asks, and feedback appreciated

-

You could hear the rain outside your window lashing against the glass violently, turning from soothing background noise to distraction as you poured over the stack of exams you had to mark for the weekend. Each essay was worse than the previous and you wondered why your professor even continued to hold a first year seminar in the first place. Fresh high school graduates did not have the maturity to deal with the theories that came with your field, most papers being the same ill informed analysis of BDSM that came from a distracted watching of Fifty Shades of Grey.

Grunting as another person talked about the nonexistent link between childhood sexual trauma and domming, you pulled out your airpods from your drawer, hoping to drown out the raindrops threatening to break your window with the soothing vocals of Taylor Swift. However, that proved to be an even bigger distraction, the catchy lyrics interrupting your reading and making you sing out loud instead.

That’s how Seokjin found you, singing along to a sad ballad, horribly off-tune in front of your laptop with a stack of papers around you. He couldn’t help but smile, his eyes turning into crescents as he tried to calm his heart. He didn’t know why everything you did was so cute lately but he wasn’t complaining. It seemed that throughout your friendship he had discounted all of your moments, moments when you were free and truly yourself. Now, it was became a game for him to sneak up on you when you were least expecting, only so he could relish those moments for a bit. It may be a little creepy but he didn’t think you’d mind, not when you turned to find him watching from the doorway and instead of being embarrassed or stopping, you just waved, continuing your awful runs.

He laughed, coming up to you and placing a kiss on top of your head, depositing the snacks he had dug up from your kitchen on the table. Clapping at his foresight, you reached for the bag of shrimp crackers, opening and taking a sniff, savoring the umami scent before popping a few in your mouth.

“I knew there was a reason I didn’t kick you out after sex,” you teased, between bites as he rolled his eyes. In all honesty, he wouldn’t have left even if you did kick you out, if only just to annoy you and not because lately he really couldn’t get enough of your presence. He had half a mind just to put you in his pocket and move you to his apartment.

“Why are you staring at me?” you mumbled, cheeks ballooned with crackers, and he just laughed, pulling you up by your wrist, an idea blooming in his head.

“Come on!” he called, dragging you through your apartment to the front door, your house slippers clacking loudly on the tiles as you tried to keep up with his speedy long legs. It was when he opened the door that your questions started. Questions that he ignored with a shush and a “Wait for it!” Soon enough, you were at the door of your apartment building the usual view of the street blurred behind the sheets of rain pouring from the skies.

“Seokjin it’s raining!” you exclaimed, digging your heels into the ground, ignoring as he begged you to just listen to him. You didn’t understand why he wanted to go out in the downpour all of a sudden, just the thought of wet clothes sticking to your body had you cringing. You were in your pajamas for fuck’s sake!

“Please! Just once,” he pleaded, bottom lip jutting out and eyes wide, a combination he knew made you weak. It had worked when he used it to convince you to sing a duet with him in the high school talent show. It had worked when he took you fishing just for you to be bored out of your mind for six whole hours. And it worked now.

“Fine. God, you’re so annoying!” you groaned, starting to walk again as Seokjin beamed, raising a fist in the air like he was in some coming of age movie. Rolling your eyes you followed him outside tentatively, the rain already starting to soak you both. Seokjin, on the other hand, seemed as if he didn’t even notice, walking casually down the sidewalk and around the building to the little park at the corner.

It was desolate, not a soul in sight, considering the terrible weather, and once again you were left wondering what mental breakdown your best friend was having to be standing grinning in the rain. He let your hand go when you reached the park, instead opening his arms and looking at the skies with a joyful laugh that made your own smile crack. He looked like a little kid about to jump in puddles behind his parents’ back. You almost felt bad breaking him out of his bubble.

“So you’re just here to frolick?” you smirked, crossing your arms as you looked him up and down. His shirt was plastered to his torso, revealing the spectacular body he often hid behind oversized clothes, and his legs glistened where they peaked from under his shorts. He kind of looked like a drowned rat with how his long hair was stuck to his face and you couldn’t help but laugh how ecstatic he looked despite his appearance.

“Nope,” he answered smugly, pulling you to him till you were chest to chest. “I’m here to kiss you!”

He giggled at the confusion on your face as he cupped your face, fruitlessly trying to move the raindrops scattered across it with his thumbs. Even with the slight chill of the rain, a warmth bloomed in his chest as he stared at you, your eyelashes flicking away the little drops of rain as you blinked up at him.

“I’ve always wanted to kiss in the rain,” he whispered, eyes glued to your lips as he waited for another snarky comment from you. When none came, he leaned down pressing his lips against yours slowly, savoring how the taste of rain mixed with yours, sending his senses fuzzy till he was melting into you.

Seokjin and you didn’t kiss too often yet lately it seemed that the two of you used any excuse to have your lips on each other. Hello kisses, goodbye kisses, good luck on your test kisses, hey that’s a cute cat video kisses, and now rain kisses. The reasoning kept getting flimsier and you knew that you should probably stop. Friends with benefits didn’t kiss, but the reasoning was lost on you when Seokjin’s kisses set your whole body aflame.

Winding your arms around his neck, you stepped on your toes to deepen the kiss, enjoying how he smiled at the gesture, his own arms circling your waist and lifting you up. It was effervescent, the sudden giddiness he felt just from kissing you and he couldn’t help but laugh, his forehead against yours as he twirled you around like he was the lead in a cheesy romcom. You told him as such and it only resulted in his laugh getting louder till he was putting you down, kissing you once again between giggles.

“Thanks for helping me get my wish,” he snickered, his hand in yours as he led the two of you back to your building.

You shrugged, oddly less stressed than you had been earlier, the little break helping you look past the infuriating pages of assignments you still had to go through. “That’s what friends are for.”

He rolled his eyes, sticking his tongue out at you as he entered the code to your building, the two of you trailing water behind you. He felt you shiver at the blasting airconditioner in the hallway, opting to wrap his body around your back as he waddled you both to your front door, making you laugh at the absurdity that his equally soaked body would warm you up.

“Shower?” he asked when the two of you were back in your apartment.

“You did all of this for shower sex, didn’t you?” you deadpanned, eyes narrowed at him but he just rolled his eyes again at you before bending at the waist and lifting you over his shoulder making you squeal in surprise.

“Let’s go, little brat!” he exclaimed, smacking your ass once and carrying you to the bathroom.

Perhaps friends with benefits were supposed to have rules, but if this is what it was like without any rules, you were euphoric without them.

-

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To Make A Power Couple (knj) - 11

Chapter 11: Already Successful

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Summary- Results of a pregnancy test lead to heavy conversations.

word count- 3.6k

pairing- idol!namjoon x ceo!reader

rating- PG 15

genre- series, idolau, fluff, smut, angst

warnings- unwanted pregnancy, talks of abortion, allusions to depression and anxiety, panic attack (brief), SO MUCH ANGST.

a.n- well after 2952905209582 years im back with an update and all I can say is im sorry but the angst is upon us! hopefully the next update won’t take me too long to finish! hope you enjoy this chapter and stay with this couple. I really do love them and im looking forward to you following the rest of their journey (as slow as it may be)

A special thank you to @casuallyimagining​ for hearing me screaming about this wip for ages and @m-yg93​ for beta reading this for me! Love you both!

As always feedback appreciated. Send me an ask!

You stared at the tiles of the cold bathroom floor as you sat next to Namjoon, timer on your phone counting down the seconds to your fate. Your thoughts were dramatic, loudly knocking around your brain, but all you could focus on was the little grime between the white tiles that was missed by the cleaners. You had half a mind to get up to scrub it out just to give you something to do, but Namjoon’s hand was holding yours tight, his eyes glued to the pregnancy test placed in front of you. You had left it upside down to save yourself from the suspense – not that it helped.

“Are we… are we excit-” Namjoon began only to be cut off by the shrill alarm from your phone. The two of you stared at one another for a while, too scared to look at the results. With one hand still in his, you reached for the test, flipping it over to see the results

Two lines.

Positive.

You exhaled loudly, your heart pounding as you looked at Namjoon who was still staring at the little white stick on the floor, his mouth falling open. When he looked at you, his mouth turned into a huge smile, one that deepened his dimples and scrunched his eyes till they were invisible. While waiting for the results he didn’t know what he wanted it to say, but as soon as he saw it, he couldn’t help the way joy bubbled through him. You were pregnant. He was going to be a dad and before he knew it his hands were cupping your face and pulling you into a kiss, gentle and reverent, as if he was pouring all the love he had into it.

“We’re pregnant,” he sighed, his forehead on yours, his fingers gently stroking the nape of your neck.

“We are,” you replied, but instead of the exhilarated tone that Namjoon sported, yours was almost empty, devoid of any emotions. It made him startle, pulling away from you to gauge your neutral expression.

“Are we not happy about this?” he asked, only for you to stand up and walk towards the living room where you sat on the couch, staring into space. He followed you, sitting beside you, hesitant, a hand holding yours. You fingers remained limp as he entwined them, caging his heart in his chest as it banged against the walls, faster and faster.

He didn’t know how long you stared blankly at the wall in front you, unblinking, frightening him beyond belief. It could’ve been minutes, it could’ve been hours, your eyes pointed to the latest painting he had acquired decorating the blank wall. He looked away from you after a while, taking in the abstract as well, letting the rusty hues embrace him, comfort him like they did the day he ran across them at a gallery. But the smoky haze around the rust pounced on him, coloring his thoughts with fear he hadn’t seen in the artwork before, the fear of the inevitable, the fear of the inescapable. It clouded his lungs, making them heavier with each breath, stepping on his trachea, until suddenly you were moving, leaving his hand and reaching for the laptop on the coffee table in front of you, typing away.

“What are you doing?” he whispered, scared that if he spoke any louder you would shatter, or shatter him. He wasn’t sure which one he preferred.

“Setting up an appointment. Need to confirm with the gynaecologist,” you replied curtly, face vacant of any emotion, eyes scrolling the screen, searching.

“Oh… yeah of course. Yeah,” he murmured, trying to gather all his patience till it ran away from him and he was turning towards you fully, a leg coming up to rest against the cushions and hands moving to your shoulders. He traced your cheek with a finger, wanting you to let him into your head, searching your eyes that looked at him listlessly. Mustering a smile, he tried to reassure you, “But hey listen. We’ll be okay. It’s us. We can do this.”

“Namjoon. We’re not having a baby,” you said, firm and final. You didn’t want to fantasise about maybes, you needed solutions, a way to fix what might destroy your life, and for a moment, you didn’t care what Namjoon thought. He would be okay. You would make him understand eventually.

“What?” His voice was sharp, cracking through the silence, hands falling away from you, face tightening into the hard lines you rarely saw. And somehow you felt angry. You knew he wanted kids, he had always wanted kids, cuddling you in bed and waxing poetic about someone you’d both create, but he had to realise it was too soon.

“We’re not ready! Think about it. We’ve barely been together for two years! Having a baby right now is insane,” you ranted, tossing your laptop back on the coffee table just so you could look at him, make him understand how drastically your life could change. You expected Namjoon to fight, but instead he moved closer, cupping your face between his palms, gazing at you softly.

“What does time have anything to do with it? I love you, you love me. That’s all we need,” he assured. He knew that this was not the plan, he was supposed to give you the ring first, he was supposed to learn how to cook your favourite dish and surprise you on your honeymoon first, he was supposed to buy the house with the large yard that reminded you of your childhood first. But who was he to reject fate when it came knocking on his door?

“The timing isn’t right Joonie. You know it’s not,” you pleaded, tone softened to match his, but you could see the frustration growing within him, the tell tale tightening of his jaw sparking your earlier anger. Anger that ignited at his next words, spitting out of his mouth as he dropped his hands from your cheeks to your shoulders as if trying to shake some sense into you.

“Oh come on Y/N! Why are you acting like we’re sixteen and got pregnant? We’re almost thirty. We’re both financially stable. The timing’s not the issue here.”

“Of course it is! Or do you not remember crying on this fucking couch about your year long tour?” You brushed him off, standing up to give yourself some distance, but he followed suit, coming closer, confusing you with the whiplash of him yelling and then pleading all in one go.

“I’ll get them to move it around!” he insisted, running his hands over his face before he hugged you close, murmuring in your ear, “We’ll figure it out. It’s our baby.”

“It’s not a baby! It’s a collection of cells,” you pushed him off once again, trying your hardest to make him understand the gravity of the situation. Having a baby wasn’t a one time thing, it was something that could change all of your plans, that could change the course of your lives. “You can’t move around the tour! It’s impossible. We can have a baby in the future. It’s just not right.”

“Then I’ll fucking quit! It doesn’t matter. I’d do that for you,” he promised, determined, jaw clenching, fists balled at his sides.

“I don’t want that,” you implored, voice strained, goosebumps running up your spine. “I can’t get pregnant. Harry quit, I need to be in the comp-”

“Fuck the company! It’s our baby,” Namjoon yelled, startling you as he came closer. “If I can quit, so can you. We can still be happy!”

“I can’t quit! Are you insane?” you matched his volume, wanting so badly to knock some sense into him, your fists gripping his shirt at his chest.

“You have majority shares, you’ll be fine,” he promised, holding you, trying to comfort you but he just didn’t understand. How could you prove every misogynist that sat on that board that you were indeed who they predicted, just a woman abandoning her hard work to build a family?

“No,” you said, pushing him away once again, unaware of your strength as he stumbled back, a look of betrayal marring his features. “You can quit, but I can’t.”

“Why?” he protested.

“Because you’re already successful!” you yelled, feeling all the energy sapping out of you with your retort, leaving your knees shaking, your entire body quivering. “You’ve already reached your dreams. I can’t abandon mine. Joonie, please.”

The way you pleaded made his heart shatter, made him fall into a million pieces as he felt his eyes burn, his sinuses clogging with the dissonance of empathy and selfishness, because to Namjoon his dream wasn’t being an idol, it was you and now your unborn child.

“That’s not my dream… not anymore,” he declared softly, head bowed as if you had slapped him and you couldn’t take it anymore, sitting back on the couch to book the appointment.

“Let’s talk about it after the appointment,” you whispered, heart beating against your chest, clawing at it as you ran through contingencies, figuring out where you could get an abortion in a nation that had them criminalized. You knew you were breaking Namjoon, and you hated it, but he didn’t understand what was at stake for you. How many endless nights you had spent working to make a name for yourself, to make something out of nothing but your ideas and relentless grit. How you had faced rejection after rejection before uprooting your life, leaving your family behind, and now you were on the cusp of where you had envisioned yourself in your tiny dorm room so many years ago. How could he expect you to throw it all away? All for some fault in your birth control?

You ignored Namjoon as he sat on the couch next to you, his body as drained as yours, defeat pouring out of every pore. He couldn’t help silently weeping, hoping that you’d change your mind, that you’d suddenly tell him you were joking, wrap him in your arms and tell him congratulations. Then he could laugh, joke with you about scaring the life out of him, kiss you and run to his closet and pull out the ring. But the real joke was that you just sat there long after you had shut the laptop, the distance between you growing.

He hated it. He hated that somehow you felt like a stranger in that moment. He understood you, knew the pressures that threatened to bury you at every moment, but he still couldn’t help wishing that you would listen to him. He wasn’t alone when he fantasised about kids, you were there with him in the nights after he had exhausted your body, holding you warm between the sheets as he talked about the family two of you would create. You would tell him the names you wanted, about how you hoped your child wouldn’t lose the little shoes he had gotten so long ago now.

He wanted to reach out and comfort you, even though you had just broken his heart. It was stupid how you were also the only one who could heal him, reassure him that his dream wasn’t futile, that wanting you, wanting a family wasn’t as far off as it seemed in the moment. But as he gathered the courage, slowly inching his hand closer to yours, you stood up walking to the kitchen, leaving him frozen on the couch.

Cutting the vegetables for a meal always calmed you, but each time the knife hit the cutting board, you felt your heartbeat in your ears, your breaths getting shorter till you were squatting on the floor, head between your knees. You knew you would lose Namjoon, in all this time, there was a niggling thought at the back of your mind that he would wake up and realise that what he thought was love was an infatuation, much like others before him. However, you hadn’t thought of how you would push him away, how you would cut his heart out and present it to him. Your words ran through your head, harsh and selfish as you pictured the man you love getting more and more dejected, tears falling down your cheeks. You tried to compose yourself, control your breathing, remembering to count the rise of your chest. You breathed in for five seconds, letting the air inflate your lungs, holding it for another five, before expelling it out with your doubts.

It didn’t take long for the panic to subside, for your tears to dry – years of practice had that effect, and soon you were standing up once again, trying to dispel the disappointment that washed over you when Namjoon was still sitting in the living room, still staring at the wall like you had left him. You were disappointed in yourself, but you were still firm in your decision. You couldn’t give him what he wanted, not now.

Cooking dinner helped you collect your thoughts, get brave as you called him to the kitchen, yet not brave enough to hold him like you wanted to. Dinner was spent in silence, the tension of the fight lingering in the air like acid, peeling off your skin and leaving it raw. Every moment felt hesitant, laced with anxiety, heavy like gravity had increased tenfold. In bed, the two of you faced away from each other, an ocean between you of worries furrowing your brows and sinking your hearts.

But Namjoon was brave. Or maybe he was too scared to let the argument take roots in the foundation you two had worked hard to build. He could feel it seeping in, trying to lodge its claws in, and so in the silence hanging like tendrils of a willow, he said your name, letting it act as an anchor as he tentatively turned around, his hand reaching out for you, fingers gently grazing your back. When you ignored him, not knowing how to face him after the way you had acted, he tried again, mature and persistent.

“Can I hold you?” he whispered, his index finger poking your back ever so softly. It ached your heart, his timid tone making your lip wobble as you shrugged. He took that as an agreement because you had barely moved your shoulders before his body was around you, long limbs wrapping you in a safe embrace. The breath you released was hallowed, a shaky exhale burning your lungs and stinging your eyes. You grasped his hands tightly in yours, criss crossing your arms around your body and he moved closer, head almost on top of yours, needing to be closer.

“I love you.” His proclamation was comforting, even when his voice was waterlogged and his tears tracked from his cheeks to yours.

“Even if I don’t want this baby?” You needed to know. You didn’t know if you would change your mind. You were in no position to bring a child into the world, not yet. You needed the reassurance that he trusted you, and would wait for you. He was quiet for a moment, more hesitant than he had ever been with you and it made your heart pound beneath your chest, begging for an escape.

“Even if you don’t want this baby,” he confirmed, his nose tracing your cheek and you couldn’t help a tear escape along with a flurry of apologies that he kissed away. Sleep was elusive and his snores never came to comfort you with their lullabies. Lost in your own thoughts you stayed wrapped in each other till the sun was fighting to peep in through your drapes, alerting you that in a few hours you both would have to make the biggest decision in your relationship.

It was quiet in the little hospital room, bright lights and the plants secluded in the corner of the pastel room not bringing any comfort to the two of you as you sat stiffly in the plush chairs behind the large oak desk. The receptionist had quietly escorted you to the room to wait till the doctor was ready, and you were glad that Namjoon had less of a chance of being spotted in a gynaecologist’s office.

He held your hand as you sat together, grip unfaltering even when the nurse came in to draw some blood. He watched over his glasses as you drew in a sharp inhale when the needle pricked through your skin, your fingers around his tightening just a little. He wished he wasn’t in this situation, that time had been kinder and given you the successes you wanted at the same time as him so you felt ready to start a family to truly be with him. But nothing ever went according to plan for him, and even when it did, it didn’t work like he had thought.

He had experienced it in his career. The poetry he used to write in his childhood bedroom on his scattered desk had now transformed into lyrics echoed in strangers’ bedrooms. He had worked harder than anything to ensure that, put his youth as collateral, put his relationships as collateral for his success and he had achieved it. Yet, each moment felt frayed. He never had the opportunity to sit still long enough to actually relish the fruits of his labours to enjoy it before he was working on the next thing, trying to block out the voices that told him he wasn’t good enough. He worked to prove them wrong and when he did, they always relegated his efforts to luck. It was frustrating. This was not how he thought reaching his goals would feel like, bittersweet and fleeting.

It was the same with you sometimes. He never imagined a partner was in the cards for him, never imagined that someone would ever care enough about him to love him despite his flaws, but you had. You showed him that it was okay to break down, to let down his walls, and so he worked hard to ensure he never lost you, read books on how to be the perfect partner, a “female-written male character”. But even with your voice telling him he was enough, he was eager to move onto the next step to prove even further how perfect he could be for you. You didn’t pressure him into, you didn’t need to, he was conditioned to want more, to always want more. He just didn’t think you wouldn’t want more with him.

However, when the doctor walked in, he wished that he could convince you otherwise. Maybe if you could see the bundle of cells the two of you had created together, you could envision the future with him. He held your hand as the doctor talked, barely registering what she was saying because he was too anxious, too impatient for her to do an ultrasound. You wouldn’t want an abortion if you saw it, right? But nothing ever went according to plan for him. There was no ultrasound. The movies he had watched had lied to him. All the doctor did was look at a report on her tablet, smiling sadly.

“So Y/N, I’ve got some bad news,” she began and Namjoon’s heart pounded in panic, a sheen of sweat already appearing on his forehead. Her tone made a chill travel up his spine and he tightened his grip on your fingers, bracing himself. “Unfortunately, you are not pregnant.”

He knew he should’ve been relieved, just like you seemed to be, your shoulders relaxing and a breath escaping your lips, but his throat ran dry, all the moisture seeming to deposit into his eyes. You smiled at him and he reciprocated, happy to see you happy. He had to be happy, right? There was no reason to mourn something that was never there, but with every question you asked the doctor, he felt more helpless. Folding his hands in his lap, he stared at them solemnly. Apparently pregnancy tests could be wrong if they’re expired. He didn’t even know they had an expiration date, but then again did he know anything at all?

Turns out he didn’t even know you, feeling irrationally annoyed at the sudden pep in your step as the two of you made your way to the car. You were already on the phone scheduling something or the other with Siwon, oblivious to the tears in his eyes as he stared at the passing blur of the streets.

“Joon?” your voice broke him from his thoughts and he cleared his throat, humming in response. “You okay?”

He should’ve told you the truth, enlightened you to the flurry in his head, but when he turned to you, you seemed so relaxed, so happy that he didn’t have the courage to dampen the bright smile on your face. So he lied, “Yeah. I’m okay. You?”

You didn’t believe him. Somehow in your relief you had failed to notice how closed off your boyfriend had become. Sequestered in the corner, he seemed impossibly small in the seat, his shoulders hunched, his hands resting in between his joined knees. He seemed to be almost closing in on himself. You thought he would be relieved too, relieved that you didn’t have to make a monumental decision, that you didn’t have to change the trajectory of your relationship over a mistake, but his dejected aura made you forget about your earlier joy, your arms wrapping around him.

You were almost afraid he wouldn’t reciprocate your gesture but soon his arms were wrapping around you too, his face buried in your hair as he inhaled deeply. It was as if the edge of last night’s fight was still there, threatening to pop the bubble the two of you had created in the backseat of the car, but you were stubborn, holding him tighter and refusing to let the agony manifest again.

“We’ll be okay,” assured him as he straightened, his tired eyes staring at you.

“We’ll be okay,” he promised, a hand cupping your face before his lips met yours, gentle and loving.

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kanalia | jhs x reader |chapter four: good men and temptation

banner by the amazing @kth1

⚜️summary: secrets and uncertainty plague a young queen in her arranged marriage to a kind but distant king. the farther she drifts from her husband, the closer she gets to one of his most trusted men.

⚜️pairing: queen!reader x royalguard!hoseok

⚜️rating: mature, 18+

⚜️genre: royal AU, historical AU, smut, slow burn & pining

⚜️warnings: infidelity (it’s complicated, y’all) mentions of pregnancy, fertility issues. OC struggles with depressive thoughts and episodes.

⚜️word count: 10K

⚜️notes: thank you from the bottom of my heart to everyone who has continued to follow this story. i went through a period of terrible writer’s block and self-doubt over the course of this chapter and it would not be complete without my fic accountability coach and A1 since day one @hobi-gif. also a huge thank you to @yeoldontknow and the possums who lent me their amazing eyeballs and brains – i love you guys so much @wwilloww@reliablemitten@miscelunaaa you guys aren’t just amazing writers, you’re amazing people. i hope you guys enjoy this chapter

There was a time when you’d been certain the thing you wanted mostwas for the King to suffer.

You would fantasize about it; spend your waking hours longing for it – certain the only thing that could bring you some semblance of peace was your husband’s utter distress. Certain that seeing him broken would be the only way to feel whole.

But it’s strange, isn’t it?

The heaviness with which he drops into the ornate wingback chair at your bedside does not make you feel any lighter. The sober expression on his face as he regards you does not make you feel in any way vindicated. Nor is there any triumph to be had in the guilt that seems to radiate from his every pore, subtle as a beacon.

“How are you feeling?” 

You stifle a sigh. It’s the King’s second visit to your chamber today alone and by now there is little polite, meaningless conversation left to be had.

“Much the same as I felt two hours ago, Your Grace,” you answer, regretting the blunt edge to your words when his face falls. You’re careful to soften your tone as you add, “Which is to say much improved. Thank you.”

A heavy quiet falls over the chamber again. You can’t make out the sound of the maids walking the halls outside or the ever-present din of chattering footmen on the floors below. Even the motes of dust in the air seem suspended in place, hanging motionless in the shafts of sunlight that stream in from behind your heavy curtains.

“I’ve yet to leave this bed but I think I’m feeling a bit stronger today,” you offer feebly, speaking only when the King seems to have resigned himself to silence. “The doctor assures me this is a passing malaise, nothing more.”

Your husband nods, the corners of his mouth lifting in a weak attempt at a smile. 

There was a time when you might have relished the melancholy on his face. Might have found the uncharacteristic slump of his shoulders gratifying. Or taken some sordid pleasure in the way he smooths his damp palms over the thick weave of his breeches, over and over again.

But it’s strange, isn’t it?

None of it brings you any satisfaction. Seeing the King wounded does not make you less wounded. And his unhappiness does not in any way alleviate your own.

“I’ll be sure to share the details of your recovery with the many people who’ve asked after you,” he says with a joyless chuckle.  “I think they’ll have my head if I don’t bring them good news in short order.”

But is Lord Jung among them? 

As they so often do, your thoughts wander from the man before you—your husband—to the enigmatic Royal Guardsman. You think back to the last time you saw him, to the way he’d taken the lead in seeing you cared for when you’d been burning with fever.  You think of the quiet authority and reassurance in his voice as he’d helped you reach your chambers and bed. You think of the way that voice had hardened in the tense moments after Lord Jeon had confessed to not being able to find the King.

You think of that perplexing confrontation in the courtyard.  

You’ve had little more to do than contemplate the circumstances of that exchange for days now, turning the strange scene over in your mind while confined to your sickbed.  What you would give to have just an inkling of what transpired between those men that night, to have any small insight into the words spoken during that terse conversation.  Though in truth, some part of you suspects you already know. 

Certainlysomethingis behind your husband’s sudden bout of attentiveness.

You roll your shoulders and knead at the stiff muscles of your neck, body strained and sore from days of idleness.  The pillows pressed against your lower back have slipped just enough to cause discomfort and you reach behind yourself to rearrange them.

“I can do that for you,” the King says, rushing to his feet.  

He is standing at your side before you have a chance to protest the matter, carefully slipping the pillows out from behind you, painstakingly fluffing the feathers inside them until he’s satisfied with their new shape. Then he leans over the bed, solid body hovering over yours as he replaces them.  You will yourself not to stiffen at his nearness, but the truth is that you’re not accustomed to being this close to your husband. Physically or otherwise.

“How does that feel?” he asks, deep voice at your ear as he moulds the pillows to the curve of your back.

“Much better, thank you,” you murmur, feeling a ripple of tension work its way up your spine when Namjoon straightens and stands back to assess his work. Your husband holds your gaze for a few slow, tortuous seconds, lips parted as though he means to speak. 

Then he seems to think better of it, clearing his throat instead and looking away. 

You watch his eyes move to the table at your bedside, where a fine crystal vase houses what is sure to be the two most pitiful daisies in the entire Kingdom. Boram’s note had said that Yeona selected them for you herself, the evidence of her indelicate touch plain on the flowers’ bruised petals and flattened stems. You treasure the mangled blooms anyway.

“They’re a bit worse for the wear, I’m afraid,” you comment lightly, watching the King stroke a wilted white petal with his fingertip. “Yeona is still too young to understand that some things must be handled with care.”

“So it would seem,” he says, lips twitching with amusement.  

But the humor in his expression falls away as his eyes move from the daisies to the tiny bauble seated beside the delicate crystal vase.  He stares at it for a while before reaching for it, the small trinket dwarfed in the palm of his large hand. You study him as he studies it, expression somber as he strokes a thumb over the bird’s smooth green wings.  

And for the very first time, you see it.  

No. You allow yourself to see it.

The turmoil etched into the deep crease between your husband’s brows. The regret in the firm press of his lips and the embarrassment simmering in his eyes. The remorse that shrouds him like a dark halo, hovering over him like a storm cloud.

You see it quite clearly now, don’t you? As though you’ve been wearing your pride and resentment like a blindfold and it’s suddenly fallen away, allowing you to recognize what’s been in front of you all this time.

When the King flicks his weary, dark eyes to meet yours, you don’t see your philandering husband – though certainly he is that. You see a deeply conflicted man, fighting a war on two sides.  Married to one woman and in love with another. Condemning both to a strange kind of half-life in which neither will ever truly be happy. Condemning himself, too. 

“I should let you rest,” he says at last, setting the bird down and you nod, a sudden tightness in your throat. 

“Yes,” you agree, voice thick. “I think that’s best.”

The King leans close to you again, this time to press a soft kiss to your cheek. His hands find yours on the duvet and he squeezes them tight, causing ludicrous tears to spring to your eyes. You lower them so as not to give yourself away.  

It is only when he has gone, when the door to your chamber is firmly shut, that you finally allow yourself to breathe. And then you sit there for a while, stupefied.

There was a time when you’d thought you would never share anything with your husband. But you’d been wrong.

The two of you share the same muted misery, the same low thrum of sadness that taints all things, good and bad. You share the same bone-deep unhappiness borne from this arrangement and the same secret fury at being powerless to change it.

Husband and wife, bound to one another for life.  Both damned to have happiness dangle at your fingertips, but never the ability to grasp it.

Till death do you part.

⚜️⚜️⚜️

Though you feel remarkably improved after four days of confinement, Hyeri insists you stay in bed for an entire week.

The older woman has always fancied herself a bit of a mother hen, but since the onset of your illness she’s become more like a guard dog. She’s taken to sleeping on a cot in your chamber and keeping fastidious notes on your care and progress. And she’s safeguarded you like a sentry, allowing no one but the doctor and the King past the threshold to your private rooms.

You’ve taken great pains to endure her meddling with grace – in part because you’ve been in no position to fight such battles in your weakened state and in part because you understand that her coddling is rooted in genuine care and concern. Surely she must long for the children she raised and who’ve long since left her nest to start their own families. And so in their absence, you must do.

But that does not mean you intend to spend a single second longer than necessary trapped inside this chamber. 

So you rise with the sun on the seventh day of your captivity, filled with a newfound determination. You are determined to leave the staid air of this chamber and breathe fresh air into your lungs. You are determined to stretch your sore muscles with a vigorous walk. And you are absolutely determined to put your foot down, lovingly,with your handmaid turned nursemaid turned jailer. 

And you’ll not allow anything – certainly not the arrival of your monthly courses – to put a damper on this day.

“We’re going to have to take your gowns in,” Hyeri grumbles as her nimble fingers pull at the laces of your corset. She’d made an unhappy sound when you’d announced plans for a morning walk, but has thus far managed to refrain from voicing her discontent out loud. “Too many days without eating properly.  You ought to take two servings at every meal until you’re filled out again.”

“I assure you, my appetite is fully restored along with my health,” you say, stomach rumbling beneath your skirts at the very mention of food. “I could probably take three servings in a sitting if I put my mind to it.”

“Very good then,” Hyeri chuckles, patting your back once the dress is fully secured. “I’ll have breakfast brought up at once.”

“No, you absolutely will not,” you protest, whirling on her. “I’ll go mad if I spend another minute locked away in this chamber. I’ll take my breakfast down in the kitchens, thank you very much.”

Hyeri huffs under her breath and you mimic the sound back. The older woman’s eyes narrow and you return that gesture as well, crossing your arms in challenge. The two of you stand there for a while, glowering at one another like petulant children until the sound of a singing kettle breaks the stalemate.

It’s been days since you’ve heard that sound, you realize. Days since Hyeri has set a steaming cup of that foul tea before you, only to watch you like a hawk until every last drop is gone. The shrill sound of that blasted kettle raises the hairs on the nape of your neck and sets your teeth on edge. 

And it brings to mind something else you intend to put your foot down about today.

You clear your throat as Hyeri moves to see to the kettle.

“I won’t be taking the tea today, Hyeri,” you announce, straightening your spine as your brace for the argument that is sure to come. Hyeri turns away from the fire, kettle in hand, and levels you with a look.

“You’re rather spirited today, Your Grace. Do you intend to put more silver in my hair now that you are fully recovered?”

“No I do not,” you say hotly. “But I also do not intend to drink that tea. Today, tomorrow, or ever again.”

Hyeri’s rheumy eyes grow wide with shock. The playful arch of her brow falls and the teasing twist to her mouth slowly recedes. She stares at you as though she sees a stranger, not the young woman she’s come to know well after nearly one year in your service. 

Maybe you are a stranger now. You certainly don’t feel like the same woman who’d fallen into that sickbed one week ago, burning with fever. Something inside of you feels like it’s shifted; like you’ve emerged from this illness stronger in ways that go beyond the physical.

“I understand that your courses have come, Your Grace, but these things take time,” she insists slowly, the paper-thin skin at the hollow of her throat wavering as she stops to swallow thickly. “I do not think now is the time to abandon this regimen. “This requires time and dedication. If you’ll just stay the course, you’ll see.”

Your bravado falters a bit at the wounded note in her voice, at the way her eyes start to pink around the rims. A tiny voice in your head warns not to press forward with the words that threaten to tumble out of your mouth but a louder voice urges you on, pushes you to make the cut as quick and clean as possible.

“Hyeri, I owe you only gratitude for the way you’ve treated me. And for your kindness in trying to help me conceive a child. But I’ve grown tired of pretending that this course of action will remedy my particular situation.”  You allow yourself a deep breath before adding, “Or his.”

Hyeri blinks at you.

“I don’t understand what you mean, Your Grace.”

“Don’t you?”

You lift your chin to look Hyeri directly in the eyes, allowing your implication to hang in the air.  Slowly, your nursemaid blanches, the color draining from her sweet face until all that remains are two spots of color on her cheeks. She takes a step towards the table and slowly sinks into the chair, face frozen in an expression of disbelief.

“Youcan’t –” the older woman starts and stops, looking bewildered. “– You can’t know that, Your Grace. You cannot be certain of such a thing.”

“You’re right,” you concede quietly, “I cannot. But there is ample reason to suspect it.”

You’re careful to temper your argument to Hyeri, though in truth you are quite convinced of your husband’s inability to produce a child. If nothing else, your last encounter with the King has only strengthened the idea in your mind. It’s the very first time in your young marriage that you’ve looked past your husband’s station and allowed yourself to see him as he truly is. His Grace – Kim Namjoon – is just a man. As fallible as any other.

But Hyeri has yet to come to any such realization. Her eyes shine bright with unshed tears from where she remains seated at the table, chin trembling. 

You cross the room to go to her, carefully settling in the seat beside her and taking one of her hands into yours. You remind yourself that Hyeri has devoted years of her life to working in service of the King, that her deference for him and the very institution he represents is in her blood. That some part of her likely still thinks of Namjoon as the gangly boy she’d helped rear and not the grown man he is now. 

And you remind yourself that despite her allegiance to your husband, she’s shown you nothing but kindness – and for that alone, she deserves your respect.

“Hyeri, please,” you whisper, squeezing her fingers gently. “Please know that I do not mean to upset you. I mean only to speak plainly, not to cause you any pain.”

“I had thought – I had thought there was some growth between the two of you, Your Grace. All those visits he’s made to your chamber while you’ve been ill. The way he’d fretted over your health and care. I thought – “ She pauses to shake her head as though chastising herself for entertaining such notions, “I thought that maybe something good could come of something bad.”

Your heart squeezes at Hyeri’s confession, at her well-meaning but poorly-placed idealism. You cannot fathom how despite everything she’s seen and heard, she can still hold onto the dream that what is broken between you and Namjoon can be fixed. 

But you cannot fault her for it, either.

“Something good has come of it,” you say gently. “I’m not angry anymore. Not with the King and not with myself. It was weighing me down, Hyeri. As though I walked through this first year of my marriage with stones in my pockets.”  

Hyeri dabs at the corners of her eyes with a sleeve.

“I know the King cares for me. I accept that.” You speak the words out loud and they strike a chord inside your chest. You know they ring true. “Just as I accept that at the very same time, he does not love me. And now I must accept that there may never be a child.”

“But there must be a child, Your Grace.” Hyeri sniffles under her breath as she wrenches her gaze from your joined hands to look you in the eye. “The future of the throne depends on it. What will come of the King’s line if he does not have an heir?”

“I don’t know,” you admit, thumb tracing an absentminded pattern over the soft, diaphanous skin of her knuckles. “Perhaps he will send me away.”

“Hewouldn’t,” Hyeri protests, indignation flaring behind her muted dark eyes.

You suspect that Hyeri has the right of it. Namjoon does not strike you as the kind of man who’d want to court such a scandal, nor does he seem uncaring enough to want to cut you loose in such a humiliating fashion. And as many times as you’ve daydreamed about being freed from the shackles of this loveless marriage, the mere thought of returning home to your mother – of bringing your entire family that kind of shame – is devastating. 

You’d sooner throw yourself from the carriage tasked with taking you home than endure thatfate.

“I say these things not to upset you, Hyeri. Or to speak ill of the King. I say them only because if I’ve learned nothing else since coming here, I’ve learned to guard my heart. This is me guarding my heart.”

The tears gathered at the corners of Hyeri’s eyes spill over, though she does not make a sound. You dab at them with your own sleeve now, earning a sad smile from your handmaid.

“There could still be a child, Your Grace,” she says softly, “Some day. None of us know what’s written on the days that are yet to come.”

“You are right,” you concede with a sad smile. “And I would be very glad to be wrong.”

“So there is always hope,” Hyeri concludes, squaring her shoulders. Just speaking the words out loud seems to have reinforced her spirit. In this moment, she reminds you of the daisies at your bedside – battered but still bending towards the sunlight.

“Yes,” you agree, if only to bring her some solace. “There is always hope.”

⚜️⚜️⚜️

The King calls for dinner to be held in the great hall to celebrate your return to good health.

He surprises you by seeing to many of the details himself, though you suspect Hyeri has played some part in bringing his vision to life. The generous spread wheeled out and served to the guests in attendance consists of only your most beloved dishes and desserts. And the hall is decorated in a bevy of cosmos flowers – the very kind that grow in abundance in Namjoon’s grand aviary.

It’s not all his doing, of course. It is the kitchen staff that spends hours preparing the food and the steward who sees to each plush flower centerpiece placed at the tables. But it is the King who directs their steps, and in doing so you cannot help but feel flattered by his consideration.

But you also cannot help but be flustered by his attention.

Whereas Namjoon would normally spend the lion’s share of his evening consorting with the assembled guests, tonight he has yet to stray more than an arm’s length from your side. You are keenly aware of his nearness as smiling people approach you from all sides, each expressing what seems to be genuine relief at news of your recovery.

It’s been months since the last communal dinner was held in this hall, and perhaps that is why it seems as though you could be swallowed whole in the sea of people gathered here tonight. Foreign and familiar faces alike swim by in all directions. Children cut narrow paths through the fray, darting between legs as they chase one another around, their laughter barely audible over the din of clinking cups and clattering dishes.

You do not know at what point you start searching each passing face for a pair of searing almond-shaped eyes and a heart-shaped mouth. But you do know at which point you realizeit.

“You are not fatigued, are you?”

The sound of your husband’s deep baritone at the shell of your ear nearly makes you jump. You turn to him, careful to keep your eyes downcast. Certain that if you allow him too close a look he’ll recognize the guilt written all over your face. 

Certainlyhe would know what it looks like.

“Not at all. Though I must admit to my feet being tired,” you sigh, gesturing to the beautiful calfskin boots that peek out from beneath your heavy skirts. “I’m afraid these are not quite broken in yet.”

“Then I’ll get you a chair,” the King says without hesitation, turning at once to make good on that promise. You stop him with one firm tug to his arm. 

“Pleaseno,” you protest, by now thoroughly unsettled by your husband’s careful oversight. “That’s not necessary, truly. I think I’ll walk around a bit and see if I can find Boram. I can rest my feet while we speak.”

“Very well,” Namjoon agrees, dark eyes boring into yours. “Send word immediately if you need me.”

You are bowing to him before the words are even fully out his mouth, quickling slipping away and into the current of moving bodies around you. You try not to call attention to yourself, but it cannot be helped. The crowds part to make way as you walk, people stopping to bow as you pass. You acknowledge each with an absentminded smile as you resume your search for those familiar dark eyes. You cannot find them.

“Your Grace!”

But it is only moments later that a familiar voice finds you. It breaks clear through the commotion and you turn toward it to find Boram waving at you from her seat at the longtable, sweet Yeona perched on her lap. The baby mimics her mother’s gesture, flapping her own hand wildly in greeting. The sight of them both is enough to make your heart burst.

“Oh, how I’ve missed you girls,” you sigh, surging forward to envelop both in an indelicate hug. You take a seat at Boram’s side and she proudly lifts Yeona to her feet. The baby plants them firmly on her mother’s lap, legs strong and steady beneath her.

“How is it possible she’s changed so much in little more than a week?” you wonder aloud, smiling in response to Yeona’s happy gurgle and wide grin. “She looks like a child ready to walk and not the little dumpling I saw last.”

“She really does,” Boram agrees with a wistful smile. “It’s all happening so fast. But you, My Grace, you look changed too! Even more vibrant than before. I would scarcely believe you’ve just emerged from your sickbed if I did not know it to be true.”

Your friend’s praise sends a pleasant heat to your cheeks.

“You flatter me,” you demur with a soft smile. “I’m so relieved to be free from confinement that I must be wearing my happiness for everyone to see, that’s all.”

“Well, it suits you,” Boram declares. “We were all quite worried about you. When Yoongi came home that day, he’d told me you were in a terrible state. I pestered him for news every day until he told me of your recovery.”

“I cannot recall ever feeling so ill,” you admit. “But I was well cared for, thankfully. And Yeona’s flowers were at my bedside to brighten my spirits. And I have yet to see Lord Min and thank him personally for helping me that day. Is he here tonight?”

“Somewhere,” Boram laughs. “Off with the men, I suppose. I’ve been waiting on him to return so that I might have an opportunity to stretch my legs and greet some of the old friends I’ve seen walking about.”  She gestures to a tankard at the empty space beside her. “But he can’t have wandered too far if he’s left his ale behind.”

You laugh, reaching out to tickle Yeona’s belly and the baby squeals in response.

“Go on then,” you say, reaching for Yeona. She comes to you without hesitation, grin wide enough to bare the tiny teeth that have broken through her bottom gums. “I can sit with Yeona and you can have a few minutes to yourself. We’ll be right here when you return.”

“Are you sure you don’t mind? She’s dry and fed and I won’t be gone long.”

“I don’t mind at all,” you insist, bouncing Yeona on your knee and earning another squeal. “I’m happy to keep her any time you need a break.”

Boram’s smile is genuine and grateful. She puts a hand on your knee and squeezes it as she leans in to kiss her baby girl’s cheek. 

“You are very kind, Your Grace. Thank you.”

You smile back, passing a hand over the soft hair at Yeona’s crown, smoothing down the tiny curls that have sprung up around her ears. “It’s no trouble at all.”

Boram casts a backward glance at you both as she leaves and you reassure her with a wave, which Yeona is quick to mimic.

“Such a smart girl, aren’t you?” you coo, pressing a kiss to her temple and inhaling her sweet scent. “Smartest girl in the entire kingdom. Perhaps some day you will be queen, hmm?”

“That would be an interesting turn of events,” a voice that is certainly not Yeona’s answers. The sound of it steals your breath and you turn towards it slowly, only to find Lord Jung standing before you. His dark eyes dance with amusement. “Although I think poor Yoongi would perish at the very notion of a royal bride price.”

It’s a wonder that Yeona does not fuss when your hold on her goes a bit tight in response to his sudden appearance. Your heart rattles inside your ribcage. 

“My Lord,” you breathe, eyes wide as you watch him take a seat beside you. “Forgive me, I did not see you there.”

“Perhaps you ought to forgive me,” he says playfully, offering Yeona a finger that she immediately seizes with one chubby fist. “I did not announce myself.”

He smiles at Yeona then – full and brilliant – and she surprises you by turning coquettishly away to bury her face in the crook of your neck. Lord Jung chuckles and you find yourself staring at him, dazzled stupid by his beauty. Breath caught in your throat as your eyes sweep over his long, sooty lashes and sunkissed skin. 

Has he always been this breathtaking?

Yeona lifts her head to peek at him once more. He reaches out to tickle her and then she’s hiding her face again, smothering her giggles against you.

“I think she fancies you,” you say at last, swallowing thickly when Lord Jung lifts his dark eyes to meet yours.

“I’m a bit too old for her, I’m afraid,” he teases, mouth curved into a soft smile. It slowly falls away as his expression grows more serious.

“It’s a relief to see you looking so well, Your Grace,” he murmurs. “Truly.”

There is a sincerity in that declaration that makes you feel warm and pliant inside. You shift Yeona on your lap so that you might have a plausible reason to look away, though truly it is only because looking him in the eye makes you feel vulnerable.

“It is a relief to be well,” you admit shyly. “And that is in large part due to you, My Lord. The other men, as well,” you add, almost as an afterthought. “I still shudder to think what might have happened that day had Lord Jeon not found me when he did.”

“Yes, I think we are all grateful for his vigilance. And I am glad that we were able to help,” Lord Jung says, watching you rub circles across Yeona’s back. The baby settles into your hold, soft cheek pressed to the juncture of your neck. “I hate to see anyone in that condition.”

You flick your eyes up at the note of melancholy in that statement. Surely he must be thinking of his late wife and her untimely death. To hear Boram tell it, the young woman passed nearly a year before your arrival here but something about his somber expression makes you wonder if that wound is still fresh. If you were a more courageous woman, you would ask. 

But you are not.

“Well I am healthy now, My Lord,” you reassure him. “Fully recovered and feeling more like myself than I have in ages.”

He smiles as he reaches one hand out to stroke the soft curls at the base of Yeona’s neck. The baby sighs under her breath, but does not stir.

“I’m working at the stables this week,” he says after a moment. “Perhaps now that you feel – “

“There you are! I think I’ve walked nearly this entire hall looking for you.”

Both you and Lord Jung startle when the sound of a new voice joins the fray. You turn your head to find the King standing in front of you, eyes moving from you to the Royal Guardsman and back. And though there is a smile on his face, it does not quite reach his eyes.

“Your Grace.” Lord Jung quickly stands to his feet and bows in one fluid motion. You make no move to follow suit with Yeona in your arms, her breaths soft and slow and even at your ear. But you do manage a smile for the King, a weak one, even though both your heart and mind are racing. Even though in some way it feels as though he’s interrupted a moment of intimacy. 

You wonder if the King feels it, too.

“I’ve not seen you all night, Jung,” Namjoon says pleasantly enough, clapping a hand over the Guardsman’s shoulder. Lord Jung returns Namjoon’s smile with an easy one of his own. You watch them both with careful curiosity, searching each man’s face for any sign of the tension you’d witnessed the other night in the courtyard. You find none, but you cannot be sure if that is because it no longer exists – or because both are accomplished in the art of diplomacy.

“I’ve been milling about,” Lord Jung explains, gesturing to you. “This is the first time I’ve seen the Queen since her confinement and I wanted to ask after her. I’m sure you both are quite glad of her recovery.”

“That we are,” the King says. He brushes past Lord Jung to take the man’s place on the bench beside you. “Though I suspect I’ve kept her out too late tonight and she’ll need her rest.”

You nearly open your mouth to protest but decide against it.

“Perhaps it’s time for me to retire as well,” Lord Jung says lightly. “I have an early morning ahead of me with the horses. It’s best I take my leave now and bid a good night to you both.”

He wastes no time in quickly bowing to you both before turning to leave.

You’re careful not to watch him go, though the King certainly does. Namjoon’s dark eyes follow Lord Jung’s steps until he is too far gone into the crowd to spot any longer. Your stomach churns at the expression on your husband’s face, at the dark curiosity in his narrowed eyes and arched brow.

“He’s restless of late,” the King says under his breath. Though you’ve heard him quite clearly, it seems safer somehow to pretend otherwise.

“I beg your pardon, Your Grace?”

“Lord Jung,” he clarifies, shifting his gaze back to you. “He’s not been himself these last months. Unsettled. Tense, perhaps.”

Your pulse leaps at your husband’s observation though you cannot be sure if the cause is excitement or fear. Yeona feels like a cinder in your arms now, her little body radiating an uncomfortable warmth against your already heated skin. You feel sweat start to bead at the back of your neck.

“I – do not know him as well as you do, Your Grace,” you say slowly, reaching for each word as carefully as fine crystal. “And therefore, I am in no position to say. But I trust that you have the right of it.”

The King strokes a soft hand down Yeona’s back and you hold perfectly still, as though you fear any sudden move will incite him. As though the reserved man you’ve been married to for all these months might spring on you like a bear trap if he’s managed to discern all the traitorous thoughts you’ve entertained.

But your husband does nothing of the sort. 

His mouth tilts thoughtfully as he sits back to watch you, babe in arms. And in this picture of you and Yeona together, woman and child, he must see what he believes to be the solution to this dilemma concerning his lifelong friend. That can be the only explanation for what he says next.

“I think Hoseok is in need of a wife.”

You taste iron in your mouth.

⚜️⚜️⚜️

My Dearest Sister –

It has been some time since your last letter, but I have decided not to be cross. A forgiving spirit is but one of my enviable qualities and thus I have chosen to grant you a modicum of grace.

I write to you today with very exciting news. I’m in love!

His name is Chul and no, he is not of your acquaintance. It has been but three months since he and his father arrived in this village. He is frightfully handsome and best of all, prefers me to all the other young women who’ve been vying for his attention. I am the envy of the lot when we walk together in the evenings and always make sure to take the path closest to Park Myeong’s home because I know it vexes her to no end.

Dear Sister, he has asked me to marry him!

And while I suspect Father will be more than happy to see me married off in short order, I am quite certain that Mother will object. Chul is only yet a blacksmith’s apprentice but once he completes his training, he will be an expert. And I have no doubt of his ability to provide me with a comfortable life, though it will likely never meet our Mother’s exacting standards.

There is something else I must confess before I end this letter, something quite scandalous. And as I am unable to utter a word of this to anyone, I feel as though I might burst if I do not write it down. 

A wondrous new world has been opened up to me!

I understand that the private delights enjoyed between a man and woman are nothing new to you, but this discovery has been a rather thrilling one for me. Chul and I are soon to be married and I cannot find good reason to forgo the heady pleasure of an afternoon spent with his hand up my skirts. 

I will say no more, lest you faint dead away and someone find this letter next to your body.

I can barely contain my happiness. It feels as though I’m standing at the edge of my old life and preparing to dive into the new. The next time I write you, it will be to announce my formal betrothal and to share the happy news of my wedding plans. 

With love,

Chaehee

⚜️⚜️⚜️

You fold the paper in your hands and stare blankly into the fire in the hearth, watching the flames dance as you consider every startling revelation in your sister’s letter. At this very moment you should be seated at your desk, furiously scribbling a stern missive back to your wayward Chaehee and warning her of the ruin that almost certainly lies ahead. But you cannot. You sit in your plush chair immobilized, unable to move or act or think of anything beyond her words. 

Happiness. Love. Pleasure.

Your poor sister would be aghast to discover that you know precisely nothing about either one. That despite your status as a married woman – a Queen! – you are no more enlightened on these matters than she is. Probably less so now.

The flames in the hearth are dying by the time you finally manage to lift yourself out of that chair. You drop the letter onto the glowing embers below and watch as the paper burns bright orange and then black. 

You watch until the edges curl into themselves and the pieces turn to ash and the fire consumes it whole.

⚜️⚜️⚜️

Love, it would seem, is catching these days.

Your sister is hardly the only one to fall under its spell. Everywhere you look, you see it – in the kitchens where the cooks titter about their suitors, in the laundry where the washgirls trade heated glances with the butlers. In the halls where a footman and maid break apart when you turn a corner, cheeks flushed and breaths labored as you pass. 

It’s as though love is a contagion being carried on the crisp fall air, infecting everyone who breathes it in.

Well, perhaps not everyone.

The King remains unaffected by whatever madness has come over his people. His peculiar interest in you proves to be a fleeting thing, one that wanes as life returns to routine in the days following your illness. You take up your daily morning walks and afternoon excursions to the aviary once again and the King resumes his own afternoon pursuits, vanishing at midday with such punctuality that you wonder if he’s actually being timed.

But you cannot find it in yourself to be surprised or even angry at this turn of events. In truth, there is a sense of relief that comes with the respite from your husband’s attentions. Too much time in the presence of the King muddies the waters. And in many ways you find that it is easier to live between clearly drawn lines.

But there are other lines, too. Ones that are far less clear.

Not unlike the neat line of stones that frame the path you are walking this morning. You round the curve that passes close to the stables with a basket in hand, stealing glances from beneath the brim of the hat Hyeri had insisted you wear today. Slowly, the horse pen comes into view. 

He comes into view.

It is astonishing that the man can steal your breath like this. That just one glimpse of him – lean arms crossed over his chest, brow knit in concentration, dark hair falling into his eyes – is capable of making your pulse quicken. 

You find yourself drifting off the neat stone path, body moving of its own volition in the direction of the stables. The ground beneath you, dusty and dry from weeks without rain, crunches loudly beneath your walking boots and Lord Jung turns at the sound.

The slow smile that tugs at the corners of his mouth is enough to make you lightheaded with excitement. 

But the sensation vanishes nearly as quickly as it comes on.

“I think Hoseok is in need of a wife.”

The King’s words come back to you in that moment, ringing in your ears like the steady clang of a watchtower bell. How much longer will it be before Lord Jung succumbs to the madness that’s taken over this place? How much longer before he announces his betrothal? The man could be in the throes of a grand love affair at this very minute and you would be none the wiser.

The thought makes the blood in your veins turn to ice.

“Good morning, Your Grace,” he greets kindly from his side of the fence, paying his respects with a deep bow. “This is a pleasant surprise.”

A surprise to him perhaps, but not to you. In the days since Lord Jung declared his plans to work in the stables this week, you’ve been able to think of little else. And though you’d not been entirely certain of your intentions as you’d set out for this morning’s walk, you’d become quite certain of them as soon as you’d spotted his lithe frame in the distance.

“Good morning,” you breathe, damning the blasted hat that forces you to lift your chin in order to see him properly. You raise a hand to your brow to shield your eyes from the sunlight. “I hope you do not mind this disruption. I saw new horses in the pen and could not resist the urge to stop and admire them.”

It’s a half-truth, of course, though you must admit the horses are quite beautiful. You crane your neck to take a better look at them, a pair of pretty females with small statures and amber coats. One stands patiently still as a stablehand inspects its hooves, the other trots gentle circles around a second man.

“They’re good horses,” Lord Jung says. “Docile demeanors. Fast learners. Nothing like that hellion I worked with last.” He shakes his head at the memory and you cannot help but smile. “I don’t know that I’ll ever come across another animal quite like him.”

“Well, that’s probably for the best,” you laugh and he laughs too, the honeyed sound of it making your heart soar.

“Is this visit made in haste?” He motions to the basket in your hands and you blink down at it dumbly, as though you’d forgotten it was there at all. “Or do you have time to come in and see them for yourself?”

You drop your head a bit, just enough to allow the brim of your hat to conceal the way you flush with happiness at his invitation. 

“I’m in no hurry. And I would like that very much.”

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You stroke the horse’s muzzle with an open palm and the animal blinks its huge eyes, tail swaying back and forth in the wind. 

She likes you – even without your knowledge of horses you’d be able to discern that from her relaxed stance and the happy sound of her nickering. She keeps her head dropped low and you reward her obedience with a firm scratch behind her ears.

Beside you, Lord Jung works a coarse-bristled brush through the horse’s mane, stroking through the strands until they shine. It’s mesmerizing to watch him work, to watch the tendons of his strong forearms strain and the muscles ripple beneath his golden skin.

“She’s comfortable with you.”

He doesn’t take his eyes off the steady work of his hands, but your skin prickles with awareness at his casual observation. It makes you wonder what else he has taken note of when you’ve assumed his attention has been elsewhere.

“And I with her,” you return, patting the animal’s strong neck. “She reminds me of my mare back home.”

“Oh?”

“Not in her appearance exactly,” you explain, “But in her temperament. She has a very sweet spirit.”

“That she does,” Lord Jung agrees, dropping the brush into a bucket at his feet. He reaches into his pocket to produce a small oat cake, a reward for the animal’s obedience which the horse is quick to accept.

“What is her name?”

“She doesn’t have one,” he admits, lips pursing thoughtfully. “I don’t think the King intends to keep her. I expect that he will sell them both in order to acquire a more powerful horse. One better suited to heavy labor.”

“What a shame,” you say under your breath, hand coming to rest on the bridge of the horse’s nose. She nudges you with it, urging you to resume your attentions and you oblige with a sad smile. “Not fair is it, girl? Being cast aside like that.” 

Lord Jung is quiet for a moment, long enough that you lift your head to search for him and find him already looking at you. There is something stormy swirling in his dark gaze. He quickly averts it to look away in the direction of the castle and you watch with careful curiosity as he drags a hand down his jaw before turning back to you.

“There’s a creek in the woods behind me. Do you know it?”

“I do,” you say slowly, uncertainty flooding your bloodstream. 

“Do you know how to get to the mouth of it?”

“Yes,” you admit, heart starting to beat double-time. “I do.”

“Will you meet me there tomorrow? In the afternoon. At the time you would normally visit the aviary.”

At best, the proposition is improper – and at worst, scandalous. You know very well that no married woman of good standing should ever agree to a clandestine encounter with a man who is not her husband. 

But still you answer without hesitation.

“Yes,” you whisper. “I will.”

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Try as you might, sleep will not come.

You lie in the dark for what feels like an eternity, imagining shapes in the shadows cast overhead. Your entire body tingles with a nervous energy that makes it impossible to lie still or allow your mind to rest. So you toss and turn – until your bedding becomes a mess and your sheets become impossibly tangled about your limbs. Until you have no choice but to abandon the endeavor entirely and decide to shake off your blankets and climb out of bed.

You grab your shawl and sink into the chair beside the fire, pensive as you watch the embers dim and cool.

Somewhere in the belly of the hearth at your feet lies the remnants of Chaehee’s letter. The pages are little more than ash and soot by now, surely, but the words inscribed on them remain seared into your heart and mind. Impulsive as she can be – reckless as she can be – your brave little sister has still managed to secure the things you covet most in this life.

Happiness. Love. Pleasure.

They all have it, don’t they? The cooks and the washgirls and the maids. They flit about this castle like doves, preening as they exchange knowing smiles. All partaking together in some grand shared secret while you remain grounded, tethered by decorum and duty.

Well, no more.

You’ll not spend one more moment sitting idly by as the women around you do exactly as they please, paying no mind to the rules that have dictated every circumstance in your life. You’ll not devote another ounce of your energy to resenting anyone fearless enough to do the things you’ve always been too timid to attempt. 

So you tiptoe back to bed, as though any errant sound might bring every servant in the castle running to your chamber. 

You peel back the duvet and burrow back into your bedding, heart pounding in your ears. And then you slide one unsteady hand beneath the gauzy material of your nightgown and down to the apex of your thighs. Then you touch yourself – there – with a light press of your open palm.

Nothing happens. 

So you do it again – firmer – spreading your legs a bit wider and feeling for the hidden place that has produced an unexpected shock of sensation for you before. 

Nothing happens.

But you keep pressing. Again and again and again until your hips start to move of their own accord. You keep pressing until you feel a strange pulse there, the steady motion earning you an enticing friction that comes each time you rock against the heel of your hand.

You keep pressing and rocking until the feeling becomes a pleasant ache between your thighs, as frustrating as it is fascinating. Because though you find the sensation agreeable, it is nothing like what Chaehee had described to you so long ago. And though you can feel it – the promise of something more – you have no idea how to harness it. 

You have no understanding of what comes next or how to make it more.

Eventually you have no choice but to abandon that endeavor too, limbs and eyelids heavy when sleep finally comes for you. And when you submit to it, finally allow it to pull you under, your very last thought is that you will try again. 

Youmust.

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“Is the meal not to your liking, Your Grace?”

Hyeri lifts one thin gray eyebrow as she fixes you with a strange look from across the table. She nudges the plate in front of you and you blink, rousing from your daze. 

The food is perfectly to your liking actually, the smell of the sugared toast and eggs enticing enough to make your mouth water. But your stomach is wildly unsettled this morning, already roiling beneath your skirts at the thought of seeing Lord Jung and you fear partaking in more than just a few bites of food will cause you to retch.

“No, no, not at all,” you shake your head as you collect your thoughts. “It looks delicious. But my stomach feels a bit weak this morning and I would rather not test it.”

“You’re not feeling poorly again, are you?” Hyeri asks, frowning as she reaches for the glass jar of jam between you. “Perhaps you ought to stay in bed today, allow your body to rest.”

“No.” The word flies out of your mouth with much more force and much more volume than you’d intended. Hyeri’s eyes narrow as she nibbles at the corner of a toast point.

“There’s something curious about you this morning, Your Grace,” she says slyly. “You woke up with your head in the clouds and now you’re as skittish as a colt. Is there something afoot you need to tell me about?”

A self-conscious heat rises to your cheeks. “Of course not,” you sniff.

But the skeptical look on Hyeri’s face remains intact. “You look well,” she murmurs, as though assessing the veracity of your claim to good health. Her eyes rake down the pretty walking dress you’d selected for today, one of your best. “You look very well, actually.”

Oh, you must leave this chamber at once. 

When Hyeri looks at you like this, you feel as transparent as a pane of glass. The porcelain plates and cups on top of the table rattle as you quickly get to your feet.

“You are far too kind to me, Hyeri,” you say, careful to avoid direct contact with her as you gather your shawl and basket. “Truly. And I think a morning walk is just the thing to improve my appetite.”

“But – ”

“ – I have a very busy day planned,” you say, ignoring Hyeri’s half-hearted objections as you hurry towards the chamber door. “And I may decide to visit with the Min girls, as well,” you lie, grateful to have your back turned towards your handmaid.

“But – ”

You fling the heavy door open and briefly turn in the threshold, just long enough to see Hyeri’s wide eyes and slack jaw.

“Don’t wait for me!” you insist, forcing a wide smile. “I’ll return before dinner tonight.”

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You spend what remains of your morning in the aviary, alternating between attempting to read the book in your hands and staring up at the birds overhead, lost in thought.

What does Lord Jung want with you?

Contemplating the answer to that question is thrilling and terrifying in equal measure. You are in many ways – too many ways – still quite naive about the ways of men. Is he simply extending you a kindness or is there something more? The very prospect is fraught with danger.

But not even the risk of ruin is enough to stop you from seeking him out. And when the agreed-upon time for your rendezvous finally arrives, not even the threat of being discovered in a secret meeting with a man who is not your husband is enough to keep you away.

So you go to him – one careful step at a time, hiking your skirts to step over the roots dotted across the forest floor. 

As you walk, a flash of movement catches your eye and you squint at it through the thinning trees. It starts to take shape as you near, the amber color of it sparking a realization in your mind.

A horse. No – horses.

Both animals come into view as you step into the clearing – the pretty mare from the stables secured to one tree and the King’s magnificent warhorse to another. Lord Jung stands at the warhorse’s side, his delicate mouth curved into a devastating smile.

“Your Grace.”  He dips into his customary bow and you nod, incredulous as you take in the entire scene. “I thought you might like to go for a ride.”

Oh, but you would. In fact, your pulse leaps with excitement at the very suggestion. But you look down at your fine walking dress and sigh. “I would love to, truly. But I’m not dressed to ride.”

“If you think me capable of spiriting away both a pair of horses and a set of riding clothes, I’m afraid you’ve overestimated my abilities,” Lord Jung teases, causing heat to creep up the line of your back. “But the decision is entirely up to you.”

You silently scold yourself for voicing your hesitation out loud. This man has gone out of his way to offer you this opportunity, one you’ve craved since the moment you stepped foot on the King’s land. 

You want to go. You willgo. 

“Well, I – “ you flush a bit as you gesture at the amber mare, then down to your long skirts. “– I’ll need some help getting onto her, you see.”

Lord Jung’s dark eyes crinkle with amusement.

“Yes, of course.”

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The ride is glorious. 

You’ll be saddle sore tomorrow, no doubt, but today you can only think of how free you feel riding on top of your amber mare. She’s an ideal mount for you, both in size and demeanor and you find that she follows your cues exceptionally well.

You follow Lord Jung’s lead through parts of the Kingdom you’ve never seen before — green hills and rolling fields dotted with wildflowers. And when you arrive at a particularly open stretch of land, you urge your mount to move faster and she complies, taking you from an easy trot to a gallop with surprising speed. 

But soon – far too soon – it’s time to rest the horses.

Lord Jung helps you down from your mount, his hands firm about your waist as he carefully sets you on the ground. Surely it is only your imagination that he holds you just a bit too close and for just a bit too long. You breathe him in – take in his masculine scent of leather and sweat. 

Being this close to the man scrambles your wits.

You let go of a breath when he breaks away from you to rifle through the contents of his bag. Within moments, he produces a skin of water and two apples, one of which you happily accept as the two of you sit down amongst the wildflowers to rest.

“This has been a wonderful afternoon, My Lord,” you say genuinely. “I hadn’t realized just how much I missed riding.”

“You’re good at it,” he compliments kindly, tipping his head back to take a drink. “And the two of you pair well together. She responds to you quite naturally.”

“Yes, I believe she does,” you agree, looking over your shoulder to where both horses are tethered. “And Jeonsa? He seems to do quite well with you. Is he biddable for the King, as well?”

Lord Jung puts on an amused expression and shakes his head.

“The relationship between horse and rider is a bit like courtship. Let’s just say the King has a bit more courting to do.”

The two of you share a laugh. 

“Thank you My Lord,” you say after a while, “Truly, for all of this. I don’t know that anyone has ever gone to such trouble for me.”

Lord Jung’s dark eyes snap up to meet yours. There’s something puzzling about his gaze, something entirely at odds with your sincere statement of thanks. 

“I wonder if I might ask you something of a personal nature, Your Grace.”

Your nails immediately curl into the fine material of your skirts, the pressure turning your knuckles white. But you are careful to keep your expression calm.

“Yes of course,” you say with a strained laugh. “Though I may decide not to divulge my answer.”

He looks away from you then, reaching for a long blade of grass at his feet. His expression inscrutable as he plucks it and begins to worry the blade between his fingers.

“Are you unhappy here?”

You take in a sharp breath. The question is far too personal, far too intimate to be proper in any way. But you find yourself answering it – truthfully – because he’s caught you so off guard you have no choice but to respond with candor.

“Some days,” you admit quietly. “But not today.”

Lord Jung says nothing for a while and the blade of grass between his fingers eventually breaks apart. He throws it down and reaches for another.

“The King is by no means perfect, Your Grace,” he starts, pausing as though he’s giving great thought to each word. “But he is a brother to me in all but blood. I’ve spent the better part of my life at his side. He’s a good man.”

The hairs at the nape of your neck stand on end.

Is this why he’s brought you here today? To make a case on behalf of the King? Your cheeks heat at the thought of every silly notion you’d entertained otherwise.

“Did he ask you to do this?” you demand, “Did he tell you to speak to me?”

“No.” His answer is firm, immediate. “No, I swear it. But I know that you have been unhappy since coming here and I just ask that you give His Grace a chance to make things right.”

You’ll hear none of it. The magic of the afternoon is gone now, the entire outing tainted by this tense exchange. By this reminder that Lord Jung’s loyalties lie with your husband, and that any kindness he’s shown you is little more than an extension of his service to the King. 

What a fool you’ve been. 

“You needn’t defend the King,” you say tightly, getting to your feet and dusting your hands off on your skirts. “I assure you, he has no shortage of people to come to his defense. And I think we should go now.”

“Your Grace, “ Lord Jung is on his feet now, too. “By no means would I ever want to upset you.”

It’s far too late for that, you think – the disappointment so acute it makes you want to double over. You turn your back to him and stalk off towards your mount, blinking back the angry tears that threaten.

“I’m not explaining myself well,” he insists, following you and taking firm hold of your arm.  He turns you to face him. “I mean only to say that I know the King to be a good man. But even good men are weak to certain temptations.”

“And you, Lord Jung?” 

You challenge him without thinking, the words flying out of your mouth before you can stop them. “What temptation are you weak to?”

The man’s dark eyes glint dangerously as he regards you for a moment, jaw tight.

“You’re right, Your Grace,” he says at last. “It’s time to go.”

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