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𝐩𝐮𝐭 𝐦𝐲 𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐨𝐩 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐬𝐚𝐧𝐣𝐢 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 as much as you wanted to stay by his side, you couldn't bear the thought of watching him fall in love with other women while you're stuck at the kitchen washing dishes and measuring ingredients. so you dreamt of leaving, of traveling to different islands to share your lovely songs and tunes; but the more your desire to leave grows, the more sanji finds himself drowning in your warmth.

or,

you and sanji over the years, wherein five times you tried to leave him and the one time you finally did, despite his refusal to let you go.

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬 musician reader, 5 + 1 things, pining, unrequited love, not actually unrequited love, heavy (kind of) angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, angst with a happy ending

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 HERE IT IS! the response to the sneak peek was crazy, and so i rushed to get this done. i only watched the live action so beware of minor mistakes if you ever saw one. english is also not my first language and you are welcome to correct me anytime for any grammatical errors. title is a lyric from the last time by taylor swift ft. gary lightbody. this fic is also posted in ao3 with its full summary and WITH A BONUS CHAPTER. enjoy reading!

𝐰𝐜 11.3k

"There you are."

Your soapy, wet hands almost dropped the ceramic plate you were currently washing in the dirty kitchen sink as soon as you heard a familiar smooth and honeyed voice. Abruptly turning off the sink so that the sound of his approaching footsteps were clear to your ears, you wiped the sweat off your forehead with the back of your hand before turning your body towards him.

He was carrying a stack of plates, a fresh batch to add to the pile you had to wash, with an obnoxious yet handsome smile plastered on his lips. You took a deep breath to calm the growing irritation at the bottom of your stomach, reminding yourself that this was your job and you only had a couple of hours to endure until you're free to lock yourself up in your bedroom. You were particularly looking forward to writing today, and the thought of finishing the lyrics to your new song tonight slightly eased your mood. Accepting your fate, you pointed to the remaining space beside the sink.

"Place it there." You told him, albeit begrudgingly as you turn on the sink again and pour more soap on the battered sponge.

You took a mental note to ask Zeff later about buying new sponges, and if you were lucky to catch him in a good mood, you'll put in a request to get the sink fixed and cleaned. Your eyes scanned over the grime and rust around the area. If you were going to spend the rest of your life washing dishes, then you might as well get a proper kitchen sink to do so.

An amused laugh fell out of the golden haired man you grew up with, surprised at your compliance to do the job you hated. The sound nearly sent your poor heart into a dizzying whirlwind of little nuisances called emotions. "What a hardworking woman."

"I could say the same to you. It seems like you have a new record today." You said while you splashed dirtied bowls with soap water, smiling at him teasingly, "Thought you would've been kicked out of the line by now."

"The old man just can't help but to accept the fact that I am a greater cook than him." He smirked, wiping a knife with a dish cloth. Trying not to roll your eyes, you shook your head at his usual display of arrogance, yet you can't help but to grin as you began to hear scratching sounds against the floors.

"Then you better get those chopped carrots ready." You replied, and when you got to finish your sentence, the doors to the kitchen swung open, revealing the head chef.

Zeff's cold and steely eyes immediately landed on the blond. He walked towards him with a fast pace despite only having one leg, his braided mustache bouncing in each step.

"Aye, aye, aye. Why haven't you started on the carrots yet, little eggplant? Can you get any slower?" He scolded, loud enough for the whole staff to hear, but none of them even flinched. You returned back to your plates and glasses, smiling softly. This was part of your routine everyday: to listen in their silly arguments.

However, before the younger chef can reply, you butted in, "Sanji fetched some of the plates for me. Since there's a lunch rush, I couldn't leave the kitchen."

Zeff let out a low hum. You couldn't even see Sanji's face, but you knew him well enough to know that he was smiling triumphantly, knowing that he won this time. After a few minutes of contemplating, the head chef clicked his tongue. "Don't defend him, little lass. But I'll let it slip this time. What are you waiting for, then? Start cutting them!"

"Yes, chef." Sanji answered in a jovial manner, placing the carrots on a chopping board.

Twisting the faucet lever so that the water flow from the sink is gentle and quiet, you then paid attention to their little banters every now and then. You brought up a wine glass and positioned it by your side to try to get a glimpse of the two most important men in your life. Through their reflection on the glass, you can see Zeff hunching over Sanji's knifework, nodding every time the vegetables were correctly sliced.

On the other hand, Sanji was unbothered by the head chef's observations and continued to cut the ingredients calmly. Some of the strands in his hair fell down on one side of his face, covering an eye, and most people would think that it was an unusual way of styling hair; yet it was one thing out of many that you loved the most about him.

You accepted it years ago.

You accepted the fact that you somehow fell in love with Sanji Vinsmoke along your weird journey of working in a sea restaurant full of former pirates and making music while at it. How the pesky feelings grew and wrapped themselves around your aching heart, you didn't know. Maybe it was when he learned to cook your favorite food and gave it to you afterwards, or the way his crystal blue eyes reminded you of snowflakes every winter.

Or maybe it was when he pulled your hair out of jealousy the moment he learned that Zeff would be taking in another child in his care, but brushed it and even braided it after the latter cleared the misunderstanding. Maybe it was when he supported you in your dreams and told you they weren't silly, maybe it was when he fought off drunk men that were trying to hit on you. Or maybe it was the way his voice would drop an octave lower whenever he asks you for a favor. The list could go on and on and you still wouldn't know the reason why. It doesn't matter anyway. You tripped, you fell, and now you're pining.

Drying off the last of the plates, you washed your own hands after and patted them dry on your skirt. You were the last one to leave the kitchen, the other staff already back in their quarters after a long, exhausting day of cooking. You fixed the signature blue bandana tied in your hair then went on your way towards the upper deck.

You weren't blessed with a talent in cooking, so you offered to do chores instead. Washing the dishes, cleaning the restaurant, and doing the laundry were few of the things you do in the Baratie. You can't say that you enjoy it, but you were beyond grateful that Zeff gave you a chance despite his opposition to let a woman work inside his restaurant.

As you were about to go to the newly laundered clothes you hung on a thin wire earlier that morning, you heard two voices speaking. You also smelled cigarette smoke wafting through the air, and you only knew one person who could be smoking at this hour. Your breath hitched in anticipation.

"You bringing a woman to your bed again, Sanji?" The other person asked playfully, but there was a hint of disbelief in his voice. You carefully took a peek so you won't accidentally reveal yourself and be accused of eavesdropping. Two people came into view with their backs facing you.

"Now, what are you talking about, Patty? I am a gentleman. I only had a nice chat with the lovely lady and escorted her back to her ship." Sanji interjected, a cigarette hanging on his lips.

Patty huffed. "I didn't know that chatting included kiss marks on jawlines."

This caused Sanji to laugh and say, "Not my fault she was charmed by my food."

"The boss man ain't gonna like it when he finds out about this."

"He's not gonna find out." Sanji assured him, wiping off the said kiss mark on his jaw. You stared at him as he did so, and you pitied the woman who planted that kiss, knowing she was just one of the many beautiful ladies Sanji had flirted with before. However, a tinge of pain in your chest said otherwise, taunting you that it was not pity you're feeling, but foul jealousy.

"Why don't you look for more decent women, eh? How about 'little lass' for a change?" Patty suddenly suggested.

It was like someone had hit your stomach with one of the metal pans in the kitchen with the way it lurched in surprise and nervousness. Your heartbeat started to quicken the longer you waited for his response, making your grip on your skirt tighter. In moments like these, you allowed yourself to hope, to wish that he saw something in you and that he finds you beautiful and lovely enough to be the person standing by his side.

But his answer made all that hope crumble down into nothing but dust.

"I don't see her that way." Sanji said after a long stretch of silence, taking a long drag from the cigarette then releasing the smoke in a single breath.

Ah.

You blinked repeatedly, trying to keep the tears from forming. It's always been like this, so why can't you get used to it? Taking a deep breath, you gulped away the knot forming in your throat and decided to leave. You can grab the clothes later.

"You're too kind for him." Someone behind you spoke, making you jump and tense up. Turning around, you saw Zeff looking at you with an unreadable emotion in his eyes and his hands on his hips, almost like he knew your secret. Of course he does. He always sees everything.

You stumbled on your words. "Sir?"

"That boy is always up to something." He began, switching his attention to Sanji. "One minute he's stubbornly immature in the kitchen, and the next he'll be a thirsty man staring at women like they're liquid booze."

Clearing your throat, you forced a smile.

"Well, he can be a lot sometimes." You agreed, remembering the days when the two of you would fight over irrelevant matters. Then you chuckled and continued, "But he's kind. He's gentle, and lovely, like a freshly made poem you keep repeating in your head. But then he's also confusing, hot-headed, and reckless. He's like the sea, isn't he? Calm yet wrapped with mystery, dangerous yet beautiful..."

You trailed off, an unbearable heat rising up your cheeks and neck once you slowly began to realize that you just ranted out your feelings to the head chef. You glanced at him with wide eyes, preparing to see a disgusted look on his face; however, Zeff didn't appear to be repulsed by your little speech. In fact, the corners of his lips were slightly quirked up.

"But I cannot swim. If I were to drown, he wouldn't save me." You quickly added, hoping to shut down the topic.

He sighed. "You will meet someone who deserves you as much as you deserve them, little lass." He simply said. He then laid his hand out, and on his palm was a little box poorly tied with a ribbon. "Here, for you."

Altnough you were a bit confused at the random gift, you accepted it and cradled the box to your chest. "I'll be okay, Zeff." You insisted, grinning cheekily. "When I become famous, I'll sing my songs here in Baratie, and people would flood the restaurant to hear my singing. And to eat your food too, of course."

The head chef nodded, relief flooding his expression. "I look forward to that." He said while awkwardly returning your smile.

That night, when you were sure that everyone in the Baratie was asleep, you opened the loose floorboard on the floors of your bedroom and grabbed the wooden box you kept hidden for a long time now. You opened the lid and began counting the Berry you saved for the past few months.

Tomorrow was the perfect day to leave.

You just can't stay here. Yes, you had a roof over your head, delicious food to eat everyday, and clean clothes to wear but you were so miserable. This wasn't the life you wanted. You wish to go out there, sing your heart out, and fall in love with someone who actually loves you back.

A knock on your door made you freeze. You held your breath as the person on the other side continued to knock a few more times. "You awake?"

Pain surged through your veins, your chest twisting in agony. Sanji.

"You didn't come down for dinner. I guess you're too tired, hmm?" He said, his muffled voice gentle, and the sound almost prompted you to stand up and open the door for him. But you dug your fingernails in your palms and resisted, because you can't just let this opportunity pass by.

You heard a brief clinking sound before Sanji spoke again, "Sweet dreams, ange."

Once his footsteps faded away, you cautiously moved towards your door and opened it as quietly as you can. There, on the floor, was a small plate with a slice of your favorite desert: angel's food cake, topped with fresh cream and strawberries.

You bent down and saw a note beside the plate. And when you got to read the contents of the note, you burst into tears and sobs that wracked down your entire body.

Happy Birthday

— S.

You ate the cake with tears silently falling down your cheeks, and that was the first time you failed to leave Sanji Vinsmoke.

⸻ • ⸻

Today was the day, and you won't allow anyone to ruin it for you.

You had saved enough Berries to travel around the world and sustain yourself for the upcoming months. Your notebook containing the lyrics of the songs you wrote laid open on top of your bed as you spent all night revising them while planning out an itinerary. Then you'll find a place to settle in, a stable job that required doing what you loved the most, and overall just be peaceful and free from pirates and chefs and pirate chefs. It was perfect.

Folded clothes surrounded you everywhere, ready to be packed in your bags. Once you finished stuffing them all in, you grabbed your treasured instrument, the one thing you couldn't live without: your guitar, which has been with you since you were a little child. It was given by your mother and you've been attached to it ever since.

It has scratches all over its wooden surface, and the strings needed some fixing occassionally, but you wouldn't trade it for the greatest treasures in the world. You ran your fingers over it, suddenly feeling like it was lacking something. Seeing the paint chipping off at the corners, you figured that it needed a little color.  You'll need lacquer, and paint if you managed to find some.

You set the guitar aside and left your bedroom to head downstairs to the kitchen. As you were about to push the doors open, a loud, angry shout made you stop in your tracks.

"I won't ever become a pathetic waiter for you!" Sanji's thunderous yells can be heard from outside. Your shoulders tensed up. It was a good thing that brunch was over and all the customers had left.

Zeff's own furious voice followed, "Leave then, for all I care! You can do anything you want, but don't you ever serve one of your shit dishes in my kitchen!"

A frown settled on your face. Their fights were a normal occurrence to you, but this one sounded more grave than usual. Crossing your arms, you stepped in closer to the entrance and hesitated whether you should go in or not. Before you could make a decision, Zeff beat you to it by pushing the doors open, rage emanating from his figure as he ignored and walked past you.

Without hesitation this time, you entered the kitchen, greeted by the sight of Sanji bowing over the counter, breathing heavily, his face covered with his hair. He didn't move an inch even as you approached him, the clacking of the heels in your boots echoing throughout the room.

Both of you were silent as you rummaged through cabinets, trying to find lacquer to cover your guitar with, while he tried his best to calm himself down after his outburst. Many cupboards later, you finally found a small can of used up lacquer, but as you started to reach for it, your hand completely stopped mid-air.

You looked over your shoulder, and found Sanji already recovered from the argument seeing that he was on the move again, preparing a cut of beef tenderloin and other ingredients he needed for tonight's dinner.

Slowly, you closed the cupboard and went closer to him. He still refused to look at you. And so you watched him place a bag of flour on the countertop, slices of cold butter, and a variety of spice bottles to season the meat with.

Sanji began to wrap twine around the beef tenderloin. You sighed, and before you could stop yourself, you grabbed a bowl and decided to help him. Your guitar can wait.

It was rare for you to cook inside the kitchen, having so little knowledge about food and how they were prepared, but you knew this recipe well. You poured two cups of flour through the sifter, followed by placing heaps of the cold butter in the mixture.

The moment you started to mix the dough for the puff pastry, Sanji quickly pointed out in a monotone voice, "You're adding too much butter."

You raised your head and glanced at him, his attention now on the meat he was searing on a skillet. You smiled, glad that he was speaking again.

"You're beginning to sound like the old man himself." You joked lightly.

His jaw clenched. "Don't compare me to that shitty geezer."

In a softer voice, you asked, "What happened?"

"The usual." He replied curtly. "Didn't approve of my dishes."

You perked up upon hearing about a dish he made himself. Sanji was talented when it comes to creating his own recipes, and sometimes, you would be the person he chooses to test them out. Every time he lets you taste them, your chest would feel warm and you wouldn't be able to sleep for days because you'll keep replaying it in your head. "What did you make this time?"

"It doesn't matter. He'll never agree to any of them."

"Maybe I can—"

"Drop it. Don't poke your nose in things you're not involved." Sanji cut you off, his hardened gaze meeting your concerned stare. You only blinked at him, straightening up.

"I see." You muttered, eyes landing on the bag of flour. You looked at him, then at the flour, then back at him. A smile began to form on your lips as a devious plan formulated itself in your brain. Sticking your hand inside the bag of flour, you took a fistful of the pillowy powder and threw it straight into his face.

Sanji jumped back, flinching and closing his eyes when some of the flour's particles managed to enter them. His jaw dropped open in surprise, hands quickly removing themselves from the skillet's handle to dust off the flour that rested on his now white hair. You tried to stifle a laugh as you watched him struggle getting the flour out.

Once he managed to clean himself, he stared straight at you and said in the calmest way possible, even if you knew deep inside that he was fuming, "What was that for?"

A high-pitched snort left your mouth. You covered it to prevent yourself from laughing.

You cleared your throat and smiled at him innocently. "Am I involved now?"

His piercing blue eyes then started to sparkle with mirth, amusement replacing the vexation previously swimming in them. He also looked to be trying to push down a smile, and that made your heart skip a beat. "You're insufferable."

He reached for the bag of flour. You squeaked and took off running, trying to escape from his attack, but he still managed to throw a small amount on you. Giggling, you ran the opposite direction to confuse him, and yet he caught up with you, throwing another round of flour. This time, it hit your cheeks, making you laugh loudly. He laughed along, pointing a finger at you because you probably looked crazy at the moment.

You tried to take the bag of flour away from him, but he just took it an as opportunity to catch your arm and grip it firmly. He pulled you into his chest, caging you completely.

With your cheeks warm and your breaths short, you tilted your head up and looked at him, noticing the way that you were both covered in flour; and not only that, you also noticed the short distance between your bodies and how your noses were almost touching. His pupils were dilated, black dominating the alluring blue shade that kept haunting your dreams. You drank in the attention he was giving you, the breathing coming out from his soft lips, and the comfortable silence that wrapped around the both of you like a safe little bubble.

"Caught you." Sanji muttered, voice deeper and huskier, making you let out a quiet sigh. His arms snaked around your waist as he leaned in closer. A million questions started to run inside your head, begging to know what this situation was and how you got into it. "Nowhere to run now, darling."

A slamming of doors shattered the secret moment you shared, and you immediately pulled away from each other. You pushed down your disappointment and hid it in the secret crevice in your heart as the two of you faced your intruder.

Zeff observed your flour-laden figures, his thick eyebrows scrunched together in irritation. He then demanded, voice seething and dripping with anger, "What in the hell are you two little brats doing?"

Sanji blurted out in defense, "Zeff, we—she was the one who started it!"

"And you went along with it!" You accused incredulously, grinning from ear-to-ear. Sanji grinned back, shaking his head and biting his lower lip.

"Oh, shut up before I stitch your mouths! Just by looking at you two, I already know that you snot-nosed shits are both at fault!" Zeff shouted, clicking his tongue at the sight of the half emptied flour. "Wasted them good flour for your childish fights. You're even worse than fatwits. Get out and clean the toilets!"

"Not the shitty toilets!" Sanji groaned, and you couldn't blame him for it. The bathroom area smelled revolting and the floors were always wet for some reason.

"I don't wanna hear complaints from you when you've dirtied my kitchen! Off you go!" Zeff dismissed, and you can't help but to laugh again when you saw Sanji pout like a little kid.

The head chef watched the two of you leave the kitchen together while giggling and exchanging fond looks. Patty, who also saw the whole situation unfold, suddenly appeared beside him, snickering, "I can already hear the wedding bells ringing."

Zeff took a deep, tired breath.

"Oh, they're ringing alright."

You cleaned and scrubbed the toilets the entire afternoon with the man you're in love with, flushing your plans down the drain and forgetting all about them, and that was the second time you failed to leave Sanji Vinsmoke.

⸻ • ⸻

You didn't know how you ended up in a ship full of pirates.

Well, maybe you knew. A little. But it wasn't supposed to be like this.

Your knuckles were beginning to turn white with how tight you were clenching them. A mix of emotions swirled around in your chest, namely confusion, impatience, and hesitation, pondering about whether you should be irritated at yourself or at Sanji.

The opportunity was there, handed to you like a steak on a golden platter, or a miracle that suddenly fell from the sky. The day you met Luffy and his strange pirate crew was the day you immediately realized that he was the key to your exit from the Baratie. He was friendly; a good pirate, according to his own words, so you figured he would allow you to tag along for a while until you find an island to get off to. You just had to ask for his permission and wait for his reply.

Luffy agreed. And you were ecstatic. You were finally going to leave Sanji Vinsmoke and your pathetic, unrequited feelings behind.

Or so you thought.

You watched in horror as he followed you when you boarded the Going Merry, also carrying a bag of his own. He said something along the lines of Luffy needing a cook for the journey to the Grand Line but you couldn't care less. You got here first. Why was he here?

So here you were, sitting in a corner, lonelier than ever and regretting your life decisions. You watched Luffy and his friends celebrate after defeating the pirate Arlong and saving Coco Village from his inhuman hold over its people, but Sanji and the beautiful orange haired Nami were nowhere in sight.

The thought of them being gone together at the same time left a bitter aftertaste on your tongue.

Nami. The first time you laid eyes on her, ethereal was the word that came up to your mind. With soft deep saffron locks that framed her small face and a wide blue eyed gaze, she would have the cruelest of men begging for mercy and affection at her feet.

Unfortunately, Sanji was one of those men.

Fuck, you cursed mentally, rubbing your face with your hands to try and forget about the times he flirted with her and the moments he wouldn't stop talking about her or kept asking about her favorite food or dessert or if she's into blonds. Your already battered heart doesn't need the usual reminder that he'll never see you that way, that you weren't going to experience his sweet words and his loving gazes.

You took a sharp breath. It's okay, you tell yourself over and over again until they were buried in your heart. They'll make a great pair, Sanji the cook and Nami the thief. A strong man with an equally strong woman. Yes. That makes sense.

You'll leave soon anyway, and you'll no longer have to worry about seeing them or how they were going to end up together.

And yet you can't help but to think about the things that could've been if you were the one he was in love with instead.

You were crossing your arms and hugging yourself as the crisp afternoon air was getting chilly when a hand gripping a shot glass filled with amber liquid appeared in front of you. Looking up, you saw Luffy smiling widely at you, waving the glass encouragingly.

"Come on, just one drink! Usopp poured this for you!" The captain exclaimed heartily, obviously trying to uplift your spirits and to make you feel welcomed in his crew, even though you did nothing but to guard the Going Merry while they were fighting for their lives.

You shook your head and smiled politely. "No, I don't drink. Sorry."

Luffy's smile faltered, but he recovered quickly. He nodded, setting the glass down on top of a barrel. "Well, okay." He said, then turned to Usopp, who was currently downing a whole bottle of whiskey. "Hey, where's Nami?"

"Oh, she's with the cook," Usopp replied cheekily, wiping his mouth after drinking. There was a teasing tone in his voice as he continued, "Someone's getting a boyfriend tonight!"

With that said, you reached for the shot glass that Luffy was offering you earlier, grabbed it swiftly, and poured the whole thing down your throat. The whiskey tasted unfamiliar, and it burned and made you dizzy at first taste, but it doesn't matter; as long as it can make you forget just for a little while, you were willing to drink more of the horrible beverage.

Zoro, the green haired swordsman and the captain's first mate, stared at you as if you had lost your mind, but a tinge of concern was visibly written on his face. "Woah, slow down." He warned sternly.

"I thought you didn't drink." Was all Luffy said, blinking in confusion. You chuckled tiredly.

"Now I do."

Drink after drink, glass after glass. You lost count on how many times Usopp poured whiskey for you, or how many times Zoro shook his head in disbelief. Luffy was the same old happy-go-lucky captain throughout the disaster that was starting to brew inside you, turning your brain into mush. You can barely lift your head or your fingers as you asked for another shot in an incoherent voice. Luckily, Usopp was still able to understand you, tipping the whiskey bottle yet again towards your glass.

You started to raise the glass to your lips, eager to just get severely drunk and be over with it already. However, you suddenly felt strong fingers wrap around your wrist to stop you from drinking; and when you caught sight of a familiar silver ring with Baratie's jolly roger inlaid upon it, you didn't need to look up to know who it was.

Sanji's voice was unnervingly calm as he questioned the crew, but the slight shake in his words lets you know otherwise. "Which one of you allowed her to drink?"

"No one. She took the glass and made the decision herself." Zoro drawled, challenging the chef, "The last time I checked, waiter, you were supposed to be the one responsible for her."

Sanji ignored him and turned his attention to you. He stole the shot glass away from you, then kneeled and held your hands comfortingly, smiling. "Come on, ange. It's time for you to rest now." He said quietly, yet loud enough for only you to hear.

You stubbornly shook your head repeatedly and whined loudly. "No! Don't touch me!" You cried, prying your hands away from his, "I don't like you...!"

Zoro huffed in amusement at your declaration. Sanji glared at him for a short second before looking at you again. This time, he stood and gently placed his arms under your shoulders to raise you up. Once you were standing on your feet, he swept you up and carried you bridal style with ease. Another whine escaped your lips.

"Put me down! I want another drink, please, just one more!" You pleaded while throwing weak punches on his chest. Sanji only smiled and began to lead you towards the sleeping quarters. You continued to thrash in his arms as he walked slowly and in small steps so he wouldn't drop you.

Sanji carefully set you down on your hammock. "No drinks for you until you actually learn how to take them." He told you, tucking a stray piece of your hair behind your ear. His thumb caressed the soft skin of your cheek and rubbed it in circles, noting how fast you were heating up due to the alcohol. You pouted.

"Pretty please, Sanji...please..."

He chuckled, staring at you intensely. "Maybe some other time, ange."

You went quiet, staring back at him with half-lidded eyes. Then, you crossed your arms like a child and asked, "Why do you keep calling me that?"

Sanji raised a brow. "Call you what? Ange?"

You nodded. "I don't like it."

He began to smile, the dimples on his cheeks appearing. You briefly wondered if he'd allow you to poke and feel them. "Why?"

"I don't know what it means. Is it an insult?" You wondered aloud, your eyes widening in curiosity.

A hearty and warm laugh came out from Sanji, his eyes forming half-moons as he cackled at your words like they were the biggest joke he heard in his entire life, "Oh, my dear girl, how could I possibly insult you?" He managed to speak between laughs, "It means angel. You're an angel, to me at least. My angel."

Oh.

Your lips parted in surprise. Blinking, you simply said, "You're not Sanji."

He's not Sanji. He wouldn't call you angel; you're not even sure if he found you beautiful or attractive. You wear the same old tattered dresses that Zeff bought for you a long time ago, and you didn't even bother to style your hair or put on face powder like all the other beautiful ladies do. You look nowhere near to an angel.

But Sanji only grinned. "I assure you, I am very much Sanji. The little brat who pulled your hair when we were barely eleven years old."

Your breath hitched at the thought of him remembering one of your fond memories in your childhood. "You remembered."

"Of course I remembered." He whispered, cupping your cheek one last time before he got ready to leave. He turned on his heel and was about to walk away when you spoke.

"Are you going to see her again?" You asked, and he quickly noticed how broken your voice sounded. Sanji faced you in concern and was taken aback with how deep you were frowning. He figured that you were just drunk and women tend to be different when they were intoxicated. You were no exception to that, it seemed.

"Hm?" He hummed, prompting you to elaborate further.

Tears began to form in the corners of your eyes. You shakily mumbled, "Nami...you're going to Nami, aren't you?"

Sanji froze, an icy cold rush filling up his body. A knot formed in his throat, and it continued to tighten the longer he stared at your face. You looked so hurt—like he just destroyed your beloved guitar into pieces. Your lower lips were trembling, your eyes glistening with unshed tears. For a moment, he couldn't find the courage to answer you, feeling like he could die at any second now if he answers your question.

But the answer was simple.

"Yes." He breathed out, a sharp pain stabbing through his heart.

And it only became worse when a teardrop finally rolled down your cheek. "Why?" You rasped, and Sanji didn't know that a single word can hurt this much.

He tried to give you a reassuring smile but awfully failed to do so. He started to explain, "We were just discussing something—"

"Why not me?"

Those three words coming out of your mouth felt like a final blow to his heart. He can feel himself bleed, drained of life and soul because of you and your words alone, and he let you. He let you kill him, he let you make him swim in his own guilt and he doesn't why, why, why.

More tears fell out of your angelic eyes, staining your cheeks with wet trails, and he tried to hold himself back from wiping them off. You choked out, "Why not me, Sanji? I have been asking myself that question for the past decade, and it eats my brain every night like some kind of plague, but I let it anyway. Because why? Why can't you just recognize me and appreciate me and see me? Why can't you go to me if you want to talk about your dreams, or what dish you're planning to create? Why do you have to seek solace in other women when you have me standing by your side everyday, me who is willing to listen to you and whatever you have to say?"

Angry, red rimmed eyes glared at him. Your hair strands stuck to your skin and framed your face as sweat began to form on your forehead. Teardrops clung to your wet eyelashes and your face was drenched like you just took a swim in the ocean. You were burning with fury and rage and want, struggling to breathe properly after your little rant, and Sanji thought you couldn't be more beautiful. You were so beautiful.

"Oh but I couldn't blame you for that. She's just so beautiful, so perfect, and so strong. She could give you anything you wanted and she could be anything that I never was." You hiccuped, smiling forcibly, "But in the end...I will still love you. I will always love you. I think."

You scooted closer to him, leaning in until your faces only had a few inches apart between them. You didn't notice how his lips were slightly parted in shock, nor his eyes that were starting to glisten with his own tears. "No matter where I flee to, or where I lay my heart on, or which skies I look at—it's always you, Sanji. It's always been you."

"I had been so selfless all these years, Sanji. So please, can you pretend to like me too, just for today, before I leave?" You whispered meekly, cupping his cheeks with both of your hands. Numb and completely speechless, Sanji simply gave you a single nod as a response.

You gingerly pressed your lips against his, and he immediately tasted the saltiness of your tears. But your lips were soft, as he expected from an angel like you. And so he couldn't help himself; he closed his eyes and delicately kissed you back, repeating your name in his mind like a sacred prayer and wishing to the stars above to not let the moment end.

However, you broke the kiss by losing consciousness and falling down on your hammock, knocked out and peacefully snoring.

Sanji spaced out, not moving from his position. No. It's not that he didn't want to move—he couldn't move. He couldn't feel anything except for the drumming of his heart, knocking on his chest desperately. His lips were still tingling and his ears and neck were warming up.

He gulped, loosening the collar of his shirt to cool himself down. He needed a cigarette. And a drink.

Scrambling to get up even with his trembling legs, Sanji managed to stand properly. He avoided your sleeping figure and decided to get out of the room as soon as possible. However, when he took a step forward, his foot touched a notebook lying on the floor.

Sanji bent down and took the notebook. He flipped it open, and after reading only the first page, he finally came into a conclusion.

Heartbroken, drunk, and unaware, you dozed off the rest of the afternoon. When nightfall settled on the azure horizon and dusk fell on the rough surface of the sea, you missed the chance to walk away from the crew yet again; and that was the third time you failed to leave Sanji Vinsmoke.

⸻ • ⸻

The next morning, you woke up feeling much better with only the memory of you drinking and crying yourself to sleep and nothing else. Everything was normal, and the crew began to make plans for their next adventure during breakfast.

Everything was normal, except for Sanji, who was quiet throughout the whole discussion. And of course, just like always, you were the only one who noticed his strange behavior. You tried to catch his eyes, but he looked at everywhere except you.

When he finally met your gaze, you gave him a soft smile, hoping he would smile back and everything was fine and you were just overthinking it.

He doesn't.

⸻ • ⸻

"Are you really going to leave?"

Taking your gaze away from the heart shaped cloud you spotted on the clear blue sky, you faced the person who asked the question you were dreading for some time now. Luffy was staring curiously at you, awaiting your answer. You can't help but to smile softly at the captain, whose kindness you have yet to repay.

"I believe we already talked about this, captain." You said, recalling your short conversation last night. He kept asking you if you were really sure about your decision while his eyes darted to a certain blond haired chef every time he shoots you the question. It was strange, and you felt even more suspicious when Sanji pretended not to hear your answer and even refused to glance your way.

Luffy put his hands on his hips. "You know, you're welcome to stay and be a part of my crew."

You crossed your arms, smile growing wide. "And what, pray tell, is my role? Sing battle songs and chant your names while you swing your gummy arms at pirates?" You joked playfully.

The young captain stroked his chin in deep thought, almost like he was considering your suggestion. "That's not a bad idea."

You bursted out laughing, shaking your head in disbelief, "I'll leave first thing in the morning. I told Nami to dock at a nearby island."

"What about Sanji?" He suddenly questioned, leaving you flabbergasted for a split second. You weren't prepared to hear Sanji's name after days of not talking to him properly.

Him not speaking with you wasn't a strange occurence at all; back when you were still in the Baratie, there would be days when Sanji wouldn't bother to acknowledge your presence and would completely ignore you. This would happen whenever he was extremely busy with his cooking or he had a disagreement with Zeff.

And it seemed like this was one of those days, seeing that he had been ignoring you for about a week now. Yes, you have been keeping count. Although he doesn't appear to be angry with you, the short-lived exchanges and the abrupt cut-offs before you could say anything deeply concerned you more than it should have.

You tried to rack your brains for reasons on why he was acting like this. Maybe Nami had rejected him for the hundredth time, or Zoro kept throwing insults in his direction—or maybe his cigarette packet had ran out. Maybe his kitchen knives weren't sharp anymore and he was struggling in the kitchen.

Should you ask him? Should you go to him and demand him to tell you what's wrong?

You pressed your lips together. It sounded like the worst idea you've thought of so far. You convinced yourself that Sanji was fine and he'd be back to normal in no time; there would no need to talk to him.

"What about him?" You faltered, chuckling to ease the tension in your body.

"You care for each other." Luffy explained bluntly and matter-of-factly, "What does he think about you leaving?"

A shaky sigh made its way out of your lips. How will you tell the captain that his cook has been avoiding you like you were some kind of rotten fish these days?

"I..." You stammered, gathering the courage to lie to Luffy even if you thought it would be the gravest sin you could commit, "He...agrees. Yeah. No need to worry."

Luffy grinned, but it didn't look normal at all. You winced in embarrassment. He knew that you were lying and was totally unconvinced.

Luckily, he didn't voice it out. He only nodded and said, "Great! Oh, I have an idea! Why don't you sing for us before we part ways? Think of it as a farewell party for the crew."

Hearing the pure and genuine excitement dripping from his voice, you couldn't turn him down. It was a good idea too, and now that you thought about it, you haven't performed for them yet. "Sure." You agreed, shrugging.

He raised his fist up in the air and cheered. You smiled, watching as he shouted for his crewmates' names to come down and listen to you sing. You prepared yourself for an impromptu performance, making sure that your guitar was properly tuned and your voice was clear enough to give you the best version of your singing. Sitting on top of a barrel, you faced your audience of four, all their eager eyes watching your every move.

As you struck the first chord to your song, you tried hard not to think that Sanji wasn't there to watch you sing the song you secretly dedicate to him.

In the kitchen, Sanji busied himself by plating the food that he'll serve to his fellow crew mates for dinner. He grabbed a large plate and placed the chicken drumsticks that his captain favored, but Luffy wasn't the one in his mind when he cooked those. Looking at the food, he wondered if you would love them too.

He shook his thoughts off and took the plate with him outside. Approaching the crew, his steps slowed down when he heard a familiar singing voice and a melodic tune of a guitar.

Sanji almost dropped the plate.

It was you. Of course it was you, you were the only one he knew who had a voice like that. It was you, and you were singing with a lovely smile painted on your sweet lips, the very same lips that touched his a few days ago, resulting in him not getting a wink of sleep every night. The beam of the sunset right behind you colored your hair in the different shades of the sky as the dulcet-filled notes you made echoed throughout the vast sea. For a moment, he was worried that you were going to attract ferocious sea beasts with your angelic voice and steal you away from him.

He could hear his blood pound in his ears the longer he observed you from afar. You looked happy. Happier than you were when you stayed with him and Zeff. His chest tightened, knowing that you leaving and go on adventures on your own was probably the best decision you could make, even if that means leaving him too.

You were finishing up your song by the time you saw Sanji standing behind Usopp, silently listening. He met your gaze, and for the first time ever, you couldn't read his mind. His expression was blank as you stared at each other, and as you opened your mouth to say something, he cut you off.

"Dinner's ready." Sanji announced shortly, setting down the plate in front of Luffy and then walked away without saying another word.

That was your final straw. You immediately put down your guitar and followed him into the kitchen. You didn't care about how you felt Nami's watchful eyes on you as you went after him, nor how Luffy was scarfing down the dinner and was definitely going to finish it all before you could take a bite; you just chased the blond with determination oozing out of you.

You roughly pushed the door open and found Sanji washing the pans he used for cooking. He glanced at you briefly then quickly looked away after. This irritated you even more as you demanded, "Is there something bothering you?"

"You should eat before the food gets cold." He said with an empty voice.

"Sanji!"

He stiffened. You rarely raised your voice at anyone. Sighing in defeat, he dried off his hands and fully faced you.

Your eyes were sharper than his knives, cutting straight into his soul. "I've known you for a long time now, do you think I don't notice whenever you have a problem?" You glowered, taking a step closer to him, "You have a problem. What is it?"

It happened fast. His hand landed on the small of your back and pulled you to his chest, and the other was placed on top of your cheek, and in a single motion, Sanji captured your lips with his. You gasped in the kiss, your heart dropping to the soles of your feet when he tilted his face to deepen it. Your fingers tightly grasped the sleeves of his shirt for support as he passionately moved his lips against yours. A pleasant heat ran down your spine, your whole body tingling and warming up. You were simply drowning. There was no other way to describe it, and it was only caused by his fervent kisses.

Sanji pulled away, resting your forehead on top of yours, and you took it as an opportunity to breathe in air that you lost. "You are the problem." He murmured lowly, eyes darting down to your swollen lips. Confused and lightheaded, you didn't get the chance to retort.

"Ever since that night, ange, you occupy my thoughts. You gave me a taste of your lips and you didn't even remember the next day. Do you know how that feels, hm?" He said, pecking your lips once again. You made a noise in the back of your throat, turning your head sideways so he couldn't kiss you anymore, but he took your chin and hungrily connected both of your lips.

He spoke between kisses, "You torture me. Ever since I read those songs you wrote about me in that little notebook of yours, you torture me with your presence."

That was when you snapped out of your daze. With all the force you could muster, you placed your hands on his chest and pushed him away. Sanji stepped back, surprised at your reaction.

Without giving him a chance to ask you anything, you ran off and left the kitchen, slamming the door loudly so you wouldn't hear him calling your name and be tempted to go back in his arms again.

You arrived in the sleeping quarters, locking the door behind you. You were sure that the others would understand you needing your alone time. Once you made sure you were on your own, your body collapsed altogether, your back sliding down against the door as you panted heavily.

He knows, was all you could think about. He knows about the songs. He knows about your feelings.

Well, you finally got your answer to your previous question, but a more complicated one replaced it. With trembling hands, your fingers raised themselves to your lips, touching its surface. You hated the way that you still felt his warmth on top of them.

A lone tear slid down the side of your nose. He was cruel. Sanji was cruel.

You didn't come out of that room for days, refusing to talk to anyone as you gathered your scrambled throughts and pulled yourself back together, and that was the fourth time you failed to leave Sanji Vinsmoke.

⸻ • ⸻

A stack of books, most of them being a collection of maps compiled in one, rested beside you while you flipped through the pages of the one you chose among them.

Nami has been lending you her books ever since you shut yourself out from the crew. You ignored all of them and only let Nami in, hoping that she'll be able to understand you; and she did. She was a good listener. Although you weren't particularly close with each other, you trusted her and told her everything: your dreams, your problems, your feelings, and Sanji. In return, she confided in you too.

"Here. So you can finally decide on where you will go to," You recall her saying while she handed you her collection of world map books, "and to distract yourself, of course."

"You're too kind, Nami." You said in admiration. Maybe this is why Sanji was enamored with her. She was a beauty inside and out.

Nami shrugged, yet she was smiling. "Just helping a fellow woman out."

The books did take your mind off the stubborn blond haired man that was still resting inside your heart, even if it was only for a fleeting moment. You tried to search for islands that will be suitable for you to start your career, narrowing some of them down into choices, but your eyes wil always lead back to where the Baratie was stationed.

You leaned back against your chair, letting your head hit the wall with a soft thud as you released a sigh of frustration. Not only will you need to prepare yourself for a journey all alone, but you also have to talk to Sanji sooner or later, whether you like it or not. The kiss distracted you more than the books Nami gave you. You think of it in the morning and dream of it at night, and it only got worse every time you remembered that he kissed you like he loved you.

Relaxing in your seat, you closed the book and listened to the silence.

The Going Merry docked for a quick trip to a market to gather fresh ingredients for food. Sanji will be gone for the meantime and you were free to roam around the ship without his heated stare boring holes in your skin.

But the peace was ruined by rushed footsteps and Usopp breaking into the room, almost destroying the door with his brute force. You frowned, standing up on alert when you saw how nervous he looked.

"Sanji's injured!" He exclaimed, which got your brow raising, knowing that he had a long history of lying to people. However, he forcibly pulled Sanji inside, and you were greeted by the sight of a bruised man, whose lips were bleeding and cheeks were starting to yellow.

You immediately sprang into action. You took the first aid kit you packed in your bag and grabbed his arm, making him sit down on your chair.

"How did you get into a fight in just a span of ten minutes?" You asked in irritation, wetting a cloth with saltwater to wipe off the blood on his lips.

Sanji grunted, tensing up when you took a hold of his face and dabbed on his lip using the cloth. "Some petty vendor was selling overpriced onions, and they weren't even the best of quality."

You stopped for a minute, glaring at him. "So you decided to punch them instead of talking it over?"

He only huffed in reply. Pursing your lips in annoyance, you continued to treat his wounds in silence, noticing him flinching and wincing in pain whenever you compress the bruised area with ice. "Who's being petty now?" You scolded impatiently, "Stay still."

The only sound that filled the room was you hastily rummaging your kit trying to find an ointment and an awkward silence that made you want to jump into the sea and never swim back to the surface. You unscrewed the lid of the jar of ointment and scooped some with your finger, looking at Sanji as you did so. He looked back at you quietly, and you tried hard not to think about the fact that you have to touch his lips in order for you to apply it.

It seemed like he realized that too, glancing down at the dollop of ointment on top of your finger, then back to you. You just gave him a small, uneasy smile, showing him that you weren't uncomfortable even though you were, and shyly took a step forward.

As gently as you could, you spread the ointment on the wounded area on his lips, reminding yourself to not be distracted on how soft they looked.

"A busted lip because of overpriced ingredients...it almost feels like you're doing this on purpose so I wouldn't get the chance to leave you." You half-heartedly joked to lighten up the atmosphere. However, you were greeted by nothing, not even a smart comeback or a funny joke from the blond. You hesitantly observed his reaction, and saw that he was grim and serious, guilt swimming in his beryl blue eyes.

The realization began to sink in.

Oh.

You should've known from the start. Sanji was a great fighter; he wouldn't be injured in the first place. "Sanji..."

Sanji took your wrist and held on it tightly. Your breath hitched, only then realizing how much you missed his touch, his warm, gentle, and loving touch.

"Let me go." You weakly said, even though deep down, you didn't want him to.

"Tell me you're not in love with me." He said, sounding utterly desperate that it almost made you fall down to your knees, "Tell me, and I'll let you go."

When you didn't answer, he stood up and cupped your cheeks with both of his hands. He pleaded, "Look at me. Look into my eyes and tell me you don't love me."

"Please don't do this." You whispered in pain as you tearfully shook your head.

"Stay. Please, stay." Sanji begged, pressing his forehead against yours, "What can I do to make you stay? Tell me. I'll do anything. Do I need to kneel? To beg for your forgiveness? Tell me what you want. I'll do anything in my power to make you the happiest woman in all of East Blue. Just please, don't leave."

"I can't." You answered, closing your eyes, a few tears streaming down your cheeks. You hate the way he was making this so hard for you.

He only continued, "Hate me, curse me, shout at me, if you must. Anything but you leaving me. Or do you want to make me yours? Then I am letting you. Whatever you want, mon ange—my heart, my soul, my attention, they're all yours. I'm all yours."

"No..."

"The crew will be incomplete without you." Sanji insisted in anguish.

"I have dreams, Sanji. Just like you and the rest of the crew." You explained softly, placing your own hands on top of his in attempt to comfort him and relieve him from his confusion.

However, he was persistent, "You can achieve your dreams without leaving. You can stay, and I will support you in everything you do. You're better off staying with me—with us."

You said firmly, "I will not spend the rest of my life doing what I don't want."

"Even with me by your side?"

A few second pass before you finally reply, "I'd be miserable."

Pain flashed on his face, making you want to take back your own words, yet you remained strong and unyielding. Sanji took a deep breath and stepped away from you, saying, "I'd rather have you miserable here than go out there and encounter ruthless pirates."

The statement quickly irritated you, frowning at him deeply. "You think I'll have problems with pirates when I've been serving them for years?"

"Oh, darling, you wouldn't be able to say that once you've encountered worse ones, with bounties higher than you could ever imagine." He snapped, voice raising with each word.

"I can manage on my own!" You bit back frustratingly, your tears evaporating into anger.

Sanji scowled at you, impatiently running his fingers through his hair. "You can't fight!" He shouted, voice breaking in the process, and with it, your heart too. It shattered like glass and the shards landed and pierced through your lungs, rendering you breathless. Your eyes widened, mouth dropping open in shock.

Seeing your expression, he immediately snapped back to reality, regret writing itself on his face. You shook your head in disbelief and let out a humorless laugh, "Are you telling me that I'm weak?"

"I didn't say that." Sanji quickly said in a hushed manner.

"But you're implying it!" You choked, still can't believe that he doesn't trust you. He doesn't trust you enough to accomplish your dreams on your own, and that he was not confident that you'll succeed without him by your side.

You wanted to ask him about the passionate kiss you two shared, about his loving gestures that confused the hell out of you, about his fresh bruises that he received on purpose so that he can get you to stay, and why he did all of that. You needed confirmation. But the question that left you was, "What am I to you?"

Sanji stayed quiet, and your heart broke again once more. Deciding that this was the last time he breaks it, you walked away and left him alone to tend to his own injuries.

He lit up a cigarette as he listened to your fading footsteps. A single teardrop fell down from his eye the moment he placed the cigarette between his lips, and all he could think about was that you hurt more than the bruises on his cheeks.

You packed your bags and spoke with Nami, telling her that you were ready, and that was the fifth time you tried to leave Sanji Vinsmoke—and tomorrow, you'll finally succeed.

⸻ • ⸻

The sun had just risen, and the early morning breeze smelled of the ocean, the calming sound of waves filling your ears. It was one of those days when the sky was clear and the sunlight wasn't harsh but pleasantly warm on your skin, making it the perfect day to start working on a new song and strum on your guitar for the melody.

But today was different. You were standing on the first step of the ship's staircase that leads to a docking station and a wooden walkway towards an unfamiliar island that was soon to be your new home. Your fingers clenched on the strap of your bag, finding this moment to be surreal. You have tried many times to leave, and here it was, right on the palms of your hands.

"So. This is it, huh?" Your trance broke as Nami commented beside you. She was the only one to bid you farewell and watch you leave, since the others were still asleep. You thought of Sanji and how he looked like when he was sleeping, staring at his handsome features so you can memorize them and implant it in your mind. He was your first love; you didn't want to forget him.

You smiled. "Thank you, Nami." You said earnestly, "I would've liked to spend more time with you. It's tiring to speak to men sometimes, don't you think?"

She laughed. "Yeah." Then, she caged you in her arms and hugged you tightly, surprising you for a second before you laughed too and returned the hug. "Stay safe out there."

"I will."

"So you planned to leave? Without saying goodbye?" A new voice interrupted, breaking the hug you and Nami both shared. You swiveled to look behind you, and there stood Sanji, appearing to have just woken up, with the strands of his blond hair sticking up in different directions. You observed his dejected expression, the downward tilt of the corners of his lips, and the glistening of his tired eyes. You stared at his crumpled suit and his crooked necktie. Despite how messy he looked, he will always be perfect to you.

You walked forward and looked at him fondly, with your eyes full of so much love reserved for him and him only. "Thought it would hurt less." You said, raising your hands to touch his hair and brush it down, "And I was right. How can I leave now when you're standing in front of me?"

He sighed shakily as he felt your soft fingers threading through his hair. "Then don't." He whispered. You only smiled at him. He didn't smile back, but that didn't stop you from taking both of his hands and caressing his knuckles using your thumb.

"Every night, I'll look at the moon and think of you. I'll tell my stories, sing my songs, and whisper my secrets to it. Just like what you and me would do when we were little." You told him softly and endearingly, "Would you be so kind as to look at the moon too and think of me?"

Sanji's eyebrows were scrunched together in agony, muttering, "I can't make you stay, can I?"

When you didn't answer, he just nodded his head, understanding what you wanted to stay. He forced a smile and tightly squeezed your hands. "I'm sorry."

"I'm yours." You answered, placing a soft kiss on the back of his hands. After letting your lips linger on his skin for a while, you slowly let go, and with one last glance at his face, you stepped back and made your way downstairs to the docking area, leaving before you could change your mind.

Sanji watched you go. While you walked away from the Going Merry, from the crew, and from him, not once did you look back. He just watched as you went farther away and became smaller in the distance, until you blended in with the crowd and you were just another person in a sea of people. And then you were gone.

It was the sixth time you tried to leave Sanji Vinsmoke, and this time, you finally did.

⸻ • ⸻

The red velvet curtains began to draw in front of you, gently falling back down on the stage as you said your final good-byes to your audience for tonight, a bouquet of roses cradled in your arms while you blew delicate kisses towards them. You can still hear their loud cheering and clapping even as you retreated to your personal room backstage.

A middle-aged woman greeted you inside when you stepped in the room and closed the door behind you, whistling. "There she is, our talented rising star!"

You only laughed at the silly nickname, setting the bouquet of roses that one of the people gave you in tonight's show on top of your vanity table. "You exaggerate, Madam. I have only performed two shows in your beautiful theater."

The madam, who was the owner of the theater you were currently working in, shook her head in disagreement. "And those two shows are sold out!" She informed you proudly, placing her hands on your shoulders, "Let me know if you want to add more, you are welcome to perform here anytime."

"I'll think about it." You replied, smiling. The madam patted your shoulder twice before she left you alone, humming happily to herself. You huffed in amusement, fully aware that she doesn't appreciate your talents at all, but only cared for the money.

Regardless of that, you were happy. It has been a couple of years since you left the Strawhat Pirates and pursued your dreams all on your own, and you've been traveling to different islands across the seas to perform. You never had a permanent home; being a musician meant going to many places from time to time to share and spread out your music.

Yet you can't help but miss life on the sea.

You missed washing dishes on the Baratie and the late night conversations you had with Zeff. You missed Luffy and his weird antics, Usopp and his jokes, Zoro and his blunt comments, and Nami and her kindness.

You missed Sanji and everything that he was.

You stared at your reflection in the vanity mirror on your desk. Your hair was pinned neatly, you had make-up on and you were dressed fancily for your performance. Years ago, you wouldn't look like this. It was hard to believe how much you've grown and changed, but these days, you felt like you wanted your old self back. Slowly, you took the itchy pins off your hair, and cleaned your face with warm water and a cloth. You replaced your dress in a more comfortable one and went outside.

Looking up at the night sky, you saw a bright full moon with no stars in sight. It was just the moon and its beauty, illuminating the pitch black sky with its glow. You silently watched it, a smile growing on your lips as you felt a tug on your heart.

"I wonder what you're up to, Sanji." You thought aloud, cheeks heating up at the memory of your first love and his golden hair and his contagious smiles. Then, to your surprise, a voice spoke unexpectedly.

"Well, I am fortuitous to have met such a beautiful angel."

You froze. No one referred to you as angel except for one.

Sanji.

As you turned around, he was already walking towards you. And there you both were, bathing under the moonlight, with him grinning at you mischievously and you looking at him lovingly.  You didn't know how he found you, but what mattered was that he searched for you and now he was here, and he was still making your heart beat fast in your chest just like all those years ago.

How the pesky feelings stayed and wrapped themselves around your aching heart, you didn't know. But maybe it was because he was standing in front of you, and the way his next words made you run into his open arms and kiss him until you were both breathless,

"There you are, ange."

taglist part 1 @angel-luv3r @appalost @chexmixtrys @nimtano @sparklyphantom @natalieisfreeziing @reallysparklychaos @maydaylovex @johnnysactualgf @mochamei @kisumisumi @ttokyocat @mypurplewinee @rosaliinnn @nonniecannie @court-jester-stuff @detectivelucy07 @megumiif @untitledandrandom @erin-the-king @fangeekkk @nikolaevna-art @candesstuff @chaoticevilbakugo

230624 - vogue japan on twitter: Yoongi for VOGUE JAPAN

Shiner

You've grown to love your emotionally unavailable husband, but part of you wonders if he feels the same about you. The final part of the Vows series, read the rest here.

Pairing: Yoongi x f! reader

Genre: Arranged marriage AU

Warnings: Sex, swearing, Yoongi gets a black eye

Rating: 18+

Word count: 6k

You blink yourself awake and stare blankly at the ceiling, trying to orientate yourself.

Yoongi’s bed. You can tell by the smoothness of the white ceiling, and if you widen your senses, by the feel of the soft, crisp sheets under you.

His smell on the pillow under your head.

You gradually become aware of an ache in your jaw, like you’ve been grinding your teeth.

You turn your head to look at the other side of the bed. 

The throbbing headache hits you like a sledgehammer to the temples. You moan a little and close your eyes again, but it doesn’t stop the room from swirling wavily around you.

Oh shit. 

You’re going to be sick.

You leap up, stagger to the bathroom, curl your arm around the cool porcelain of the toilet and hurl.

The contents of your stomach splatter into the water, and you groan again, retching until there’s nothing left inside you but bile.

You look up frantically when you hear footsteps.

Yoongi? 

He’s meant to be on a business trip.

You fumble for the flush and jump up to wash your face.

Your husband’s seen you in all forms of unattractive but he doesn’t need to see you with vomit on your face.

You splash water on your face, look around hurriedly for your toothbrush. 

Just in time.

Yoongi appears around the corner of the bathroom door, nose wrinkled.

‘It smells like sick in here,’ he observes.

‘I’m sorry,’ you apologise. ‘I’ll get it cleaned up.’

Yoongi approaches you. 

‘I’m not surprised you were sick, considering how drunk you were last night.’

You freeze with your toothbrush in your mouth and goggle at him.

Questions run through your head.

Why is Yoongi back early from his business trip?

How does he know you were out last night?

And finally, why the fuck does your husband have a black eye?

You rinse and spit, open your mouth to ask, but all that comes out is a whimper.

Yoongi looks at you unsympathetically as you press your fingers over your eyeballs.

‘Come on brat, Mrs Gye made us breakfast.’

***

You reach for the toast in the middle of the table and frown, confused, at your bruised knuckles.

The skin’s split over your index, and the rest of your hand is bruised.

Yoongi says, taking a sip of coffee, ‘you throw a mean left hook, wife.’

You gape at Yoongi. 

‘I punched you?’

Yoongi looks at you thoughtfully. ‘Don’t you remember?’

You dredge through the haziness of the night before, trying to remember.

‘Why did I punch you, Yoongi?’

Yoongi gives you a level look. 

‘Think hard, wife.’

You realise Yoongi’s skipped all the endearments he usually uses for you.

In fact, he’s been distant with you all morning.

‘I’m sorry, Yoongi, I can’t remember,’ you plead. ‘Can you tell me?’

Yoongi finishes his coffee, gets up.

‘I have an important meeting in a couple hours,’ he says. ‘I need to get ready.’

As he leaves the room you can’t help but feel you’ve done something terribly wrong.

***

A week earlier

You know Yoongi doesn’t like it when you fuss over him when he leaves for business trips, but you can’t help it this time, when he’ll be gone on the day of your wedding anniversary.

It’s not your first wedding anniversary, you’ve been married for years, but it’s the first one since you proposed to him.

Yoongi had laughed when you pointed it out.

‘You and your romantic heart, jagiya,’ he’d said, affectionately.

You’d laughed at his expression, but you’d felt a pang of disappointment in your chest just the same.

You’d changed the subject quickly, and he hadn’t brought it up again.

Now you’re standing on the front steps of your house in your pyjamas to say goodbye.

‘I might come see you in Bruges,’ you say hopefully, as Yoongi leans in to give you a hug.

‘I wouldn’t bother,’ Yoongi says, practical as always. ‘I’ll be working flat out.’

He studies your expression, and his face softens. 

‘I’ll be back soon enough,’ he promises you.

He lowers his lips to yours, wraps you in his arms.

‘Eat well when I’m gone, ok? Look after yourself.’

‘I will,’ you reply. You reach out for him again, but he’s already stepping away, getting into the car.

You wave him goodbye with your best smile.

***

Your phone lights up in your peripheral vision as you’re getting ready for bed.

You grab it so quickly it flips out of your hands onto the floor.

You swipe quickly. 

Your husband’s beautiful face fills the screen. He’s got one hand loosening his tie as he sits back.

‘Hey,’ you say, teasing. ‘Do I know you?’

Yoongi smiles at you. ‘Forgotten me already? Don’t worry, I left you something to remember me by.’

You tilt your head at him quizzically.

‘Check the bedside drawer, jagiya.’

‘How’d you know where —-‘

‘You always sleep in our room when I go away,’ Yoongi replies briskly. 

‘You don’t know me,’ you mutter, out of habit.

Yoongi just laughs. ‘Go on, check.’

You reach over and pull it open, pick up the gift box and card inside.

‘Open it,’ urges Yoongi.

You tear open the card. 

It’s plain ivory cardstock, with a message in your husband’s familiar, barely legible scrawl.

Happy wedding anniversary. I’m sorry I can’t be there. 

The rush of emotion you feel takes you by surprise.

You flip your screen so he can’t see you blinking away tears.

Yoongi’s voice sounds through your phone.

‘I can hear you sniffling,’ he says, dryly.

‘Allergies,’ you reply.

‘Are you allergic to me being a perfect husband?’ asks Yoongi, sounding completely serious.

You furrow your brow.

‘If the card makes you this emotional, wait until you see the present,’ Yoongi says.

‘I’m opening it now,’ you tell him as you unravel the silver bow and lift the lid.

You’re grateful Yoongi can’t see your face as you stare at the delicate bracelet in the box.

It’s beautiful, expensive, tasteful.

You have no idea why it makes you feel so flat.

You muster up as much enthusiasm as you can as you say, ‘It’s beautiful! Thank you, Yoongi.’

You flip the screen so he can see you.

He looks worried.

‘If it’s not to your taste, jagiya —-‘

‘It’s very beautiful, Yoongi,’ you assure him. You fiddle with the clasp, wrap it around your wrist. ‘I like it a lot.’

You lift your wrist to the camera so he can see.

‘I haven’t got you anything yet,’ you say, worriedly. ‘I was hoping to see you on our anniversary —-‘

Yoongi says, quietly, ‘I’d love to see you, but I can’t promise you much time.’

‘I don’t care if there’s not much time,’ you say. ‘I can take care of myself, Yoongi, I’d love to see you too.’

‘Let’s think about it, ok?’ Yoongi says. ‘We can decide tomorrow.’

Now he sounds tired too.

You feel guilty for pressing when you know he has a lot on his plate.

‘Sure,’ you say, trying to turn the mood of the conversation around.

You smile brightly. ‘Thank you for my gift, Yoongi.’

‘I’m glad you like it, jagi.’

‘I should let you get some sleep.’

He doesn’t protest. 

‘Good night, Yoongi.’

‘Good night.’

***

You and Yoongi never actually agreed that you would fly in to see him, and you feel a twinge of nervousness as you step out of the airport in Ostend.

This close to Christmas, the weather’s chilly, and although it’s early evening, it’s already dark. You wrap your scarf around you as you wait for your car. 

At the hotel, you realise you don’t know Yoongi’s suite number.

You bite your lip nervously as you wait for Yoongi to answer your call.

The dial tone rings out.

You’re trying to decide what to do next when he walks into the hotel.

Your beautiful, polished husband, skin glowing and flushed with cold, his dark hair and eyes in striking contrast, his perfectly fitted navy coat unbuttoned over his perfectly fitted suit, walks in with his media director Park Gyuri.

His stunning ex-model ex-girlfriend Park Gyuri.

Your stomach drops, and it’s at that exact moment that he looks over and sees you.

He blinks at you, open-mouthed, then he’s changed direction and is walking over to you.

‘Jagiya,’ he says, as soon as he’s close enough.

He wraps you in a hug, and you hold him tightly to give yourself time to gather your composure.

You’d known that Gyuri was going to be on his business trip, she and Yoongi travel together often, she’s a core part of his team.

It was one thing knowing it, and another to see them walk in together.

Belatedly you realise the rest of Yoongi’s team have arrived too.

Yoongi pulls back to plant a kiss on your lips, and you hope he can’t feel the hammering of your heart.

‘It’s so good to see you,’ Yoongi says.

You meet his gaze.

Your husband is stunning, of course, but he also looks tired.

‘I hope it’s ok that I came,’ you say. 

You sound formal even to yourself, and Yoongi frowns a little.

‘Of course it’s ok, I’m happy you made it,’ Yoongi tells you.

‘I’m free this evening, we can have dinner together. I’ll get Sungho to make a reservation, ok?’

Yoongi glances around, looking for your bag. ‘Did you bring any luggage, jagiya?’

‘I have to leave tomorrow,’ you tell him. ‘I didn’t bring any pyjamas, is that ok?’

There’s a spark in your husband’s eye. ‘It’s ok, I’ll keep you warm.’

‘That’s what I hoped,’ you say.

Yoongi laughs, grips your hand firmly. ‘I’ve missed you,’ he says, dropping a kiss on your head, and the tightness in your chest finally starts to ease.

***

By the time you step out of the shower, Yoongi’s sprawled out on the huge sofa, so quiet and still you know he’s asleep.

You sit yourself next to him. Like this, his face is at ease, the frown line between his brows that you’ve seen more often lately smoothed out. 

You rarely acknowledge to yourself how much you love him. You’re scared it might be too much.

You run a hand down his chest, and he grunts softly, shifts so he’s flat on his back.

Your hand catches on his belt.

You undo it deftly, because it must be uncomfortable sleeping with a belt on, right?

You don’t really have an excuse for why you undo his suit trousers, apart from that you know your husband wouldn’t mind.

The scritch of his zipper unzipping makes him crack an eye open.

‘Jagiya,’ he says, voice so deep it makes you shiver, ‘what are you up to?’

You look up at him through your lashes.

‘I’m taking care of you Yoongi,’ you tell him. 

You press a kiss to his tummy, right above the waistband of his boxer briefs. ‘Can I?’

Yoongi’s looking at you, eyes darkening as you tug down his waistband, expose him.

‘I had plans for us,’ he says, as you curl your hand around his semi-hard cock.

You smile at him. ‘Me too.’

Yoongi lets out a long breath as you nudge your nose along his cock, breathing in deep.

You take him in your mouth, tongue against the underside of him, sucking a little, enjoying the way he swells up for you.

Yoongi’s got his head back against the back of the sofa, throat working as he reaches full erection. He moves his hips under you, grasps your shoulder.

You reach out to his hand, splayed on the sofa, and knit your fingers through it. 

If you were looking at his face, you’d see Yoongi’s expression change, the tenderness in his expression as he squeezes your fingers gently. 

You’re not, you’re looking at his cock, all your attention set on giving him as much pleasure as you can. 

He’s hard, and you can feel the way he jerks as you undo the tie on your robe to reveal that you’re bare underneath it. 

You tug your hand away from his so he can touch you, well you try to, but Yoongi holds on to you. 

He murmurs ‘jagi’ on a sigh, his voice beautiful like this, deep, mellow, rich. 

You glance up at him, and he’s watching you, his dark eyes so intense you don’t want to look away. 

You pull away, and his hips rise, as if to follow. 

‘Make me messy, oppa,’ you say. 

Yoongi smiles, wolfish, a flash of teeth. ‘Come sit on me.’ 

He unbuttons his shirt because he knows you like it when he’s bare-chested, reaches to steady your hips as you climb on top of him, like you’ve done so many times before. 

He tugs your robe off your shoulders, slides his hand under, his hand warm against your skin. 

He hisses through his teeth as you start to move. 

‘I’ve missed you,’ he tells you as he runs his hand over your front, making your nipples peak, pinching, kneading your flesh. 

‘Yeah?’ you say. 

There’s an unwanted flash in your mind, the image of him and Park Gyuri walking into the hotel. 

You push it away. 

‘I always miss you,’ Yoongi says. 

‘Don’t be romantic, Yoongi, it’s not your style,’ you say, teasing. 

If there’s a tug at your heart when you say it, you hope it doesn’t show on your face. 

Yoongi says, quietly, ‘I’ll be as romantic as you want me to be, jagiya.’ 

You can’t look at him, but it doesn’t matter, because he’s been rubbing his thumb over your clit, doing something with his hips that’s pulling you out of your feelings and into a tide of pleasure. 

You moan, deep, and Yoongi grunts, lifts his head to suck the tip of your breast into his mouth. 

You come with a cry of his name, and Yoongi groans. ‘That’s my girl, fuck.’ 

He utters your name, stretched out, over stuttering breaths, and you realise he’s coming too. 

When your breathing slows and your heartrate settles you realise that he’s still holding your hand.

***

You wake, with a start, to your alarm alerting you to the fact that you’ll miss your flight home if you don’t haul ass. 

Yoongi, beside you, is turned away, his back to you. 

The regularity of his breathing tells you he’s still asleep. 

You get dressed, and sit on the edge of his side of the bed to say goodbye. 

He’s always been beautiful, your husband, but he also looks so tired you haven’t the heart to wake him. He hasn’t stirred the entire time you’ve been getting ready. 

You press a kiss to his cheek and make your way out of the hotel room. 

***

Your best friend Nara’s always been on your side, supporting you in the best ways. When you and Yoongi were estranged in the early years of your marriage, she helped you plot some of your more elaborate stunts. 

It’s always worked both ways, of course, you were the first to support her design house, wearing her creations to all the most high-profile society events, backing her financially when her family threatened to cut her off for not going into the family business. 

Nara’s always been the practical one, the shrewd business mind to your impulsive nature, providing balance. You’re an effective combination, and before your reconciliation, Yoongi had borne the brunt of your antics. 

You’ve always marvelled at the way he’s never tried to reciprocate. 

Nara eyes you over your cocktail. 

‘What did Yoongi do now?’ she asks. ‘I thought he’d be thrilled to see you in Bruges.’ 

‘He was happy to see me,’ you tell her. This much you know, that he had been pleased to see you. You wish you’d been able to spend more time with him, but he’d said from the beginning that he’d been busy.

‘Gyuri was with him.’ 

Nara blinks. ‘She’s part of his team.’ 

Her statement is blunt, factual, but there’s sympathy in her eyes. 

You down the rest of your cocktail. 

‘You can never trust chaebol sons,’ says Nara, gently, ‘we grew up with enough assholes that we know that.’ 

You signal the waiter for a refill. 

‘But Yoongi is less of an asshole than the rest,’ Nara concedes. ‘Not like that fucking Kim Seokjin.’ 

You choke on the water you’ve just taken a sip of. 

‘You never did say what happened after you and Seokjin went to see Lee Sangcheol,’ Nara says, raising an eyebrow. 

‘We’re gonna need more drinks,’ you sigh. 

Five cocktails in, you’re watching with drunken amusement as Nara takes apart a hapless would-be suitor with her razor sharp wit. 

Unlike you, Nara’s tolerance for alcohol is legendary. 

You? 

The room’s dim and wavy around the edges, and you’re feeling maudlin about your trip to visit Yoongi. 

You look up, blinking curiously, as a man approaches you. 

He looks vaguely familiar, in fact he looks like your husband, but you’ve been seeing shades of Yoongi in almost everyone in this bar tonight. 

God, you miss him so much. 

***

Yoongi can tell by the way you’re holding yourself rigidly upright that you’re drunk. 

You look up at him, no recognition in your eyes. 

Yoongi nods to Nara and turns back to you. 

‘Would you like some water?’ he offers, signalling to the waiter. 

‘No thank you,’ you reply. ‘I’d like another cocktail.’ 

Yoongi orders you both a refill and some water. 

Your wedding ring sparkles as you lift the glass to your lips. 

Yoongi’s vaguely amused to see that you chose to drink water first. 

‘Are you having a nice time?’ he asks. 

You consider his question carefully. 

‘Yes, my friend and I are having a great night,’ you reply, finally. ‘And yourself?’ 

‘I’m not usually out at this time,’ Yoongi replies, honestly. ‘This is a rarity for me.’ 

‘Ah,’ you say, looking at him with interest. ‘What’s the occasion?’ 

You still haven’t acknowledged him with anything other than politeness, and Yoongi realises, with a flash of clarity, that you’re so intoxicated you don’t recognise him. 

‘I wanted to support a friend,’ he answers. He guesses it’s true, at least this way Nara won’t be responsible for getting you home tonight. 

You glance fondly at Nara. ‘Friendship is important.’ 

You smile at him for the first time. ‘Where’s your friend?’ 

‘Ah, they’re busy.’ 

You’re steadily sipping your way through the rest of your cocktail. 

‘You’re very beautiful,’ Yoongi says, neutral. 

‘Thank you,’ you reply. ‘You’re very good looking yourself. I’m sure if you’re looking for company, you won’t be short of offers.’ 

Yoongi swallows a laugh at your encouragement. 

‘Can you keep me company?’ he asks. 

‘Ah sorry, it’s girl’s night,’ you say, still polite. ‘Also I’m married.’ 

‘He’s a lucky man,’ Yoongi says. 

You smile. ‘I’m not sure he’d agree,’ you say, lightly. There’s a note of melancholy in your voice that makes Yoongi look at you carefully. 

‘Oh, I just mean I’m a terrible wife,’ you clarify. ‘I’ve done some awful things to him.’ 

Yoongi pours you more water. 

‘Whatever you’ve done, it can’t be that bad,’ he offers. 

You scoff, and he bites back a smile as you look at him scornfully. 

‘I’m capable of extremely terrible things,’ you insist. 

Helplessly endeared by your solemn, drunken expression, Yoongi touches your face. 

‘Do you really not recognise me, jagiya?’ he asks. 

You jerk away from his hand, nearly lose your balance. 

Yoongi pulls you into his arms to stop you from falling. 

He hears your gasp of outrage, and a moment later, the crack of skin against skin. 

Even through the flare of pain, Yoongi’s stunned at the realisation that you’ve just punched him in the face. 

***

Present day

By the end of the day, Yoongi realises he hasn’t heard anything from you all afternoon. 

He heads to your rooms, knocks on the door tentatively. 

When there’s no response, he pushes the door open anyway. 

You’re sitting curled up on the floor, leaning against your bed, facing the patio doors. 

As he approaches you, you grimace. ‘Stay away, I’m probably contagious.’ 

Yoongi takes in the clamminess of your skin, the way your hair’s stuck to your forehead. 

‘Why didn’t you tell me you were feeling ill? Have you been like this all day?’ 

He’s concerned, but he can see the way you flinch a little at the harshness of his voice. 

‘I’m fine, Yoongi, I drank too much and my head hurts.’ 

‘Seems like more than a hangover,’ Yoongi says. He brushes your hair back from your face. ‘Have you taken any meds?’ 

You gesture sadly towards the dressing table, barely six feet away. 

‘Everytime I move, the room spins,’ you tell him. 

Yoongi frowns. ‘Why didn’t you tell me you were feeling so bad? Come on, get into bed.’ 

‘I can’t,’ you tell him. ‘I’ll be sick if I move.’ 

‘You can’t stay like this,’ Yoongi says, exasperated. 

‘Stop scolding me,’ you mumble, closing your eyes. ‘Go away.’ 

‘I’m not going anywhere,’ Yoongi says. He takes a breath. ‘You shouldn’t drink so much.’ 

‘It was you,’ you say, suddenly. ‘It was you who groped me at the bar last night.’ 

Yoongi’s outraged. ‘I didn’t grope you, I tried to stop you from falling!’ 

‘You touched my face!’ you complain. ‘I thought you were a stranger.’ 

‘At least I don’t have to worry about you looking after yourself,’ Yoongi muses. ‘You can beat up anyone who comes on to you.’ 

‘Damn right,’ you agree. 

Yoongi sighs. ‘I’m going to get you some water and meds and then I’m going to put you to bed, ok? Can I do that, or are you going to punch me again?’ 

‘Just don’t grope me,’ you warn. 

‘You recognise me now don’t you? You never complained about me groping you before,’ Yoongi points out. 

‘Stop scolding me!’ 

‘I’m not —’ 

Yoongi huffs out a breath. ‘I promise I won’t grope you if you promise not to punch me.’ 

‘My hand hurts,’ you whine. 

‘You want sympathy?’ asks Yoongi, unsympathetically. 

He sighs. ‘Wait here. Let me get you a drink.’ 

‘Gin and tonic,’ you mutter. 

Yoongi ignores you. 

***

Yoongi’s trying to finish reading the specs his product development team has sent him, but it’s difficult to concentrate.

There’s something weighing on his mind.

It’s you, which isn’t unusual, but what is unusual is the way he feels. 

Uneasy, like he’s missing something.

There’s a knock on his study door.

‘Dinner in fifteen?’ you ask, peering around the heavy oak.

You look very pretty today, Yoongi notes to himself. 

You’re already closing the door when he calls, ‘Hey.’

You look at him enquiringly. 

‘You look pretty.’

You smooth your hand over your hip self-consciously. ‘I feel better.’

‘I was worried about you,’ Yoongi tells you.

You gesture vaguely to his face. ‘Your eye looks better.’

‘Come kiss it,’ Yoongi says. 

It always amuses him, the way you get a little flustered when he asks for affection.

Yoongi pushes away from his desk as you approach him.

‘I’m sorry,’ you say, softly, as you cup his face and press a gentle kiss to his brow.

‘I deserved it,’ Yoongi replies. ‘I’m sorry I wasn’t around for our wedding anniversary. I know that it mattered to you.’

‘It was silly,’ you say, but he can tell by the way you drop your gaze that he’s touched a nerve.

‘It’s not silly, of course you want to celebrate being married to me,’ Yoongi says.

You scoff. ‘You want two black eyes instead of one?’

Yoongi reaches for your hand, presses a kiss to your still-bruised knuckles. 

‘Don’t break your hand on my hard skull,’ he says, very gently.

‘I have a company dinner next week,’ you say, in an obvious attempt to hide how flustered you are.

Yoongi says, ‘Are you asking me to accompany you?’

You blink at him. ‘Would you like to?’

‘I’d love to,’ Yoongi tells you. 

***

You fiddle with the clasp of the stunning bracelet Yoongi gave you for your anniversary.

Objectively, it’s perfect, the diamonds sparkling like stars even in the flattering low lighting of the ballroom at this wedding Yoongi and you have been invited to. 

You’re trying not to think too much about why it leaves you feeling so empty.

He’d clearly spared no expense, you’ve seen this exact bracelet in the pages of a glossy magazine, and the workmanship is incomparable.

Yoongi’s voice makes you look up. 

‘They’re cutting the cake,’ he murmurs to you. ‘We should head back to our table.’

‘I’ll meet you there,’ you tell him. ‘Save me some.’

You head for the ladies room to compose yourself and touch up your makeup.

You’re retouching your lipstick when one of the doors opens, and Park Gyuri walks out.

She smiles when she sees you, nods a greeting. She takes the sink next to yours, and as she unclasps her purse a fiery sparkle draws your attention.

On her left wrist, a bracelet identical to yours.

It’s beautiful, you think it suits her better than it does you.

Now you know why the bracelet’s been bothering you as much as it has.

It represents everything about the chaebol life both you and Yoongi were born into, but though your husband seems perfectly at home in this microcosm, you’ve never truly felt like you belonged.

It makes you feel like Yoongi sees you as someone you’re not, and by extrapolation, that he doesn’t know you as well as he should, despite all you’ve been through.

As well as you want him to.

You force a smile at Gyuri, make yourself walk on legs that feel oddly stiff to exit the bathroom.

Back at your table, Yoongi rises to pull your chair out as you approach. Something in your expression makes him lean closer, voice low and worried.

‘Jagi, are you feeling ok?’

You nod, the smile on your face so frozen it feels like a rictus, a caricature of happiness.

You can feel Yoongi’s eyes on you, but you don’t think you can give him anything else right now, stricken as you are.

His hand finds yours under the table, and you draw comfort from his touch until the hurt and anger recedes and the tears retreat from behind your eyelids.

***

You’re not sure what’s changed, but Yoongi’s been so attentive lately it’s starting to make you feel uneasy. 

You’re trying to zip up the back of your cocktail dress, and before you can even look in his direction, he’s behind you, hands warm on your bare back as he helps you with the zip. 

You turn around, look him in the face. 

‘What’s up, husband?’ 

Yoongi raises an eyebrow at you. ‘You seemed like you couldn’t reach.’ 

‘Not the zip,’ you say, testy. ‘Why are you so —’ 

Yoongi waits, like he genuinely doesn’t know why you’re so tetchy. 

‘Why are you paying me so much attention? I swear, I’m not plotting anything.’ 

Yoongi looks like he’s trying not to smile. 

‘I don’t think you’re plotting anything.’ 

‘Then why?’ 

‘Why can’t I pay you attention?’ Yoongi asks. ‘We’re married.’ 

‘You never paid me this much attention before,’ you point out. 

Yoongi’s brow furrows. ‘Do you want me to ignore you?’ 

‘Yeah.’ You wave a hand. ‘Go back to ignoring me.’ 

‘Do you really want that?’ Yoongi asks. He glances in the mirror, straightens his tie. 

‘I like asshole Yoongi,’ you tell him. 

Your eyes meet in the mirror. 

‘I can be an asshole,’ Yoongi says, finally. ‘But I don’t want you to be unhappy because of me.’ 

‘Since when do you care?’ you say, teasing. 

Yoongi sighs. ‘I’ve always cared. I don’t like it when you’re sick and you don’t tell me, and I sure as hell don’t like it when you’re unhappy and don’t tell me why.’ 

‘You make me happy,’ you tell him. There’s a fluttering in your chest at his words, your taciturn, coolly detached husband isn’t normally this expressive. 

‘I’m glad, because you make me happy too.’ 

Yoongi glances at the bracelet he got you, that you’ve got ready to put on. 

‘Don’t wear that,’ he says. ‘You won’t tell me why, but I know you hate it.’ 

You stare at him. 

‘Don’t deny it,’ Yoongi says. He gives you a look, a challenge in his eyes. 

‘You don’t know me,’ you mutter, out of habit. 

Yoongi rolls his eyes. ‘I do know you, wife, and that’s the problem. You’re a brat.’ 

You scowl at him. Yoongi looks supremely unmoved by your pique. 

‘Come on, I don’t want us to be late for your company dinner.’ 

He takes the liberty of slapping his palm against your ass as he ushers you out of the door, and you don’t even have it in you to pretend to be mad about it. 

***

Yoongi’s by the bar, waiting to be served, watching idly as you converse with your social media team. 

He’s never been to one of your company events before, it’s rare that you invite him, and he likes seeing you with your colleagues. 

You’re well-liked, everyone seems to want to talk to you. 

He’s trying to suppress the urge to pull you into a corner and kiss you silly, because you look so pretty when you’re smiling and confident like this, when a conversation catches his ear. 

‘I’m pretty surprised that Min Yoongi’s here – I thought they were estranged,’ says a woman by the bar. 

‘Everyone knows he’s fucking Park Gyuri,’ says the man next to her, with a casual cruelty that makes Yoongi’s hand itch to slap him. 

Yoongi steps out in front of them, levels them with a look. 

‘I’m not fucking anyone apart from my wife,’ he says, mildly. ‘Although I fail to see how that’s anyone’s business but ours.’ 

There’s a stir, but Yoongi’s lost interest. He turns away from the bar, heads straight for where you are in the middle of the room. 

The smile on your face when you see him does a lot to curb his irritation. 

‘Yoongi,’ you say, hand on his arm. ‘They’re about to serve food.’ 

Your touch eases his annoyance, soothes him the way it always has. 

‘Let’s get you something to eat, jagiya,’ Yoongi says. 

He holds out his arm, feeling the familiar sense of connection thrumming through him as you slip your hand in the crook of it. 

It’s everything. 

***

Yoongi pulls out of the hotel, signals to turn towards home. 

‘Did you have a nice time, Yoongi?’ you ask. 

You’re leaning back against the seat, face tilted to his, half-shadowed in the darkness of the car. 

‘I liked it,’ Yoongi replies. ‘You should invite me to more of these things.’ 

‘You’re welcome to come anytime,’ you say. 

‘I will,’ Yoongi says. 

‘I heard that you stood up for us at the bar,’ you begin, a little hesitant. 

Yoongi glances at you in the rearview mirror. 

‘You know about that?’ he asks, quietly. 

‘People talk a lot of shit,’ you say. Yoongi doesn’t know if you’re consciously doing it, but your shoulders are squared, and there’s a stubborn tilt to your chin now. 

He’s never loved you more. 

‘They do,’ agrees Yoongi. 

You’re both quiet as he drives. 

It’s only when he parks up, at your home, that you speak again. 

‘Thank you for coming with me,’ you say. 

There’s a beat, two of searing eye contact.

Then Yoongi reaches out, cups the back of your head, and takes the kiss he’s wanted all night. 

You melt into his arms like you’ve been waiting for exactly this. 

‘Let’s go to bed,’ Yoongi murmurs, lips against your skin. 

***

Yoongi’s different tonight, holding you with an urgency you haven’t felt from him before. He’s focused completely on you, and as much as you love it, love him, you can’t help but wonder if there’s something behind it. 

You cup his face as he leans over you. 

‘Hey,’ you say. ‘You know we have all night?’ 

Yoongi’s hand stills on your side. 

‘Am I rushing?’ 

‘I’m just saying I’m here, Yoongi, I’m not going anywhere.’ 

Yoongi closes his eyes, leans into your hand, shudders out a breath. 

‘What’s wrong?’ you ask. ‘Is there a game on you don’t want to miss?’ 

Yoongi doesn’t even crack a smile. 

‘Do you love me?’ 

You blink at his question. ‘What?’ 

Yoongi waits. 

‘I don’t hate you,’ you say, trying to inject some levity into the situation because his seriousness is scaring you. 

Yoongi drops his head, groans into your neck. 

‘I love you,’ you assure him. You roll your hips under his. ‘I don’t put out for just any chaebol asshole.’ 

Yoongi lifts his head, searches your face. ‘I don’t deserve you,’ he says. 

‘That’s true,’ you say airily as he kisses his way down your neck. 

His mouth skims over the skin of your sternum, lips soft, reverent. 

‘Aren’t you going to ask me if I love you?’ he asks, lips poised over the round of your breast. 

His question pulls you out of your pleasured haze. 

Again, the image of Yoongi and Park Gyuri flashes into your head. 

The truth is, you’re too scared to ask. You know, in your heart, that you would love Yoongi no matter what, and you’re not ready to face that truth right now. 

So you smile at your husband and say, ‘Just show me.’ 

He does. 

***

You’re passing by Yoongi’s study when you notice the door is ajar. 

Yoongi raises a brow at you. ‘Come in, I have something for you.’ 

You frown at him suspiciously. ‘Is it your dick?’ 

Yoongi says, ‘Always, but I have something else too.’ 

You take a seat next to him on the sofa you always sit together on when you visit him. 

Yoongi reaches into the breast pocket of his jacket, hands you a jewelry box. 

You meet his gaze apprehensively. 

‘Is it a matching necklace?’ 

Yoongi just shakes his head. ‘Open it.’ 

You lift the lid on the box, and stop. 

It’s another bracelet, except this one is exquisitely carved jade, delicate and so perfect you’re afraid to touch it. 

Yoongi says, quietly, ‘I got this and the other bracelet at the same time. I chose the other one to give to you, but this one’s always reminded me more of you.’ 

You blink up at him. ‘Yoongi, it’s perfect.’ 

‘I know you like jade,’ Yoongi says. He picks up the bracelet, and you hold out your wrist as he clasps the bracelet around it. 

‘It reminds me of my mother,’ you say. 

Yoongi’s hands are gentle on your wrist. 

You catch sight of a sheet of note card under the silken lining of the box. 

It’s a list, in your husband’s handwriting. 

‘What’s this?’ you ask, skimming through it, curious. 

‘Didn’t you make one like this, a couple years ago?’ Yoongi asks. He’s not looking at you now. ‘It’s all the things I have to make up to you.’ 

Your heart stops. 

Thoughts race through your head, you can barely see the words on the card even though his handwriting is neat, beautiful. 

You’ve never asked him the question in your heart, and your husband’s answered it anyway. 

He knows you better than you ever thought he did. 

You press your lips together, trying to hold back the tears. 

‘I didn’t write them down,’ you say, finally. ‘I just worked off the top of my head.’ 

‘Yeah?’ Yoongi asks. He’s leaning close now, so close that if you turned your face your lips would meet. 

‘Yeah.’

Yoongi says, ‘I’m not sure what order to do them in. Can you help?’ 

You turn into his kiss, and it’s as lovely as it ever was. 

God, you love him. 

‘Yeah, I can help you with that,’ you tell him. 

You can feel the curve of his lips against yours, the rumble of amusement in his chest. 

‘Great. We should get started,’ he murmurs against your skin. ‘I need to win your heart, because I really don’t think any of this is worth it, without you.’ 

‘Goddamn it, Yoongi, looks like you’re a romantic after all,’ you tease. 

Yoongi reaches out, thumbs the tears off your cheeks. 

‘Looks like you’ve made me into one,’ he agrees. 

©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

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

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