Im Salivating Over My First Ever Haliween Ahhhhhhhggggjtjekwldlcjwkwnf. Anyways, I Trust You Implicitly,

i’m salivating over my first ever haliween ahhhhhhhggggjtjekwldlcjwkwnf. anyways, i trust you implicitly, so i’m gonna do the random thing:

milky way + princess peach + the craft 👁️👄👁️

(ily 🦐)

❀ Pairing: Witch!Yoongi x witch!f. reader

❀ Summary: When the red string of fate appears around your ankle, you have twelve days to find your fated partner or die. That’s how the spell works - that’s how fate has always run Her business. There is one, very inconvenient witch who keeps getting in your way, though, and you might just kill each other before your mark does. 

❀ Word Count: 4,421

❀ Genre: Magical AU, Fate AU, a bit of angst, a bit of crack

❀ Rating: SWF

❀ Warnings: Talk of death!!! Reader thinks that she is going to die this entire fic, so she thinks about dying/makes jokes about dying a lot. At the end of the story, there are moments where she is sad and there are hints of depression because she is dying, but it’s not super intense and heavy. Language, Yoongi, and reader are both very stupid, the communication skills in this friend group are at ZERO. 

❀ Published: Tuesday, October 3

❀ A/N: This is my first request filled for Haliween and I am so excited! This was so much fun to write and honestly, I was super inspired by Jade's ability to infuse humor in writing, so this is absolutely an ode to Jade. Inside my Halloween bag for you is… Yoongi, witches, and fate! This actually might be one of my favorite drabbles I’ve written all year if not all the time and I sort of wish this was a full one-shot with angst but I think it works sooo well this way. UNEDITED.

❀ Disclaimer: All members of BTS are faces and name claims for this story. This is entirely a work of fiction and by no means is meant to be a projection, judgment, or representation of real-life people. Any scenarios or representations of the people and places mentioned in works are not representative of real-life scenarios.

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It’s raining the day that the red string of fate scorches your ankle. The pain is unlike anything you’ve ever felt before, sending you to your knees as you scream. At first, Jimin thinks you’re dying. He drops his mug of tea, rushing over to you as the porcelain shatters, dropping to the ground to pull you up by the shoulders.

You’re prone for a moment, eyes rolled back, voice straining as your entire body tenses, hellfire licking through you. 

Then it’s gone. Like it never happened. 

The mark leaves you panting in Jimin’s arms, whimpering lightly as you pull the leg of your jeans up with trembling hands to reveal a singular scarlet circle around your ankle. The mark tingles, leaving behind the memory of sudden pain, now cool to the touch. 

“Holy shit,” Jimin whispers, staring at the mark. His eyes are wide when he looks down at you, lips trembling. “Twelve days.”

Twelve days. Twelve entire days to untangle you’re new fate and follow it to the witch meant for you, your other half. Twelve days to find them and meet your magical half. To be whole again.

Because in the world of witches, there are some of you born not complete. Some of you have another soul out there, burning with some of your magic. And when that magic is ready to become one, it tries to kill you.

Twelve days to reunite it.

Or, twelve days until you die. 

DAY ONE

The day is a waste. Impeding doom does not inspire confidence in the probability of finding the witch who is supposed to be your other half. Hoseok offers a tarot spread, flipping cards and trying to untangle the path that will lead to your savior. 

He frowns as he looks at his deck. The images and text on them are nearly faded entirely, a heirloom of his coven passed down through generations of family members. Hoseok knows them by touch, feel, and energy alone. Could read them in the dark, if he wanted to.

Hoseok glances up where you’re curled on the couch in a blanket, doing little spell work to figure out where your mystery half is. “Perhaps you should have Namjoon read tea leaves instead,” he offers. Hoseok shuffles the deck and puts it back in a wooden box. “The cards want you to figure it out yourself. Tea is less judgmental, perhaps.”

DAY TWO

Tea is not less judgmental. You stamp out of the tea shop, feeling stormy, energy crackling like lightning. Namjoon, unable to help, mentioned that perhaps you should seek help from Jungkook, who often sees the future in his drawings. It’s what led him to Jimin, after all. 

Someone crashes into you, knocking you off balance. You yell as you go, too lost in thought to catch yourself with magic before you’re topping into the street and a puddle. Cursing, you look up at the stranger who has knocked you into a dirty hole filled with water.

“Are you serious?” you demand, gesturing to your legs as water seeps in. “Watch where you’re going!” 

The man in front of you is covered in coffee. He looks up at you dripping in dark liquid, the front of his white shirt ruined and sticking to his chest. If you weren’t so impossibly angry, you might think he was cute. Long, black hair tucked behind his ears, keen feline eyes, a rosy mouth in a natural pout. 

But you don’t think it’s cute. Especially when he says, “Me? You’re on the wrong side of the sidewalk!”

“There are no sides to the sidewalk!”

“Of course there is! If you’re walking north you should walk on the inside of the sidewalk, if you’re walking south, you should walk on the outside!”

“That makes no fucking sense!”

“Says the girl still sitting in a puddle instead of getting up and drying herself off!”

You make an angry sound, shoving yourself up from the puddle, sopping wet. “Have the day you deserve,” you snarl at him. 

“Have fun with your wet pants.”

DAY THREE

Day three is spent at the library looking up ways to break the red string of fate around your ankle. There are tombs and tombs of ancient texts on the various iterations of the spell through different cultures and religions, but so far you have nothing to show for it. 

Huffing and tossing another useless book onto your useless pile, you walk back to the dark stacks of the magical section of the library reserved for members of the covens in the city. It smells musty and dusty in the back, the air dank with the promise of rot. You make a mental note to tell Jisung at the front to please use an air freshening spell. 

As you turn the corner of the shelves, someone makes you pull up short. The man from the day before is in front of you, flipping through a book. You blink in surprise. A witch. It shouldn’t surprise you - most of the townsfolk here are magic in one way or another. But it makes less sense that he was so angry about spilling his coffee when he could just whisk his fingers in the air and put it back in the cup. 

You’re angry all over again, balling your fists in the aisle. You have half a mind to flick your fingers and through a book from the shelf at him, but the tome in his hands makes you pause. It’s the book you’re looking for. 

The man snaps it shut and tucks it under his arm, continuing to look through the shelves.

“Um, where are you taking that?” 

He turns with a soft expression, eyes wide. Then he sees you and immediately scowls, nose scrunching. “Oh. You. If you came here for new pants, the Target is across the street.” 

“I’m looking for that book.” 

“Well, this book is coming with me.” 

“What do you need it for, huh?”

His face is impassive as he blinks twice. “For a bonfire, thank you.”

With that, he spins on his heel and walks down the aisle. You step after him, but he snaps and you feel a sharp tug in your stomach, like a pull in another direction. You blink and suddenly find yourself several aisles over, making you scream in anger.

“Did you just teleport me?!”

DAY FOUR

Spent listening to Hey Jude on repeat. And dumplings. So many dumplings that you may not make it to day twelve. 

DAY FIVE 

What a good day. You’ve made no progress, but you head home with a smile on your face nonetheless. Even though you will surely expire when the red string of fate eats you from the ankle up in seven days, you have at least one good memory before your untimely demise. 

Autumn hangs cooly in the air. Your scarf is wrapped snuggly around your neck as you skip home, fresh on the memory of the Puddle Pusher’s face when you bought the last of the black flame candles at Shadow’s earlier that day. 

Give me at least one, he’d said to you. You don’t need five.

Well, what if I mess up? You’d asked.

Then you’re a shitty witch.

Well, that had offended you, so you bought the white flame candles too, just in case. Bags full of candles for your little ritual, you skip home to try another trick in breaking the scarlet mark around your ankle. You’re not hopeful but you are happy to rub the salt in with the Puddle Pusher before your sweet farewell to the world.

Even if he did look very cute today. 

DAY SIX

Morale is low. The ritual from the night before utterly failed and set off your sprinkler system in your apartment. As you spend the morning blasting hot gusts of wind from your hands and levitating several items throughout the home to air dry, you wonder what it will be like at the end. 

The red string of fate is such a rare thing. When you were little, you may have thought it was romantic. Knowing there was someone out there for you that was your twin flame, your other half. A person connects to you by the cosmic power of the universe. Whose spellwork with your own could make you unstoppable. 

Now you think it’s stupid. You don’t need anyone else to make you complete. You’ve learned that over several failed relationships and the lackluster dating life of this town. There’s no reason for you to need to follow this stupid mark to find the one person you can no longer live without. 

Love is not worth dying for. If it is even love. You cannot imagine that the magic that flows through the world unseen but felt is so all-seeing and powerful that it knows who you should be with. That it can tell you what to do. 

Day six sucks. And you spend it crying. Alone and forgotten, without your other half. 

DAY SEVEN

Jungkook sifts through his drawings, chewing his lip. The hum of tattoo guns buzzes like a hive of angry bees behind you. You ignore the awful music blaring through the speakers and the man screaming behind the piercing curtain getting his nipples pierced.

“Don’t you have something for that?” you ask, jerking your thumb at the sniveling. “The man sounds like you’re castrating him.”

“Oh, that? Some people like the pain. However, it is Jin so he is actually hating every second of it.” You make a face but Jungkook doesn’t notice, shaking his head. “I’m sorry, dude. I don’t see or feel anything in any of these recent drawings of mine. I wish I could be of better assistance. There’s this guy who might be able to help, though. Taehyung?”

“Tae-who?”

“Here.” Jungkook scribbles an address in truly illegible handwriting. “Visit him on the full moon in..” He looks at his phone and makes a face with yikes written all over it. “Five days.”

“Jungkook, in five days I will be hours away from-” You make a choking sound and roll your eyes back into your head. When you look back at Jungkook, he’s not amused. “Death. Dead. Está muerto.” 

“Yeah, I got that. Not funny.” He shoves the paper in your hand. “Look, he’s a really powerful seer. Just go.”

“Think he can tell me what to wear as I croak?”

Jungkook is still not amused by your jokes. He looks around you as the shop door chimes, lifting a hand. “Hey, Yoongi. Be with you in a second.” He looks back at you. “Have you considered asking around for anyone who has had one show up recently? It might help, you know?” 

“No thanks. Don’t need any weirdos trying to get into my skivvies by lying about it. Thanks, though. I’ll look into this.” You lift the paper. 

Turning around to leave, you stop dead in your tracks. Yoongi is standing near the front entrance of the door. He’s dressed in dark jeans and a flannel shirt, his hair tucked under a beanie. He looks soft, especially when his attention isn’t on you and glowering. 

For a moment, you’re not mad at him and you don’t hate him on principle. You just admire the way his nose is a little bit red from the cold outside, and his general sense of wonder is… innocent. Gentle. Kind. 

When he turns to look at you, as though he feels your staring, his face morphs from cherubic to devilish, curling his lip up at you. Your momentary lapse of judgment vanishes. “Here to get a tattoo of Number One Puddle Pusher?”

“I didn’t push you.”

“Who's to say you didn’t? Do you have CCTV evidence?”

Yoongi scoffs. “I should be checking CCTV to see if you’re stalking me.”

“Me? Stalking you? I got here first.” 

“Do you have CCTV evidence?” he mocks, making a face. 

With a huff, you blow by him, turning to Jungkook who looks between the two of you with wide eyes and a dubious expression. “Make his tattoo ugly.”

DAY EIGHT

Yoongi as it turns out is new in town. Instead of spending day eight doing like Jungkook suggested and putting out an APB on Facebook Marketplaces and Craigs List, you spend it looking up your mysterious mortal enemy only to find that… he’s entirely normal. 

Most of the covens in town have a long history of ancestry connected to the town’s creation. Yoongi seems to have no such thing, having only moved there a year ago. You’ve never come across him, though it seems you have plenty of friends in common.

From his social media, you can tell only two things about him: he likes cats and takes the worst dad pictures. By worst, you mean silly little photographs of things you can only see a father taking. Somehow the angle is always just wrong or the captions are so simple that you find yourself smiling.

And then you remember whose photos you’re looking at and you fix your face with a scowl. 

Tossing your phone onto the couch, you curse Yoongi. The Puddle Pusher. 

DAY NINE

Spent crying. 

DAY TEN

Spent crying even harder. And spent looking at Yoongi’s cat on social media, only to accidentally double tap and scream as you unlike the photo, and throw your phone across the apartment in terror. 

You cry more after. And add buy a new phone on your to-do list. 

DAY ELEVEN

You’re going to die. It’s inevitable. You spend the evening watching the stars with Jimin. You let Jungkook tattoo a smiley face on your foot. You drink lots of hard cider, and you fall asleep in a bed that feels too empty and the knowledge that you’ll no longer have to worry about filling it. 

DAY TWELVE

Taehyung lives in the middle of Fuck All Nowhere. While you might not find that exactly on the map, it is only somewhat easy to find his creepy, draconic estate outside of town. Getting out of your car, you look up at the spiring mansion, sure that you’re going to see bats flying out of the top like an episode of Scooby Doo.

Alas, there are no bats there to greet you in your final few hours. "Where are the bats, dude?" you ask, walking up the lawn.

The house is something out of a creepy cartoon. Old, wooden stairs creek under your feet as you climb them. The front porch has a severe lean, making you take a precarious step toward the massive front door. 

A knocker in the shape of a snarling gargoyle greets you. Tentatively, you reach your hand toward it. Just before your fingers brush the knocker, the door swings inward, creaking and shuttering as it does. You snatch your hand back and take a step away from it, heart racing. 

No one is in the entryway. You stick your head inside, looking at the maximalist disaster that is the interior. There are gauche tapestries all over the walls and exotic, loud wallpaper. Statues, busts, and other carvings cover every surface, and the faint smell of cardamom hangs in the air. 

“Hello?” you call. Your voice seems to echo in the house. 

You hear footsteps. Your heart rate picks up, hoping to see the infamous Taehyung you’ve come for. Except you don’t, feeling confusion first followed by irritation. Of course Yoongi is standing in this strange home that’s full of popping energy and static.

“What are you doing here?” you demand. 

Yoongi frowns. “You’re not Taehyung, right?” 

“No! Do I look like him?”

“I don’t know what he looks like.”

“Well. I’m not.”

Both of you have a silent standoff, staring at the other. Yoongi looks tired, with dark circles under his eyes and his hair a little greasy. You feel a momentary pang of sympathy for him, feeling the same sort of restlessness and weariness tugging at your edges. 

“What are you here for, then?” you ask if only to fill the silence stretching between you. “And why are you inside?”

“It’s cold outside. And the house felt like it wanted me to wait inside.”

“Okay. Well.”

He crosses his arms. “I’m here because I’m… looking for something.” 

“Something that requires black flame candles?” 

“No.” He looks you up and down. “What are you here for.”

“Trying to break something.” 

He hums. 

Eventually, you both sit down in the sitting room. Neither of you say anything to the other, sitting in… almost comfortable silence. You sit and stare at the clock on the wall, watching your time slip away. 

Your knee starts pouncing. You take out your phone, spamming Jungkook. Trying to get him to call Taehyung, perhaps. He doesn’t answer, your nerves unsettling your stomach. Eating away at you. 

An hour slips by. Then another. 

Sweat starts to collect on the back of your neck. Each moment the minute hand tick tick ticks, you lose another minute. Another five. Another ten. 

You don’t feel sick or deteriorating, but you know that as it reaches ten at night, you only have two hours left. A collection of 120 minutes for the rest of your life. Barely enough to drive back into town and say goodbye to your friends. To anyone who cares. 

Overwhelmed with the impending sense of doom, you suddenly stand up, wiping your hands on your jeans. Inside feels insufferable, so full of tension. You need to breathe, to maybe look at the moon for a little. To… feel the wind for the last moment, now that it’s here.

“Where are you going?”

“Outside. I - um. I don’t think he’s coming and I… want to be outside.” 

Yoongi nods. “Mind if I join you?” 

The question is gentle. Soft. Like that time you saw him in Jungkook’s shop, face so gentle and kind, round and soft with wonder and something like hope. It urges you to nod, reserved to not spend the next two hours hating this man who has made the last twelve days of your life annoying.

Instead, you’ll spend it with this man who doesn’t know you, but who has colored the pages of your life for the last two weeks. 

It’s strange. Before that day outside of Namjoon’s shop, you didn’t know who this person was. Now, you know a little bit. Not a lot, but enough. 

There’s a hill behind Taehyung’s house that you walk out to. You both sit on it quietly, looking out at the world. This far out in the country, the stars blanket the sky in a thrilling map of constellations and sparkling lights. It’s beautiful. Nice. 

A general melancholy seems to hang around Yoongi. You don’t know what it is he is looking for, but you sort of hope he finds it in the way that you’ve been unable to. If you have to lose tonight, you think that someone ought to win. 

“What was your favorite moment of your life?” Yoongi asks out of nowhere. You glance at him to see him staring out at the sky, eyes unseeing. His fingers pull at the grass by his shoe, uprooting them absently. “Or something that you just remember being a really good memory?”

You pull your knees to your chest and set your chin atop them, thinking. You’ve had so much time to think this week about your favorite moments or the best parts of your life before it’s gone, and yet, you hadn’t thought too much about it.

“Maybe…” you grin, eyes unfocusing. “The first time I ever listened to Hey Jude. I had never listened to the Beatles and Jimin had it on vinyl and it was one of the last days of summer when we were younger and he put it on… we danced to it and had the coldest lemonade and those red white and blue popsicles. It was right after a breakup and… it was the first time I felt unfettered, reckless joy.” 

You can remember the sweetness of the lemonade, the sticky fingers from the popsicle. The sound of the record, the way it hissed into silence at the end of the track, just the crackling vinyl chasing you out of the end of summer.

Turning to look at Yoongi, you ask, “What about you?” 

“The first time I heard a piano. I was on vacation with my parents but I got lost at the hotel and I found this piano in the lobby. This guy was playing it so I just sat down next to him and listened. It was… I wasn’t afraid anymore, and I just waited there until the front desk told my parents they found me.”

You grin, feeling a sweet curl of joy spreading through you. “Do you play now?” 

“Mhmm. I wish I had played more in the last few weeks. I was … busy.” 

“Hmm. I wish I had done a lot of things recently. Instead, I fixated on something unchangeable.”

Silence falls between you. You check your phone for the time. You realize that there are only fifteen minutes left, your heart clenching painfully. You place the phone face down in the grass, sucking in a deep, shaking breath. 

“You should go,” you murmur gently. He looks up at you, brows raised. “I uh - need to do something that I think should be done alone.” 

He nods. “Me too.” Gets up slowly, dusting off his pants. Yoongi starts to turn away and hesitates, looking down at you. You look up and think that Yoongi might be the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen. Soft face against the cosmos, dark eyes that are swirling and unreadable. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

He lifts a shoulder. “For being a surprise in my life, I suppose. A change of pace.”

“You too.”

With a little wave of his hand, Yoongi walks down the hill back toward the house. You watch him go until he vanishes around the front and you are left alone, the sound of the crickets around you. 

Turning back to the empty hills, you exhale. In a way, you’re okay. You think that maybe Yoongi is right - he was an unexpected and at times vexing surprise in your life, but it was fun. A least a little. 

Gently, you lay back in the grass. You don’t know if it’s going to hurt when you go, but you want to be lying down just in case. Your hands tremble in the grass and you feel your throat constrict with the urge to cry. Not because you’re alone, not because you’re afraid, but because you think maybe… you should have just enjoyed life a little more than trying to defeat it the last two weeks. 

A lifetime of forcing things into submission and for once, you couldn’t do it. 

The minutes tick by. You try to calm your breathing. There’s no escaping the red string of fate now. Without your other half, you will cease to exist. There is no more road for you.

You think of the sweet taste of lemonade. The chorus of Hey Jude. The breeze coming in through the open door and the scent of the honeysuckle climbing the awning. You smile, feeling a tear slide down your face.

Shutting your eyes, you breathe in deep. You are ready.

DAY THIRTEEN

You frown. You keep breathing. You take in another deep breath, thinking that maybe you just… timed it wrong. Settling in, you keep yourself calm, fingers drumming on the floor. Any second now you’re going to die. The life force will flee your body. You will perish. Ashes and dust and all of that. 

It doesn’t come. You crack an eye open, looking at the starry sky. The stars are still hanging and the moon is still shining. Suddenly you wonder if you’ve already died and this is the afterlife. Would you even know if you were dead?

Sitting up, you grab your phone and look at it. If there are phones in the afterlife, yours shows that it’s past midnight. 

“Huh?” you whisper, tapping the screen. It looks real. Feels real. “Why am I not dead?”

Footsteps behind you make you look over your shoulder. Yoongi is storming up the hill, a look on his face like wonder and fury or something weirdly in between. 

“What were you doing at Namjoon’s shop that day we ran into one another?”

“What?” 

“The shop!” he yells, throwing his hands up, panting as he crests the hill. “What were you doing there?”

“Getting… a fortune read. Sort of.”

“And the library?”

“Researching how to break spells.”

“And Jungkook?” Yoongi’s voice trembles. You don’t follow, but you shrug a shoulder. “Same thing as when I went to Namjoon’s. Trying to use the future to help me find something.”

Yoongi crouches down and reaches for your ankle. You pull it back, yelling, “Hey, hands off, weirdo! I’m not into foot stuff!”

He grabs your jeans and pulls the hem up, despite your kicking. When he reveals the red mark around your ankle, he abruptly sits down and stares at you. You yank your foot from his grip, ripping your jeans back down and glaring. “What gives? Yeah, I have a red string of fate, whatever.” 

Mutely, Yoongi sticks his foot toward you. He has on dirty Converse with gum stuck to the bottom of his shoe, and jeans on. “I’m more of a Hubba Bubba myself,” you note, eyeing his foot. “But thanks?”

“My ankle.” 

You sit up straight, heart racing. Yoongi had been going to Namjoon that day. And then at the library. Even visiting Jungkook. And buying items for… breaking a spell at the magic shop. Now, he’s here, for a reason unbeknownst to you. 

And you’re not dead.

You’re not dead. 

Slowly, you reach over Yoongi’s foot. Your fingers are trembling as you grab the soft material of his jeans, fingers weak. Steeling yourself, you pull gently to reveal Yoongi’s ankle. You expect to see creamy, smooth skin, unmarked and well… ordinary. 

Instead, you see a single red ring scarring his skin. A perfect red string of fate marking his skin forever, telling him that he belongs to someone. That someone equally belongs to him. That there is someone out there in the world just as stubborn to accept fate, just as cranky when inconvenienced, and who loves music just as much as you do.

You’re not dead, and Yoongi is looking at you with a smile that holds the world.

You’re not dead, and you share loud, joyful laughter with your red string of fate partner for the first time. 

DAY 20

“Yeah,” Taehyung says, leaning back and self-satisfied. “I saw them finding each other at my house so I just left. Let fate do its thing, ya know?”

You roll your eyes. “Your house is fucking creepy but not in a cool way.”

Yoongi laces his fingers with yours. “Yeah man, where are the damn bats?” 

Everything

Yoongi and you are at a wedding, and it seems like he's spending time with everyone but you. Set after the events of Vows - read the rest here.

Pairing: Yoongi x F! reader

Rating: 18+

Genre: Smut, angst, arranged marriage AU

Word count: 2.3k

Warnings: Sex, as always, Kim Seokjin in a suit

Yoongi enters the kitchen and you freeze in front of the open fridge where you’ve been munching yesterday’s leftover noodles.

He looks every inch the chaebol he is, in his bespoke tuxedo, his perfectly aligned bow tie, his hair styled back. He even has makeup on, just enough to make him look airbrushed.

Your husband looks like he’s stepped out the pages of a magazine, and you —-

Well, you had been feeling pretty good before you decided you needed to eat something before the wedding you’re both going to.

You lift the box and offer it to Yoongi. ‘Noodles?’

He’s looking at you with a bemused expression on his face.

You take that as a ‘no’. 

***

You fidget in the passenger seat of Yoongi’s vintage sportscar and examine your reflection in the mirror.

The lipstick you’d reapplied hastily before you left the house looks perfect. You’re checking your teeth when you catch Yoongi staring at you.

‘Just checking there’s no lipstick on my teeth,’ you explain.

His brow rises slightly, but he says nothing.

‘You look very handsome,’ you offer.

‘I know how I look,’ Yoongi says. He sounds disinterested.

‘Like my dress?’ you ask, smoothing out a wrinkle in the silk.

‘It’s pretty,’ Yoongi replies. 

You try not to feel hurt that he hasn’t complimented you specifically.

You look out the window. 

‘My family are all going to be at this wedding,’ Yoongi says.

‘I’ll try not to embarrass you,’ you say, lightly. 

He glances at you like he’s not quite convinced.

He stops the car, gets out to open your door for you. The flash of cameras, which you weren’t expecting, makes you startle, and Yoongi’s hand tightens on your arm.

‘You ok?’ he murmurs. You look up at him, still unused to him being concerned about you even though your relationship’s much more affectionate now.

‘I’m ok, Yoongi,’ you reply. 

Maybe he wasn’t that concerned, because as soon as you step into the hotel he’s approached by his grandfather. 

He greets you both and leads Yoongi away. Yoongi glances back at you once, and you’re still standing, watching them go.

You remember what he said about his whole family being at the wedding and put your game face on.

Your husband’s chaebol, but so are you. You straighten your shoulders, raise your head and nearly fall over as someone bumps into you from behind.

‘Ah sorry, I didn’t see you —-‘

You’re apologising too when you realise who it is.

Min Yoonseok.

He realises at the same time as you, and the smile that he gives you is sexy, devastatingly handsome. 

Objectively, he’s as beautiful as all the Min family are, but he isn’t a patch on your husband. 

You’re smiling back when he says, voice low but missing the gravelliness of your husband’s, ‘you look very beautiful.’

They’re the words you’ve wanted to hear all night, but it’s the wrong man saying them.

Yoongi would melt your heart and reduce you to blushing and stammering if he said that to you, but to Yoonseok, you smile and murmur your thanks.

‘You look handsome,’ you say, ‘that colour’s great on you.’

He holds out his arm for you to take as he leads you further into the ballroom. 

You catch a disapproving look from one of Yoongi’s uncles, and you understand why. In the early days of your marriage to Yoongi, you’d chosen to flirt shamelessly with Yoonseok as a way of aggravating Yoongi.

Yoonseok had been more than happy to flirt back, and Yoongi had never let on that it bothered him. Until you’d decided to make amends and Yoongi had wrestled Yoonseok over an ultimate frisbee game.

The memory of your husband, sweaty and panting, expression thunderous as he’d grabbed Yoonseok in a headlock, is still one of the sexiest things you’ve ever seen.

Yoonseok’s staring at you curiously, and you make a valiant effort to temper the dreaminess of your smile.

Finally he laughs. ‘Where’s Yoongi? I can’t leave you alone, you’re way too pretty to be left unattended at a wedding like this.’

You’re indignant. ‘I can handle myself.’

‘You look like you can,’ comes a silvery voice beside you.

You turn to a faintly familiar, very pretty face. 

The man who’s spoken holds out a hand. ‘Park Jimin.’

‘Min Y/N,’ you reply, shaking his hand.

‘I can escort you to your husband,’ Park Jimin says, leading you away from Yoonseok so smoothly you’re halfway across the ballroom before you realise it.

‘How do you know my husband?’ you ask, politely.

‘The man who outbid me to buy you at the charity auction?’ Park Jimin offers, eyes twinkling with mischief.

You can’t help your smile as you remember the moment Yoongi told you in bed after the auction that he had never had any intention of letting you be ‘bought’ by anyone else.

‘Everyone knows Min Yoongi,’ Jimin says. ‘Also we went to school together. And I have no idea where he is, apart from that it was foolish of him to leave you unattended tonight.’

You meet his gaze, teasing. ‘Park Jimin, are you kidnapping me?’ 

‘I would if you’d let me,’ Jimin admits, grinning at you so charmingly you laugh.

‘He’s got family business to attend to,’ you say, loyally.

‘He’s also staring daggers at me, behind you,’ Jimin tells you, leaning close. 

You turn so quickly Jimin laughs. 

You spot your husband across the room, and automatically change course to head for him.

You’re a few metres away when he’s approached by a beautiful woman in jade green whom you don’t know. You watch as he smiles at her in greeting, leans down to kiss her cheek.

You realise you’ve come to a complete stop.

Yoongi turns your way, and you rearrange your facial expression so quickly you’re not sure you fool him.

Kim Seokjin arrives at your elbow with a glass of champagne.

‘I did say he’s an idiot sometimes,’ he says, coiffed and perfectly groomed as always in his white tux.

‘He’s my idiot,’ you say, accepting the glass and taking a gulp.

Seokjin takes your arm. ‘Come on, let’s feed you.’

‘But Yoongi—-‘ you protest.

‘You have the whole night to stare at him longingly,’ Seokjin replies, firmly.

He grins. ‘Come stare at me for a bit.’

As Seokjin leads you to a quiet table in an alcove, seemingly set up just for him, he says, ‘you look very beautiful.’

You sigh. ‘Do you think Yoongi thinks so?’

Seokjin looks at you thoughtfully. ‘Didn’t he say so?’

You’re not going to be butthurt about the fact every man you’ve spoken to tonight, apart from your beautiful husband, has complimented you.

‘You’re right, he was probably too stunned to even say anything,’ you say, summoning your haughtiest tone, squaring your shoulders. 

Seokjin shrugs. ‘Did you know your mouth turns down when you’re lying?’

‘Maybe if you’d realised that sooner I wouldn’t have been able to fool you all those times,’ you tell him sweetly.

Seokjin laughs and nods to a waiter, who advances with a plate of food.

‘Eat, Mrs Min.’

Seokjin is a delightful distraction during your meal, solicitous in offering you morsels from his own plate, refilling your glass generously.

You’ve excused yourself to get some air when you realise you’re not alone on the balcony. 

Kim Namjoon straightens up from where he’s been leaning over the railing. 

‘Y/N,’ he says, polite as always.

‘Namjoon,’ you return, warmly. ‘Is Nayeon here too?’

‘She had to work,’ he tells you. He tilts his head. ‘You look pretty. That colour suits you.’

You’re grateful for the darkness to hide the expression on your face. 

When Namjoon goes inside, you stay, shivering a little at the crispness of the night air.

‘Are you enjoying yourself?’ 

You close your eyes at the sound of your husband’s voice.

‘Yoongi,’ you say.

It doesn’t matter to you that he hasn’t complimented you. You don’t care now. You’re just happy that he’s finally spending time with you.

Yoongi’s arranging his jacket over your shoulders with care.

‘I saw you eating with Seokjin,’ he says.

‘He wanted me to admire him,’ you say dryly. 

‘I’m glad you ate,’ Yoongi says. He leans against the railing next to you. 

‘Yoongi,’ you say, touching his arm. ‘Can we go home?’

He looks at you, face half-shadowed, the straight line of his lips the only thing visible in the moonlight. 

You wish you could read him better.

He offers you his dress shirt-clad arm. ‘Yes, brat, we can go home.’

***

You’re sitting in Yoongi’s huge bathroom in your finery, watching as he cleanses his skin.

He turns to you. ‘Are you watching me for skincare pointers? Because your skin is better than mine.’

You sigh. At this point, you don’t know what you want, torn between wanting a hug and wanting your husband to call you pretty and fuck you senseless. 

Yoongi’s already turned back to finish washing his face. His silver rings gleam in the light as he moves his hands.

You sigh again, and Yoongi raises a brow at you in the mirror. 

You search his face for a sign of any emotion, but he’s expressionless. 

‘I’m going to get my pyjamas,’ you tell him.

Back in your rooms, you get undressed and take your makeup off despondently. 

You’re heading back to what you still think of as Yoongi’s room, even though you sleep together every night these days, when you glimpse the stuffed kitten Yoongi once won you at a funfair.

You clutch it to your chest and get into your bed instead.

***

You wake to total darkness and Yoongi’s arm around you.

His voice is raspy, low. 

‘Don’t you want me tonight, jagiya?’ he asks.

You want to turn to face him, but he holds you tight against his chest. His hand strokes a path over your bare skin, and your senses light up under his touch.

‘You spend your night talking to every man but me, and then I find you in your own bed cuddling this damn cat when you should be with me,’ he says, disgruntled.

You’re about to answer when he says, ‘Yoonseok, fucking Park Jimin, Seokjin, Jeonghyeok, Sehun, Namjoon.’

He’s listed all the men you’ve spoken to tonight. 

You hadn’t realised he’d been that aware of you. 

You’re trying to process what that means when he groans. ‘Let go of that cat so I can hold you.’

You’re so confused all you can think of to say is, ‘You won me this cat.’

Yoongi nudges you flat onto your back and gets on top of you.

He lowers his lips to yours and kisses you gently.

‘I’ll win you anything you like,’ he says as he pulls back. ‘Buy you the whole damn funfair if you want.’

You’re distracted by the weight of him, the press of his length between your legs.

You shift your hips so he’s fully on top of you.

‘And popcorn too?’ you ask.

Yoongi laughs.

‘Everything,’ he promises.

Yoongi lowers his lips to yours again, and his kisses are languid, patient, a slow burn from your insides that steals your breath. 

He pauses with a hand under your (his) t-shirt, palm warm over your bare breast. 

‘Your tits look so good in my shirts,’ he murmurs. 

You’re trying to think of a snappy remark but he grinds his erection between your legs, the press of him against the thin cotton of your panties deliciously hard, and you moan instead.

Yoongi doesn’t seem to be waiting for an answer, thankfully. 

He makes quick work of your panties and his boxer briefs, halting with his cock poised hard and heavy at your centre.

You tilt your hips so that he presses against your clit. 

Yoongi sounds amused. ‘Stop, brat, I want to talk to you.’

‘Now?’ you burst out, so horny you can’t stop writhing against him.

‘Now,’ Yoongi says, firmly. His hand squeezes your hip. 

‘Where did you get that dress?’ 

‘Uh?’

Yoongi circles his hips, cock nudging against your cunt so tantalisingly you sob with frustration. 

‘Nara designed it, it’s her latest collection,’ you tell him.

‘Get ten more just like it,’ Yoongi says. 

He enters you in a smooth thrust, and you’re still moaning your pleasure when he pulls out completely, leaving you bereft.

‘You’re so fucking pretty in it I want to rip it off you the next time you wear it, ok?’

You’re still processing his sentence, hazy with pleasure, when he enters you again. 

‘Yoongi!’

‘Answer me,’ he says, sternly. ‘Or I’ll pull out.’

You stare at him, but have the presence of mind to say, ‘yes Yoongi, please.’

He laughs again, your fucking husband. ‘You have such good manners in bed, why are you such a brat outside of it?’

You don’t think you’ve been a brat tonight. 

Yoongi senses your change of mood. He kisses you again, gentler this time. 

‘My baby,’ he murmurs, lips by your ear. 

Yoongi starts to move, finally, and you cry out with pleasure as his hard length fills you, sliding into you the way he’s learnt you love. 

He lifts your legs to his shoulders, and you gasp as the change in angle lets you take him deeper.

You think he says something as he spills inside you, but you’re already floating on a high, anchored by the weight of him on top of you and the love you feel for him. 

Afterward, you’re half asleep, curled in Yoongi’s arms, pressed against his chest, when he says, very quietly, ‘be patient with me, jagiya.’

You look up at him. His gaze is steady.

‘I’m not used to being a jealous man,’ he tells you. 

His words send warmth through your chest. 

You do your best to keep your face straight as you reply haughtily, ‘better get used to it.’

He laughs and pulls you closer. 

‘Go to sleep.’

‘Good night Yoongi,’ you murmur, pressing a kiss into his chest.

‘Good night.’

©hamsterclaw 2023

the demon prince yoongi concept never misses 🫶 so hottt thank you

Desecrate

A fall from grace causes you to stumble into the hands of a demon prince. Inspired by Lilith.

Pairing: Yoongi x f! reader

Word count: 2.6k

Rating: 18+

Warnings: Sex, swearing, mention of murder, non-explicit attempted assault, angels and demons

Min Yoongi is older than most creatures to walk this Earth, this much he knows. It’s been years since he last felt that any of the petty skirmishes mortals involve themselves in was worth any of his interest or his time. 

Even though time, for him, stretches out, almost infinitely. 

He doesn’t know your face at all, but you catch his attention, and hold it. He can sense your mortality slipping through your fragile grasp as you grapple with the men holding you down. 

You’re not going to win, though he admires your grit. 

Yoongi’s no stranger to blood but he has no desire to watch you get used and torn to shreds. He’s moving on when your eyes meet his. 

You plead with him wordlessly, desperately, as the light dims in your eyes. 

Yoongi knows that this is a dangerous time, the twilight between living and dying. You’re straddling both worlds, dying even as you push uselessly at the hands around your neck. 

It would be facetious to say that Yoongi kills without a shred of remorse. It’s more truthful to say that he kills without a thought. 

He’s standing amidst the mess he made, you at his feet, your face pressed to the ground. 

You’re unconscious, but you’ll live, unlike the men Yoongi dispatched on your behalf. 

There’s something unbearable to him about the way the lovely line of your cheek is touching the dirt of this human dumping ground. 

Yoongi doesn’t know what possesses him, but he takes you with him as he leaves. 

***

You wake in stages, in a very human way. 

Your eyes flicker open, shut. Yoongi can hear your heart accelerate, your breathing quicken, he can see your muscles tense. 

Your mouth opens on an inhale, and your eyes flicker open again. 

‘Where am I?’ you rasp. 

Your voice is soft, plaintive, your vocal cords swollen from your assault. 

‘You’re in my home,’ Yoongi replies. 

When you turn your head to look at him, your eyes are more focused. 

‘And who are you?’ 

‘I saved your life,’ Yoongi tells you. 

He watches as your eyes scan the domed ceiling, the painted frescoes, the stained glass. Your gaze stops at a scene of the Madonna. 

Yoongi studies your profile, the dirt smudged on your cheekbone he’d not bothered to wipe off.

Your gaze returns to him.

‘You’re Min Yoongi.’

It’s not a question, but Yoongi’s compelled to answer anyway, because the fact that you’ve guessed his identity means there’s more to you than he first thought.

You sit up, and Yoongi wonders how he managed to miss the celestial aura emanating from you. 

Lords and beings.

You’re an angel.

Seokjin is never going to let him live this down.

Min Yoongi, ancient slayer of humans, demonic legend from the mediaeval history of man, saved an angel.

Yoongi gets up, lets a tiny fraction of his darkness show. His voice deepens, resonating through the chapel.

‘Leave.’

You’re frightened, he can see it in the way you’re tensed, body held taut like a bow.

‘I can’t. It’s the night of Pandemonium.’

Pandemonium marks the beginning of when the Gates of Hell open each year. From your reaction, Yoongi guesses you’re a young angel, limited in power, incapable of cloaking or protecting yourself.

He laughs sardonically. ‘I don’t think the home of the bulgasari Prince is the right place for an angel on the night of Pandemonium, do you?’

You clasp your hands.

‘I’m not an angel.’

Yoongi stares at you.

‘Not anymore. I was cast out.’

For the first time, Yoongi feels a flicker of interest.

He can feel the scales in his mind threaten to tip by the tiniest of margins. 

For the first time, he thinks he might not kill you.

Seemingly unaware of his internal debate, you take a step closer to him.

Towards the most dangerous being in the room.

Yoongi flicks his tongue over his lower lip, steps forward so you can see him in the red glow.

His human form is beautiful, drawing others in. Leading them to their own destruction.

He can see the way your pupils dilate, your tongue wets your bottom lip, as you see him clearly for the first time.

‘You want to stay with me?’ he asks, silky. He takes another step.

You tilt your chin so you can keep looking at him.

‘Show me how much you want to stay.’

Yoongi turns his head towards the painting above the hearth.

‘Destroy it.’

You turn to the painting. 

It’s from the 14th century, by a little known Italian painter called Diavollo, depicting the death of Santa Lucia. He was gifted it by a corrupt nobleman in exchange for his life. Yoongi had taken both. 

You cast a defiant look at him, rush towards the painting. You stop, head bowed, before it.

‘I can’t.’ 

‘You can,’ Yoongi says, pitching his voice low, letting the heat of it flare out to you.

You clasp your hands together again, despairing. ‘I can’t.’

Steps heavy, head bowed, you head for the door. 

You stop just inside the front entrance to the chapel, as if giving him a chance to change his mind before he sends you to certain death.

Yoongi’s had countless beings plead for mercy from him in his long life and he has never once given in.

There’s a stirring in the recesses of his mind as he admires your profile for the last time. It feels like longing.

Then you’re gone, door swinging closed behind you.

***

Yoongi dislikes gatherings like this, when the princes of Hell and their delegates celebrate their misdeeds in front of the beings who serve them.

If Seokjin hadn’t asked him to attend as a personal favour, Yoongi would be in his home.

Oddly, he’s not been able to look at the Diavollo since you gave your life rather than destroy it.

He wonders if that sort of foolishness is what got you exiled.

He’s thought about your face so much that when he sees you, he’s momentarily stilled.

You’re knelt at the feet of Malvarius, the highest ranking demon of Yeomna’s court, save for Seokjin, and Yoongi himself.

Yoongi watches with revulsion as Malvarius scratches a bloodstained nail along the line of your neck, stopping at the iron collar around your throat.

Malvarius wraps his fist in the chain attached to your collar, tugs.

You fold to the ground in a heap of loose limbs and the sheer drapery he’s dressed you in.

Yoongi finds he still doesn’t care to see your face against the ground.

He approaches the demon, and you.

When you see him, there’s a flicker in your eyes.

‘She’s mine,’ Yoongi says, unceremoniously, to Malvarius.

Malvarius, the treacherous devil, says smoothly, ‘Pardon me?’

‘I made her a deal,’ Yoongi replies, preternaturally calm. ‘She owes me.’

Malvarius sits up, and Yoongi realises there’s a crowd gathering.

It doesn’t take much to have demons baying for blood.

Malvarius draws himself up to his full height.

‘Do you mean to say, Yoongi, that you own the soul of Azariel’s only daughter?’

Yoongi blinks.

Azariel, the most revered of the archangels, is a name that strikes fear even in the hearts of the most seasoned of demon princes.

You’re Azariel’s daughter? 

Yoongi remembers the way you cried over the Diavollo as you walked to your death.

You’d not used your father’s name as a bargaining chip. 

Yoongi says, coolly, ‘One fallen angel is just like any other.’

‘She’s a lusty slut,’ Malvarius remarks. ‘Can’t stop opening your legs for me, can you, angel?’

You gasp in pain as he pulls up on the chain, making you dance on your toes to keep from being choked.

Yoongi finds he doesn’t care for the sight of you in pain, either.

‘Give me what’s mine,’ he says, bored. ‘Or we can ask Yeomna to mediate.’

At the mention of the lord of Hell, Malvarius scowls. The last time he clashed with Seokjin, Yoongi had come very close to removing his power, Yeomna’s rules be damned.

He tosses the chain on the stone floor with a clang.

‘To your new master,’ he says, with little grace.

Yoongi removes the collar from around your neck.

‘Follow me,’ he commands.

Yoongi leads you through the debauchery, ignoring your gasps and sobbing breaths as you step through blood, entrails, sex. 

It’s only when you’ve followed him all the way back to his door that he speaks to you.

‘I’m deciding what to do with you,’ he tells you. ‘You will stay here, whilst I decide.’

‘My father won’t engage in barter for me,’ you say immediately. ‘He’d as soon as I was dead as alive.’

‘You must have done something terrible, angel.’ 

Your mouth clamps shut, lips flattening into a straight line.

‘Did you kill?’ Yoongi asks. ‘Maim?’

You barely react to his taunting tone.

‘Were you envious? Greedy?’

You’re quiet.

‘You’re not wrathful,’ Yoongi observes. 

He waits until your eyes meet his.

‘That leaves pride, and lust?’

From the way your face tightens he knows he’s stumbled upon his answer.

Yoongi lets his eyes travel to your beautiful form in the sheer silk you’re draped in.

Your breasts press against the material, rounded, enticing, and as he looks, your nipples tighten visibly.

‘Ah,’ Yoongi says, voice dropped to barely a whisper. ‘He said you were lustful.’

Yoongi leans down, close to your cheek, and enjoys the way you shiver as he breathes on your skin.

He flicks the tip of his tongue against your skin, and your pupils dilate so much your eyes are practically black.

Your lips part on his name, and Yoongi, for the first time in a long while, feels a surge of lust.

You stay completely still as he touches your cheek.

‘What do you want from me, angel?’ Yoongi taunts. ‘Aren’t you fallen enough?’

Your breath trembles in your chest as his fingers tighten on your face.

‘Come,’ says Yoongi. ‘Show me how you fell.’

He lets go of your face to caress the swells of your breasts, and you gasp, but you don’t stop him.

Instead, you arch your back to press your breasts into his palms.

‘You want more?’ Yoongi asks. He knows you do.

He grasps the front of your gown, rips it all the way down.

Your thighs tighten on his hand as he reaches between your legs.

Yoongi’s hand explores you, leisurely, slow, until you’re twitching and trembling.

Your nipples are so sensitive now that when Yoongi rolls his tongue around one you buck your hips into his hand.

‘Uhngh,’ you moan. 

Yoongi thumbs the bud at the top of your sex, and your warmth pulses around his fingers.

Wet, hot, tight.

Yoongi drags his tongue along the round of your breast, and your breathing hitches.

Your nipples are so puffy and erect they almost look painful.

You whine as he grasps your rounded flesh. The sound causes a stirring, low in his belly.

Yoongi’s cock swells at the sounds you make. You’re so pleasured, breathless, and he’s barely making any effort.

He’s already almost fully erect when your soft hand brushes the front of his groin.

‘Bold for an angel,’ he says.

There’s a spark in your eyes, clouded with lust. 

‘How many angels have you defiled, Lord Min?’

Yoongi considers your question as his eyes roam your beautiful body.

‘None,’ he tells you.

You smile, and you’re so pretty he can’t take his eyes off you.

‘Luckily, I’m not an angel any more.’

Yoongi smirks. ‘Let me show you how the other side lives.’

He turns, and you follow.

***

You’re lost, Yoongi isn’t sure when it happened, probably between your fourth, maybe fifth peak.

He’s covered in your arousal, he can taste you on his lips, on his tongue. His cock’s still so rigid inside you he’s aching, caught in the delirium between pleasure and pain.

He plunges into your wet warmth, rocking his hips against yours.

Your arms are limp, one draped around his neck, just barely holding on, the other splayed out, fingers uncurled. You look dazed, fucked out, teetering on the edge of consciousness.

You cry out as Yoongi moves, dragging his cock against the walls of your cunt, and he notes with grim satisfaction how hoarse your voice now is.

‘Yoongi,’ you beg, ‘wanna feel you.’

‘You’ll feel me,’ he promises.

You shake your head. ‘I want to feel your pleasure.’

Yoongi groans as you hold your legs apart for him, letting him see exactly how he cleaves you apart , the way he looks entering your core.

He wraps a hand around your neck, tight, and your eyes close. Your hand snakes around his wrist, urging him on.

You’re clenching around him so sweetly Yoongi’s disarmed, and when you press a kiss to his temple he releases, shouting your name, spilling inside you.

Belatedly, he remembers to loosen his grip around your neck, and as you remain still he feels an unnerving wave of fear that he might have hurt you.

He says your name, and you stir. Relief floods through his chest. 

‘Stay,’ you mumble into his chest. ‘Stay.’

Yoongi curls his arm around you, a display of skinship he’s unused to but that you seem to want.

He wonders, curious, why he’s swayed to want to give you what you want.

***

You wake during the night. 

Yoongi’s flat on his back, arm propping up his head. He watches with dark amusement as you look your fill at his naked form. 

‘You’re too wide-eyed considering you have my seed all over you,’ he drawls. 

You blink at him. ‘I was surprised to wake, my lord.’

‘You thought I’d kill Azariel’s fallen daughter?’ Yoongi muses, not bothering to acknowledge how close to the truth you are. 

‘You do have a reputation, Lord Min,’ you say, so seriously that it takes him a moment to realise you’re teasing him. 

He’s startled into laughter that sounds rusty even to him. 

You turn over, breasts spilling onto the silk bedcovers, lush and beautiful like you were made to tempt him. 

His cock stirs, and it doesn’t escape your notice, minx that you are. 

You reach for him, gentle, soft against his hardness. 

Yoongi groans, eyes never leaving you as you stroke him. Your lips part on a breath, tongue flicking between. The cavern of your mouth feels like the heaven Yoongi will never know. 

He’s never rued being born a demon prince until this moment. 

Yoongi pulls you off his rigid shaft, seeks the warmth between your legs. You’re already gasping, spreading to take him, so soft and slick and willing he can barely hold himself back. 

His hand finds its way around your neck again, squeezing, and the pleasure ramps up a thousandfold. 

Your back arches as you peak, and this time Yoongi doesn’t have the patience to deny himself. He groans into your hair as he fills you, remembers to loosen his grip. 

You’re emboldened to press a kiss to his lips, a moment of contact so searing Yoongi’s jolted out of his post-pleasure daze. 

Neither of you speak, and neither of you makes a move to leave. 

***

It’s just past dawn when Yoongi stirs to the back of your entirely naked body. 

You’re getting re-dressed, helping yourself to his clothes. 

‘I should go,’ you say. 

Yoongi hadn’t realised you’d noticed he was awake. 

Pandemonium has passed, but Yoongi finds he doesn’t care for any possibility that you might get hurt. 

He rises, unclasps a chain from around his neck, fastens it around your own. The ancient rune now hanging between your collarbones is distinctly, identifiably, his. 

There aren’t many who would seek his wrath. 

‘My father will —--’ 

‘Rue the day he let you fall into the hands of a demon prince?’ suggests Yoongi. 

The hint of a smile plays around your lips, and Yoongi can’t tear his eyes away. 

‘I’ll be back,’ you say. There's a faint question in your voice.

‘See that you are,’ Yoongi replies. 

You bow slightly. ‘My lord.’ 

You take your leave, and Yoongi allows himself to watch you go until you slip between two buildings, and then you’re gone. 

©hamsterclaw 2023

230624 - vogue japan on twitter: Yoongi for VOGUE JAPAN

refseek.com

www.worldcat.org/

link.springer.com

http://bioline.org.br/

repec.org

science.gov

pdfdrive.com

bitches will hear a song and be like 'this makes me feel like i have a gaping hole in my chest' and then they put it on repeat. its me im bitches