Vigilant(e) - MYG

Vigilant(e) - MYG

pairing: yoongi x femreader

genre: vigilante au, lawyer au, rivals to lovers

word count: 4.3k

rating: M

warnings: language (the f-word mostly), kissing (not quite smut but I feel like they would if they could), violence (not between our leads), a little blood mention, discussion of law and justice, rhapsodizing about the min yoongi,

a/n: i like to lay blame where it is due: so I blame @raplinesmoon for flooding my dash of yoongi in that final concert. I blame @jl-micasea-fics for the prompt that set this in motion. I blame @seokjinger-ale and @hannahbee12719 for telling me I should write yoongi again. i blame Greedy for the appearance of a diner because that's a top tier yoongi fic. i blame yoongi for looking like he does, performing like he does and just in general being what he is. and I blame myself for have no power to withstand any of the above. I have not written for this man in well over a year and if that means the following is a bit rusty, my apologies. also if there are any typos or mistakes, I'm sorry. i tried my best to find them.

a/n 2: i might have an idea for a part two.

prompt used

Person A: "Why did you save me?" Person B: "Honestly, if I had known it was you beforehand, I probably wouldn't have."

masterlist

Part 1 - Rebuttal

—-----

It’s not tunnel-vision (or maybe it is, you’re not sure you know the definition), but when you are in THAT mode, you see only what is necessary. Your brain predicts the possible outcomes and you follow the one with the least damage and best chances of saving the person in trouble. 

You don’t really see faces.

Maybe your therapist would have something to analyze if she knew that, but you tend to keep the other part of your life secret from everyone, and that includes your therapist. 

Your therapist is probably bored, honestly. 

It’s a typical evening in your life. You’ve finished work hours, dealt with depositions, met with a few witnesses, and held your tongue when the District Attorney asks you to do something clearly under his job description, not yours. You don’t have court tomorrow, just more research, so you change into your coveralls, slip a medical-grade mask on, and your favorite blue beanie. 

You have a police scanner in your car, but you opt just to carry it with you in your backpack. One earbud in and you just look like a very sketchy person out for a walk, listening to music or the latest podcast. 

The police scanner isn’t the greatest of ways to get information. You usually encounter situations by pure happenstance and tonight is no different.

It’s raised voices. 

It’s not the worst part of the city that you’re in, but it isn’t exactly the best either. The apartment complex in front of you needs work, but it’s also free of metal bars on first-level windows or barbed wire, so that’s a plus. 

You pause when you hear. You take out the earbud and listen a bit longer. Sometimes yelling is just yelling. It doesn’t require an intervention of any kind. Early on in doing this thing that you do at night, you have definitely interrupted interactions that did not need your assistance.

Good thing the mask hides your embarrassment. 

You discern mostly one voice, male, that is the loudest. There are other male voices…two more. One is a bit reedy, a little concerned. The other is the lowest register, scratchy, but calm. 

“Fuck you!”

Which again, doesn’t mean you should intervene. But the sound you hear after that does.

A punch doesn’t sound like it does in the movies. You saw somewhere that sound effects people tend to use steak to make the sound of flesh being pummeled.

Seems like a waste of meat. 

The real thing is muted, and if you weren’t a several-year pro at this, the sound wouldn’t raise alarm.

But there are two in rapid succession and that springs you into action. 

It’s down the alley next to the apartment complex, basically the back entrance, you assume. 

Three men. And it’s easy to see who is who. The yeller is the one throwing punches. The reedy-voiced one is trying to hold him back. The calm one is the one attempting to avoid the hits, but isn’t retaliating. 

You don’t even ask, you just swoop in.

Removing the reedy one is easy. You tug him back with one grab of his arm. He stumbles out of the way. 

Which does announce your arrival and stops the instigator from throwing another hit. 

“Who the fuck are you?”

You don’t say anything. You don’t have a particularly overt feminine voice, but it does help the whole process if they don’t suspect that you are a female. Usually. 

The yeller leaves the man he’s just been attacking and starts to swing at you. It’s easy again. Real fighting is not the beautiful choreography seen on screens. It’s slower, especially if there’s no training involved. 

You’ve been trained, but your opponent definitely has not.

You dodge a few of the incoming swipes before landing a solid to his gut. This causes him to keel over, effectively inactive for several seconds. This gives you time to grab him right above his elbow, thumb pushing against that pressure point. 

His scream is satisfying, but that’s not something you tell your therapist. 

“Hey, hey,” you hear behind you. “Let him go. He’s….just let him go.” 

The attacker is begging the same thing, but you listen to the voice behind you. You shove the attacker away, who is immediately helped up by his friend, and with some not-so-creative threats toward you, they hurry off. 

“Well.” 

You turn around, breathing a little heavily because a fight isn’t always your daily norm. Sometimes it’s just helping someone across the street. Or distracting a would-be assault-er. Sometimes your nights are just long walks with no action at all.

Your tunnel vision now focuses on who you just saved. 

Your damsel in distress is several things:

Not a damsel (would have been impressive with such a low voice).

Not especially tall (taller than you, but no one would give this guy a basketball scholarship).

Has long hair (Longer than yours, but you keep yours really short for ease, and this whole night-time-save-people thing you do). 

Is going to have a few marks in the morning from where his attacker was successful. (You only notice because it’s a really nice face you’re looking at).

Is Min Yoongi. 

“I needed him to agree to come in so I could depose him for a case.” There’s a long sigh. “Not sure he’ll do it now.”

Defense attorney, Min Yoongi. The man on the other side of the courtroom. The one who remains calm in practically any situation. Who smirks when his team is getting the best of the State with his loopholes and questionable interpretations of the law. 

Basically, the person your boss hates more than anyone else.

You don’t mean to, but you say his name.

The eyebrows raise. “You know me?”

Quickly you try and keep your voice low (not as low as his, nor as pretty…objectively). “Who doesn’t?”

You’ll give credit. He’s an excellent lawyer and though the media does like to write about him when he wins a case, or loses; he doesn’t seek it out. Not that you can see. While other defense attorneys are often caught out living it up with their ridiculous amounts of money from exorbitant fees, Min Yoongi seems pretty private. 

You also know he does pro bono work because you might have researched him once. Or twice. 

Once for your boss to find something to discredit him. Twice because you sometimes can’t help yourself finding out more of someone’s story. 

Despite the fact that blood is trickling from his eyebrow (the attacker had on a few rings), Yoongi looks very nonplussed as he tucks his hands into the pockets of his trousers. 

You pull your backpack off one shoulder to swing it around and open it. You have a veritable first aid kid in there; along with pepper spray, mace, and various other dissuaders. 

You take out a clean tissue and reach for the wound before stilling when he doesn’t even flinch. 

“Can I?”

Fuck, you forgot to keep your voice low. 

He nods and you dab away the blood carefully. 

“You’re Anon, right?”

Your nightly activities are sometimes reported and the press has given you a moniker - Anonymous, or Anon.

It’s better than anything you could have come up with. 

“That was hardly a life-threatening altercation,” he continues as you draw away to find a bandage. “Why did you ‘save’ me?” He even uses the finger quotation marks. 

It makes you bristle. You can’t help it. 

As you apply the bandage over the eyebrow cut, you respond with some annoyance, “Honestly, if I had known it was you beforehand, I probably wouldn't have.”

He laughs. Outright and very loudly before covering his mouth. You back up, closing your bag and righting it on your shoulders again. 

“Okay, then. Anon.” He meets your eyes and you look away. Most people you interact with like this don’t look too closely, but you know how smart this man is. You don’t need him to get a good look (thank goodness for crappy streetlights that barely work) at your eyes. “I guess you know me better than most.”

He touches the bandage gingerly before dropping his hand. 

“Be careful,” you grumble before starting to retreat because retreat is very very necessary right now. 

“I appreciate the sentiment, but I probably won’t.” 

You look back at him for that comment and he’s doing that smirk again. The one you’ve seen multiple times in the courtroom. That you’ve been on the receiving end of a few times when you’ve taken to questioning the defendant or witness. 

“Thanks, though.”

You get the fuck out of there.

—

It’s months later. After winning one case and losing two others (you don’t mind losing cases if you believe that the defendant is innocent, or that the evidence doesn’t add up, but that doesn’t hold water with your boss; a perfect record should be attained always), you are making an appearance at a charity function because someone from the DA’s office should be there and everyone else has excuses before you can come up with one. 

So here you are, listening to people with a lot more money than you talk about reforms needed for the city, how citizens should abide by the laws, and more money should be funneled into programs to clean up the streets. 

“Or we could just fund programs that actually help those who need it.”

You didn’t see him come up next to you. His voice is quiet enough that the speaker at the podium wouldn’t notice. In fact no one around you seems to care that Min Yoongi has just approached you even though there can’t be anything you two have in common; opposites sides of the legal system obviously. 

You just stare at him, a champagne flute in your hand that is only half full because you don’t like champagne but it’s the only thing at this event that seemed acceptable to drink without resorting to just chugging water. He doesn’t smile at you though the corner of his mouth is lifted slightly like he’s amused. 

Again, it’s definitely an expression you’ve seen in the courtroom.

One of those losing cases was against Min Yoongi. One of the ones you were sure the defendant was telling the truth. But you can’t say that. Because admitting that failure was the correct judgement would be weakness.

Sometimes you wish you heard someone else’s voice in your head other than your boss’s. 

“I don’t think I’m the person to tell that to,” you say, hopefully as softly. “I’m not in charge.”

He stands next to you, facing the stage, almost mirroring your posture; though he has a tumbler of whiskey instead of champagne. 

“You’re exactly the person to tell it to,” he says, leaning a little closer so you can hear him clearly. 

Min Yoongi is attractive. It’s an objective fact. You’re pretty sure that’s why the press enjoys writing about him because he looks good in his lawyer suits. The hair a little too long to be conventionally professional. The sharp jawline in contrast with round cheeks. The sharp sharp eyes that are so dark against his skin. 

Does the journalists know that he smells good too?

That’s new information for you as you have never been this close to him. Minus that night you saved him but there was blood and sweat and general dirty alley scents to mar whatever cologne he prefers. 

“I don’t follow,” you reply. “You know where I am in the hierarchy of this city and the DA’s office.”

The speaker at the podium has finished his talk and the hired band starts to play something that feels more jazzy than current. Yoongi turns slightly toward you and you can’t help but meet his gaze. 

“I do. You do good work there,” he says as he tucks one hand in the pocket of his suit pants before taking a sip of his drink. “Subscribing to the letter of the law, upholding it and every governmental branch that it includes.”

Does he have to sound so mocking?

“If we don’t put faith in our laws, it’d be chaos.”

“I mean, true…” The beginning of the smirk shows up. “But sometimes, the law is a bit restricting, don’t you think?”

You can feel the flare of your nostrils. “Rules are. That’s the point. Justice needs parameters, and it’s our job to make sure justice is served…properly.”

He grins and it blinds you just a bit. 

“Yeah? So, taking matters into your own hands…outside of the police, the courtroom, the local government…that would be wrong?”

Oh fuck. Abort. Abort. 

“Of course.” You take a step back. “Nice to see you, Attorney Min, outside the courtroom, but I have to go.”

You turn and flee the scene as best you can in your sensible heels. You’ve been at this function for nearly two hours. That’s enough time to present a good face for the DA’s office. Time to go home and curl up on the couch to watch the most recent episode of the coziest anime. 

You’re outside the ballroom, coat attained from coat check, and you’re filling in the information on your phone for an Uber when you feel a hand brush your elbow. 

“Let me give you a ride home.”

You shake your head, not looking at him. “I’m good.”

He says your name in his lawyer voice; firm and assertive as though nothing can sway his opinion. 

“No thank you.”

“Anon.”

Your head shoots up from staring at your phone before you can tell yourself to ignore it. He doesn’t look amused anymore. He looks lethal.

“If not a ride home, then something to eat.”

“We just…” your voice is shuddery and you hate yourself for it. “There was food in there.” You point to the ballroom.

He snorts. “I mean real food. The diner two blocks over? You know it?”

Of course, you do. It’s your favorite. 

But you just nod and he gestures for you both to head that way. 

It’s quiet for several minutes, minus the passing cars and people out and about at nine p.m. on a Saturday. 

Your brain isn’t quiet. It’s racing. Trying to figure out how to save this. Save your identity. Save the one thing that you do that feels like it makes an impact because your work at the DA’s office can quite often feel like trying to carry sand in a colander - futile. 

“Attorney Min.”

“I think you can call me Yoongi.” He doesn’t look at you, but opens the door to let you walk into the diner first. You return the wave of one of the servers who recognizes you before finding a booth and easing yourself in (you’ve never been here with a floor-length dress and heels on before). 

He slides in across from you as you’re both greeted with menus and full plastic glasses of water. 

The server, Bora who is working here to get through her associate's degree for accounting, asks if you want your regular.

Yoongi looks at you with pure amusement. “Your regular?”

You shrug. “Burger and shake.”

“What kind?”

“Chocolate malt.”

“Sounds good. I’ll have that too.” He hands back the menu to Bora and waits until she’s gone before speaking again. “So.”

You know how smart Min Yoongi is so you don’t try to deny it or evade.

“I won’t do it anymore. You can’t prove it.”

The eyebrows raise. “Prove what?”

You close your eyes, annoyed and frustrated. “You know what.” 

You hear movement and open your eyes to see that he’s leaned more across the table. 

From this close, you can see a little bit of a scar from where he’d bled that night. 

“Do you think I’m gonna blackmail you?”

“Aren’t you? Why else say anything?”

He sits back at regards you with those eyes for several seconds. You take a long sip of your water. 

“What’s the end goal?” he asks. “Either you get found out or you get hurt or you get killed.”

You’ve thought of that. You’ve thought about that a lot. 

“I know.” You fiddle with the straw. “I thought it’d be just once or twice, but…”

“Doing good is addictive.”

You stare at him, thinking that he seems very sure of this. “Doing good?”

“You think I’m going to say that you shouldn’t do what you’re doing? I mean, yeah, it’s completely risky and the result will probably end in one of those three ways, but you’re doing good things.”

No one knowing about your secret is the right thing for everyone. But that doesn’t mean it isn’t lonely. Getting injured because you didn’t watch the hit coming, suffering through only a few hours of sleep sometimes and having no one to talk about it with…is very lonely. 

“Thank you.”

He smiles a little as your shakes are delivered and you ask Bora how classes are. She updates you briefly. If Yoongi wasn’t here, she’d be way more detailed. 

“But you’re on a date, so next time,” she says and leaves before you can correct her. 

“You know,” Yoongi begins without so much as a response to the ‘date’ comment. “It’s antithetical to your real job. Doing something outside the law.” 

It’s fascinating how neither of you has actually spelled out the secret. 

“Yeah…I know.”

“I mean…it’s why I didn’t believe it at first. Not you. The assistant DA who challenges every line of questioning I start.”

“Not every one.”

“Okay, 90% then.” He has a warm smile like this. Twinkling eyes when he takes his first sip of the shake. “I’ve never had a shake here before. I’ve been missing out.”

If this was a date, you’d talk about how you’ve tried all the options they have on the menu and how the chocolate malt is by far superior and that it’s always the perfect smoothness and sweetness. 

Shouldn’t think of this as a date, though. That’s dangerous. 

“I do believe in following the letter of the law…but…”

“But?” His eyes still sparkle but he’s not drinking right now. He’s looking at you. 

“It’s made by humans. And we never get it perfect or right. We just sometimes miss the mark.”

“So you became a vigilante.”

Not that you didn’t know that he knew (why else has this night even ended up like this?) but the words are so powerful and you feel frozen. 

“I guess.”

He says your name again and you thaw some. “I’m not going to blackmail you. Or say anything.”

That confession takes several seconds to process.

“Why not?”

He takes a deep breath and opens his mouth, but Bora is back with your burgers. Some quick chit-chat chat and then you see Yoongi take a bite and nearly have a transcendent experience.

“Fuck, that’s really good.”

It’s weirdly validating. To have the Min Yoongi think your food choices are good. 

He gets back to your question.

“We are on the same side, you know.”

“I think that we’re fundamentally not.”

“We are. I know what it’s like in the courtroom. We are enemies, I seek to represent my client in their best interests and you represent the law. I know.” He glances away for a second. “But it’s justice, right?”

“But you and your team constantly twist the law and–”

“Because sometimes compassion is needed. Grace and mercy. That’s still justice. Just a different side to it.”

It floors you. Not that you haven’t wanted to give someone a second chance, even those you oppose in the courtroom, but you’ve never heard it said like that. 

You focus on your food, a bit jumpy from everything. “How did you figure it out?”

“That it was you?” You can hear his confidence and it’s both annoying and really attractive. “Your voice. Your height. The fact that your makeup sometimes doesn’t cover a bruise on your leg.”

Who looks at your legs that much?

You hear him move again and reluctantly look up. He’s watching you carefully. 

“Your eyes mostly.”

“My eyes.”

He nods. 

“In movies, the eyes show all the time and no one figures it out.”

He scoffs. “Okay, in movies, most people are dumb. Actually, in life, most people are dumb.” He pauses, pressing his lips together before speaking again. “And most people don’t pay attention.”

“You pay attention?”

“You know I do.”

“I know you do because you find every possible weakness in my arguments to pounce upon and destroy.”

He laughs and props his chin on his hand. “Absolutely. But that isn’t all I pay attention to.” 

Logically, that follows, but you’re a little nervous to see where this path leads. 

“It isn’t?” But you’re curious and you prefer the truth over anything, so you’ll just continue down this trajectory even if it ends in flames. 

The laugh fades, but he still looks happy. The chocolate malt is amazing, but you don’t think it’s that happiness-inducing. 

“I pay attention to you. Both professionally and…” He straightens and scratches the back of his head, looking for less like Attorney Min and more just…Yoongi. “Less professionally.”

Between your daily job and your nightly job, you don’t have much time for dating. And despite it being 2023, you’ve found that men are still intimidated by a professional woman, especially a lawyer. 

So you don’t think about it much. 

And yes, you have eyes and have seen Min Yoongi so you know he’s attractive and may or may not have starred in a dream or two, but that’s dreams. You’ve had dreams about the man who lives two doors down from you and he’s sixty-five and not your type. 

“Less professionally.” Your brain is so overwhelmed that all you can do is repeat his words.

His smile turns wry. “I wouldn’t mind if this,” He gestures to the table and the diner, “is an actual date.” 

He looks a little shy, which is a version of Min Yoongi you’ve never seen. The faint pink in his cheeks, the softer eyes; the fidgety hands. 

You’ve had a lot to process tonight and it takes you several seconds to respond. 

“I wouldn’t mind either.”

You do let Min Yoongi drive you home. He even walks you up to your third-floor apartment, chatting about getting to see his alma mater’s basketball game in two days, why Marvel movies no longer excite him as much as they did, and what kind of ramen he ate for two weeks straight when studying for the Bar Exam. 

“It’s good,” he insists as you slow down in front of your door. “It was. I can’t even look at a package of it anymore without war flashbacks and nausea.” 

“My comfort food was pop-tarts. And I still like them for some reason.”

“What flavor?” he asks stopping behind you as you unlock your door.

“Strawberry…or blueberry.”

“What? Not cinnamon or smores? What kind of lawless heathen are you?”

You laugh (not the first time tonight, you should have known that all those smarts of his would make him funny too) and turn back around to see his mock-horrified expression. 

“If it’s fruit-flavored it’s better for you, right?” 

He rolls his eyes. “Sure.” Then his smile drops a bit as does his gaze to his feet. “So…I guess I’ll see you later?” His head pops up then. “Are you…I guess, patrolling tonight?”

You shake your head. “One, is that a Buffy reference?”

“Yes,” he says without a hint of shame. 

How on earth did he get more attractive? 

“Two, my feet hurt.”

He winces in sympathy.

“And three, I have to be alert and well, this entire evening has made my brain really really hazy at this point. So it’d be stupid for me to go out like this.”

He nods, taking a step closer to you. “Makes sense. I wouldn’t ask you not to. I have absolutely no right to do so.” He looks up at you (your heels definitely give you a little height) and to add to your night of shocks, the way he looks at you is staggering. “But if you do, or when you do, can you let me know? Like occasionally check in so I know you’re okay.”

It’s a lot, really. To go from thinking someone hates you or is at least unimpressed by you to realizing that you’re cared for, and thought of. Especially when you find you feel the same way. 

“I will.” You fiddle with your clutch purse. “It’d be nice to know someone is out there…paying attention.”

“Less professionally,” he repeats.

You chuckle. “Less professionally.”

There’s a pause in conversation, but it’s not quiet. You swear you can hear your heartbeat and the crackle of something in the air. 

“I want to kiss you.”

You meet his eyes and try not to melt. “I’m okay with that.”

Kissing Min Yoongi is a bit like your night job. You are hyper-aware (his hands on your waist, fingers digging in when you open your mouth; the sounds of his breaths, one low moan that you feel all over; how he tastes like chocolate malt), a bit nervous (first kisses are normally so awkward, but this…this is probably what inspires poets), and have to be ready to adapt (when he leaves your mouth and nips at your jaw and neck, you almost ask him to come in). 

He draws back too soon, but it’s a delight to see the flushed color of his skin, lips swollen from your mouth, his hair, already wavy, even more tousled. 

“Let me know when you aren’t working…either job,” he whispers. “We’ll go out.”

“Or stay in.”

The awareness in his eyes makes your body even more tense, like any second you’ll snap like a broken guitar string. “Or stay in.” 

It’s another soft kiss before he lets you go. 

“Good night, Attorney Min.”

“Night, Anon.” 

--

© yoongihan 2023. please do not steal, translate, repost, or whatever. bts belong to themselves and all idols used in this piece are just the inspiration for characters and do not in any way reflect the actual humans.

between the lines — myg (1)

⌞part one⌝

yoongi brings his daughter to work with him in hopes to lift her mood and distract her from their harsh reality. only the distraction proves to be more than what yoongi had hoped for… a lot more.

pairing: single dad!yoongi x actress!f reader rating: nc-17  words: 6.1k  genre(s): fluff, angst, comedy au(s): strangers to lovers, single dad, single parent, movie industry, famous heroine, hidden identity, found family warnings: curse words, abandonment issues, past trauma, loss of loved ones, mention of poor mental health, previous financial struggles, side pairing (namseok)

author’s note: the first part is here! i’m so happy to be able to share yoongi’s story. thoughts, opinions and feedback is warmly welcomed! [div cr]

caution: this part will mention a couple of heavy and sensitive topics. please read at your own risk. remember, your mental health matters ♡

© 2023 afterglowjeons on tumblr. all rights reserved.

series masterlist ✧ main masterlist ✧ ask box

“I used to rule the world…” A raspy groan escaped Yoongi’s lips. He rolled onto his stomach, blinking bleary eyed as he haphazardly reached out for his iPhone. Each day, as per his usual routine, Yoongi’s cell phone vibrated at six-thirty in the morning with the unmistakable violins of Viva La Vida. 

Tapping his forefinger on the orange stop button, Chris Martin’s voice disappeared into the comfortable silence of Yoongi’s bedroom. He released another groan, bringing his dominant hand up to run his fingers through his raven colored strands, “Time to get up,” he murmured to himself, throwing off the covers. 

Min Yoongi was a creature of habit; to put it simply. He enjoyed having structure and order in his life, especially where his daughter was concerned. Min Nara was a force to be reckoned with and the light of Yoongi’s life. She brightened his existence in every sense of the word and he couldn’t imagine his life without her. Nara was a bubbly, energetic and effervescent eight year old. She approached each day with curiosity, excitement and wonder – to which Yoongi absolutely adored. The only downside to this was his daughter’s tendency to be late for school. And appointments. And piano lessons. Among other things. So he learned rather quickly that an organized schedule would be beneficial for the both of them. 

“Bug,” Yoongi called from his doorway, “Rise and shine.” 

Nara’s bedroom resided directly adjacent to his own, their doors essentially mirrored. It was one of the things he liked about the modest two-bedroom apartment he currently leased. He was fortunate enough to be renting from his best friend, meaning rent was significantly more affordable than other properties on the market. He couldn’t be more thankful for the friendships in his life. His friends treated him and Nara as family and vice versa. 

Ten minutes passed and Nara still hadn’t emerged from her bedroom. Yoongi was already dressed in a pair of charcoal jeans and a fitted black tee. Although his workplace didn’t mandate a dress code, Yoongi preferred to wear black to work at all times, “Nara,” he approached her door, rapping his knuckles against the door frame, “Are you okay?” 

A cough sounded from the other side of the door and Yoongi’s heart rate spiked. Hastily turning the knob, Yoongi entered his daughter’s bedroom and rushed to her side, “Bug, are you sick?”

Nara glanced up at her father, blankets tucked beneath her chin. She nodded. 

“Oh Bug… Why didn’t you come get me earlier?” Yoongi’s face etched with worry. 

“Because you were sleeping Daddy. I didn’t wanna wake you up.” 

Frowning, Yoongi couldn’t help but feel somewhat responsible. His baby girl was unwell and he wished he’d seen the signs earlier. It had been so much easier when she was younger. 

“It’s alright, Bug. I’m going to check your temperature and bring back some cough medicine, okay? Hang tight.” He pressed a doting kiss to the top of her head and hurried to the bathroom. 

With Yoongi preoccupied in the bathroom, sifting through the medicine cabinet, Nara sneakily pulled a heated wheat bag from beneath her pillow. She placed it directly to her forehead, in hopes for her temperature to rise. She’d managed to warm up the bag in the microwave while her father snoozed, knowing that his alarm went off at the same time every morning. Nara’s plan was all but going according to plan. When she heard his footsteps, she quickly tucked the wheat bag back underneath her pillow. 

Yoongi returned seconds later, his hands full of medical supplies. Overprotective Dad Mode: Activated. 

“My poor baby,” he cooed, placing the items onto the edge of her bed, “Let’s see what we’re working with,” he uncapped the thermometer, gently gesturing for Nara to open her mouth. She complied. While the thermometer began to count upwards in Fahrenheit, Yoongi placed his palm against her forehead, “You’re burning up. Shit.” 

Curse words weren’t an anomaly in the Min household, despite how often his friends scolded Yoongi for being crass around his daughter. He argued that Nara was intelligent enough to know not to use those words, as they were for adults only. He didn’t want to restrict himself around her; he aimed to be as authentic as possible. Nara was all he had and he wanted her to be able to trust him with everything, no matter how big or small. Yes, he was her father, but he also wanted to be her friend. 

“I don’t think I should go to school today Daddy,” Nara mumbled through a pout.

 “I think you might be ri–” The thermometer interrupted him, “Wait, this is weird. It says you’re only ninety-eight degrees.” 

Nara’s eyes widened, “Really?”

“Yeah Bug, that’s normal,” Yoongi said. His eyebrows furrowed, “I don’t understand. Your forehead felt like a furnace.” He placed his palm against her forehead once more. It wasn’t as hot as before. That confused him further, “Huh… It feels fine now. I think you can go to school today, Bug. I’ll give you some cough syrup before we leave, hm?” 

Nara’s lips quivered, “No Daddy! I’m too sick!” 

“Nara, you feel fine–” 

“I’m not fine!” Nara cried out, her hickory colored eyes welling up with tears, “I’m sick! Please let me stay home!”

His eyebrows shot up. Yoongi hadn’t witnessed Nara this way since her ‘Terrible Twos’. She looked distraught and the sight tore away at his heartstrings. What was upsetting his Lovebug?

“Nara,” Yoongi sat down beside her, “You’re upset. Can you tell me what’s going on?” 

Sniffling, Nara reached behind her head and tugged out the heated wheat bag. Relief washed over Yoongi’s face, although he felt a little disappointed that she had tried to trick him. She’d never pulled a stunt like this before and he wanted to know what pushed her to do so. 

After what felt like hours, Nara finally spoke, “I don’t wanna go to school.” 

“Why not?” Yoongi asked gently. 

“Just ‘cause.” 

“Come on, Bug. There’s got to be a reason. You love school.” That was true; Nara adored going to school. She was thriving in all her second grade classes, particularly art and physical education. Just like her father. She had at least half a dozen friends and eagerly looked forward to seeing them every weekday. So this was certainly out of character for his vivacious baby girl. 

Nara tugged the blankets up over her face, causing Yoongi to release a heavy sigh. He didn’t want to push her but time was ticking away. He needed to be in the back lot by eight-thirty and he hadn’t even arranged breakfast for the two of them yet. 

“Okay, I’ll give you some space–”

“No, please don’t go Daddy,” she said from underneath the covers, “I’m sorry.” She sniffled again, peeling back the duvet to expose her reddened eyes to her concerned father. Yoongi felt his heart squeeze and his eyes softened. 

“You don’t need to be sorry, Bug. I’m just worried about my little girl and I want to know how I can help.”

Nara’s lips trembled, “I don’t think you can help, Daddy.” 

“Why not?” Yoongi inquired, his hands reaching out to delicately brush away the flyaways falling over her eyes, “I’m sure there’s something I can do. Should I talk to Ms Lee? Do I need to talk to someone’s mom?” He wasn’t above putting a Karen in her place. He would move mountains and scale the oceans for Nara. 

She shook her head sadly, “No.”

Yoongi was at a loss. He felt helpless. His daughter was hurting and he couldn’t come up with a solution to make her feel better. What a shitty father he was. Rubbing his forehead with his hand, Yoongi resisted the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose out of stress. What could he possibly do in this situation? This was uncharted territory for him. 

“I don’t wanna go to school because everyone is gonna have their moms there except me.” 

Yoongi had been so caught up in his own mind that he’d almost missed his daughter’s admission. Face falling, he noticed the way Nara dejectedly picked at her nail beds, “Oh Bug…” That’s when realization hit him like a freight train. Today was ‘Bring Your Mom To School Day’. He should’ve been more diligent in checking the school semester calendar on the fridge, “I’m so sorry. I should’ve known.” 

Nara shrugged. His Lovebug was putting on a brave face, that was for sure. 

“Come here,” He said, tapping his upper thigh. She immediately flung into her father’s arms, curling up in his lap like she used to a couple years ago. Nara buried her head into his chest and Yoongi’s heart shattered when he heard her sniffle once more. This part never got easier, “I’ve got you, Lovebug.”

His words held promise because he meant them with his entire heart. Yoongi wasn’t ever going to give up on her, not like she had. He closed his eyes as the painful memories resurfaced. 

“Yoongi listen…”

“I can’t do this anymore…”

“I’m not cut out to be a mother…”

“I didn’t ask for this…”

“I’m leaving and you can’t stop me…”

Nara had only been four months old when her mother walked out on them. Was Nara planned? Absolutely not. Yoongi was only twenty-one when Sana called him in tears, wailing that her life was over because she was pregnant. The two of them had been in their final year of college and the idea of having a child was nothing short of terrifying. Neither of them had been ready.

After calming her down over the phone, Yoongi gave Sana the time and space to determine what she wanted to do. It was her body, her choice and he was going to back her on whatever she decided. When she revealed to him two weeks later that she wanted to keep the baby and not terminate the pregnancy, Yoongi was secretly overjoyed. He’d partaken in a lot of research during their short time apart and he believed he could make the whole parenting thing work – even when he was on the verge of shitting himself scared. 

The pregnancy had been a lot of work. Despite Sana’s parents being pretty well-off, she refused to tell them about the baby until the birth. Her tuition was being covered by her father’s hefty bank account and she had a feeling that he would stop paying her school fees if he knew about her pregnancy, so Yoongi had to find another job. He didn’t have the luxury of asking his parents for financial aid, as Yoongi had a difficult childhood. His father left when he was still in the womb and his mother sadly passed away from ovarian cancer when he was just sixteen years old. Yoongi ended up living with his uncle until he turned eighteen and got accepted into university. He was on a full-ride scholarship that included a room in the male dorms, board and necessary school supplies. But to save himself from boredom, he also worked part time as a freelance videographer.

Without Sana contributing any source of income, he knew he needed to step up and provide for his family. So he secured a serving position just outside of campus that luckily offered him thirty hours a week. Between working two jobs, studying for finals and helping Sana in any way he could – Yoongi was exhausted. But it had all been worth it when Sana’s obstetrician told them they were expecting a baby girl. 

“A girl! I’m going to be a girl dad,” He gushed to Sana with glossy eyes, “I’m so happy, babe.”

Little did he know that Sana felt the opposite. She’d been hoping for a son. She didn’t want to raise a girl. In her mind, girls cost more money. Girls required more attention. Girls were just more. But instead, she forced a smile and led Yoongi to believe that everything was going to be okay. She continued to play him for a fool until that fateful day when she packed a duffle bag and left him standing in the middle of their tiny studio apartment, a crying Nara swaddled in his arms. The trajectory of his life changed that day and Yoongi made a promise to himself and to his daughter that he wouldn’t ever leave her. Not like her mother did to her and not like his deadbeat father did to him. No matter what it took, Yoongi was going to give Nara the childhood he never had. 

Now that was easier said than done. With Sana gone, Yoongi fell into a depression. Things became drastically harder. He had to get Nara onto bottles, as breastfeeding was obviously off the table. The transition to baby formula had been a struggle at first, but thankfully it didn’t last for very long. While getting Nara used to a new feeding schedule, Yoongi also had to juggle work. He’d finished college two months before Nara was born but hadn’t been able to do anything with his undergraduate’s degree. Why? Well obviously no company advertising an entry level position was willing to hire a new father. All Yoongi could do was fall back on his videography side hustle and that wasn’t enough to keep his head above water.

Before long, Yoongi had found himself coming face to face with an eviction notice and a month to vacate his studio apartment. He’d hit rock bottom. He was a fucking failure. What kind of father struggled to provide for his daughter? A pathetic excuse for one, that’s what he told himself. He was twenty-two with a six month old baby girl and no sign of light at the end of the tunnel. Until the day he came across Namjoon’s post on a popular leasing website. 

Kim Namjoon posted under the ‘Apartments And Rooms For Rent’ tag, stating that he was looking for a long-term roommate. His prerequisites had been simple: Clean, responsible, self-sufficient. The asking price for the room was dirt cheap and Yoongi almost fell off his futon when he read the ad. He couldn't recall the last time he typed a phone number that fast. Namjoon answered after the third ring, his deep voice filling Yoongi’s ears. 

“Hello?”

“Hi, is this Kim Namjoon?”

“Yes, speaking.”

“Hi Namjoon. My name is Yoongi and I’m calling about the ad you posted online…”

After a twenty-five minute conversation over the phone, Namjoon invited Yoongi to come and visit the property that afternoon. The next day, a tenancy agreement arrived in Yoongi’s email inbox. He cried in relief for about an hour. 

Namjoon had been a gift sent from above. The man was a year younger than Yoongi, but he’d already graduated from university with high honors. He was something of a genius. He worked in advertising and was on a cool six figures a year at twenty-one. Namjoon wanted a roommate for one purpose and one purpose only – he needed someone to handle all the household chores because he was far too busy to do it all himself. When he explained that to Yoongi, he was a little sheepish. The ad hadn’t mentioned that teeny tiny detail, but Yoongi didn’t care in the slightest. Especially when he arrived with Nara strapped to his chest in her baby sling. Namjoon had been surprised but not repulsed. In fact, he became rather enamored the second his eyes met Nara’s big, bright ones. 

“You have a kid.”

“Yeah… Look, I’m sorry I didn’t mention it over the phone–”

“Forget about the rent. Consider the housework your payment.”

“What? Woah, Namjoon, that's not necessary.”

“Yes it is. When was the last time someone helped you guys out?”

Yoongi’s silence had been the only answer Namjoon needed. The original tenancy agreement was scrapped and the two not only became roommates that day, but the best of friends. 

Snapping out of his memory haze, Yoongi proceeded to rub his daughter’s back. Seven and a half years ago, this room had been Namjoon’s. His best friend now lived in a lavish three-bedroom apartment with his husband, a brilliant attorney by the name of Jung Hoseok. Hobi, as he was affectionately known as, was the one who helped Yoongi get his job when Nara was eighteen months old. He truly owed Joon and Hobi his life; he couldn’t imagine where he’d be without them. 

“I won’t send you to school today,” Yoongi broke the silence that lingered between father and daughter, “How about you come to work with me instead?” 

Nara retracted from his chest, wiping her nose with the back of her hand, “Really?”

“Yeah Bug,” Yoongi smiled, “Let’s make today ‘Bring Your Child To Work Day’.” His chest felt lighter when Nara’s face brightened. He would do absolutely anything to make her happy. Putting a smile on her face was the only thing that mattered to him. 

She didn’t say anything. Instead, Nara threw her arms around his neck and squished her face into the crook of his neck, “Thank you Daddy,” she mumbled into his skin, “I love you.”

“I love you too.” 

They embraced for a few minutes more until Nara pulled away. She looked much happier. The sad little girl that tried to fake a fever was no longer in the room and all the weight that had rested on Yoongi’s shoulders was beginning to evaporate, “Alright Min Nara, you have ten minutes to get dressed. I’ll make some breakfast to go. Peanut butter and jelly toast okay?”

She nodded enthusiastically, “Yes please! With extra peanut butter!” She bounded off the bed and hurried over to her white IKEA dresser decorated in a mass of butterfly stickers. Yoongi grinned, That’s my Lovebug, he thought.

With three minutes to spare, Yoongi parked in his usual parking spot. Nara wriggled with excitement when Yoongi pulled the handbrake and shut off the engine to his thirteen year old Kia hatchback. In the six and a half years of working at HB Studios, Yoongi had a near perfect record of clocking in exactly on time. Perks of living a well-structured life. 

“Okay Bug,” Yoongi hummed as they walked from Lot A to Lot C, “I’m going to need you to be on your best behavior today.” 

Nara beamed with a nod. She held out her pinky finger, to which Yoongi linked with his own. They never just promised each other something; it had to be a pinky promise. It just made sense. 

“I’ll have you hang out with Tae today, how’s that sound?”

“Uncle Tae?” Nara nearly squealed. 

Yoongi couldn’t help but laugh, “Sounds good I’m guessing?” He didn’t need her to respond, not when she adored her uncles. Sometimes he believed Nara loved them more than she did himself. Not that he could blame his daughter, his friends were the best of the best. Besides Joon and Hobi, Yoongi had befriended a bunch of his coworkers over the years. There was Taehyung, who worked in the wardrobe department and was tightly wrapped around his niece’s little finger; also Jimin, who worked as a stunt performer; also Seokjin, who worked as an accountant for the production buying team; and finally Jungkook who worked right alongside Yoongi as boom operators. 

With Nara holding his hand, Yoongi punched in his employee code into the clock-in system, “Alright, let’s go surprise Uncle Tae.” Perhaps he should’ve given Taehyung a head’s up that Nara would be joining him today, but honestly, the man would bend over backwards for his niece. He had his own office, so Yoongi wasn’t all too worried about leaving his daughter with his best friend for eight hours. 

“Uncle TaeTae!” Nara shrieked with delight when Yoongi knocked on the window beside his office door, “I’m working with you today!” That had her father chuckling in amusement. 

Taehyung smiled wide, immediately crouching and opening his arms. Nara ran right into his hold, squealing gleefully when her uncle swung her around, “I’m so glad, I’ve always wanted an assistant!” 

Yoongi snorted, “Using my kid for child labor, huh Kim? Now I don’t feel so bad for not shooting you a text.” 

“It’s not child labor if I compensate her with a Happy Meal, now is it?”

“You’re annoying,” Yoongi rolled his eyes playfully when Taehyung laughed, “No but seriously, is it cool if she’s with you today?” He was certain that it wouldn't be an issue, but Yoongi still struggled with asking favors from his friends. Over the years he’d gotten a little better at it, but deep down he still felt like he was failing at being a parent. His guilty conscience could be a real pain in the ass sometimes.

Taehyung gave Yoongi a look that said Duh!, “Of course it is. I will never say no to spending time with my Nara girl.” Now that had the little girl in question beaming like a kid on Christmas morning. 

“Thanks Tae, I owe you one.” 

“No,” His best friend firmly shook his head, “You don’t owe me a thing. I’m happy to do it. Remember that, okay?”

It was hard to stomach but Yoongi nodded anyway. Maybe one day he’ll accept help without feeling like he had to return the favor at any point. 

“Good,” Taehyung grinned broadly,  “Now get the hell out of my office. Nara and I have work to do.” 

It was around two in the afternoon when Yoongi received a text message from Taehyung, alerting him that Jungkook had ‘kidnapped’ his child and was bringing Nara over to Lot F. Yoongi and Jungkook primarily worked in Lot B, where the first eight stages were located. Lot A was the main parking structure, Lot C was the hub for wardrobe, two office buildings and four more stages, Lot D was another eight stages and finally Lot F, where post production was located.

When Jungkook wasn’t busy doing his job, he was frequently found hanging around in Lot F.

“They have the best staff cafeteria!” He proclaimed sometime six months ago, “You think I’m gonna pass up on that extra cheesy carbonara? Like fucking hell!”

Realistically, Jungkook didn’t spend the majority of his spare time in Lot F for the food, but rather the new – and pretty – foley artist. He harbored one hell of a crush for her, no matter how hard he denied it. Yoongi was convinced the kid relied on Nara to be his wing-girl. 

Fifteen minutes later, Yoongi walked inside the main post production building. He looked around for any signs of his daughter and his manchild best friend. They had to be around here somewhere, as the foley studios were only in this building. He wandered around for a few moments more until Nara almost ran into him. 

“Daddy!” She smiled brightly, “Look what Uncle Tae said you could have!” She held up a garment bag no doubt containing a costume from Taehyung’s department. Her grin was near blinding; she was ecstatic. 

“Nara,” Yoongi chuckled, “Have you been carrying that around everywhere?” 

She shook her head, “No. Uncle Kookie carried it for me. He said that’s what his ‘big manly muscles’ are for!” Oh how Yoongi loved his daughter’s ability to repeat her uncle’s out of pocket comments. Jungkook found himself thrown under the bus more often than the others. 

“Is that so? Well I’m glad he made himself useful,” Yoongi smirked, reaching out to take the large bag from his eight year old, “Did Tae really say I could have this? Or did you go looking in the donation bin again?” 

Nara looked sheepish and her face flushed a little. It hadn’t been her first time getting into the donation bin. The studio liked to donate costumes that were no longer needed or desired by the wardrobe department to local charities. So really it wasn’t a big deal that Nara had taken an item or two, “Uncle Tae said it would look better on you than a stranger, anyway!”

“That sounds like Taehyung,” Yoongi said with a knowing smile, “What is it, Bug?” He asked as he peered down at the bag; although he could guess it was a tuxedo of some kind. 

“A suit! Uncle Tae said that you need one! Please try it on Daddy!” 

The excitement radiating from Nara warmed Yoongi’s heart. She’d done a complete one-eighty since this morning and for that, he was eternally grateful to Taehyung. That dude could easily quit his job and become a professional child whisperer. 

“I’ll do that once we get home, yeah?” 

“No!” Nara exclaimed, “Try it on now! Please, please, please!” She popped her lips into a pout, the puppy dog eyes making their grand appearance. She knew his ultimate weakness, “Pretty please.”

With a resigned sigh, Yoongi caved. He couldn’t say no to his baby girl, not when she was giving him the biggest case of puppy dog eyes. She was the only person that could put Jungkook’s doe eyes to shame, “Okay. But it’ll have to be quick, I need to get back to work soon.” 

That was enough to satisfy Nara. She beamed and clapped her hands together happily. 

“I can’t do it here though,” he told her gently, “Let’s go over to Lot D. There’s more places for me to change there.” Truthfully, Yoongi didn’t care whether he got changed here or not. But it was far too risky and he didn't want to get caught slacking on the job. There was nothing scheduled for Lot D today, meaning the entire space should be empty. It was perfect. 

Nara didn’t need to be told twice. She grasped his hand and they made their way towards Lot D together. He made sure to send Jungkook a text, so that the poor dude didn’t have a heart attack over losing his niece. 

When they arrived at the lot, Yoongi ushered them inside Stage 19. It was the smallest one of the eight and the most inconspicuous in his opinion. Stage 19 was known amongst the crew for being the closest thing to a storage room. Everyone brought useless shit, usually things that didn’t have a delegated spot, to that stage and left it there. So Yoongi was confident that he wouldn’t be found out here. 

“Nara, I need you to stay right here, okay?” Yoongi kissed the top of his daughter’s head. She nodded her head when he propped her up on an old white fold-out table that once belonged to the Lot D cafeteria, “I’ll be right out.” He assured her before ducking inside the singular male toilet. 

Yoongi unzipped the garment bag and was taken aback by the suit resting on the metal hanger inside. It was a dark slate gray three piece tuxedo, paired with a crisp black button up. He wondered what movie this costume had been used for, because the suit looked damn expensive. He didn’t know the first thing about designer brands, but there was no doubt in his mind that this was designer. He made a mental note to ask Taehyung later on. 

He stripped off his jeans and T-shirt, leaving him in nothing but a pair of Calvin Klein briefs. Carefully, he clothed himself in the dress pants, button up, four button vest and suit jacket. The material felt like silk against his skin. No wonder Tae let Nara take it, this is way too good to donate, he thought. He stashed his discarded clothes in the garment bag and hung it on the back of the toilet door, so they wouldn’t get dirty. Not that he had too much to worry about, the amenities were professionally cleaned each night. 

“You clean up alright, Min,” he said to his reflection in the mirror, “Bug has good taste.” He smiled fondly at the thought of his daughter seeing him in this get-up. He could imagine the excitement. With that, he blew out a breath and walked out of the men’s toilet. 

“How do I look, Bug?” He asked, lifting his head to find the table empty. Panic stabbed Yoongi's chest almost immediately, “Nara? Nara!” He called out, eyes wide and palms sweaty. He hadn’t spent more than five minutes in the toilet and yet, his daughter was nowhere to be found. He violently cursed himself, running a hand through his hair frantically, “Nara!”

Yoongi took off in a jog, his eyes scanning the area. He felt like he was about to vomit. This was every father’s nightmare, wasn’t it? He’d once dreaded the thought of losing Nara in the grocery store but this? This was ten times worse. No, more like a hundred times worse. He wished he never agreed to trying on the suit. This whole situation could’ve been avoided. How many stupid mistakes was he going to make today?

He kept calling out her name and his heart seized each time he was met with silence. Until he heard her angelic laugh coming from a distance. He ran towards the sound of her laughter, finding himself in the middle of Stage 18, “Nara!” Yoongi hollered. Seconds later, he spotted her. She was sitting on a sofa nestled in the middle of a set, her legs dangling off the edge of the cushions and her head resting against a woman’s arm, watching something on said woman’s phone. Yoongi felt his mouth dry up when he recognized Nara’s company. You weren't just any woman – you were the star of a new blockbuster the studio was in the middle of filming. Yoongi hadn’t landed the contract for that movie, which explained why he hadn’t crossed paths with you until now. 

You were breathtaking in person. He always thought you were beautiful. It’s what led him to doing a shameless Google search four months ago when the movie began production in Lot D. But nothing could have prepared him for your beauty in real life. He felt bewildered, mesmerized and infatuated all at once. What were you doing here? From what he’d heard on the grapevine, Lot D didn’t have a schedule this week because filming was taking place offsite. Has filming already wrapped? He was confused as hell but of course he wasn’t going to speak on it, not when you were the talk of the film industry right now. That practically made you royalty. 

“Nara,” Yoongi breathed when he finally approached the sofa, “What are you doing? I told you to stay. Why would you leave? I was worried sick.” He sounded exasperated and he certainly felt that way. He almost had a panic attack, for crying out loud. 

“Sorry Daddy,” Nara pouted, “I just wanted to say hi.”

Yoongi’s eyes shifted to yours then and he could’ve sworn he felt his stomach erupt with butterflies. He hadn’t been this affected by a woman since Sana… 

“Gosh, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to freak you out,” you apologized, your voice echoing in his ears like his favorite song on repeat, “I was walking past Stage 19 and she must’ve recognized me. She ran out a few seconds later and introduced herself. Your daughter is adorable.” 

Pride spread across Yoongi’s chest. His lips curled into a shy smile, “Thank you. I’m sorry she disturbed you. She knows better than to go up to strangers.” He made stern eye contact with his daughter. Her hickory colored eyes saddened and she looked down at her fingers. He hated this part of parenting. It was tough disciplining Nara sometimes because she was genuinely a good kid. But stranger danger was a big no-no for Yoongi and he wanted Nara to understand why it was dangerous. 

“It’s alright, I don’t mind,” you smiled, “Obviously it’s not safe to approach people you don’t know,” you quickly added for the sake of not stepping on Nara’s father’s toes, “But she didn’t disturb me. I really enjoy her company.” 

“Oh… That’s good.” Yoongi internally cringed at his awkwardness.  

You smiled even wider, finding him refreshing. He was unbelievably handsome, that much was obvious. He wasn’t super tall, but he wasn’t short either, however he was broad. His shoulders filled out the suit jacket he donned perfectly and you blushed a little when you caught yourself staring. You hadn’t seen him around the set before, which sparked your curiosity. The studio was massive and thousands of employees worked behind the scenes, but judging by the way he was impeccably dressed, he had to be someone of high importance. Perhaps he was an executive producer? You wondered if you should ask him, but you also didn’t want to impose. You’d already given him a near heart attack by showing Nara a TikTok on your phone. Was it weird that you found him even more attractive because he was a father? No doubt he had a gorgeous wife at home… 

“Forgive me for being rude, I’m–”

“Y/N,” Yoongi blurted, your name rolling off his tongue with ease, “Sorry. I, um, know who you are. You’re really talented.” He wished the ground would open up and swallow him whole. How fucking embarrassing. You didn’t think so, though. You found him to be endearing. 

“Thank you, you’re sweet,” you smiled, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, “I didn’t catch your name?”

“Yoongi.”

Nara’s face lit up upon your exchange, her eyes twinkling, “My Daddy makes movies!” 

This caught both of your attention. You were intrigued. Yoongi, on the other hand, was gobsmacked. He hoped that you wouldn’t misinterpret Nara’s words and assume that he was a director. That would be humiliating. Especially since his job was to hold the mic above actresses like herself. 

“Does he?” You smiled down at Nara, who had already stolen your heart, “Are you a director for another lot?”

Yoongi opened his mouth to respond, but Nara was faster, “He works in Lot B!” His chatterbox of a daughter revealed. She looked pleased with herself when an impressed expression spread across your facial features. 

“Wow, that’s amazing. I can’t believe we haven’t met before,” you said, “You must be really busy making all these brilliant movies. And you say I’m the talented one.” 

That’s because you are. I'm nobody, Yoongi wanted to say. The words were right on the tip of his tongue but he couldn’t form words. He couldn’t even make noise. Was he in shock? Whatever it was, it allowed the little white lie Nara told to influence your opinion of him. Would you even talk to him if you knew who he really was? He looked you up on Instagram, he knows who your friends are. He knows the kind of company you keep. Your social circle was full of successful, beautiful and wealthy people. He wasn’t any of those three things. And yet, here you were, looking at him like he was. 

“Daddy is pretty busy,” Nara rambled, “But he still spends every day with me! He’s the best.” 

“Thanks, Bug.” Yoongi smiled lovingly at his daughter. Sure, she’d totally fed you a lie about his profession, but she had a heart of pure gold. She probably just misunderstood what he actually does for a living. It wasn’t really her fault. All he had to do was tell you the truth. It’s not like he was ever going to see you again. 

He tried his best to ignore the little voice in the back of his mind that hoped he would see you again. The devil on his shoulder needed to stop being so persuasive. 

“He sounds like the best,” your voice had a bit of a flirty undertone, “We should get coffee sometime. I’d love to pick your brain about directing.” 

Say no, Yoongi. Say fucking no! “Yeah sure, that sounds great.”

Nara cheered. The angel on Yoongi’s shoulder face palmed. You grinned, looking effortlessly gorgeous as you whipped out your phone and opened up a new contact. 

How many stupid mistakes was Yoongi going to make today? Too many to count.

copyright © 2023 afterglowjeons. please do not copy, reupload or translate.

for the ts requests could i request yoongi and all too well please 🥺

all too well — myg [m]

⤷ summary. you remember all too well how he would hold you through the night, all the love you shared that you now know was nothing but lies. If only you were older, right? | 18+

pairing. producer!yoongi x reader

genre. heavy angst, implied smut, age gap au (eleven years)

warnings. oh my god i wanna cry, yoongi is an asshole (i hated writing him as an asshole but it iz what it iz) implied smut, explicit language, ANGST !!, hurt no comfort, implied infidelity (lolol), oc gets drunk out of her mind, crying, feelings of worthlessness, this is just sad haha, big age gap (11 years…..), oc is 23, boss x intern relationship.

word count. 2.1k

note. this is BARELY EDITED !! i didn’t want this to be too long so i shortened it out haha, and i hope u like this !! this almost made me shed a lil tear tbh because it’s just so sad :( i love that song, i know the 10 minute version by heart ahhaha. love u so much and i hope this is up to ur expectations, love u !!!!

» please don’t flag this post. if u don’t like it, just scroll. don’t be petty and flag creator’s posts, if u do that, ur not fücking cool 👎

links. main masterlist ; taglist

You swallow the bitter liquid, your face scrunching once when your throat burns.

You place the glass cup on the wooden counter, a loud click fills the silent bar, and the bartender looks at you with a soft gaze. You want to throw up as you realise pity lies within his dark pupils.

You don’t blame him, though.

You swipe through your pictures with him, and the bitter sense of longing twists your insides as bile threatens to flow to your throat.

You miss his hands, his devilish eyes.

You miss your smile.

“One more shot please.”

“Miss, I really think that’s enough.”

You roll your eyes and bang your head on the wooden table as your body surrenders to the effects of alcohol, “Fuck.”

You can still smell his addicting cologne, how he would caress your hair as you softly cried into his chest, and how his words would soothe you as you would overthink.

Rivers run through your cheeks as your body screams for him, for your Yoongi, for him to be as close to you as tomorrow, for your hope to glisten as the moon did your skin as you made love at night.

He’s now as distant as the sun, only near as a figment of your imagination, and you don’t even know how to wipe your own tears. Not like he did.

He was your sunlight, your reason to breathe—yet now, he’s as a mystery to you as the moon is to lovers. As distant as Neptune is to Mercury.

He promised a forever within whispers, but was it all your imagination? Was it all just your young heart falling for the trap of wishful thinking?

It was real. It should have been real—you aren’t blind, you saw his eyes when he looked at you, didn’t you?

Or was your heart colourblind to the red of intentions inside his pupils?

People warned you—what else would an older man want with a young woman like you other than lust? Other than to suck the life out of your vivid soul so he could get a taste of what youth tasted like?

And you still chose to fall for him, let your heart blindly trust a man whom you thought would never leave you as he caressed you in ways you never felt.

Stupidly, you took the handshake of hope that he would be your forever, of the carbon monoxide that slowly took all your breath away, until all you were left were remains of your old, indestructible self.

You remember how you met him, how you saw his beautiful eyes for the first time, not knowing how they would be at fault for your demise.

You were supposed to be an intern for him after you won the contest for the seniors at your music school. You heard of him before, the famous producer by the name of SUGA who ran one of the biggest records in South Korea, the one that had been running the music game for many years now.

It wasn’t love at first sight, but you were attracted to him the moment your eyes caught his siren-like eyes, staring at you with such an intense gaze, that you almost whimpered underneath it.

You didn’t think a man like him could be so beautiful, so enticing to you, but you knew it was forbidden—he was eleven years your senior, and not to mention he was a famous, critically acclaimed, rich producer, and well, you were a mere college girl who didn’t know what you was supposed to do after you graduate.

Until that fateful day.

It was late at night, you were both alone in his studio, you were sitting on his leather couch writing your notes for your college report as Yoongi worked on some beats for a random famous artist you couldn’t remember the name.

He then asked for you to come listen to his beat, and your heart flickered when you realised the Min Yoongi wanted your opinion on his music.

A hand brush that left your face hot then turned into you kissing him, dropping your red scarf on the ground for him to lick your neck—and ended up with him fucking you so passionately on his leather chair.

Is this what making love is? You asked yourself as he thrusted into you, his moans in your ear as you fell into the bliss of your orgasm.

“Are you sure, princess?” He gasped then, holding you close to him as lovers did, and you nodded your head so eagerly. Godness, you were never sure of anything in your life other than that at that moment, you wanted him.

You left your red scarf in his studio then. Never to be seen again.

You can still remember all too well the flowers he sent you, how lovingly he courted you for weeks before asking you to be his girlfriend, and with your youthful smile, you accepted before kissing his chapped lips with all the happiness in the world.

How could you know this was the fate stored for you? Crying in an empty bar, with eyes staring at you with pity as you drown yourself in your own mistake of trusting a man with your fragile heart.

It was bliss for the first months as you kept your relationship a secret—you were just another intern in everyone’s eyes, and your time with him would end as your contract finished once you graduated college.

Everything changed when you both decided you were fed up with keeping your relationship behind closed doors, and so, he decided to reveal to his friends first that you were his girlfriend.

You should have known that night you would never work out.

You’re nervous, and rightfully so.

Your hand is intertwined with your boyfriend of one year as you walk up to one of his friend’s houses for a get-together with his friend group.

Your stomach twists when he knocks on the door, and you squeeze his veiny hand, Yoongi turns around, a small smile adorning his beautiful face, “You okay?”

“Yeah….Just nervous.”

Yoongi brings your hand to his cherry lips, and butterflies flap inside your stomach as your nerves ease at his gentle touch, “Everything will be okay, love. They’re just my friends. They’ll love you.”

A man opened the door, and he gave Yoongi a heart-shaped smile before hugging your boyfriend. You gulped thickly as your mind rushed with thoughts—what would he think of you? Would he think you were good enough for Yoongi? Would he think you are too young for him?

“Ah, is this your girlfriend?”

Yoongi smiles, wrapping a hand around your waist, “Yeah. This is ____.”

“Hi.” You smile shyly, and the man, whom you come to know as Hoseok, smiles back and greets you with a warm hug.

“Ah, can’t believe such a pretty woman would be with a grump like Yoongi.”

Yoongi scoffs and rolls his eyes at the younger man, “Aish, you never know how to shut up do you?”

You enter the house and greet six of his other friends, and a woman who you've felt is staring at you with the most intense gaze you’ve ever seen.

She’s ethereal, everything you are not. Mature, perfect plump lips and smooth black hair that fell down to her shoulder.

“This is Hana,” Yoongi says with a stern voice, and the woman, Hana, greets you with an equally cold face, matching the bitterness in your boyfriend’s voice.

“Pleasure.”

Time passed and you were all sitting on a round table as you ate the food one of Yoongi’s older friends, Seokjin, made for everyone.

“So, ____, how old are you?” Hana suddenly asks, and the laughter from one of Seokjin’s jokes dies out after the words leave her mouth.

You clear your throat and squirm on your chair under her intense gaze, “Twenty-three.”

Your stomach twists once again, and you try to hold your boyfriend’s hand that lies on the table, but he only puts your hand back where it was, patting it gently as if that would soothe you when all you needed was a squeeze of his hand on yours.

You grew cold, shivers running through your spine as a loud silence filled the room once you relieved your age.

“Hm, didn’t know you liked the younger ones, Yoongi.” Hana chuckles, and you turn your head to your boyfriend, only to find him with his head hung low.

A piece of your heart sinks—is he ashamed of you?

Yoongi’s voice cuts through the silence like a knife as he grumbles, “We broke up a year ago, Hana. I changed.”

Oh.

The dinner was cut short after that—the atmosphere shifted to awkwardness, and it didn’t take long for you and Yoongi to get out of there as soon as you could.

“Do you think I’m too young for you?” You whisper as you watch Yoongi driving, his Rolex shining under the moonlight as he turns the wheel. You would usually get lost in his attractiveness, but tonight, your thoughts were overcome by Hana’s gaze and words, a burning wave coursing through your body as you remembered just how much it stung to know Yoongi had her as his girlfriend.

She was older, experienced, prettier than you would ever be at her age.

“____, we talked about this, hm?” Yoongi takes your hand in his, squeezing it lightly. “I love you, and our age gap won’t change that, okay?”

“I love you, too.”

If only words were enough to make you believe him.

Once you graduated, you started working on a pretty small record label as a producer for their newest girl group.

Your boyfriend tried offering a full-time position at his company, and although you would have loved to, you knew it was cheating—you wanted to start small, to find yourself within the industry without having your rich boyfriend serving every producer’s dream in a silver platter to a newbie like you.

As time went by, you noticed something shift in Yoongi.

His thousands of texts asking how you were during the day turned into one per day, which eventually turned into you having to call him so you could hear his deep voice while you were at work.

His frequent cuddles suddenly turned into you silently begging for him to put your hand on his as you slept on your shared bed.

You couldn’t accept the fact that things changed, that his eyes didn’t flicker as he stared at you. He changed, you knew that, but you continued to live in your bubble of denial, turning a blind eye to the pain that ripped you into shreds each day you observed Yoongi moving farther from you.

You couldn’t understand why.

You gave him everything—your love, devotion, your time. You loved him so deeply, so fiercely, with every inch of your body and soul—and yet he repays you by pushing you away? By giving nothing but shallow waters of affection as you drown in your sea of hurt.

You knew it was coming, but no deep breaths could ever prepare you for the pain of feeling your heart shattering inside you when the words came out of your mouth on a sunday afternoon.

“I don’t think this is working anymore, ____.”

You couldn’t breathe when you heard it.

And now, you’re here, choking on your own blood as your head falls dizzy because of your alcohol intake.

You thought it would make the pain go away—the drunker you are, the more you would drown in the toxicity of the alcohol instead of stabbing your heart with the image of his gummy smile. But all it did was make the pain unbearable.

You sob on the counter, thoughts of your pitiful state go down the drain as you choke on your own tears at the reminisce of your time together with the one you used to think was your end game, the one who would put a ring on your finger, a promise of forever.

But was it all just whispers of nothing? Were all the promising kisses worth nothing? Was it all in your head?

Perhaps it was—if only your heart weren’t so young, so naive to fall foolishly in love with a man whose heart was much older than yours, and flickered for someone other than you.

Pathetic is what you are.

A disgrace to the world, tainting the earth as you walk within your shame of loving a man who was never meant to be yours.

“If it wasn’t for this age gap, maybe we would’ve been fine.” He says, his eyes stuck on the ground.

His words make you choke another sob as you remember his eyes as he said it to you, no remorse within them as you broke in front of him.

You receive a notification from twitter, and your world falls down once you read it.

“Famous producer SUGA is confirmed to be dating ex-idol Kim Hana!”

If only you were older, right?

devil's playthings | myg

⤅ SUMMARY | Yoongi has been widowed for over 2 years now—long past the time of mourning—and has made no move to remarry. Despite all the eligible maidens trying to catch the rugged duke’s eye, he’s stayed stubbornly idle in his search for a wife. For a man at court, especially at Yoongi’s standing, remarrying was essential and highly expected; even though the man had heirs and his lineage was assured, a wife was a political move, and a highly coveted one. None of this slipped the young princess’ mind, her sharp eyes on the much older man. But Yoongi should be careful—“for Satan finds some mischief still for idle hands to do.”

⤅ RATE | 18+

⤅ PAIRING | (dilf)duke!yoongi × princess!reader

⤅ GENRE | royalty au, magic au, forbidden relationship

⤅ SIN | sloth (for the ✥ 7 Deadly Sins collab ✥)

⤅ WARNINGS | age gap, use of sex pollen, mentions of m!masturbation, dirty talk, slight (slight) degradation, marking, spitting, titty fuck, facial, deep throat, oral both!receiving, sixty nine, fingering, unprotected penetrative sex, choking, breeding kink/breeding, spanking, squirting, hair pulling, clit slapping, cervix contact, overstimulation

⤅ WC | 9.3k

⤅ A/N | whoo it's finally here!! No one clown me for making even a royalty au a dilf fic 🤡 I also want to shout out @sunshinekims and @kithtaehyung for lending me their lovely names for this fic <3 and of course @sugasbabiie , who’s enthusiasm fueled me from the start <3 hope you guys enjoy! +

playlist + drabble

“Look who just arrived.”

Your back was turned to the door, where your lady-in-waiting had just discreetly gestured to. You caught the sly giggles of the women who had noticed the figure who had just entered the great hall. Hands held up to their faces to mask their shy smiles at just the sight of the man, eyes darting around the circle to meet another’s, going through the same predicament. The same thoughts running through every woman’s mind. You turned your head slightly, though you knew who it was before you even caught a glimpse of his squared shoulders. This notorious reaction always preceded him, the aura of a room changing whenever he stepped foot in it. The men suddenly became more concerned with getting into his good graces than the ladies they were courting, and the ladies more concerned with getting into something else.

His hair caught your attention first. He’d let it grow out since you’d last seen him, shaping into a framing mullet, with his bangs swooped to the side. The ends tickled his neck, threatening to grow past his shoulders. The suit he wore fit his frame perfectly, hinting at the taut muscles he hid under his prim shirt. It was embroidered down the side, encircling his bicep, and trailing down towards his pants. His hands glinted with every move, bedazzled with the copious amount of rings he always wore. He was a fan of wearing his wealth, the family emblem shining proudly on his pinky ring. His other fingers were covered in expensive jewels weaved into intricate designs, things he could have only gotten imported. Though, the way he rubbed his hands together unconsciously as he entered the lively room was nonchalant in nature, as if the jewels were a boring addition, ignoring all the eyes that turned to admire his figure.

“I heard his son got engaged.” Lady Hoyeon pointedly stated, with a very telling glance.

A gasp. “Before the duke?”

“You all know what he’s like. Is it any surprise that his son will be married before him?”

A wave of agreement rippled through the little circle you were standing in. You all knew the duke, and his notorious reputation. His wife had died many years ago, but the man still refused to remarry. As a favorite of the king, and a man of extremely high status and influence, he had long been the most eligible bachelor of the kingdom. That is, only if he was eligible. The duke had expertly avoided any and all attempts towards an engagement, even those maneuvered by the king himself. He politely declined, stating an interest in managing his estate and focusing on serving his country as a reason. The men around him had started out teasing him, joking about whether he could manage anything before getting someone to see to his business. But Yoongi took all the jokes in stride, silently taking the other men’s jabs with a humored expression. With time, people stopped pestering the seasoned duke, assuming he found more comfort in the occasional dalliances that paid companionship could offer. They left the man to his business, rumors of wild nights heard through his chamber doors spreading through the servants and the nobility overtaking any other gossip about the duke’s reluctance to marry.

But still, marriage was a must. At least at royal court. All the companionship in the world couldn’t replace the giant social hole. And it was becoming unseemly for a man reaching his age to grow older without a partner, without someone to stand at his side at important events, someone to parade on his arm as a compliment to his stature and position. And now, his own son was getting married before him. It was causing a shock, to say the least.

“Well, what did you expect?” Lady Sophie lowered the glass of wine she’d been sipping. “The man lost his wife years ago. Probably doesn’t even know how to love again.”

“What’s love got to do with it?” Lady Kiana snorted, “All he needs is someone to drape on his arm during the day, and someone to keep his bed warm at night.”

“I volunteer as tribute,” Lady Irma muttered from behind her glass, making you all fall into a fit of laughter.

“I doubt your husband would take kindly to that, Irma,” Sophie chuckled.

“Oh, he’d be just fine. He’s been trying to woo the duke with a new estate he purchased off the riverbank, anyway. I think he’s got a bit of a crush on him, if I’m completely honest.” Irma glanced over at the man in question, who had approached Yoongi with a bow and an outstretched hand, that was visually trembling from here. “He’d happily share his wife if it earned him the duke’s favor. And hey, I’ll take it.”

Taehyung was rapidly speaking, from what you could tell, holding Yoongi’s attention for as long as he could. As an older member of the privy council, you know that Yoongi had taken Taehyung under his wing when he had first joined. The young man put Yoongi on a pedestal, never failing to seek out his advice or earn his compliments.

Though Yoongi was quickly scouted out by his fellow senior council member, Lord Seokjin, waving over to him to invite him to where he and Lord Namjoon were drinking with the head mage, Jung Hoseok. With a quick goodbye, he left Taehyung’s side and joined his friends, leaving Taehyung to sulk back into his own circle, earning him a clap on the back from Lord Jimin with a teasing punch from mage Jungkook.

“Are they announcing it tonight? Mini Min and his new bride-to-be?” Kiana asked, looking over at the large feast set up for the event. “At the winter festival, no less.”

“The girl is from the eastern province. Magic and wizardry are highly considered there when planning nuptials.” Irma pointed out. “I’m sure this is about to be the wedding of her dreams, what, with all the celebrations for the patron saint of magic and all.”

“What about you, yn?” Lady Ho Yeon turned the attention on you. “Didn’t you have a brief… dalliance with the duke?” The dramatic way she emphasized "dalliance" with a teasing glint in her eye made the other ladies fall into giggles, earning a curt shove from you. You raised your glass to your mouth to hide the smile you couldn’t help forming.

“And at your age, too. Not to mention your status, your highness.” Irma straightened up and raised her eyebrow very noble-like, to demonstrate. “No wonder you two are trying to keep hush.”

“Well, of course. Those young bucks weren’t going to keep her busy for long.” Kiana added. You rolled your eyes at their insinuations. Yes, you were a princess. But a spoiled one. And that didn’t end at your bedroom doors. Sue you, you liked sex!

You tried hard to hide the grin threatening to expose your emotions, but failed miserably, confirming their words and giving way to the squealing fit that followed.

“Come on, now you must share the details,” Sophie prodded. “You can’t deprive us of that experience.”

“Publically, I have no idea what you all are on about.” You announced, earning you teasing shoves from the ladies around you. “Privately, however…”

The other ladies leaned in with perked ears as you spoke quietly, “Privately, let’s just say I spent two days with him, and needed two more to recuperate.” Irma let out a loud squeal as Sophie faked a fainting. You shh’d them with a laugh, trying to hold back the heat rushing to your face at the thought of those nights. Those animalistic nights you’d spent with the rugged man. One weekend wasn’t nearly enough.

“Our baby’s all grown up,” Kiana wiped an imaginary tear from her eye. “So when’s the wedding?”

“What wedding?” You shrugged. “Last I checked, he was still the Duke.” You tried to school your face back into impassiveness, but the rise of heat to your face wouldn’t let you.

“Yn. You can’t seriously tell me that’s all it was. We’ve seen the way he looks at you.” Ho Yeon’s words were matched with nods from your other ladies.

“Shoot, the other day I thought the room was going to erupt with the way you two were eyeing each other.” Irma fanned her face dramatically.

“I was there!” Sophie corroborated excitedly, ignoring your protest. “I really thought they were going to do it right there, on the ballroom floor.”

“Anyways!” Your voice rose above their giggling and teasing. “You all know how my father would feel about it.” You pouted. “He would never marry off his darling daughter to a man who’s lived at least two of my lives.”

“If only the king knew what the duke has already done to his darling daughter,” Irma snorted, earning gasps from the other ladies as they clapped their hands over their mouths in an attempt to hide their laughter as you shoved her in retaliation while battling to keep a indignant face.

“Not to mention, hasn’t the lord chancellor’s son already shown an interest in you?” Sophie pointed out. Once she’d recovered from doubling over in laughter, of course.

“Of course, a young suitor your age. I’m sure it’ll be an advantageous match.” Kiana added. There was a hum of agreement in the circle. You nodded absent-mindedly, but you had no interest in such a marriage. Your eyes sought out another. And what the princess wants, the princess gets.

“Hey,” Lady Ryen suddenly emerged with a pout, “My husband ditched me for the most eligible bachelor, or whatever. They’ll be announcing their own engagement any day now, the way they’re attached at the hip.”

“Here, take my seat.” You quickly stood up, “And my drink. You’ll need it to survive those two’s flirting all night.” She took the cup from your hand gratefully, seamlessly joining in on the conversation in your place.

Your eyes scanned the crowded room, entertainment meeting your gaze at every turn. The fire breathers in the corner, the elves throwing up a display of magic, the oompa loompas performing with a song. You finally found what you were looking for, beelining for the large table set up against the wall.

“So what was I supposed to do? I told her, I said ‘My lady, that is not my gold trim, but I will take credit for it.’” A loud chorus of laughter followed Hoseok’s words, the mage’s story sending his acquaintances into a riot.

“Now why would you do her like that, ‘Seok?” Namjoon shook his head. “She was clearly into you.” There was an old tradition of an unmarried woman wearing a handkerchief on her belt as a sign of her eligible status. Any suitor that was interested would have to retrieve that handkerchief, typically through a dance, or discreetly, and line it with a gold trim to present to her at the next event. If the maiden accepted the courtship, she would wear the gold trimmed handkerchief on her waist. If not, she would tie a new blank handkerchief on as a signal that she was still available.

And Hoseok had taken full advantage. “What poor, shy bloke did you rob that maiden of.” Seokjin laughed. “Spent his last dollar on that gold trim, and at the end of the night, she ended up in your bed.”

The mage threw his arms up and shrugged. “What was I supposed to do? Not accept her invitation?” Sending the men into another chorus of laughter.

“Well I don’t approve,” Namjoon announced, trying to hide his slight smile behind his glass as he took a sip.

“Well, naturally. Gold trims do bring up a painful memory.” Seokjin snickered. A quick glare from Namjoon, and he burst out into a full on laugh, as did the others. Namjoon couldn’t deny it, though. He bowed his head in remembrance.

“I’ll never forget it. Why you thought hiding the handkerchief in Sophie’s cake was a good idea is beyond me.” Yoongi rolled his eyes.

“Poor girl spent the whole day worrying over it, looking everywhere because she was expecting you to give it to her. Damn near on the verge of tying a new one to her waist. And the whole day, Joon was just grinning like an idiot. Didn’t realize she’d be marrying a fool till she stuck her fork into her slice, and pulled it out like it was a magic trick.” Seokjin chuckled. Namjoon sunk into his seat, a pout on his face.

“The look she gave you. She was so irritated, but you could tell she was trying not to show it. And Joon just looked back with the biggest smile on his face.” Hoseok chimed in. “How you managed to salvage that fumble, I’ll never know.”

“She said it was cute,” Namjoon grumbled, sending the men into a loud teasing frenzy about she was just sparing your feelings and she just felt bad for a tall lanky bloke like you. Let you walk past their chambers at night, though. You’ll know that’s not the case.

A gloved hand suddenly appeared in front of Yoongi’s face holding an intricate, folded white card. “My lord, I was told to deliver this to you.”

Yoongi took the small note from the attendant, dismissing him with a nod of his head. The front of the notecard was intricate in design, but had no indication of who the note was from. He skeptically opened it, resulting in a handkerchief falling from inside and into his lap. He heard loud whoops and teasing from the circle around him, knowing his friends were surely not going to let this go anytime soon. But Yoongi was too busy examining the fabric, the owner dawning on him as he saw your signature rose embroidered into its side.

His eyes quickly flitted to the note, your neat handwriting swooping through the page in calligraphic curves and designs. He didn’t miss the hearts above the “i”s. Another trademark of yours. The content of the note itself, however, had him shaking his head as he fought off a smile.

“Idle hands are the devil’s playthings.”

“Yoongi’s got a secret admirer,” Hoseok’s loud voice caught his attention, a shove distracting his best friend.

“What else is new?” Seokjin shook his head with a smile as he sipped his drink. “Every week, a different maiden throws her handkerchief at his feet. And what does our most eligible bachelor do?”

“Step around it.” Namjoon answered, a loud guffaw of laughter following his words. He exchanged high-fives with Seokjin at their joint wit, enjoying teasing their stoic friend.

Yoongi shook his head with a small smile on his face, letting their words run down his back like water. His mind was preoccupied at the moment, anyway. If it wasn’t your coquettish eyes catching his gaze from across the room, or the clandestine wink you'd send when he’d bow in front of his king, the princess right by her father’s side. It’s sending him your handkerchief, and making your intentions starkly clear. You knew what you wanted. And you made sure he knew it, too. The fiery young princess who wouldn’t let him forget her.

Yoongi’s body was on fire.

He felt as though his skin was crawling with an itch he couldn’t scratch, a taunting in the form of heat and sweat ripping through his body. He tore the buttons off of his suit as he stumbled back to his quarters, dying to do anything to relieve himself. His once perfectly styled hair was falling in threads over his forehead, his skin shining with the thin layer of sweat coating it.

He didn’t know what had come over him. One second, he was sitting in the banquet hall, enjoying his wine and warding off his friends’ teases. The next, Yoongi had started to sweat like a pig, and his skin had felt like a thousand fire ants were marching on it. To make matters worse, a problem… arose in his pants. The tightening of his crotch area making him restless, exacerbating his already problematic symptoms. That’s when he excused himself, turning in early because he wasn’t feeling well. Of course, the men didn’t believe him for a second, Hoseok’s calls of “not staying up too late” making it clear what kind of company they thought he was keeping tonight.

And honestly, with the swollen bulge in his trousers, the idea didn’t sound half bad. With each step he took towards his room, the need for either a douse of cold water or a hand down his pants seemed inevitable. He felt the need to rip his clothes off, and take care of his problem as soon as possible.

Lord, what had gotten into him? There had been no noticeable difference in the evening to cause such a change. The only thing was… the note. Was he really that affected by the young princess?? Did just the thought of you arouse such a passionate reaction in him? So much so that he had to escape the suffocating room and jolly back to his quarters, just to give himself the privacy to relieve himself while picturing you? He wouldn’t be surprised. The hold you had on him was powerful.

Yoongi never thought he’d feel so strongly for a woman again, not after his wife passed away. He was devastated for years, refusing to even look at another woman. He expected to live out the rest of his days alone, in a cold bed too big for just him. He’d accepted that fact long ago.

Until you came along.

You with your pretty eyes, and pouty lips. And getting exactly what you wanted every time. How could he resist you, when you’d bat your eyelashes so nicely? When you’d find him walking back to his room late at night, only to offer him company? How could he say no, when your giggle is all he could think about, when your voice is all he heard?

Late at night, he’d be working in his study, the candlelight his only company. But somehow, his eyes would trail over the page and retain nothing, for your face was all he could see. Your soft touch was all he could feel. Those nights, the duke was knocked off his pedestal by a young princess as he indulged in those thoughts, and became an indecent man. Gripping his aching cock in his hand, and leaning back. The already hot room getting only hotter as his soft pants got louder and louder, until he’d hiss your name and stain his priceless tunic, sweat glistening on his skin when he’d slouch in his seat, heavy pants echoing his sinful actions. How could he abstain from you?

Here’s how: you were off limits.

Not only were you the king’s daughter. The king, his superior, the man he worked for. And more importantly, the man who had the power to take off his head. But you were the king’s young daughter, only newly of marrying age. And he, well. He was your father’s age. The rumours that would spread if the people so much as heard of him courting you, let alone what else you’ve done….

Yoongi couldn’t court you in good faith, not with all those obstacles in the way. No matter how much he wanted to. Though, none of that seemed to bother you. He chuckled to himself as he remembered your stubborn nature. Lying in bed, your body pressed against his that one fateful weekend, the one weekend he let himself indulge in you, the only time he’d allowed himself to be weak. As you swore you’d convince your father. Reminding him of how advantageous it would be, him gaining a wife for social status. A princess, no less.

But there was no way you two could be together. It would never be accepted. He’d come to terms with it, after much grappling and chagrin. But he was weak in his disposition, and one soft blow from you had the strength to change his mind.

Little did he know that you knew that.

Yoongi pushed his bedroom door open with a clang, hurling himself into his room and slamming the door shut behind him. He stumbled over to the dresser, clutching it tightly for balance as he tried to regain his footing. The fire was spreading through his veins now, running through his body with a tingling sensation. Making his symptoms quite clear to him as his cock ached unbearably in his pants, begging to be let out of its tight confines.

And Yoongi wasn’t going to deny himself any longer. Now, in the privacy of his own room, he was free to rip his clothes off, relishing in the cool air that touched his hot skin. He splashed some water onto his face from his basin, dipping some over his hair as well and pushing his bangs back, shaking the water out. His heavy breaths occupied the otherwise quiet room.

In his haste, in his rush to relieve himself of the scorching heat rioting against his skin, and the boner about to pop in his pants, the otherwise sharp duke had neglected to notice a foreign presence in his quarters. Or rather, a foreign someone, perched sweetly on his sheets.

“Poor baby, you don’t look so good.”

Yoongi’s head whipped around at the familiar voice, startled. He thought he was hallucinating, another violent symptom of whatever ailment had gripped him. His mind conjuring up your picture to satisfy his upright cock. And not just any picture. You, sat on his bed, in extremely lacy undergarments that seemed to be half the length of what they were supposed to be, hiding very little from the eye. Lord, he shut his eyes, silently begging to the sky, don’t do this to him now.

You met his gaze with a nonchalant expression, almost bored. Your signature pout was painted on your face, a sign of the times. “What’s got you all hot and heavy?”

Your voice was sickly sweet, and your tone made your question seem so innocent. As if you were asking him about the weather. And not the very intentional euphemism you had actually intended. The naughty glint in your eyes only confirming it.

“Yn- you s-shouldn’t be here—,” his knuckles whitened as he gripped the table harder, trying his best to stand upright and not collapse onto his knees in front of you. But it was getting harder to fight his urges. He needed to release. And he needed to do it soon.

You watched him with your head resting in your palm, eyes following his every move. Your head cocked to the side as palmed himself through his boxers, on the one hand trying to be discreet because you were in the room. And on the other not giving a fuck, because he couldn’t help himself. You almost felt bad for his suffering. Almost.

“Did you like my note?” You ask, with an unconscious bat of your eyelashes.

Yoongi looked at you incredulously. Of course you were going to bring up your other euphemism. Idle hands are the devil’s playthings. The double meaning of your note, both referring to his sloth tendencies in taking a wife, and his reluctance to touch you. What you wanted him to do with those idle hands was very clear, as your eyes narrowed on his long fingers.

And it was very convenient that you happened to be here, in his moment of need, alluding to offering yourself up… Almost as if you knew this was going to happen to him, the note clueing him into your foresight. He looked down at his hands, then his head shot back up to look at you. Then back at his hands to confirm. The small sparkling dust was almost invisible to the eye now that he’d rubbed off most of it. But he still caught a glimpse. Confirming what he suspected.

“The note…” Yoongi’s mind raced. He reached the conclusion much faster than you expected, but what else would a genius yield? His eyes looked up at yours, dark gaze with a glimmer of pleading, “Tell me you didn’t dust the note in sex pollen, yn. And that this wasn’t your doing.”

You blinked at him innocently. But the smirk you were holding back was fighting it's way onto your face. “Oops?” You shrugged. “It must have slipped out of my hands.

Yoongi let out a monstrous groan, both from the pain in between his legs and the confirmation from your words. He couldn’t help but sink down onto his bedroom bench, his back to you. His head was thrown back and his breathy pants filled the air. Yoongi tried to resist and maintain his composure. He really did. He tried not to think about how you were sitting right behind him, almost certainly getting ready to crawl your way over to him. He tried not to think about all the ways you’d touch him and make him feel things he hadn’t felt in years.

But you were making it excruciatingly difficult.

He felt your presence before he heard your voice, your breathy whisper tickling his neck as you leaned in, soft voice like a melody. “Please use me as relief, Yoongi. I’m right here.”

He turned around to look into your sincere eyes. You were on your hands and knees, waiting pretty for his answer. Your big eyes were almost pleading, begging him to use you as he deemed fit. To throw you into his sheets, and fuck you deep into the mattress. To use your body round after round as he worked the effects of the sex pollen off, taking orgasm after orgasm. As much as you’d give. Until he had worn himself out, and his cock deemed it fit. You were willing to indulge him in all those fantasies, just waiting to be covered and stuff in his seed. Reaping the rewards of your sin.

But not just that. You were asking him for more—To use you as fulfillment of his social status, as the object to break out of his indolent rut. You wanted him to take you, and make you his. In every essence of the word. You wanted him to claim you, brand you with not only his hands and marks, but with a gold trim on your handkerchief. With his family emblem shining on your finger. In front of god, in front of your father, and all others who bore witness.

He wanted it too. He wanted you in his bed every night, and to see your face first thing every morning. He wanted to make you laugh everyday just to hear your giggle, and see you smile. He wanted to shower you with expensive things, and gift you anything your heart desired. He wanted you to look at him the way you’re looking at him now. Full of trust and desire. He wanted you by his side, and to stand by yours. No matter the consequence.

Your face was within an inch of his when he’d turned to meet your gaze. The tension that those few centimeters held could be cut with a knife. He hesitated, eyes falling to your lips. Your perfect pouty lips. He decided right then and there that it was time to break out of his idle sin, and indulge in your heavenly gates.

His lips crashed into yours hard, making you moan out at the sudden lustful attack. His hand wrapped into your hair, resting at the base of your neck. Giving him the perfect leverage to pull you closer, and hold you pressed against him. Allowing him to graze your lips with his tongue, shoving his way in before you had a chance to breathe. Your soft hands brushed against his face, trailing down his neck hesitantly, looking for something to hold onto for dear life as Yoongi engulfed you. The little whimpers that fell from your lips as you ardently tried to match his fervor was like music to his ears.

He climbed over you, pushing you back to the head of the bed. He gripped your waist, impatient with your scooting, and moved you up himself. You landed with a bounce against his pillows, momentarily disconnected from his lips. Yours were already swollen, covered in his spit. The way you gnawed at it as you waited for him to reattach his mouth to yours sent blood rushing to his already hard cock. He couldn’t wait any longer, not with you looking up at him like this.

“This lacy shit is cute,” he complimented, touching the fabric with a hand. You gasped as a tearing sound ripped through the air, the once frilly lingerie wrapping your body now in shreds in Yoongi’s hand. You glared up at his cocky smirk. “But it’s in the way.”

The cool air kissed your skin, making you shudder slightly. But you didn’t notice the cold, not with Yoongi shifting and gripping his cock in his hands right in front of your face. “Tits together, sweetheart. You’ve edged me long enough.”

“Now, if you really think about it—umph!” You were in the middle of spitting out an excuse as to why his blue balls wasn’t really your fault. But Yoongi, sensing your brat tendencies, was quick to shove his dick into your mouth to shut you up.

“Don’t play with me,” he growled, tapping your cheek with a few light slaps. You looked up at him with big eyes and a full mouth, patiently waiting for his next command. Once he knew you weren’t going to act up, he slowly pulled himself out. You didn’t wait to be told after, pushing your breasts together obediently. A smile graced his face, and he nuzzled your cheek with his hand at your good behavior.

“What a good girl,” He stroked his cock a few times, looking down at your willing figure. You looked so cute, holding your tits together and looking up at him expectantly. It made him want to brand you.

A glob of spit splattered against your chest and trickled down the valley of your breasts, a slapping sound associating with the second spat that hit your chest. You looked up at the perpetrator, cocky grin plastered on his face as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “You look so pretty covered in my spit, princess.”

His handsome concentrated face let him get away with anything. And he knew it. He guided his aching monster of a cock, all red and bulbous, in between your breasts. He looked about ready to burst. He threw his head back with a groan as he slid into the cushioned opening you’d made for him, slick from his expectorance and creating an easy slide. He rubbed in your makeshift cocksleeve a few times, finally getting that relief he’d been burning for all night. It felt so good, he didn’t know how long he’d last. Or how slow he’d be able to go.

Your mouth was wide open for the taking, poised and ready for when Yoongi started to pick up his thrusts. Rougher and sloppier with his pace as he gripped the headboard behind you, sliding messily in between your tits and hitting your mouth. Your tongue was out, leading his cock up your chest and straight into your wet hole. Drool pooled at the side of your mouth as you kept your mouth open, but you didn’t care. Holding yourself perfectly still and available for Yoongi to use as he pleased.

He caught a glimpse of you in his haze, his orgasm building up quickly. You had your head bent down, eager to have him deeper in your mouth. He chuckled to himself before giving one hard thrust, surprising you and hitting the back of your throat. You let out a squeal at the intrusion, looking up at him with your wide eyes. Only to stick your tongue back out and beg for more.

“My pretty little cocksleeve.” He cooed, no longer capable of holding back. He was teetering on the edge of release, and your little antics weren’t helping. “Wanna be used by me so badly, hm? And princess always gets what she wants.”

You mewled at his words, your mouth full of cock as he stuffed it down your throat. You were taking small, short breaths through your nose to compensate for the lack of air, but you were starting to feel dizzy. Out of pleasure or pain, who knows?

Yoongi relented soon enough, though. Not being able to hold back any longer, he pulled his dick out of your mouth, a string of saliva connecting from your mouth to him as he stood up to his full height on the bed above you. Head thrown back, mouth ajar, muscles flexed as he gripped the headboard, his other hand pumping himself to completion. With a loud grunt, and an intentional pump, he released his semen above you, leading to a splatter right on your face and chest. You shut your eyes as he came, but your mouth was wide open, trying to catch everything you could. You heard his sigh of relief, prompting you to then open your eyes and meet his. Just to stick your tongue out and try to taste what didn’t make it into your mouth.

“Fucking filthy,” Yoongi chuckled breathlessly. He sunk down to his knees, your body still beneath him. Watching his every move. He leaned down to engulf your figure, big arm placed next to your head as he teased a kiss, ghosting over your lips. Until you whined and pawed at his chest. Only then did he finally press his lips to yours deeply.

Despite having just released, Yoongi felt a strange blood rush to his cock yet again. Almost as though the orgasm just a second ago had never happened. He pulled away from you to look down and confirm what he suspected.

Hard as rock.

He shook his head as he cursed. He’d heard about this, how sex pollen worked. It lasted different lengths for different people. But it about looked like it’s grip wasn’t going to loosen on Yoongi anytime soon.

“Baby,” He flipped off of you, sitting upright and leaning against the headboard. His hand automatically wrapped around his cock, pumping his upright, leaking shaft. “I need you to take care of this.”

As soon as you sat up, his hand guided your head down to face his dick, his thumb swiping against your lips teasingly when you got close enough. You repositioned your body so that you were ass up, on his side, bending down to his will. You were an inch away from him as he stroked your hair, muttering encouragement under his breath.

With your tentative lick to his shaft, he let out a hiss. You slowly wrapped your small hand around him, licking up the side from the base to the top like an ice cream cone. He let out a breathless moan, shifting beneath you. His hand applied more pressure to your head, pushing your mouth towards his dick further. He was getting impatient. You should know; sex pollen escalates quickly, and doesn’t give you a moment to breath.

You looked up at him and met his gaze as you sunk down on his cock, fitting as much of him as possible in your mouth. He cursed under his breath, his face contorting into one of pleasure. You let your drool slobber over him, keeping your mouth wide open as you relaxed your throat, ready to take him deeper.

“Such a good girl, trying to take me all in one go.” He stroked the side of your cheek sweetly as you bent your head down, pushing him further down your throat until you were coughing, having to relinquish him and come up for air. Yoongi tugged your head back as you took a deep breath, making you yelp and meet his eyes. “Aw, princess, can’t you take me? You promised me so many things,” he sighed, “Guess you can’t deliver.”

Your eyes narrowed ambitiously at his sneer, whimpering at the thought of him being dissatisfied with you. In your heart of hearts, you knew Yoongi was only teasing. Pushing your buttons, pulling your strings. His eyes glinted with that mischievous streak. But you also knew Yoongi was uncharacteristically impatient right now, the sex pollen urging him to empty his balls as quickly as possible. He’d tell you anything if it got you back on his cock.

You pushed your hair out of your face as you knelt back down, taking him into your open mouth and pushing him down deep in your throat. You worked through the constriction and tears brimming in your eyes as you swallowed him down. Bobbing your head a few times, encouraged by his grunts and moans, you kept your tears back as long as you could. Only when you couldn’t take it a second longer, did you pull off of him.

Only to switch to his balls instead. You took one in your mouth as your hand worked his slick cock, licking and sucking before switching to the other ball. You moaned as you felt him thrust into your hand, his balls moving in conjunction with his hips and knocking into your mouth. You let it go with a pop, switching back to his cock. This time, opting for long strokes of your hand paired with a quick bobbing of your mouth.

“Fuck, princess, just like that.” Yoongi grunted, his hand tangled in your hair as you sucked him. Hollowing your cheeks, loud slurping noises overtook the room as you quickened your pace.

Yoongi couldn’t take it much longer, his sensitivity already heightened from his previous orgasm. And you. He watched you work hard on his cock, relegating yourself from Princess, a member of the royal family, the divine monarchy, chosen by god to rule. To a mere cockslut at his convenience. A mere whore for him to fuck and use.

“C’mere, baby.” He tapped your ass, nudging your hips over to him. You stopped your actions, confused at first. You thought you were doing something wrong. Until he pulled your legs toward him, and sunk down onto the pillow, gesturing to his mouth. You hesitantly moved one knee over him to the other side of his head, peeking under you to check if that’s what he wanted you to do. Yoongi’s grope of your ass before he pulled your hips down to meet his face gave you your answer.

You let out a moan at the first lick against your wet heat. “Fuck. You got this wet just from making me cum?” Yoongi spread your ass cheeks, fully examining your wet cunt. You whimpered in response, wiggling your hips in self-consciousness. He landed a quick spank to your clit, making you shudder. “You get off on it, being mine to use. Don’t you?”

His words shouldn’t’ve made a tingle go down your spine and send heat straight to your core. But you couldn’t argue—just the thought of the old bachelor doing whatever he wanted to you had you drenching your undergarments. Rushing to your room every night after seeing him, and dismissing your servants quickly before hiding under the covers. Moaning in his name in the confidence of night.

Yoongi didn’t waste a second, dying to quench his thirst of you. He engulfed your pussy with his mouth, wrapping his lips around your hole and sucking. Devouring your pooling cunt. His mouth was relentless, his tongue running over your folds ruthlessly as he lapped up every last drop. Your hand moved up his dick at a steady pace, but you struggled as he munched your pussy with heated fervor.

It wasn’t long before his tongue was prodding at your hole, making you squeal out as he circled our wet opening. You tried to put your mouth on him to distract yourself, moving up and down his cock swiftly, trying to establish a pace. But you had to come back up to moan as his tongue shoved its way inside, thrusting into your pussy. You clenched tightly as his lower lip brushed against your clit with each lick.

Face pressed to your cunt, you couldn’t help but grind your hips down. Earning a swift slap to your ass and a stunt of your hips. “Put your mouth back on my cock, where it belongs. Now.”

You jumped at the command. But he was right—you’d gotten too distracted with his magic tongue (and that wasn’t a result of the sex pollen, you knew…) and started to neglect your duties. You amended quickly, sinking back down on him and working him over. Like an obedient little whore.

He, on the other hand, was revelling in the choked whimpers and mewls that he was pulling from you, lapping at your folds like he was a starved man. And technically, he was. Depriving himself of you for too long, this moment was like taking a sip from the holy grail.

He pulled back to admire your mess of a pussy, tattered and soaked from his ministrations. Your hole fluttered with anticipation. He wanted to make an even bigger mess, though. Wasn’t satisfied like this just yet.

His long fingers trailed over your cunt, feeling their way around before shoving bluntly inside you. His mouth latched back onto your clit as he scissored you open on his fingers, feeling you struggle to keep your hips still. He wasn’t any different—except he wasn’t doing a thing to stop his cock from thrusting into your mouth as your hand hovered helplessly, now useless. You kept your head still, letting him hit new depths in your throat as you gagged around him.

“My perfect girl—fuck—know just what I like,” his sentences turned into loud groans as he approached his end. But he wasn’t about to let you go unscathed. His other hand joined his first one, now replacing his mouth as filthy words spewed from him, rubbing mercilessly at your clit as the other one thrust two fingers into your heat. It was getting impossible to keep your hips still, his angling of his fingers pushing you to grind down on him frantically. With a few more thrusts and stimulation of your clit, you were squirting all over his fingers, spewing your arousal as he worked you through it, drawing as much as he could. He was close to follow after you’d gone through your orgasm, but how he made you cum first after being affected by sex pollen… you would never know.

His thrusts got brutal as your hand wrapped back around his cock, waiting with an open mouth. With one hard thrust and a loud growl, he shot his semen straight past your lips, the head of his dick hitting the back of your throat. His hand had unconsciously wrapped around your head, keeping you still and making sure you took every last drop. Once he was spent, he nudged your chin back to him. You opened your mouth to show him the mess he made inside, made a show of swallowing it, and showing him it was all gone after.

“Baby, you take my seed so well.” He stroked your hair breathlessly. He was accustomed to the tingling feeling by now, the telltale sign of blood rushing back into his cock. Already ready to go again. That little display of yours didn’t help, either.

He tugged you up by your hand, settling you comfortably in his lap. He caught your lips in a searing kiss, the force pushing you back if it wasn’t for his hand resting behind your head, pushing you back into him.

He took the opportunity to flip you over, never disconnecting your lips as he crowded your body with his muscle-y one. “Mm—think you can take my cock in this tight little hole?” He brushed his fingers over your heat teasingly. You let out an indignant whine, in between kisses, nodding fervently. You wrapped your legs around his waist, trying to draw him in.

“So desperate—okay, okay. Relax, I’ll give it to you good, baby.” He detached himself from you for a second to line his cock up with your entrance, getting ready to push him. You let out a curse, wrapping your arms around his neck, as he entered you, stretching your walls in accommodation as he sunk into your wet heat.

“You okay?” He rubbed soothing circles on your hips as you adjusted to his full length buried at the hilt. You gave him a small nod, burying your face in his chest as he started to move again. He pulled out at a slow pace, and pushed back in a little bit harder. He gradually quickened his thrusts, moving a bit rougher and harsher each time.

Until he found his steady pace, pistoning his hips into yours unrelentingly. Your moans filled the room as you scratched at his back, legs kicking from the belligerent thrusts. His mouth had latched onto your neck, nipping and sucking marks into your skin roughly. He’d pulled your head to the side by your hair to give him more access, trailing his branding to areas that would be very visible once you’d put on your gown.

“The whole castle’s gonna know you’re mine.” He growled in between marking. “What you’ve done to me, how you’ve affected me. Everyone’s gonna know about this little stunt you pulled, princess.”

He pulled back to admire the bruises blossoming on your skin, telltale signs of his mouth. Satisfied with the art, his arm reached over your head to grip the headboard behind you, giving him more leverage to angle his hips into you. His bicep bulged above you, hovering over your face as he tightened his hand around the metal. He looked down at you to catch your awed gaze at his muscles, a small smirk appearing on his lips.

“This what you wanted?” His other hand held one of your legs up, giving him a new angle to thrust his hips at. With one hard buck of his hips, he caught your attention, snapping you out of your haze. You let out a whine as your hand clutched his chest in an attempt to steady yourself. His new angle allowed him to jostle your body with each thrust, him towering over you as he delivered your reckoning. “You wanted me to get so worked up I’d fuck you into my mattress?”

You mewled in response. He wasn’t wrong, you both knew that. Shame burned your face as he spoke your intentions out loud. But deep down, you weren’t sorry at all.

“Went through so much trouble, just to get me in this position, little minx.” He grunted as his pace quickened, slapping his hips into yours. His balls hit your ass with each thrust, and loud squelching sounds came from in between your legs.

Yoongi let the headboard go to grip your face in his hand, making you look up to meet his eyes. “You wanted to be my wife so bad?” He leans down, hovering over your lips as his dark eyes maintain contact with yours. “How about bearing my kids, hm?”

You let out an incoherent noise as your hole clenched tightly around his cock. You couldn’t help yourself, or the heat that rushed straight to your core when he said those words. Your grip on his bicep tightened. Yoongi grinned at your reaction, fucking you harder. “Are you desperate for me to plant my seed inside you, have you carry my heirs?”

“Yes—yes—yes, oh—please!” You cried out, wriggling under his touch. You hated that domestic insinuation with anyone else but him. For Yoongi, you’d swell up and carry as many children as he wanted you to, revelling in the fact that that was a branding of its own. You, heavily pregnant with the duke’s children, signaling to everyone that the young princess belonged to him, and him to you. You wanted that so badly.

Yoongi cursed at your desperate pleading, taking a more tactical turn. He pulled out of you, ignoring your cries and sobs. Flipping you over onto your stomach, you let out a muffled scream as he shoved your face into his pillows, pulling your hips up behind you so that your ass was in the air. He rubbed his cock against your folds before shoving it back in. A drawn out moan left your lips as he restarted his previous brutal pace.

“Gonna fuck my kids right into you,” he groaned. “Get you nice and pregnant.” His hips slammed against yours repeatedly, hitting deeper with each thrust. You could feel him getting more determined, the tip of his cock reaching your cervix. Each plunge had him brushing against it, eventually starting to bruise it.

“Gonna parade you all around this castle.” His hand came down to wrap around your throat, gently squeezing as he lifted your head up. “Make sure everyone knows you’re Duke Min’s property.”

You couldn’t speak. Gasping and crying in pleasure, you couldn’t formulate a single sentence. You just let him manhandle you around, sending your body into a jolting frenzy with each thrust of his hips, his hand limiting your air supply and making you feel so good and dizzy. You were drunk off of him, willing to do whatever he asked.

Your hole clenched fiercely as you neared your end. Fluttering and leaking, the warning signs alerted Yoongi to your position. Lucky for you, he couldn’t hold back any longer anyway—not with the way you looked right now. All spread and ready to take his seed.

“You wanna come, sweetheart?” His voice was soft, in stark opposition to the lewd sounds filling the room. Your pitiful nod sent a warm feeling shooting through his heart.

His hand came down to fiddle at your clit, your battered and bruised pussy in his hands as he found the sensitive little bundle of nerves. His long fingers worked at it ardently, rubbing hard circles as the tips of his fingers brushed against your folds.

“There you go,” he talked you through as you reached your peak, continuing his feverish pace at your clit while his cock hit deep into your pussy. You spasmed and clenched tightly around him with a scream of his name, shaking and trembling as your arousal gushed out. His hand grabbed at your cunt, squeezing tightly and milking you for all you were worth. You spilled out all over his cock, completely spent and falling down limply onto the bed.

You whined out as his fingers continued to grope at your folds, overstimulating you to the point of tears. “Keep it tight, just like that.” Yoongi commanded. He wasn’t far behind you, and he wanted to come as you clenched your hole tightly, determined on drawing another orgasm out of you.

With a few more strokes, his hips were stuttering. He buried himself deep into your pussy, focused on shooting his seed as close to your womb as possible. An ungodly amount of cum shot out in ropes, coating your inner walls. His fingers continued to touch you, letting you scream out as another orgasm shook you at the same time as him. Yours drew his out, letting load after load spill out into your cunt. He let out loud growls and hisses as his balls emptied out, his powerful orgasm making him a bit unsteady, he had to hold onto your hips for balance. Or maybe that was just his age…

Once his balls were completely empty and spent, signaling the effects of the sex pollen had finally worn out, he crashed down next to you. You peeked out from the pillow your face was buried in, eyes asking for permission.

“You can relax now, baby,” he chuckled, pushing a stray hair out of your face. His hair clung to his sweaty forehead, wet strands dripping as a result of his exertion. You let your hips drop, finally accommodating your screaming muscles. He pulled you into his side as soon as you did, skin pressed against one another, tangled in the sheets. Just like the last time.

Except this time, it was different.

“You meant it right?” Your small voice broke the serene silence. Yoongi looked down into your big eyes. His beautiful princess. How could he say no? How could he, in good conscious, continue to break both your hearts. He didn’t think he had it in him to resist you again. He was tired of tearing his heart apart and sewing it back together. Putting you both through this excruciating ordeal, just because of a tiny thing like social norms. In this moment, right now, as his eyes trailed your face, he made a silent vow to never deny you again, as long as he lived.

He pressed a kiss to your forehead. “Of course, baby. I can’t live without you.”

Your eyes shut blissfully at his words. You cuddled deeper into his side, shoulders relaxing at the weight of the stress being lifted. You didn’t know what tomorrow would bring, or what kind of riot your union would cause. All you knew was this moment, right here, as you drifted off to a peaceful rest. You, and the man you loved. And the sickly amount of his cum that was leaking from your pussy.

“You what?!”

You looped your arm around Yoongi’s indignantly, the stoic duke not daring to move a muscle. “We’re asking for your blessing to get married.”

If you thought the king was going to be shocked, you completely underestimated him. He was furious.

He rose up from his throne, marching towards the two of you with an accusatory finger. “Min Yoongi, what have you done to my naive daughter?!”

“Daddy!” You pushed your father’s hand away before it touched Yoongi, stepping in between the two. “He didn’t do anything! And I’m not naive.” You protested.

The king took a deep breath. As his youngest daughter, you were used to being in his favor. Doted on and spoiled to no end. Anything you’d ever wanted, your father would get you. Any scandal you caused, he’d take your side. This, however. Was a completely different beast on its own. “But sweetie, he—”

“He’s the one I want.” You folded your arms, pouting. “And I won’t settle for anything else, daddy.”

The king looked at you both helplessly. The whole realm under his fingertips, and yet, here he was, at the mercy of his daughter’s command. He had at least one of those things in common with Yoongi.

The king shook his head as he paced the room. Pausing once, he addressed you again. “You’re sure, sweetie? You’re sure you want to marry Duke Min?”

You nodded vivaciously, tightening your grip on your soon-to-be fiance. “I love him, daddy.”

The king shook his head again. If he could count the times he’d heard those words…

He threw his hands up in defeat. With one last shake of his head, and a resigned sigh, he announced, “Then you two have my blessing.”

You squealed and jumped into Yoongi’s arms, throwing your arms around him. He looked at you with a relieved expression as his arms circled your waist. He turned to address your father, tearing himself away. “Thank you, your highness.” He said with a bow.

“I have to go tell my friends,” you chatted excitedly. With a kiss on Yoongi’s cheek, and a ‘thank you, daddy!’ you went skipping along to spread the news. Almost as if you’d just gotten a new dress.

“You know, Min,” the king started, now left alone with the rigid duke. “When I said you needed to get married, I didn’t mean to my daughter.”

“I know, your highness.”

Past the tough exterior, there was a glint of lighted-heartedness in the king’s eye as he regarded his old friend. “Take good care of her.”

“You have my word.”

And Yoongi was nothing if not a man of his word, as you, and the servants that were unfortunate enough to walk past your room, would find out later that night.

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Copyright © 2021, taesinferno | tumblr | no reposts, translations, copies, etc.

PALLADIUM - MYG

title credit: palladium- greyson chance

pairing: dilf!yoongi x reader // friends to lovers, slowburn, eventual smut

synopsis:

min yoongi is urgent.  in the way he bites his nails down to the bed, and the way his sore fingers type out desperate sentences just minutes before deadlines, he is urgent. how he prepares jaehyun’s day bag before grandma comes by, and how he double checks everything is packed, he is urgent.  the requests for you to watch over jaehyun each and every deadline day are, always, predictably, urgent. but the way min yoongi falls in love with you is slow. gradual. tepid. until, like everything with min yoongi, it becomes urgent.  

wordcount: 3.2K

note from holly: this was a prompt from a winner of one of my kofi quizzes! was supposed to be a drabble but now we are looking at a lil three parter. no smut in this part, just setting up our dynamics &lt;3 yoongi is a boy dad! idc! argue with the wall!!!!

PART TWO // PART THREE

minors dni // cross posted to wattpad

"I wouldn't ask if it wasn't urgent," Yoongi pleads across the bakery counter. Nails bitten down to the bed, he's got bags underneath his eyes. Hasn't been sleeping well these days. Hasn't really been sleeping at all.

"I told you last time—"

"I know, I know," he sighs, pushing off of the countertop and pacing a few steps away, raking a stressed palm through his long, dark hair. Dishevelled, he hasn't had it cut in a while. You'll never tell him, but you think it looks better this way. "Look, it's the last time. I promise. I just really fucked it this time."

With a raised brow, you fold your arms over your chest. The apron beneath you bunches a little awkwardly, but you've never cared much for composure around Yoongi. Have simply known him too long and seen him through too many clumsy stages of life to be bothered. 

Tipping your head back, you exhale a sharp breath from the very depths of your lungs. 

"You are so lucky Jaehyun is an angel baby," you eventually say, shaking your head as you reluctantly agree. "What time do you need me?"

"Deadline is at midnight," Yoongi says, "So whenever you can get to mine, really. Mum has him till seven, but then she's got Bitch'n'Stitch—"

"Hey," you scold. "My mum goes to that knitting group, too."

"I'm not calling her a bitch—but I've heard their conversations," Yoongi reminds you. He swears they don't actually do any knitting (as if they haven't handmade half of Jaehyun's closet). Thinks they spend the entire time gossiping. And while yes, they do do a lot of gossiping, they can multitask. Unlike him, apparently. "But fine. She has her knitting group at seven."

Yoongi will never simply call it a knitting group, if he can help it. 

Bitch'n'Stitch is his go-to, but he's also partial to Stitching Hour. 

Last week, you'd just gone on a rant about how it's inappropriate to insinuate that all women of a certain age from your small town are witches—"Women used to get burned at the stake, Yoongi. Burned!"—so he knows better than to say it out loud today, even if it makes him laugh whenever he thinks about them knitting on broomsticks.

"I'll probably be outta here at just gone six," you tell him. 

It's the late shift, so you're responsible for closing and cleaning up, but after two years of part-time work alongside your studies, you're a dab hand. Can action off every item on the to-do list in record time, and to a standard even your boss can't achieve. 

You're wasted on a small town like this, but someone's gotta do it. 

"That's fine," Yoongi nods. "I just need to straighten this essay out and get my citations done. You can go as soon as I'm finished—and hey, you can order takeout. I'll pay."

Knowing Yoongi, he's probably surviving on instant noodles, and spending all of his money on Red Bull and Jaehyun's meticulously planned diet. 

Jaehyun's been off formula for about two months, now, and Yoongi is terrified of feeding him the wrong thing. By the looks of his slightly skinnier-than-usual frame, he's the one in need of a good meal.

And so, as you're doing your final tasks of the day, you don't bin the breads that need to be chucked. Instead, you bag them up. All of them. The pastries, too. Will just have to hope Yoongi has freezer space.

By the time you make it home, you've only got ten minutes to spare for a quick shower before you need to rush to Yoongi's. You'll be a little after seven, but it's fine. You've resigned yourself to staying at Yoongi's until midnight, now. 

It's how it usually goes. 

He'll work up until his deadline, rewriting and revising paragraphs that are perfectly fine and need no alterations. His own worst critic, you know that he really doesn't need to stress himself out like this.

Still, he does. You think he'll always be this way—at least, he was in high school, and he remains to be this way, even in university. Too much of a habit has been formed. It's ingrained in the ridges of his brain. Pink and permanent—just like the pout on his lips as he opens his apartment door for you later that evening.

Forearm tucked under Jaehyun's pudgy thighs, Yoongi cradles his son into his side, as a look of relief relaxes onto his face. It's a stark reminder of why Yoongi stresses himself out so much. 

You can afford to make mistakes. The only person you have to answer to is yourself.

Yoongi doesn't have that luxury anymore. Hasn't done for a while, now. Won't ever get it again—or at least, not for another seventeen years.

"Hey," he whispers, then casts his eyes down to Jaehyun's sleepy head. Nestling into Yoongi's shoulder, Jaehyun's dark hair now has a little length to it. Much like his own, Yoongi is refusing to cut it. Another thing he's scared of getting wrong. 

The subtle nod Yoongi gestures towards Jaehyun is a request for you to be quiet. 

You're familiar with his paternal habits by now; the behaviours he exhibits only when he's wearing his invisible 'Dad' hat.

He tucks back against the door, letting you walk on through and into his apartment.

Shoes off by the door, Yoongi locks up as you shake off your jacket, and hook it on the empty peg in the middle of the rack.

Small and a little dark, Yoongi hates his home. Is strapped for cash, so turned the open plan kitchen and sitting room into a studio-type set-up. Has his bed where a sofa should be, and manages to cram everything somewhere. His desk, his small keyboard, his clothing rail that he really needs to reorganise. A bunch of his things are in storage. 

Jaehyun's room is what once was Yoongi's. It's got the most natural light, thanks to the window placement, not that it matters at this time of night. The curtains are drawn, playmat full of yellows and oranges scattered across the floor. Beside it, is Yoongi's laptop. The screensaver is running, and it's pretty obvious he'd been playing with the little toy octopus sprawled across the keyboard instead, when you had arrived.

"Bit late for nap time?" You question quietly as you pop your phone on the charging pad Yoongi keeps on the dresser.

Nodding, Yoongi gently rests his son down in his crib. These past couple of days, everything has been a little out of sync. He feels guilty—like he's failing—but the pressures he's been putting on himself are just getting far too great. He's doing the best he can, but it always feels like it's not enough.

But Jaehyun is loved, and sheltered, and provided for. Yoongi is doing all he can. He just still isn't sure he knows how to be a dad.

Which is silly, because as you watch him stroke across the dark hair that sits flat to Jaehyun's scalp, quietly monitoring his condition, you think that Yoongi was made for this. Is far more paternal than you are maternal.

Truth be told, you don't like kids all that much.

Your idea of a fun evening doesn't typically involve hanging out with an infant, and yet you'll do it for Yoongi. Of course, you will. Have known him for too long and have been through too much with him to not help him.

Plus, you really do adore Jaehyun. Sweet as can be when he sleeps, he really does look just like Yoongi at that age—or so you gather from the baby pictures you've seen a dozen times over at his parents' place. It's easier to count which features they don't share. Saves ever needing to do a paternity test, not that Yoongi would do one anyway.

Jaehyun is his kid. A little bit of DNA wouldn't change this fact, not in his eyes.

It worries you. Not because you think Yoongi isn't his father—again, they're too alike to not be related—but in case his mother decides she wants to play an active role in Jaehyun's life. You fear that the 1% of doubt could come true and tear any legal right away from Yoongi. You're not really sure how the courts would work it all out, but you doubt they'd side with him. 

Yoongi was never meant to be a father. Not now, at least. The outcome of a one-night-stand, Jaehyun's biological mother didn't realise she was pregnant until it was too late. Had no real choice in the matter. Was also nearing the end of her tenure in law school. A kid was not—and remains to not be—a part of her plan. 

You know the documents were signed. Legal rights, shit like that. Know that she must have an understanding of the law far greater than Yoongi. Just hope she hasn't done anything that will fuck him over in the future.

Still, it's not a topic of conversation Yoongi likes indulging in, and so you don't push, no matter how much you'd like to know the details. 

"Let him sleep," Yoongi eventually sighs, before sinking down to lie on the rug. "Better he rests while I'm working—and plus, he slept through till five-thirty this morning."

"Till sunrise?" You chirp, a little surprised but conscious of keeping your voice down. 

Yoongi nods, face rubbing against the carpet. "He's basically a teenager."

Rolling your eyes, you reach down for his wrist to drag him to his feet. He's got an essay to finish. 

"Shut up," you smile. "You've barely stopped being a teenager."

Sometimes, it makes you a little sad to think that Yoongi is missing out on his early twenties—but then you glance across to Jaehyun and know that he's not missing anything. Just experiencing different things. That's all. 

"Don't remind me," he grunts, lamely getting to his feet, letting you pull him down the hallway as you swipe the baby monitor that lives next to the charging pad. You'll come back for your phone later. 

"C'mon, gotta finish your essay. Can't be a DILF unless you get this degree."

"Untrue."

"You'll just be a D without a good job," you tell him. "DILF's are always suited up."

"That's simply not true," he doubles down. "I've been told I'm a DILF at least, like, six times. Maybe more."

Definitely more. If he knew the way girls on campus spoke about him? God, his head would be so big he wouldn't be able to walk through doors.

But for now, you shoo him back through Jaehyun's bedroom door and to his sitting room-come-bedroom. The apartment isn't large. A baby monitor isn't needed, yet one is set up by Yoongi's bed, regardless. 

And so, as Yoongi knuckles down with his work, you flop onto his bed, and take prime babysitting position—though you're pretty sure you'd get fired if you ever got under anyone else's sheets on the job.

But it's late, and you've worked a long shift. You're only gonna rest your eyes for a moment. A second. A fraction of one, even. Just to hydrate them a little. Replenish your—

You're out like a light.

The curse of Min Yoongi's bedsheets. You really should have known better. It happens every damn time. You know this. He knows this. 

Yet when he eventually wakes you, neither of you mention it.

"Hey," Yoongi mumbles as he gently nudges your sleepy body. Flopping down beside you on top of the duvet, his exhausted eyes close instantaneously. 

"I'm going, I'm going," you grumble into his duvet, half asleep but knowing that you should go and check on Jaehyun. 

The baby monitor hasn't made any noise to wake you, and Yoongi's just been with him for the last twenty minutes, quietly watching on as he slept. Is pretty confident he's gonna sleep through again tonight. 

Reaching out to pat you down, Yoongi doesn't really acknowledge the way he accidentally taps your ass. Nor do you. Just sort of pretend that he didn't. Pretend that it didn't make your heart race a little.

"S'fine," he says, voice muffled by his need for rest. "He's still sleeping. Just checked on him."

"Sure?"

"Mhm," Yoongi nods, the sound of his hair smooth against his sheets. "You gonna crash here?"

"You all done?" You question right back. Shuffle, and his hand lazily moves with you. His wrist now rests on your hip, and you both pretend like it's normal.

"All done," he confirms. "Was late, so I've lost ten percent, but whatever."

For someone who stresses himself out as much as Yoongi does over his grades, as soon as he's hit the submission button, he just ceases to care. Has a 'what'll be, will be' attitude towards it all. Part of you wishes he would adopt that mentality when he's actually writing his essays.

What you don't realise is that it manifests from the same fear. 

He panics and panics and panics before a deadline—and then is so worried about his grade that he just pretends like they don't exist.

Too sleepy to care at this moment in time, Yoongi's placement of his wrist on your hip becomes more intentional. Deliberate. 

It's not like you're a stranger to the weight of Yoongi's arms draped over your body. Not like it's the first time—it's just every time it does happen, you swear it'll be the last.

It never is.

And it's not like it's anything illicit. Not anything you shouldn't be doing. Nothing that takes you beyond the realms of friendship—but it does threaten the integrity of your oldest connection to another human outside of familial ties. 

So every time Yoongi gets a little too close, or you find yourself lingering a little long on his words, you tell yourself to stop. That this is just a symptom of the dry spell you've been going through.

"Are you staying here tonight?" He asks.

Again, it wouldn't be the first time. Have been having sleepovers with him since you were kids. Ghost stories, midnight feasts. Sneaking out to the park to find UFOs and stopping by the corner shop for snacks. 

Once high school hit, it was deemed unwise by your parents. Open door policy. 

You'd been furious. Outraged that your privacy was being taken from you, and being told it was for your own good.

And so sneaking out the park became sneaking in windows; films watched with headphones on, dinner eaten in your bedroom under the guise of a melodramatic teenage strop, but actually shared with the boy from two doors down who knew better than to deceive your parents.

All innocent. Nothing that required a closed door. Those escapades were saved for—or wasted on—other people. Either, or. Neither you nor Yoongi gave it much thought. Why would you?

Friends, is what you were. What you are. What you always have been.

Which begs the question: why the fuck is Yoongi looking at you like that?

But then the wrist of Yoongi's resting on your hip becomes his hand. The grip becomes intentional. The stillness of your body comes not from tiredness, but from trepidation. 

"Do you want me to?" 

"It's late," he husks, thumb stroking against your hip as if that's what friends do. "You're off tomorrow, right? Don't need to go home?"

"Right."

"Well, then stay," he shrugs, loosening his grip to roll onto his back. The ceiling is far less interesting than you are, but he has to stop looking at your lips and wondering if they taste like the strawberry lip balm you'd tossed on the side cabinet earlier. "Makes sense."

"Stay?" You question as if he still needs to clearly outline that, yes, he'd like you to stay. "And do what?"

"Sleep," he dryly replies, because it's the obvious answer. Because it's what you should do. You're tired. He's tired. Jaehyun is asleep in the next room over.

"Sleep," you nod. "Sounds good."

Domestication becomes you in times like these. A toothbrush sits in an old glass on the top shelf of Yoongi's mirrored bathroom cabinet. The rest of the shelves are pretty much empty, but he always puts it up there. Says it annoys him anywhere else.

"Surely it's more annoying having to get it down for me every time I crash here?" You banter with him as you lean against the back wall of his bathroom, waiting for him to retrieve it. 

Plucking it from the glass, Yoongi is swift with his movements, and the way he wets the brush, puts a pearl of toothpaste on the bristles, then hands it back over to you.

"Doesn't bother me," he shrugs, turning back around to shut the cabinet. When he does, he's greeted with your eyes in the mirror, and a feeling in his stomach that should bother him. 

See, the D in Yoongi's DILF actually stands for dependable (although occasionally dickhead also fits). He likes being asked to do things. Likes being helpful. Useful. Knows that he depends on you far more than you do him, and so he does this to settle the score. 

You help him pass his exams, and he helps you keep good dental hygiene habits. A win-win situation. 

Leaving you to finish washing up, Yoongi does the final checks of his apartment. Bolts the door. Turns out the lights. Makes sure Jaehyun's day bag is packed for tomorrow with his Grandma. Adds the day's clothes to the laundry pile. Stands in the doorframe of Jaehyun's room to just simply watch his son exist for a little while longer. 

He loses track of time doing this. It's a nightly routine, so you think he'd get used to it, but he never does. Still can't fully comprehend that a living, breathing creature relies on him for basic survival. 

Sure, he hides your toothbrush away, and puts things out of reach for you just to get you asking him for help, but this is different. He cares about nothing more than making sure Jaehyun is surrounded by abundance: love, shelter, food. Everything the world has to offer, Yoongi wants for his son—and that's why he's working so damn hard to make sure it happens.

There's a tenderness to how Yoongi strokes your back when you stand beside him. He's far gentler than he used to be. Benevolent with age. Isn't the same kid who used to chase you around his parent's yard with a worm in one hand, and a pile of mud in the other. 

"C'mon," you whisper, walking away because you know you need to break the contact. "Let's rest."

Yoongi nods. Is slow as he tears his gaze from his son, but just as stoic as he watches you saunter down the hallway and into your bedroom for the night. His bedroom.

You slip out of sight, just in time for Yoongi to exhale the air in his lungs. His sigh is full of unspoken words. Uncertain terms—and as he follows you down, he wonders how many more secrets will bloat his lungs throughout the night.

heaven’s winter (m)

RATING: M

GENRE: fantasy, fluff, smut, a hint of a soulmate au, light angst

PAIRING: village daughter!reader x seraph!yoongi (alternatively, an “angel”)

WARNINGS/TAGS: lots of overthinking/past angst regarding both reader and yoongi separately (yoongi especially), tae is involved as an important plot side character but he’s barely in there i’m sorry, surprise aggression from yoongi because u get in his personal space, slow burn smut but the smut is nice and flavorful, explicit sexual content, body worship, oral sex (female receiving), virgin!reader, clumsy cute smut uwu, unprotected sex (wrap it up pls), several positions, unintentional temperature play?, lots of love and respect up in this house and lots of other things i probably forgot. 

also i wrote a lot for the intro you can skim idc lmao.

SUMMARY: your duty as the village daughter places you in line for the season’s Offering; a tradition not to tread lightly upon. as the snow falls slow and heavy, and the seraph awaits in the shallows of the mountain, you fail to realize what the winter has in store for you.

WORD COUNT: 18,600

NOTE: welcome to my slice of the Fantastical Stories for Curious Souls Collaboration!

it’s always really an honor to be able to work with other writers and i’m really grateful that they allowed my butting-in )))): thank you all!!! make sure to check out everyone’s stories in the link above and let us know what you think!

(uhhh i just….. i spent way too much time on research and the politics behind this fic for it to still be aLL oVer tHe plaCe but please cut me some slack. might i throw in that this has no religious/cultural affiliation and instead has more of a fantastical theme to it that is entirely fictional. especially for the concept of the Offering and how i loosely throw around the word “angel” and “heaven” and etc.)

((might i add that i recently discovered that i am *terrible* at describing geography and am totally basing it off of video-game visuals…….. cough cough zeldabreathofthewild))

(((this last one’s kinda important!!!!: yoongi is described to be larger than you bc he’s this magical bird being. i always try to keep reader insert broad in description but if you’re taller than irl yoongi boongi, pssst, you’re not in this universe sorry but i make the rules)))

((((this is currently unedited. @14statelier​ get to work.))))

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