PALLADIUM - MYG

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 <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.

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?

kitty’s home.

⊹ liveyun reads, 2023 (: !! yoongi ver.

— ⊹ joon and seokjin’s library

hello and welcome back to my library, only that once again i’ve failed to organise all the yoongi fics i’ve read so far 😭👍🏽

as always, if possible, your feedbacks to the authors are always appreciated and welcome. but once again, only if it's possible!

most of these fics are rated M, and abiding by the author's wishes, you have to be 18+ in order to read them. however, i’m not responsible for the content you consume online, hence, reader's discretion is adviced.

[ ♪ ] : series | [ ★ ] : favorites | [ a ] : angst | [ f ] : fluff

[ s ] : smut | [ c ] : comedy

⊹ moonlit throne by @hobidreams ( 68k, ♪, s, a, f ) ★ 👑

ALL TIME FAVORITE YOONGI FIC.

⊹ heaven's winter by @jksangelic (18.6k, a ,s, f) ★ ☁️🏔️

⊹ matilda by @babystrcandy ( 70k+, ♪, a, s, f ) ★ 🌼

⊹ desolate by @angelicyoongie ( 52k+ ♪ , s, a, f) ★ 🐱

⊹ the mark of yun-ki by @ladyartemesia ( 8.6k, a,s,f) ★ 👑

⊹ the early shift by @hobidreams ( 21.4k, ♪ , s, a, f ) ★ ☕

⊹ monachopsis by @personasintro ( 50k+, ♪, s, a, f ) ★ 🤰

⊹ love lockdown by @personasintro ( 63k+, ♪, s, a) ★ 🧟

⊹ technologically in love by @jungshookz ( 24k, a, s, f ) ★🤖

⊹ hellish by @jungshookz ( 22.1k+, s, a,f, c ) ★ 😈

⊹ purr-haps i like you by @taleasnewastime ( 11k, f ) ★🥺

⊹ belong by @ahundredtimesover ( 99.4k+ ,♪, f, s, a ) ★ 🏀

⊹ first and last always by @floralseokjin ( s, a, f ) ❄️

⊹ swing life away by @aphrodijin ( s, a, f ) 🤰

⊹ vexed by @taleasnewastime ( 34.5k, s, a, f ) 🎬

⊹ nephoria by @taegicity ( 14k+, ♪,s, a ) ★ 🦇

⊹ first love, last love by @kithtaehyung ( 35k+, a, s, f) 🎹

⊹ auburn skies by @persphonesorchid ( 12k, a, s, f, c ) ★🤫

⊹ no signal by @latenightdecaf (13k+ , a, f ) 🎤

⊹ so close by @namfinessed (13k+, a, f) ★💔.. ❤️🩹

⊹ divorce by @xjamlessparkx (30k+, ♪, a, f ) 💔..❤️🩹

⊹ give it to me by @ki-yomii ( 1.6k, s ) 💥

⊹ perks of being a househusband by @sunnebeam (3k+,♪,f) ★

⊹ strike a cord by @snackhobi ( 18.5k, s) 🎹

⊹ desecrate by @hamsterclaw (2.1k, s) 😈👼

p.s : if there's any fic which is a series and is on hold/haven't been updated since a long time, don't be an ass and pester the author about it. be patient and wait! we all have our own reasons and most importantly, a life.

also.. if u wanna check out my works pls do here lol

( self promo 😀? 👎🏽)

Highway to You | mlist

~pairing: yoongi x fem!reader ~rating: pg15 ~genre: lots of hurt/comfort, angst, fluff, childhood friends to enemies to lovers, mafia!au see individual parts for warnings and more information

before, you were inseparable. after, you thought you would never find your way back together. this series will be posted non-chronologically, but this masterlist shows the parts in timeline order

Ride or Die - yoongi isn’t sure when he became so accustomed to your ineffably cheery presence. until he sees that innocence crack, he hadn’t realised how far he would go to keep it there.

Highway to you - yoongi never expected to see you again. least of all with a gun in your hand, crashing an important deal in a whirlwind which proves how much has changed.

Rear View -  yoongi can protect you now, even if it may be too late.

………………….

> contact me if you would like to be tagged whenever I post an installment!

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.

Moonlight Reign Masterlist

A/N: Don't mind me, haha. Here is the new and improved Moonlight Reign! You do not have to read the old version (if anything pls don't it is not written well AT ALL) I've changed many many things about the story, but I hope all my readers enjoy nonetheless

Pairing: Yandere! Mafia! BTS x Reader

Warnings: 18+, fem/fem-bodied reader, yandere behavior, unhealthy relationship, poly relationship, obsessive and possessive behavior, murder, mafia activities, crime, manipulation, crying, trauma, sensory flashbacks, blood, gore, murder, pining, past abuse, past neglect, familial issues, academic neglect, eventual smut, fictional events in a fictional world that I do not condone irl (specialized warnings will be at the top of each chapter)

Last updated: September 23, 2023

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

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Main Masterlist

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