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Love: a series

Your ex-husband's an asshole but you can't seem to move on.

Pairing: Namjoon x f!reader

Rating: 18+

Genre: Asshole Namjoon, smut, angst

Warnings: Sex, swearing

Love

Talk it out

Vanilla Guys

Favour

Five fuck Friday

My girl

©hamsterclaw 2023

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Vows (Part 1)

aka 10 ways to win your husband's heart: an arranged marriage AU

You're five years into your arranged marriage with Min Yoongi, and he's never once retaliated for anything you've done to him. One day you realise you've lost your appetite for provoking him, and you set about trying to win his heart instead.

Pairing: Yoongi x F! reader

Rating: 18+

Genre: Arranged marriage, e2l, smut, angst

Word count: 12k

Warnings: Sex, swearing

Ah shit.

You lift the arm curled around your waist off you and commando roll out of the luxurious california king you’ve woken up in.

The beautiful man you woke up with shifts and his face presses into the pillow. 

You tear your admiring eyes away from him guiltily and grab his shirt from the floor, slipping it on, buttoning quickly.

You’re tiptoeing to the door when a grumpy deep voice makes you freeze.

‘That’s my favourite shirt,’ your husband says.

You reach for your patience and don’t find it. 

Min Yoongi has exhausted all your reserves of goodwill towards him.

‘I was trying to be considerate and not wake you up,’ you say through gritted teeth.

He snorts. 

Your blood pressure spikes.

You unbutton the shirt and seriously consider throwing it at his beautiful head.

You’re so annoyed it takes you longer than it should to register the way his gaze is roaming your naked body.

‘Min Yoongi,’ you say, injecting as much ice into your tone as you can, ‘you know we can only tolerate each other when we’re drunk.’

‘My morning wood’s not picky,’ he drawls, like it’s a compliment.

You roll your eyes. You know Yoongi’s always been attracted to you physically.

It’s your personality he can’t stand.

‘I’m sore,’ you tell him briskly, putting your dress back on. 

You’re not lying. You think Yoongi sometimes takes his anger with you out on your cunt.

You love it, really, but he’s got a generous dick and impressive stamina and you really are sore.

Yoongi, unusually, looks concerned. ‘Was it too much?’

You ignore the flutter in your chest as he picks your panties off the floor and passes them to you, smoothing a soothing hand over your lower back.

You step away from his touch as though his hand is burning. 

His sigh of irritation gives you life.

‘You’re deeply annoying,’ he tells you.

You smile, brilliantly, at him.

‘Oh Yoongi, are you this sweet to all the women you sleep with?’

‘Are you this annoying to all the men you fuck?’ he snaps.

Your smile falters for a second before you pull your mask firmly back in place.

You turn away from him and leave his bedroom without a goodbye.

***

Yoongi stares at the mark on his neck, just above the collar of his shirt, and thinks of you as he gets dressed for work.

Of course you’d had to mark him, even after he’d warned you not to. 

Sometimes you’re so fucking exasperating he can’t stand you.

Now he has to meet his entire board, including his father and grandfather, looking like a horny teenager.

He has a flashback to your beautiful thighs wrapped around his hips, ankles crossed behind him, as you begged him not to stop.

Yoongi tries to shut that image out of his head before the erection he’s had all morning returns, but the image is burned into his retinas.

Shit, it’s in living technicolour with fucking surround sound. 

Yoongi finishes getting dressed and stops by the kitchen for a coffee.

Mrs Gye, his housekeeper, smiles politely at him as she hands him his flask.

Yoongi thanks her, and is about to leave when he remembers.

‘Can you make some herbal tea for Mrs Min, please? She’s not feeling too well this morning.’

Mrs Gye nods, ‘of course, Mr Min.’

‘Don’t tell her I asked you to do it, just say you made some,’ Yoongi instructs. 

Mrs Gye looks like she’s about to protest, but Yoongi’s already out the door into his waiting car.

***

You sigh with pleasure as you sip your herbal tea on your way into work. 

Mrs Gye, your housekeeper, is truly a treasure.

She’d assured you that Yoongi hadn’t noticed anything different about his morning flask of coffee.

Yoongi’s a man of habit, so much so that he’s predictable in every way. 

One of the cleaners had dropped his favourite flask and cracked it yesterday. 

She’d been apologetic, but you’d been worried.

You know he’s got a big meeting with the board of his company today and you’d been determined not to let anything detract from his focus.

You’d driven to three places after work before you’d been able to find a replacement. You’d bought five, just to futureproof against any other flask mishaps.

Of course, all that driving around had made you late for dinner and Yoongi had been sure you’d been late on purpose.

You can’t blame him, it’s the sort of stunt you’d have pulled five years ago when you first got married.

You’ve changed but you’re pretty sure Yoongi sees you as still the same spoiled, immature heiress he’d been forced to marry, as the oldest son and heir to his family’s vast business empire.

Anyway, Yoongi’d been seething throughout dinner. 

He’d spanked you until your ass was red raw.

You’d begged for more.

You stifle the delicious shiver that runs through you at the memory.

Your mood drops as you remember him accusing you of fucking other men.

Sure, you’d accused him of the same, but you’ve always been faithful to him.

You just don’t know if he’s been as faithful to you.

You’d heard the rumours about him and his breathtakingly beautiful and terrifyingly talented media director.

Park Gyuri was a model and actress before she went to grad school and earned an MBA. She waltzed into Yoongi’s family company, and she’s been doing a bang up job of everything since then.

She’s also the woman Yoongi was dating before he was forced to marry you.

You stopped seeking out the rumours because it became upsetting.

In your heart of hearts, you don’t think Yoongi’s any more in love with you than he was when you got married.

In truth, you wouldn’t blame him.

You’d spent years being the exact cold hearted bitch he’d eventually accused you of being.

You’re surprised it took him that long to finally snap.

***

Yoongi smiles at Gyuri as she walks into his office.

She’s beautifully put together as always, and she’s wearing green silk today, a shade that complements her colouring well.

‘Free for dinner tonight?’ she asks.

‘What’s the occasion?’ Yoongi asks. 

‘Nothing, I just want to have dinner with my friend,’ Gyuri says, smiling affectionately at him.

There’s a pause before ‘friend’, so brief Yoongi knows anyone else probably wouldn’t have noticed it, but he did.

Yoongi would be lying if he said he’d never considered what his life would be like now if he hadn’t married you. 

He’d probably be less annoyed on a day to day basis.

He’d probably still be a member of the country club you’d got him kicked out of.

He might be married to Gyuri instead.

He’s about to say yes when your face floats into his head. The look in your eyes when he’d accused you of being annoying, which is definitely true, and of fucking other men, which he doesn’t think is true. 

Yoongi says, politely, ‘Rain check? I’d like to have dinner at home today.’ 

He’s been thinking about how you said you were sore, and he wants to check on you.

You’ll probably ignore him like you always do but he wants to see you’re all right for himself.

Also, he’s aware there’s an underlying frisson between him and Gyuri, and he doesn’t want to explore that just yet.

For once, Yoongi doesn’t linger in his office after everyone leaves. He picks up his bag and calls for his car and heads home.

When he reaches home, he walks into the kitchen. Mrs Gye is at the sink whilst something’s simmering on the stovetop. She startles when he sees him.

‘Ah, Mr Min, you’re back early.’

Yoongi murmurs something about working at home and hands her his flask. Then he stops, looking at another identical four flasks sitting to dry on the draining board by the sink.

Mrs Gye sees his line of vision.

‘Mrs Min bought them yesterday.’

Yoongi’s first thought is that you’re plotting something devious.

‘Where is Mrs Min?’ he asks.

‘She went up to her room.’

Yoongi doesn’t often go to your rooms, in fact he doesn’t think he’s visited you there this year at all.

He knocks on the door and there’s a muffled response.

‘I’m in bed, is it important, Mrs Gye?’

Yoongi says, ‘it’s me.’

He senses rather than hears your response. In moments you’re opening the door, pulling a robe tight around your waist.

Your hair is messy, your face devoid of makeup.

You look up at him self consciously. 

Yoongi puts a hand on your arm. ‘Are you ok?’ 

You frown at him. ‘You didn’t kill me with your dick. I’m on my period.’

Yoongi bites back the laugh that threatens to erupt.

You ask, ‘would you like to come in?’

Yoongi follows you through your bedroom to your living area. 

You pour both of you water and sit in your favourite chair, legs curling underneath you.

‘How are you doing, Yoongi?’ you ask, yawning.

‘Do you want to sleep with me?’ Yoongi asks, suddenly.

You choke on your water. 

Yoongi waits until you’ve recovered enough to speak.

‘Right now? Jesus Yoongi I said I was on my period.’

Yoongi looks unperturbed. ‘I didn’t mean fuck, although if you’re down, I am. I meant sleep with me. Do you want to sleep in the same room?’

You stare at him.

‘Are we in danger?’

Yoongi stares at you.‘What? No, don’t be ridiculous.’

‘You can tell me, Yoongi, my family have security contacts everywhere.’

Yoongi massages his forehead. ‘No. Forget it. Just forget it.’

You get up hurriedly as he looks like he’s about to ditch you. ‘Yoongi!’

He stops. 

‘You want to spend more time together?’ You ask, doubtful as to what he really meant.

‘We’re married,’ Yoongi points out, patient. ‘We’ll probably have kids eventually. Shouldn’t we try to get to know each other?’

You have a flashback, vivid, of Yoongi calling you a spoiled, stuck up bitch.

‘Yes. Let’s sleep together.’

Yoongi looks at you for a moment. 

He holds out his hand. 

With a sense of trepidation, you take it.

***

‘It’s weird not to be fucking,’ you say to Yoongi, pulling the covers up to your neck, looking around his room curiously. 

‘It’s also 9pm. Why are you already in bed?’

You hop out and trip over a pair of Yoongi’s slippers, sprawling on the floor.

Yoongi looks at you, shirt half unbuttoned.

‘I’m tired,’ you say, crawling back into bed.

You pull the covers over your head.

A moment later you feel him sitting on the bed.

He pats over where your head is.

‘Come have dinner with me.’

‘Is that an euphemism for a blow job?’ you ask from under the covers.

You sit up suddenly and realise Yoongi’s sitting on the bed in his briefs.

You can feel heat rush to your face. 

It’s not like you haven’t seen your husband naked before, hell, it’s not even been 24 hours since you last fucked.

But this is different.

This is intimacy when you’re more comfortable with fucking.

Yoongi’s watching the way your eyes rove over his thighs.

‘See something you like?’ he asks, coolly.

You scoff. ‘Of course I like the way you look, Min Yoongi.’

You get up. ‘Let’s eat.’

****

Yoongi eyes you over the soup you’re stirring.

‘Why did you buy so many flasks?’ he asks.

Your eyes snap to his. ‘How do you know that?’

‘I saw them.’

You shrug. ‘You like them. I want you to have replacements if one breaks.’

‘That’s thoughtful.’

‘Just being a dutiful wife,’ you chirrup cheerfully.

Yoongi stares at you like you’ve grown another head. ‘You are definitely not that.’

You nod in agreement. ‘You’re right.’

‘Are you feeling ok? You’ve barely touched your soup and you already tried to get into bed.’

‘I’m on my period,’ you tell him, again. You get up. ‘I’m going to go get some of my things and bring them to your room.’

‘It’s our room,’ Yoongi corrects, gently.

‘Our room,’ you repeat. 

By the time you’ve finished gathering your things, Yoongi’s just got to his door.

‘After you,’ he says, strangely formal.

You shoot him a look and head to his huge dressing room.

‘You can use that side,’ he says, pointing.

The entire wall he’s pointing at is made up of bare clothes rails at varying heights. 

You pull open a drawer, intending to deposit your toiletries and underwear in it, and stop when you see the packages inside it.

‘What’s this?’ you ask.

Yoongi walks over from his side of the dressing room.

Together you look at the boxes from a well-known underwear brand. It’s the same brand you tend to wear.

You look up at Yoongi, and to your surprise, the tips of his ears are red.

Your impatient, unsentimental husband actually looks… embarrassed.

You wait him out.

Finally, he mutters, ‘sometimes if I see something I like, I buy it for you.’

You can’t believe your ears. 

‘Did you buy this for — someone else?’ you ask quietly.

Another thought occurs to you. 

‘Did you buy this for yourself?’ you ask. 

Yoongi groans, irritably. 

‘I bought all this shit for you. My wife.’

He opens the top box and rifles through what looks like a beautiful red silk and lace teddy. You glimpse the tags. It’s your size.

‘I got this after that night when you wore that red dress to meet the Hans because you look fucking breathtaking in red.’

‘How do you know my size?’ you ask weakly, stalling to give your brain time to catch up.

‘Your size is the only fucking thing I do know about you,’ Yoongi says, still irritable. ‘How many times have I taken your lingerie off?’

You stare each other into an uneasy stalemate.

‘You really didn’t buy this for anyone else?’ you ask.

‘Believe me or don’t believe me,’ Yoongi says, at the end of his tether. 

He stalks out of his dressing room, and you blink blindly at the stack of boxes in the drawer.

By the time you re-enter Yoongi’s bedroom, the lights are off and he’s a lump under the covers.

You climb in the other side and after a moment, scoot over to be closer to him.

He’s got his back to you, rigid, cold.

You put your hand on his shoulder to warn him, then kiss the back of his neck.

‘Thank you,’ you tell him.

You’re half- asleep by the time he turns onto his back. His hand brushes yours under the covers, not holding it but touching you.

‘You’re welcome,’ he says. 

You curl your pinky finger around his, like a promise, and go to sleep.

***

When you wake up the next morning, Yoongi’s already gone.

His side of the bed is rumpled, and when you run your hand over the sheet it’s cold.

You need to think. 

Even better, you need a third party to do your thinking for you.

You send your best friend Nara a text, then notice the time.

Shit. You need to get to work.

You hop out of bed, trip over Yoongi’s slippers again and scurry to your own room to get dressed.

Your morning is pretty dull, a bunch of meetings with clients, a team brief before your new product launch tonight.

Nara meets you for lunch. 

Kim Nara has been your closest friend since junior tennis club. She has an impressively strong backhand, a competitive streak a mile wide and is the most loyal person you’ve ever met.

She pours you some wine from the bottle she started whilst waiting for you, then sits back in her seat.

‘What was so urgent you had to meet today?’ she asks.

Her eyes narrow. ‘Did Min Yoongi knock you up?’

‘What? No. I’m on my period right now,’ you protest. 

You take a gulp of wine to fortify yourself.

‘But it does involve him.’

Nara takes a matching big sip. ‘Hit me.’

‘I think I should try to get him to forgive me.’

‘For what?’ Nara asks. There’s a mischievous light in her eyes now.

‘For buying Kim Seokjin instead of him at that bullshit charity auction? For sending that chain email to all his employees with his STI testing results? For getting him blacklisted from every golf course in the country?’

You cringe.

You’d been young when you married Yoongi, spoiled and impulsive and naive and terribly, terribly selfish.

Nara sucks in a breath to power what you know is going to be a litany of crimes. You’d write it all down if it wouldn’t kill you to read what an asshole you were to him.

You have no idea why he hasn’t divorced you.

You guess this is why he tries to break you every time you have sex.

Nara’s talking about the time you ran off to Switzerland for three months, but you tune her out.

You need to make all this up to Yoongi, a man who buys you gifts even when you’re barely talking, and who wants to be closer to you despite everything you’ve done to him.

You figure ten is a nice round number.

You’re going to do it. 

You’re going to find the ten worst things you’ve done to Min Yoongi and make up for every single one of them.

***

‘I’m sorry, Mrs Min, Mr Kim says he can’t see you until his bodyguard gets here.’

You gape at the expressionless secretary who’s been dispatched to give you the news. He nods apologetically, then withdraws.

The nerve of Kim Seokjin.

Kim Seokjin is Yoongi’s best friend, and instrumental in your plan to make things right with Yoongi.

It looks like he’s going to make you work for it every step of the way. You’ve been waiting outside his office for ten minutes already, and there’s no end in sight.

The first attack you’d launched on Min Yoongi after you got married was at a charity fundraiser where there had been, to your devious delight, an auction.

Not just any auction. Seokjin and Yoongi had been part of it, and you’d very intentionally bid on Seokjin despite wearing the Min heirloom pendant around your neck.

You’d bid a ridiculous amount and won him, a record that was shattered not long after by the ‘purchase’ of a man with a rakish glint in his eye, Jungkook, you think his name was.

Even worse, you’d paid a horny elderly society lady, Mrs Kang, known for her constant innuendoes and wandering hands, to purchase your then new husband.

He’s never told you what happened on their date. 

On your date with Seokjin you’d dressed so provocatively you were a quick move away from being arrested for public indecency.

To his credit, you hadn’t once caught Seokjin’s eyes wandering below your neck.

He’d spent the whole date scolding you on Yoongi’s behalf.

You’ve had other shenanigans with Seokjin, but the auction is the most scandalous one by far. You’re not surprised he doesn’t want to see you.

You glance at your watch and realise you’ve been waiting for over twenty minutes.

You get up to leave and you hear your name called in a deep voice that’s definitely not Seokjin’s.

It’s a man, around six feet tall, who looks the size of a refrigerator. He looks like he could break you in half and not break a sweat.

You’re escorted into Seokjin’s office.

‘Y/N,’ Seokjin says, formally, from behind his desk. ‘Have a seat.’

You aren’t sure if Seokjin realises that you practically grew up in boardrooms much more intimidating than this. 

You sit behind his desk obediently.

‘I wanted to talk to you about Yoongi,’ you say, rushed, because you don’t know how much time you have.

Seokjin looks at you evenly. ‘I have no interest in discussing my best friend with you.’

‘We don’t have to discuss him. I just want to make up for all of the things I’ve done to him over the years.’

Seokjin raises an eyebrow. You’ve always found him intimidating, if you’re honest. 

‘Anyway, can you convince him to put himself up for auction at the Rose Ball next month?’

‘Why?’ Seokjin snaps. ‘So you can humiliate him again?’

Your hackles rise at his tone, but you remind yourself of your end goal. You’re not sure you can make Yoongi cuddly but you think you might be able to make him like you.

‘I won’t humiliate him,’ you say, humbly.

Seokjin glares at you. ‘I need more assurance than your word, funnily enough.’

You like how loyal Seokjin is to Yoongi, but he’s sure being an ass right now.

‘I’ll pay you.’

Seokjin frowns. ‘Do I look like I need the money?’

‘I’ll cook dinner for Yoongi and you,’ you offer.

He snorts. 

‘Can you even cook?’

‘Jesus what do you want Seokjin?’

You stand, and immediately his bodyguard takes a protective step forward.

You throw your hands up in exasperation.

‘Yoongi really wants to go to watch the Portland Trail Blazers when they’re in town next month. It’s right before the Rose Ball. Take him and I’ll get him to auction himself off at the Rose Ball.’

You put out a hand, forgetting about the bodyguard for a moment.

You pull it back quickly when he steps in front of Seokjin. 

‘Deal,’ you call happily over the bodyguard’s shoulder.

‘Wait.’

Seokjin steps out from behind the human wall and holds out his hand.

You shake it. 

‘Don’t fuck me or Yoongi over,’ Seokjin warns.

‘I won’t,’ you promise.

***

Yoongi’s already home when you get back after work. 

He’s dressed in basketball shorts, a sweatband around his forehead.

‘You look hot,’ you say, absently, as you search through your drawer in his dressing room for a loose tee.

‘Here,’ Yoongi says. He tosses you a plain tee, one of his own. 

You put it to your face and inhale. 

‘It’s fresh,’ Yoongi says, dryly.

‘It smells like you,’ you say. ‘I like it.’

You step out of your work clothes and pull it over your head. 

‘I’m going to bed.’

You pause before you leave the dressing room. ‘Hey, Yoongi. I got tickets to the Portland trail blazers game next month. Wanna go together?’

Yoongi gapes at you. 

‘You didn’t seriously just ask me out to a basketball game with my favourite team whilst wearing my t-shirt and nothing else.’

You hadn’t been thinking about anything naughty but you snap to attention at his words.

‘Are you still on your period?’ Yoongi asks.

He’s already rounding the central island in the middle of his dressing room, where he keeps his watches and jewellery.

He’s heading straight for you.

You squeak and retreat to the bed.

He’s a second behind you, landing right on you before you can even yank up the covers.

‘Let’s make out,’ he says, voice husky.

‘Yeah,’ you agree.

His lips are almost on yours when you stop him.

‘Do you still want to make out even if we don’t—‘ you trail off, and Yoongi looks at you oddly.

‘Fuck?’ he supplies, helpfully.

You nod.

‘Are you serious? What do you think I am? Some sort of brute?’

‘We usually just skip to the fucking,’ you point out.

Yoongi stares at you for so long you think he’s had a stroke.

Then he leans over and kisses your forehead. 

Your eyes closed automatically when his lips touched you, so it takes you a moment to realise he’s pulling away. 

‘I’ll see you at dinner,’ he says. 

He’s out the door before you get a chance to say goodbye.

***

You’re trying to pick something to wear to the game with Yoongi. You’re not really a fan of basketball, not like he is. Your only knowledge of basketball consists of what you’ve gleaned from pictures of celebrities courtside and what you’ve seen in movies.

Once you’re dressed, you run downstairs to where Yoongi’s waiting. 

‘They’re not courtside,’ you say, apologetic, as Yoongi drives.

‘You’ve said that a few times,’ Yoongi says mildly, signalling to turn.

‘I just don’t want you to be disappointed,’ you say.

‘I won’t be,’ Yoongi says. 

‘I don’t know anything about basketball,’ you tell him. 

Yoongi looks at you with such disappointment it feels like you need to seek his forgiveness for yet another thing.

‘I’m calling the best divorce lawyer in town right after this,’ Yoongi says. ‘But first, let’s watch the game.’

‘What? You’re divorcing me over a —- sport?’

‘Not helping the cause,’ Yoongi retorts.

You want to pout but you’re pretty sure he’ll just get annoyed with you. 

Yoongi drives into a multi-storey car park and backs into a space so sexily you get a little wet just watching him. 

He even does that thing where he rests his arm against your seat, as though it’s a habit he can’t break even though his car has a rear camera.

You want to hold hands with him as you walk to the arena, but you rarely ever touch when you’re not fucking. 

Yoongi says, without looking at you, ‘what is it now?’

‘This is kind of like a date,’ you observe.

Yoongi sighs. 

He’s never really indulged your fondness for romantic gestures, you guess he’s always seen them as childish. 

‘It’s a date,’ he confirms. He leads you to your seats as though he knows the arena well. 

You look around curiously. The seats aren’t courtside, but you’re only a couple of rows back, and the view seems fine to you.

‘Is this ok?’ you ask.

‘They’re perfect seats. Stop asking me or I’ll kiss you and ruin your lip gloss.’

‘This is kiss proof, actually,’ you say, seriously. 

Yoongi turns fully to look at you. ‘Is that an invitation for me to test it out?’

‘Let’s just see how the date goes,’ you say, leaning back in your seat.

You can feel his eyes on you. He scoffs, but he doesn’t sound annoyed. 

The game is an exciting one, but you spend it mainly watching Yoongi. He’s pretty even-tempered most of the time, but watching basketball really seems to get his blood going.

He cheers so loudly and enthusiastically you’re almost deafened. Once the game gets going he barely even seems to notice you.

You’re glad he’s enjoying himself. 

At half time, you get him to take a selfie with you to send to Seokjin as proof. 

You’ve just sent it when he leans over and kisses you on the cheek, quickly.

You turn to him, but he’s already turned away.

You think about the feel of his lips on your cheek for the rest of the game, and somehow the second half flies by.

Yoongi’s so hyped by the time the game ends that you keep smiling at how endearing he is. 

‘I feel like you need to talk about this to someone who knows about basketball,’ you remark as you walk back to your car.

He grins at you. ‘I might stop by Seokjin’s place.’

‘Ah sure,’ you say, a little crestfallen that he doesn’t want to go home with you.

You fiddle with your phone, realising you don’t even know where Seokjin lives. ‘Is home on your way?’

‘I’ll drop you off,’ he says. 

You’re quiet on the drive home. Yoongi pulls into your driveway and shuts the engine off. 

‘Hey,’ he says.

You turn to him. 

‘Thanks for getting us tickets. And thanks for coming with me.’

You smile. ‘It was Seokjin’s idea,’ you demur. ‘See you later, Yoongi.’

You get out of the car and are walking to the front entrance of your home when you hear the car door close behind you.

There’s footsteps, and by the time you turn, Yoongi’s standing in front of you, barely two feet away.

‘Hey,’ he says again. ‘Can I get a kiss goodnight?’

You reach into your brain for a snappy remark but come up with nothing.

All you can do is look up at him as he leans over you and kisses you. His tongue flicks at the seam of your lips, once, and then he’s pulling away.

He smooths your hair back from your face, tucking it behind your ear.

The action makes your heart flutter helplessly in your chest. He rarely ever touches you like this. 

Yoongi rubs his thumb over your bottom lip, gently.

‘I’ll see you later. I’ll try not to wake you up when I get in.’

He waits, engine idling, until you’re safely indoors before he drives off.

***

You’re nervous. It’s the night of the Rose Ball, and the charity auction where you’re going to orchestrate the first stage of making up with Yoongi.

You’ve picked a red dress because of what he said about you looking pretty in red.

Yoongi knocks on your bedroom door, because you’d wanted to get ready alone.

You open the door and take in the vision of your husband in a white dinner jacket, hair pushed back from his forehead and styled beautifully.

There are silver earrings glinting in his ears, and his hair is currently silver to match. 

‘You look very handsome,’ you tell him, honest.

He holds out his arm. ‘I think you’re wearing red on purpose to fuck with me, aren’t you? Quick, say something annoying so the universe can tilt back to its normal axis.’

Gamely, you pout at him and whine, ‘why didn’t you get me any new jewellery to wear, Yoongi?’

‘I’ve got some pearls I can put around your neck,’ Yoongi suggests. 

‘I’d rather you put them down my throat,’ you say, suggestively.

‘There’s my spoiled little horny heiress,’ Yoongi says, approvingly.

You roll your eyes. ‘I’m not spoiled.’ 

‘Try saying that in a less whiny tone,’ Yoongi tells you unsympathetically.

‘I’m not whiny.’

‘I hope you saved up some money to buy Kim Seokjin again tonight,’ Yoongi says.

You frown.

‘I’m gonna buy you, not Seokjin.’

He snorts. ‘I hope you’re not expecting me to buy you.’

You pause. This is an angle you hadn’t even considered. 

Yoongi raises an eyebrow, but says nothing.

At the ball, you read through the list of names up for auction. To your annoyance, Seokjin, Yoongi and you are all one after another, clustered together.

You think it’s an attempt to capitalise on the scandal of the previous time Seokjin and Yoongi were up for auction.

You’re nervous all throughout dinner, and by the time the auction starts you’re vibrating with nerves.

Seokjin stands when his name is announced, nodding at the emcee. Across the table from you, you can feel Yoongi’s eyes burning into your head. 

The bidding starts at a cool 5 million won, and rapidly escalates.

Seokjin, devastatingly handsome in a beautiful tux that emphasizes the broadness of his chest and shoulders, doesn’t even have the decency to pretend to be surprised.

You look at Yoongi and keep your hands perfectly still in your lap.

‘50 million won, do I hear 55?’ 

It’s a relief when the bidding closes at 75 million won. You don’t even see who the highest bidder is, concentrating on your husband sitting across from you.

When Yoongi’s name is announced, he stands and nods. 

You think to yourself again how beautiful your husband looks.

You keep up with the bids easily. To your annoyance, the bidding is fast and furious, and it’s only moments before you’re holding at 90 million won.

‘Do I hear 95?’ 

‘100 million won.’

You turn, aghast, and look into the diabolical and devious eyes of Kim Seokjin. 

Why the hell is Kim Seokjin driving up the bidding war on your husband?

Yoongi just looks amused when you stare at him, accusing.

‘110 million,’ you snap.

You try to stare the evil bastard down between bids.

By the time you get to 150 million won, you’re glaring daggers at Seokjin and Yoongi.

‘Sold to Mrs Min.’ 

There’s barely time to breathe a sigh of relief before you realise Yoongi and Seokjin are now patting each other on the back. 

To your chagrin, they leave the room as your name is announced.

As the bids escalate on you, you pull your phone out and send Yoongi a rapid fire text.

Y/N: Buy me or I won’t fuck you tonight.

Yoongi, the bastard, makes you wait on read.

You’re dialling his number when you realise two things. 

One, that the bidding’s somehow reached a hundred million won.

And two, that the main bidder is a very beautiful man whom you’ve never met.

‘Going once….’

You squirm in your seat as Yoongi and Seokjin walk back into the room.

If there’s any urgency in Yoongi at all that his wife is about to be sold to a random stranger, his face doesn’t show it.

You suppose this is exactly how he felt when you let Mrs Kang buy him.

‘Going twice to Mr Park Jimin.’

Yoongi lifts a brow, and his eyes snap to the beautiful man. 

He nods to the auctioneer, and bidding resumes.

Park Jimin seems pretty determined, but he’s no match for your husband.

Yoongi buys you for a shade under two hundred million won.

***

You’re trying to unfasten your necklace whilst Yoongi gets changed after the ball.

‘Two hundred million won,’ you say, teasingly. ‘Guess I’ll need to put out.’

Yoongi grunts, and a moment later he says, ‘lift your hair.’

You pull your hair away from the back of your neck and he unfastens your necklace for you. 

‘You don’t need to do anything you don’t want to,’ he says. 

Later, in bed, you’re lying awake next to Yoongi, thinking about the night.

‘Yoongi,’ you whisper.

He sounds like he’s stifling a groan. ‘What?’

‘Thanks for buying me.’

It’s so dark you can’t see any of his features.

Eventually, he says, ‘there was never a possibility that I wouldn’t.’

‘What?’ you ask, surprised. ‘Say that again.’

‘Good night, Y/N.’

***

You think that one of the things that irritated Yoongi the most about you when you first got married was your total lack of interest in getting to know his friends.

And so part two of making up with Yoongi involves Kim Namjoon.

He’s an interesting man, from what you know of him.

Like Yoongi and Seokjin, he comes from a privileged background. Unlike Yoongi and Seokjin, though, he’s not in the family business. He runs an art gallery in the city with his partner, Nayeon.

You’re apprehensive about approaching Namjoon at the gallery but you can’t think of any other way to meet him.

Seokjin’s less icy to you since you took Yoongi to watch basketball and since the successful completion of step 1, but there’s no way he’d voluntarily help you. 

You push open the glass door and decide to just walk around.

Unlike Seokjin, Namjoon doesn’t make you wait. 

You’re barely in the cool comfort of the gallery before he’s standing next to you. 

‘To what do I owe this pleasure?’ he asks, politely.

You search his expression for hints of sarcasm, but he seems perfectly sincere.

To be fair, you’ve never tried to provoke him like you did Seokjin.

You decide to be as direct as he is.

‘I was hoping to invite you and Nayeon for dinner at ours,’ you say.

He doesn’t answer straight away.

‘I haven’t really tried to get to know Yoongi’s friends, since we’ve been married,’ you say, pointing out the obvious. ‘I’m trying to remedy that.’

Namjoon gives you a long look. 

You wonder what Yoongi’s been saying about you to his friends.

Judging by how wary all his friends are around you, you don’t think he’s been singing your praises.

You’re just about to speak again, when Namjoon says, ‘Yoongi often comes to ours on a Sunday night for dinner. I’m sure Nayeon would be really pleased if you could make it with him this Sunday.’

You smile, grateful. ‘I’d love that.’

Namjoon gives you another long look, then a dimple flashes in his cheek.

It transforms his face, which up until now had been rather stern and intimidating.

‘I’ll see you Sunday.’

***

Yoongi’s watching you polish off the last of the bread at dinner, bemused.

You figure now’s as good a time as any to tell him about how you’ve invited yourself to dinner on Sunday.

He takes it in his stride.

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

‘Like when you sent my sexual health test results to my entire company?’ asks Yoongi.

You look down at your plate. 

Shit, another thing you need to atone for. 

‘Sorry about that,’ you tell him, contrite.

‘It’s fine,’ Yoongi says, rolling his eyes. ‘I became a meme for a few months, I can cope with that.’

You put your hand on his arm. ‘I really am sorry. Want a blow job?’

Yoongi rolls his eyes again. ‘Are we so emotionally stunted we can only communicate through sex?’

His tone is cutting. 

You’ve been so soft for him lately that there’s a pang of hurt in your chest.

‘You’re a lot more tolerable when you’re fucking me,’ you say, coldly.

‘Likewise, princess,’ Yoongi snaps.

You get up from the table and go to watch TV alone in your rooms.

By the time you go in to Yoongi’s bedroom, it’s dark.

You slide in next to him and turn away, back facing him.

You hear a sigh, then his hand pats the sheets, looking for yours. 

You tuck your hands between your legs.

Yoongi’s hand travels down your arm, seeking your hand.

His thumb brushes over your clit, and you let out a surprised ‘oh’.

Yoongi shifts over, spooning you, chest pressing against your back.

‘Can I touch you, princess?’ he asks, voice low. ‘I’ve been thinking about how you pouted at dinner and I’m so fucking hard.’

‘I don’t want to cum for you,’ you tell him, petulant.

Yoongi nibbles at your neck, sharp teeth sending shocks of pain and pleasure through you.

‘I’ll make you cum anyway, princess. Get you grinding against my hand and crying my name. You always sound so pretty for me.’

‘Yoongi,’ you murmur, but your legs are already spreading to make room for him.

‘That’s my girl,’ he says, fingers slipping through your slick heat like he hadn’t expected anything less. ‘Let me fuck the spoilt brat out of you until only my baby’s left, hmm?’

Yoongi talks dirty to you until you’re creaming around his fingers, then his cock.

***

Yoongi looks up from his phone and gives you a quelling look.

‘Stop fidgeting.’

You hug the bottle of wine you’re bringing to Nayeon and Namjoon’s place to your chest.

‘Who else is going to be there?’ you ask.

‘Usually it’s Seokjin and me. Sometimes Gyuri comes.’

You think about that and wish, childishly, that you’d chosen a nicer outfit.

You realise Yoongi’s watching your face.

‘I appreciate you wanting to meet my friends,’ he says, carefully. 

‘Oh it’s about time I made an effort, don’t you think?’

Yoongi gives you a long look and rings the doorbell.

You’re greeted by a relaxed-looking Nayeon.

You don’t know her well, but she’s always struck you as nice. You feel an odd pang as you see the affectionate way Yoongi greets her.

Here’s a whole other aspect of his life you’ve never been involved in.

You volunteer to help Namjoon cook the rice. To your bemusement, he’s frighteningly accident-prone.

Within five minutes, you’ve saved him from putting his hand on a hot pan twice. You shudder when you see him pick up a knife to chop vegetables.

Nayeon nudges you. ‘Don’t worry. He’s not too bad. Someone always keeps an eye on him.’

‘Like a toddler,’ you mutter, then you remember where you are.

Nayeon just laughs. ‘I think of it as he’s still getting used to his size.’

You laugh. ‘Let’s hope he doesn’t get any bigger then.’

You look up as Seokjin enters the kitchen with Yoongi.

Your eyes meet Seokjin’s. He nods coolly at you.

You smile back.

To your surprise, Yoongi claps a hand on Seokjin’s back. 

‘Yah, Jin, greet my wife properly.’

Seokjin pulls Nayeon into a hug, then stops just in front of you. 

You put out a hand for him to shake, and instead, he pulls you into a hug too. 

You look up at him, a little wary.

‘Don’t you need your bodyguard?’ you ask, unable to resist.

Seokjin narrows his eyes at you. ‘I’m watching you, brat,’ he replies, so softly only you can hear.

‘And Yoongi’s watching you,’ you return, snarky.

Seokjin’s eyes darken. ‘Clearly Yoongi’s too soft on you, given your attitude.’

‘Break it up,’ Yoongi’s voice says from behind Seokjin.

You slide around Seokjin and stand next to Yoongi. When Yoongi turns to talk to Nayeon, you flip Seokjin the bird.

He glares daggers at you but has to quickly rearrange his expression when Yoongi and Nayeon ask him a question.

You’re so busy fielding all the interactions that it’s a relief to sit down to dinner.

Ah shit. 

There are prawns in the broth, the one thing in the world you’re allergic to.

It’s your own fault. Early on in your marriage, for reasons known only to you, you’d decided to let Yoongi think you were a snob about seafood rather than just telling him you were allergic. Cue a very uncomfortable dinner when you’d refused to eat anything one of his chef friends had cooked.

Seokjin, next to you, looks at your untouched bowl pointedly. ‘Don’t you like it?’ he asks, voice so velvety it’s not immediately obvious he’s jeering at you. 

You grit your teeth and pray the epi-pen in your bag is in date. 

It’ll probably be fine, unless you have a whole prawn….

As if on cue, Yoongi hands you a prawn he’s just peeled.

You’d always thought Yoongi would be the death of you, but you’d thought the mechanism would be from hate fucking you into oblivion, or irritating you into apoplexy.

Not a fucking prawn that he’s peeled for you because he’s decided to be a solicitous husband for once in his life.

You can feel a few eyes on you.

‘Oh that looks delicious,’ you chirrup brightly. You accept the prawn, swallow it quickly, wait a beat, then excuse yourself.

You grab your bag on the way to the bathroom, fumbling for your epi-pen. 

You jab it into your thigh just as the familiar tingling starts in your throat.

The door opens, and you’re faced with Yoongi, staring at you. 

‘What the hell are you doing?’ he hisses. 

He grabs the epi-pen you’ve just dropped on the floor. 

‘Are you shooting up in my friends’ house?’ he snaps.

You shake your head, voice raspy. 

‘I’m allergic to prawns.’

Yoongi stares at you like he can’t quite believe his ears. 

‘What?’

You want to repeat yourself but your voice is getting hoarser. 

Yoongi seems to click into action then. ‘Fuck. Do you need the hospital?’

You nod. 

Moving faster than you’ve ever seen him, Yoongi grabs your arm and hustles you out of the bathroom.

He scolds you all the way to the hospital.

‘You’re an idiot, you know that? Why would you eat something you know you’re this allergic to?’

Two blocks away. 

‘Why couldn’t you just tell me? Of all the stupid stunts you’ve pulled—‘

At the entrance of the emergency room.

‘If you die from this I’m going to follow you into the afterlife and kill you again.’

You’d snap back if he didn’t sound more worried than angry.

Yoongi sits beside your bed, filling in a form on a tablet with your details. You can see him typing in your name. 

You grab his arm. ‘Not my name,’ you rasp.

Yoongi frowns at you. You fumble in your bag and pass him your driver’s license.

He looks at it for a long moment. 

‘You changed your name? You said —-‘

He cuts himself off with visible effort. You can see a vein throbbing in his forehead.

He fills in the rest of the form, swearing softly under his breath. 

You close your eyes and lose yourself to nightmares about prawns.

When you wake up, Yoongi’s sitting by your bed.

You say his name.

He runs a hand over his face. ‘How are you feeling, princess?’

‘I’m fine. Can we go home?’

‘They want to keep you in a little longer.’

You sigh. 

‘Why didn’t you tell me you were allergic to prawns?’ Yoongi asks.

He sighs. ‘That time, with Mingyu, when he made us all that food. I thought you were being such a bitch.’

‘I am a bitch,’ you say. ‘I hated you back then. I hated our marriage and I hated that it felt like I didn’t have any choice in anything.’

‘And so you decide to die because I fucking peeled you a prawn?’

‘Why did you do that? You always say if you can’t peel a prawn you don’t deserve to eat it.’

‘Jesus fucking christ. I just wanted to.’

‘What a time to choose to be the doting husband,’ you say, regretfully.

Yoongi snorts with laughter. ‘Are you allergic to anything else I need to know about?’

‘Assholes,’ you mutter. ‘That’s why Seokjin and I don’t get along.’

Yoongi laughs again. ‘You’re such a rude brat. He won’t stop calling me. He wants to apologise for putting pressure on you to have the broth.’

‘Nayeon and Namjoon want to know if you’re ok, too.’

‘Tell them I’m fine.’ 

‘Here,’ Yoongi says. ‘I’ll add you to the group chat and you can tell them yourself.’

You send off a few texts and put your phone down.

‘I need to call my lawyer,’ Yoongi says, running a hand through his hair.

‘You’re divorcing me over a prawn allergy?’

‘No,’ says Yoongi, patient. ‘Now that I know your real name, I need to get it changed in my will and also on all the properties I’ve invested in for you.’

‘Ooh, I’m in your will?’ you ask, intrigued. ‘What do I get?’

‘None of your business,’ Yoongi says.

You wave a hand threateningly. ‘I could kill you right now and find out.’

Yoongi fends you off easily. ‘You should be resting.’

‘We could be arguing about this at home,’ you point out.

By the time you’re discharged from the hospital, it’s the early hours of the morning.

When you get home, you’re greeted by Mrs Gye. 

‘I took care of it,’ she tells Yoongi.

Yoongi nods and thanks her.

‘Took care of what?’

‘Mr Min rang earlier and told us to get rid of all the prawns in the kitchen and pantry,’ Mrs Gye says. She’s apologetic. ‘We didn’t know you were allergic, Mrs Min.’

You glance at Yoongi, who’s slipping off his shoes. 

‘You didn’t have to —‘

He cuts you off. ‘It’s a risk I’d prefer not to take again.’

He starts up the stairs, heading for his bedroom. ‘I’m going to try and get some sleep.’

You hurry after him, because he’s not waiting for you. 

***

You’re coming out of your meeting with the manager of the third country club you got Yoongi blacklisted from when you spot a familiar face.

A familiar, beautiful but unwanted face.

‘Seokjin,’ you say, nodding politely.

He leans down, and automatically you present your cheek to him for a kiss.

‘How are you doing?’ he asks, courteously.

You narrow your eyes at him suspiciously. ‘I’m fine. And yourself?’

To your astonishment, he actually seems to be a little shamefaced as he says, ‘I’m sorry I urged you to have the broth at Namjoon and Nayeon’s the other day.’

‘It’s fine, you couldn’t have known,’ you say, neutrally.

‘What are you doing here?’

It’s your turn to look repentant. 

‘I got Yoongi blacklisted from all the country clubs. I’m getting him re-invited to all of them.’

Seokjin’s gaze is penetrating. 

‘You seem like you’re really trying to make amends,’ he observes.

‘Yeah well, I was, like you keep pointing out to me, a brat.’

He’s been walking with you to the lobby. 

‘Can I offer you a lift anywhere?’ he asks. 

‘Ah, I’ll just wait for a cab.’

He raises an eyebrow. ‘Doesn’t Yoongi have a driver?’ 

‘He does. I don’t.’ 

Seokjin nods to the car waiting for him. ‘Do you have other country clubs to go to?’

‘I have four left,’ you say. 

Seokjin looks at you in firm way he does. ‘Come on. I’ll take you.’

You climb into the back seat with Seokjin. 

‘You’re not taking me somewhere to murder me and dispose of my body, are you?’ you ask, only half-joking.

Seokjin settles back in his seat and loosens his tie. 

‘I’ve got the afternoon off, and I’d prefer not to commit murder during it,’ he says, not reassuringly. 

With Seokjin by your side, the next meeting is almost enjoyable. You even get offered champagne, which you gulp down.

Seokjin looks at you, amused. ‘Stressful day for you?’ 

‘You make me nervous,’ you admit. 

‘I just don’t want Yoongi to be hurt anymore.’

You digest the idea that Yoongi wasn’t just inconvenienced and embarrassed, but actually hurt by your actions of the last few years.

That would imply he cared.

You’re staring out the window, thinking, when Seokjin says. ‘Of course, he didn’t want to marry you either, at the beginning.’

You chew on your lip. 

‘But he was willing to make his best effort to be a good husband to you. He’s decent like that.’

You turn your head so Seokjin can’t see your face.

He’s not wrong. Yoongi’s never once retaliated for anything you’ve done to him. 

Instead he’d grown progressively more cold and impatient and distant.

The wave of guilt surprises you with its depth.

‘I’ll make it up to him,’ you say, quietly. 

Seokjin puts his hand on your arm so you’ll look at him.

‘He has a real soft spot for you,’ he tells you. ‘God knows why, I would have punished you long ago.’

You flick your eyes up at him. ‘Luckily I married a more forgiving man than you,’ you say, summoning your haughtiest tone.

Seokjin just laughs. ‘We both want the best for him,’ he says. ‘Maybe you’re not such a cold hearted bitch after all.’

‘Don’t get ahead of yourself. We aren’t friends,’ you sneer, out of habit.

Seokjin turns away and laughs quietly to himself.

At your next meeting, Seokjin gets whiskey served to you. 

You’re a total lightweight, and with your empty stomach, you know you’re heading to a danger zone.

But damn, it’s also intoxicating having polished, suave Seokjin by your side at these meetings with older men. 

It’s after your final meeting, three drinks later, that Seokjin says, ‘dinner?’

You hold on to his arm to steady yourself. 

‘Maybe we can have dinner at mine,’ you suggest. 

‘Great idea,’ Seokjin beams. ‘I love Mrs Gye’s cooking.’

You never actually make it inside the house. 

Yoongi finds you and Seokjin sprawled on the front steps, arguing about which country club offered the best membership package.

You slap a brochure onto the steps between you. 

‘This was clearly the best deal,’ you announce. You squint but it doesn’t make the words any clearer. 

Seokjin sweeps the brochure away dramatically. 

‘Wasn’t.’

‘Wassss.’

Yoongi says, dryly, ‘why do people who can’t handle their alcohol go drinking?’

Both you and Seokjin glare at each other, then at him.

Yoongi sighs. ‘I can’t carry both of you at once.’

‘Take the asshole first,’ you snap.

Seokjin leans towards you menacingly. ‘What did you call me?’

Yoongi hurriedly lifts you up under the arms, and you curl into his chest. 

‘Take me to bed, Yoongi,’ you say, looking up at him. 

‘You’re heavier than you look,’ Yoongi grunts.

‘It’s my brain,’ you say, trying be helpful. 

Seokjin snorts rudely behind you.

Yoongi says, voice low, rumbling in his chest, ‘ignore him.’

You press a kiss to Yoongi’s chest. ‘Sorry I’m so heavy.’

He smiles at you with that looks like affection. 

‘It’s fine. I’ll just drop you if it’s too much for me.’

Yoongi helps you into bed and unzips your dress. 

‘Can you do the rest so I can get Seokjin?’ he asks.

You nod, convincingly. You’re still trying to tug your arm out of the sleeve when you give up and pass out.

Yoongi helps Seokjin into your bed and returns to his room to find you sprawled exactly where he left you, half undressed.

He slips your dress off you. You crack an eye open.

‘Yoongi,’ you say, whiny.

Yoongi replies, ‘yes?’

‘I just want you to like me,’ you say. For a moment you look completely lucid, and sad.

His heart gives a dangerous jolt then, like somehow, you’ve worked your way into it. Like a household pest.

Yoongi can’t bear the thought of exterminating you.

‘Stop being so annoying then,’ Yoongi says, trying to be stern but it comes out weak. He’s not even convincing himself at this point.

You put your hand over your heart. ‘I’ll try my best,’ you promise.

***

At breakfast, Yoongi frowns at his phone. 

‘Why am I getting invited to become a member of every country club in the vicinity?’

Seokjin, dressed in Yoongi’s clothes, mumbles something unintelligible into his cereal.

You look up from your pancakes and through your sunglasses at your husband.

‘I got you blacklisted from every single country club in the area when we first got married, so I spent yesterday getting you reinvited.’

You point your fork at Seokjin and say, grudgingly, ‘Seokjin helped.’

Seokjin sips his juice. 

‘Why did we drink so much?’ he asks.

‘You’re the one that kept asking for drinks,’ you point out.

Yoongi holds up a hand between you to break you up.

‘Why?’ he asks.

‘I’m making up for being awful to you,’ you tell him.

Yoongi frowns. ‘Is that why you’ve been so erratic lately?’

You’re offended. ‘I’m not erratic.’

‘Taking me to that basketball game? Buying me at the auction? Dinner at Namjoon and Nayeon’s?’ Yoongi asks.

‘Riding you in the shower yesterday,’ you add.

Seokjin covers his ears.

‘I’m being nice,’ you say.

Yoongi says, ‘I appreciate your efforts, but you don’t have to make anything up to me.’

‘She does,’ Seokjin interjects.

You toss a pancake at him. 

Yoongi rolls his eyes.

‘We’ll talk later,’ he says to you.

‘I don’t know why he’s still here,’ you say to Yoongi, like Seokjin’s not in the room.

Yoongi pushes your coffee towards you. ‘Drink. Finish your breakfast. Seokjin and I have a meeting to get to. Let’s talk later.’

‘I have a surprise for you tonight,’ you say, remembering.

Yoongi leans down to kiss your cheek.

‘I don’t like surprises.’

‘You’ll like this one,’ you promise. 

***

You once sent a troupe of strippers to put on a show at an important business meeting Yoongi had organised with a notoriously conservative client.

The deal had fallen through despite months of preparation and expense.

It was then that Yoongi had finally snapped and called you a cold hearted bitch for the first time.

You’d thought long and hard about how to make this up to him, and you don’t know enough about his company to source an equivalent deal.

You’re hoping dancing for him in the red teddy he got you will help.

You’re not a bad dancer, and you’ve been taking lessons for weeks, enough that you’re pretty confident you can pull it off.

You’ve hired a room in an underground sex club, hoping the gritty feel will add to the thrill of it.

Yoongi raises his eyebrows when you lead him through the private entrance off the street, down a flight of stairs, to a darkened corridor.

You lift the keycard out of your thigh-high stockings and unlock the door. 

You’d shared a bottle of wine at dinner, and you’re feeling good.

There’s a chair in the middle of the room, like you’d specified. The lights are off apart from a blue glow. It’s dark enough to lend a sense of intimacy, but light enough that you can see Yoongi’s gorgeous face clearly.

God, your husband looks beautiful tonight, all in black, his lips stained from the wine.

He leans back on the chair, legs spread, watching you.

The one thing you’ve always liked about Yoongi that he knows when to keep his mouth shut.

His lips part as you turn in front of him and unzip your dress. It puddles on the floor in a shimmering heap.

You hit play on the music and start dancing.

Yoongi’s gaze focuses intensely on you as you dance for him. You put your legs on his thighs, pushing them apart to make space for yourself as you shimmy between them.

Your ass brushes his crotch, deliberately, lingering longer and longer with each pass until you’re grinding against him.

Yoongi, like a seasoned strip club connoisseur, keeps his hands to himself, braced on his thighs.

You turn so you’re facing him, leaning forward to encourage him to look down the top of your silky teddy. Your nipples are stiff, pushing against the silk, and you put two fingers in his mouth.

He needs no prompting, sucking on your fingers, tongue delving between them suggestively.

You put a hand on his shoulder and run your wet fingers over your nipples. 

Yoongi grunts, eyes fixed on your tits.

You slide your hand down between your legs and lean over him to whisper in his ear.

‘I’m imagining your fingers here, Yoongi,’ you purr, gratified by how you can see his skin prickling with goosebumps.

Yoongi licks his lips. His voice, when it comes out, is so deep you’re wet just listening to him.

‘You know you really fuck me off sometimes,’ he says. 

For the first time since you started dancing for him, you falter.

You look at him uncertainly. 

His hand comes out, landing on your silk-covered hip, long fingers splaying over your ass.

‘I think it’s your face,’ he muses, almost like he’s talking to himself. ‘Your face is so fucking bratty I want to shove my dick in your mouth just to shut you up.’

He pulls you down so you’re sitting in his lap, straddling him. 

He cups your jaw, pulling your face closer to his. His thumb traces over your bottom lip, teasing at the seam of your lips until your lips part enough for him to slip his thumb in.

Automatically, you suck. 

‘There,’ Yoongi says. ‘You always look so pretty with me in your mouth.’

You can’t help yourself. You whimper around his thumb.

‘I like this even more though,’ he says. 

Eyes on you, he moves his hand down your hip, cupping you between your legs, parted on his lap.

Like this, you’re spread out on top of him.

Yoongi hisses as he feels how slick you are. He teases at your clit, one finger slipping into you.

You say his name. God, he feels good.

He curls his finger, and you whimper again.

‘Your little pussy knows it belongs to me,’ he says, almost conversational, as he strokes your clit.

He presses an open-mouthed kiss to your breast as he fingers you, tongue laving the red silk.

You slip a strap down your shoulder so your breast is exposed, nipple taut for him.

‘Do it properly, Yoongi,’ you whine.

Yoongi laughs darkly. ‘Where’s your manners, baby?’

Your mouth snaps closed, lips thinning into a straight line. Your eyes flash at him.

Yoongi’s looking at you. 

‘There you are,’ he says, but oddly, there’s affection in his voice. 

He tilts his head to slant his mouth over yours in a slow kiss at the same time his fingers start scissoring inside you.

He smells so good. He pulls away and leans his forehead against yours. 

‘I kiss you all the time, brat, how could you say we skip straight to the fucking?’

You’re hazy with pleasure, his fingers haven’t stopped moving inside you, and he always seems to go unerringly to the spot that makes you cry out his name and beg for more.

You’re begging now. 

‘Yoongi,’ you moan. 

‘Who fucks you like this, brat?’ he hisses.

‘You,’ you answer, ‘please, Yoongi.’

‘That’s right,’ he says. ‘That’s fucking right.’

You’re grinding against his hand now, each movement making you flutter around his fingers. You’re so close you can taste it, chasing your high.

Yoongi pulls his fingers out, and you cry out. 

‘Yoongi!’

‘Cum on my cock, let me feel you.’

You fumble with the zipper on his pants, and he hisses as you draw him out. 

He grabs your hips and sinks you down onto his cock.

Fuck, he’s so thick and hot you could cum even if he stayed perfectly still.

Yoongi shudders. ‘Fuck. Fuck. Feel me, baby? You get me so hard for you it hurts.’

Your eyes are squeezed shut, concentrating on the feel of him.

‘So fucking tight for me, shit.’

You’re already starting to tighten around his cock when he slaps your thigh. ‘Go on, this is what you wanted isn’t it? Fucking take it, baby.’

His voice is low, slurred, pupils blown all the way.

He’s rude as fuck, and you’re about to cum your brains out thinking about it.

Only Min Yoongi could do this to you.

He knows it. His breathing is ragged, but he somehow has the presence of mind to say, ‘fuck. Does my baby want tenderness too?’

His lips press against yours, he slides his tongue into your mouth, and he cradles the back of your head, fingers tangling in your hair.

‘Fucking cum for me,’ he murmurs. 

You slam your hips against his again, and finally, finally, you cum.

You curl into his chest, and he’s there, mouth on your hair. 

‘You did so well,’ he tells you. ‘Waving that ass in the air for me, shit. Wearing this. You’re gonna need to do this again.’

‘I want to be good for you,’ you say.

Yoongi tilts your face so you’ll look at him.

‘Why? I’m a cold bastard most of the time.’

‘You have a nice cock,’ you offer.

Yoongi laughs. ‘You can have my cock anytime. It’s all yours.’

‘Oh are we exclusive now?’ you tease.

‘I’m wearing your ring around my finger,’ Yoongi reminds you, showing you his hand. 

You tilt your head, pretending to think about it.

‘I’ll get you another ring to put around your cock.’

Yoongi grins and slaps your ass, gently. ‘Come on, get dressed. I want to get into bed with you. It’s my favourite part of the day.’

You want to ask if he really means that, but he’s already opening the door. 

***

Yoongi looks pretty sexy when he’s concentrating, you decide. 

You’ve graduated from sleeping together to also spending time together in his study sometimes in the evenings.

You’re trying to concentrate on reading a brief your social media manager prepared for you, but really your husband who isn’t doing anything other than frowning at his work, is distracting you.

Yoongi glances at you. ‘Need help with anything?’

You hum. 

He walks around his desk to stand next to you. 

‘What are you working on?’

You show him your brief. ‘Just prepping for a meeting tomorrow.’

Yoongi looks like he’s concentrating again, reading over your shoulder.

‘I’ve got it, Yoongi,’ you tell him.

He glances at you. 

‘I didn’t say you didn’t.’

You try to ignore the flare of irritation as Yoongi walks back to his desk.

You know Yoongi has a sharp intellect and great business instincts. He’s earned every bit of his impressive reputation.

You’d be a fool to turn down his help.

Maybe you are a fool. But you don’t want him to see you as the impulsive devil-may-care hellion he married. You want to show him that you, too, have earned your right for respect in your role.

You chew on that for a bit, and finally, sighing, give up and go to bed.

You guess it’s going to take a bit longer to change Yoongi’s perception of you.

***

You got up to a lot of shenanigans on your honeymoon with Yoongi. 

You were drunk for a lot of it, so you don’t remember much, but the bits you do remember are all bad.

You’d started drinking on the plane and spent the first night throwing up in the hotel bathroom.

And the second. Possibly the third.

You’d straight up disappeared after breakfast one day and had spent a day wandering the city on your own.

You’d also refused to sleep with him, claiming you were being treated for gonorrhoea. You’d accused him of giving it to you, which was how you’d ended up getting your hands on his test results to send to his company.

At least this is an easy thing to make up to Yoongi.

You couldn’t possibly make it a worse experience.

You’ve organised a weekend away with him, in a rustic little cabin by the lakes.

It works on many levels. The cabin’s a fair drive away, which means you get to watch your husband drive sexily. You think Yoongi likes nature, and you envisage doing a bit of paddling, maybe some fishing. 

Also, the isolation of the cabin means you won’t get any noise complaints, important because you intend on fucking Yoongi constantly this weekend.

You’re still congratulating yourself on your genius when Yoongi wakes up the morning you’re due to leave.

You’ve been awake for hours.

The smile you turn on him is so bright he grimaces.

Ah. You keep forgetting he’s not a morning person. Also you have no idea what time he got in last night.

You scurry out of bed to grab him a coffee and promptly trip over his slippers.

Yoongi swears behind you. ‘Why do you keep falling over my slippers? They’re in the same place every time.’

‘Maybe you shouldn’t leave them there,’ you retort, hurt. 

Then you remember you’re on your best behaviour. 

You bite your tongue and go to grab him a coffee. 

When you get back, he’s on his back, staring at the ceiling. 

‘Got you coffee,’ you say, holding out his mug.

He accepts with a gravelly ‘thanks.’

You’re brushing your teeth when he says, ‘there’s been a supply problem with the new line we’re launching. I may need to spend time this weekend on the phone.’ 

‘That’s fine,’ you say, brightly. You’re determined not to let anything mar your new honeymoon weekend.

Yoongi says, gently, ‘is there any way we could reschedule?’

You stare at him. ‘Do you not want to go?’ 

The words are out before you get a chance to think them over. You could kick yourself at the neediness in your tone.

Yoongi says, ‘of course I want to go, I just don’t want you to be disappointed.’

You’re starting to wonder if he’s trying to tell you he doesn’t want to go. 

‘I won’t be disappointed,’ you say, watching his face carefully.

Yoongi smiles at you. ‘Then let’s set off after breakfast.’

Yoongi’s quiet as he’s driving, and you notice how tired he looks. You’re just about to suggest he pulls over to let you drive when he says, ‘something on my face?’

‘You look tired,’ you say. 

‘I am tired,’ he tells you. He smiles at you, faintly. ‘This upcoming collaboration with Novatech will be the biggest, most high-stakes project I’ve started since I took over from my father. I can’t afford for it to fail.’

‘Why would it fail?’ you ask.

‘There are a lot of moving parts,’ Yoongi says, vaguely.

‘I’m sure it’ll be a roaring success,’ you say, faith firmly in your capable, successful husband.

Yoongi says, ‘just don’t try to sabotage me.’

You say, earnestly, ‘those days are behind me.’

‘It’s a shame,’ Yoongi says, ‘I’m going to miss spanking you for misbehaving.’

That reminds you. 

‘You can spank me anytime,’ you tell Yoongi. ‘Also, check out these new panties I bought.’

Yoongi glances at you and nearly swerves off the road.

‘Are you wearing crotchless panties?’ he asks, and he looks intrigued and flustered all at once.

‘It’s called an ouvert,’ you explain. ‘That’s French for open.’

Yoongi mutters something to himself you don’t quite catch.

‘What did you say?’ you ask, sweet as pie.

‘I said, your fucking pussy is going to kill me,’ Yoongi says. 

He gives you a half smile, lazy, devastating. 

‘I can’t think of a better way to go.’

***

Yoongi’s phone rings the moment you step into the cabin.

You wonder if you should have plumped for somewhere more rustic with no cell reception.

You unpack half-heartedly, watching from the window as he paces around outside the cabin.

He rubs a hand over his forehead, looking more stressed and tired than you’ve ever seen him.

Maybe he’s been stressed like this before but you haven’t been paying attention.

You come out to bring him a glass of water.

He smiles at you, still on his phone.  

You flash him your ass and glance back to see if he’s watching. 

He isn’t.

When Yoongi’s done on the phone you grab him. 

‘Want to go for a walk? I’ll protect you from the wolves.’

‘I am the wolf,’ Yoongi says, but it’s half hearted.

‘Hey, why don’t you take a break. I’ll rub your back.’

Yoongi perks up at your suggestion, and it’s the most animated you’ve seen him all day.

You get him to lay on the bed just in his briefs.

You wonder if you’ll ever get used to how beautiful his body is.

You put your hands on his shoulders and knead, and his deep groan makes you feel good in so many ways.

You can feel Yoongi’s muscles relax as you massage over his shoulders and down his back. When you get to his legs he twitches a little like he’s falling asleep.

By the time you get to his feet he’s dead asleep.

You cover him with a blanket and a kiss and head out for a walk.

When you get back he’s still asleep, so you make a space for yourself next to him and join him.

You’re awakened by Yoongi’s hand on your shoulder. 

‘Hey, I made dinner for us.’

You blink, disoriented. ‘What time is it?’

‘It’s late. Come on. We’ll sleep better when we’re full.’

Yoongi’s made ram-don. You sigh happily as you sit down in front of the steaming bowl. Instead of sitting across from you, Yoongi slides in next to you.

His thigh nudges yours. He puts his free hand on your thigh. 

You look at him curiously.

Yoongi says, ‘eat.’

The noodles are delicious, but you find you’re enjoying Yoongi’s hand on your thigh just as much. 

You put your hand on his, and smile at him as he knits your fingers together. 

It’s sweet, and silly, and something you wouldn’t expect from your normally brisk, impatient husband.

Yoongi watches you finish your noodles, enjoying the warmth of your thigh and hand. He shifts a little, because he’s quite sure he shouldn’t have a raging hard-on from doing something as innocent as holding your hand.

You’re smiling at him so happily. If Yoongi’d known that holding your hand would be enough to make you smile like that he’d have tried to hold hands with you this whole time.

You’re finished with your late dinner. Yoongi stops you when you get up to start clearing up.

‘Let me do it. Why don’t we watch a movie? You set it up and I’ll clear up here.’

By the time Yoongi finishes clearing up, you’re ensconced on the couch, so covered in blankets he can barely see you. The lights are low, the TV on playing some movie Yoongi knows he’s not going to get into. 

He’d rather watch you.

He slides in next to you and holds out his arm.

You look at him like you’ve never been invited to snuggle before.

To be fair, Yoongi doesn’t think you’ve ever done this together.

He lowers his arm like he’s changed his mind, and you’re next to him so quickly he has to bite back a smile.

You rest your head in the curve between his neck and shoulder, cheek on his chest.

Your hand flutters over his torso, finally landing on his stomach. You turn in, nose against his chest, breathing him in.

It’s adorable. You’re adorable.

Yoongi wants to fight dragons for you. 

He leans down and sniffs your hair as quietly as he can. 

Your breathing is easy, slow, and Yoongi realises you’ve fallen asleep when you go boneless in his arms. 

He wonders if you know how much he’s prepared to do for you if you ever asked.

Part 2

©hamsterclaw 2022

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Vows (Part 2)

aka 10 ways to win your husband's heart: an arranged marriage AU

You're five years into your arranged marriage with Min Yoongi, and he's never once retaliated for anything you've done to him. One day you realise you've lost your appetite for provoking him, and you set about trying to win his heart instead.

Pairing: Yoongi x F! reader

Rating: 18+

Genre: Arranged marriage, e2l, smut, angst

Word count: 5k

Warnings: Sex and swearing

Read part 1 here.

Nara puts a slice of sashimi on your plate.

‘How’s making up with your husband going?’ she asks.

You shrug. ‘I’ve got five things left to do.’

‘Five?’ Nara asks. ‘Surely he’s already soft for you? Why do you even have to do any more things?’

‘It’s not about making him soft for me. It’s making up for all the things I did to him.’

‘Is he even asking you to do any of this?’

‘He never asks for anything,’ you say. 

‘Figures. I’ve always pegged him as the strong silent type.’

You don’t think it’s that, though. Yoongi has no problem being vocal when it comes to telling you off. 

You think Nara has a point.

‘Maybe I’ll just ask him what he wants.’

You can’t believe that Yoongi would ever ask you for anything, but it’s worth a shot.

***

You stare at your husband over the dining table in disbelief. 

‘A month?’

‘You asked,’ Yoongi says, shrugging.

‘No. I never did anything that bad.’

Yoongi just picks up another dumpling and pops it in his mouth, chewing nonchalantly.

‘You asked how you could make things up to me. Do everything I say for a month and we’ll have a clean slate.’

‘I’ll do everything you say for a day,’ you bargain.

‘A week,’ counters Yoongi. 

‘It’ll probably just be sex things,’ you mutter to yourself.

Yoongi raises an eyebrow. ‘And you wouldn’t enjoy that?’

You bite your lip. ‘A weekend?’ you offer.

Yoongi considers this. 

He puts out his hand. 

You shake it.

***

It’s your weekend of enforced subservience to Yoongi. You’ve been subtly prying all week, trying to get a hint of what he’s got planned, but your husband’s been a closed book.

Well, as closed off as he normally is.

Although he’s been more open lately. You think of the night in the cabin you fell asleep in his arms and woke up to him stroking your hair.

You think your husband’s starting to warm towards you. 

He even gave you a kiss yesterday morning on his way out.

Beside you, Yoongi turns over. ‘Morning, princess.’

You never thought you’d enjoy being called princess but it’s different when Min Yoongi’s saying it in his gravelly, early morning voice.

‘Morning,’ you say.

Yoongi lays on his back, running a hand through his hair. ‘I was thinking, I call you all sorts of things, but you don’t call me anything.’

‘You mean, like, baby?’ you ask.

Yoongi laughs. ‘Am I a baby?’

You can’t think of anyone less baby-like than your confident, capable husband.

‘You’re more of an oppa,’ you say, honestly. ‘Or a daddy.’

Yoongi props himself up on one arm. ‘Not sure about daddy but I could probably get behind oppa.’

‘Noted,’ you say cheerfully. You sit up, and Yoongi holds you back as you swing your legs onto the floor.

He sweeps his slippers out of the way with his arm.

‘Don’t trip,’ he orders. 

‘Yes oppa,’ you say, half joking.

Yoongi laughs. ‘Maybe we should save it for when we’re in bed together.’

‘I like Yoongi,’ you tell him, heading for his bathroom. ‘Two syllables is nice to wrap my tongue round.’

‘I have something else you can wrap your tongue round,’ Yoongi says. 

You laugh and pull your t-shirt, well, Yoongi’s t-shirt, over your head. 

You pause just before you step into the shower. ‘Wait, was that an order?’

Yoongi’s already brushing his teeth. ‘I won’t order you to do any sex things with me. I’d rather you begged for it.’

‘I have another ouvert,’ you say, turning the shower on.

‘Wear it,’ Yoongi says instantly. 

You both laugh. 

‘Yes, sir,’ you say.

Yoongi cocks his head to one side. ‘Sir,’ he says, considering.

You lather up your hair. 

‘No way.’

***

At breakfast Yoongi says you’re going to visit his grandmother. 

It’s not at all what you were expecting. 

You like Yoongi’s family, and you think they like you too. His grandmother’s always been warm towards you.

‘I like visiting your family,’ you say.

Yoongi glances at you. ‘Did you think I was going to make you do things you don’t want to?’

‘I’ll be honest, I thought anal was on the agenda.’

Yoongi scoffs. ‘Like I said, I won’t make you do anything sexual. You’ll have to beg for it.’

‘I’ll never beg,’ you say, just out of defiance. You’re perfectly aware Yoongi’s brought you to the point to begging in the past.

Yoongi’s expression shows he knows it as well as you do.

‘My grandmother’s having a family get together today. Most of my family will be there.’

‘Sounds lovely,’ you say, enthusiastically. 

You love Yoongi’s nieces and nephews.

Yoongi says, ‘they’re expecting us for lunch.’

‘One dutiful, pliant, obedient wife coming up,’ you reply.

Yoongi shakes his head. ‘Not too pliant, they’ll think you’re being sarcastic.’

‘Yes oppa.’

Yoongi scoffs, but you see the way his lips twitch as he turns away.

***

Ah shit.

You’d forgotten about Yoongi’s cousin. 

Yoonseok and Yoongi have always been competitive, from what you can glean.

They grew up together, but took wildly different paths. 

Yoongi, as the eldest son of the eldest brother, was always set to take over the company.

Yoonseok, with a similar drive and ambition but a different set of talents, became a professional basketball player.

You’ve always had a thing for athletes, the man you dated on and off before you married Yoongi was a football player.

Fresh out of your whirlwind marriage to your aloof, distant husband, you’d turned your attentions to flirting outrageously with Yoonseok in front of Yoongi.

You’d initially wanted to just get a reaction out of Yoongi, but as he’d shown no discernible reaction, your antics, encouraged by Yoonseok, had got progressively more outrageous.

You have a vague memory of cavorting in a tiny bikini in the pool of Min family home with a shirtless Yoonseok. Also of grinding drunkenly with Yoonseok at a family wedding anniversary. 

You cringe at the memory. 

Yoonseok approaches you when Yoongi’s drafted to help with the barbecue.

‘Hey, Y/N,’ he says.

You’re not going to lie, Yoonseok’s stunning, all muscles and height, but for the first time, you’re left cold. 

He’s not a patch on your grumpy husband.

‘Hey, how’ve you been?’ you ask, politely.

‘Great,’ he says, smiling warmly at you. 

He takes the tray you’re holding out of your hands, and you realise there’s another opportunity to make something up to Yoongi. 

You’d planned to do it at his parents’ wedding anniversary next month, but you can do it right now. 

You’ve always been a fan of ruthless efficiency. 

‘Hey, Yoonseok,’ you say, putting your hand on his arm. 

His gaze falls to your hand, and you take it away hurriedly. 

‘I’m trying to make up for all the things I’ve done to Yoongi, and this —’ you gesture between you and him, ‘is right up there.’ 

‘You’re gonna need to be more specific,’ Yoonseok says, the bastard. 

You guess being a gorgeous asshole runs in the family. 

You look up at him. Damn. He’s really going to make you say it. 

You say, voice as flat as possible, ‘flirting with you every chance I got.’ 

Your timing couldn’t be worse. Yoongi walks into the kitchen to see you and Yoonseok, and in time to hear your sentence. 

He looks at both of you carefully. 

‘I was just saying to Yoonseok that I’m trying to make up for all the outrageous things I did in the early days of our marriage,’ you say to Yoongi. 

Yoongi’s face is expressionless. 

‘Like flirting with a bunch of men I really had no interest in,’ you finish, determined. 

‘Ouch,’ says Yoonseok. 

You feel like dumping the entire tray over his gorgeous head. 

‘Ah,’ says Yoongi. 

You stand between the monosyllabic Min men awkwardly, then decide there’s no salvaging this. 

‘I should — ‘ 

You’re out the door without finishing your sentence. 

Yoongi says barely anything to you at the meal, and for once, Yoonseok doesn’t try to sit next to you. 

When Yoongi’s nephew Junho suggests a game of ultimate frisbee you’re the first to volunteer. 

Thankfully you’re dressed appropriately enough to get dirty. 

Ah shit. 

There’s enough of you to play three-a-side, and somehow you end up on Yoongi’s team with Junho. 

You consider protesting over Yoonseok, a professional athlete, being allowed to play, but seeing as he’s paired with twin ten year olds, Sana and Mina, you think you can probably let it slide. 

Yoongi and Junho are discussing strategy, and you pretend to listen. 

‘Got it?’ asks Yoongi, looking at you sternly. 

You think you’re less of a liability than nine year old Junho but you nod meekly anyway. 

The game starts easily enough, you quickly work out that Junho’s quick and Sana’s highly competitive. 

Yoongi snaps the frisbee to you, and you catch it, tossing it to Junho. 

Yoonseok plows into Yoongi for no discernible reason. 

You’re about to run to him when Yoongi jumps up and into him. 

You hadn’t realise Yoongi was so quick. 

No one acknowledges the goal you score when you run into the end zone and Junho tosses the frisbee back to you. 

Sana and Mina score a goal whilst Yoongi and Yoonseok continue to wrestle. 

You consider getting involved as the only other adult present, but Yoongi looks kind of hot like this, teeth gritted, sweaty, panting. 

Also, he hasn’t looked at you once, arms trembling with the effort of holding Yoonseok down.

Mina intercepts a careless pass from Junho, and she scores another goal. 

Junho yells, ‘Come on, we got this!’ 

You’re torn between not letting down your 9 year old teammate and feeling a little worried and a lot horny for your sweaty, intense husband. 

Junho throws another careless pass, and the frisbee thwacks Yoonseok on the head. 

He turns to look at you, incredulous. 

Now you’re torn between selling out your 9 year old teammate and being mown down by a sweaty-ass man built like a brick wall. 

‘RUN!’ you shout. You grab Junho’s hand and, no questions asked, he runs with you. 

You can hear that you’re being pursued, but you don’t dare turn. 

You can hear Yoongi’s low voice. ‘Come back, motherfucker!’ he hisses. 

Ah shit. Ah shit. 

Junho trips and you turn, fully expecting to be mown down by Yoonseok. 

Instead, you see Yoongi starfishing on top of Yoonseok. 

‘Get off!’

‘Make me,’ Yoongi grunts. 

Shit. Again, you think how fucking hot Yoongi is when he’s angry. 

Junho turns over, and at first you think he’s injured, and then you realise he’s laughing. 

‘Motherfucker!’ he yells. 

You, Yoongi and Yoonseok freeze. 

‘Damn,’ Yoonseok says, smug. ‘Good luck explaining that to halmeoni.’ 

***

Yoongi steps out of the shower, towel around his waist.

You’re already showered, lounging on the bed in a silky slip. 

He barely raises an eyebrow at you. 

‘Are you going to give me the silent treatment all weekend?’ you ask. ‘How are you going to get me to do what you want if you won’t talk to me?’ 

Yoongi towels his hair, and you stop him. 

‘Sit, let me dry your hair.’ 

He’s been growing his hair out lately. It suits him. 

You grab a frizz-tamer from the toiletries you’ve been gradually moving into Yoongi’s bedroom and pump some into your hand. 

Yoongi sits, quietly, looking at you in the mirror whilst you dry his hair. 

‘There,’ you say, when you’re finished. 

You’ve styled his hair away from his forehead, it’s a look you love on him. 

‘I’m just going to bed,’ Yoongi says. 

‘Am I going to bed with you?’ you ask. 

Yoongi sighs. ‘I’d never kick you out of bed,’ he tells you. 

‘Not even if I —’ you fall silent as you click through all the things you’ve done to Yoongi over the last five years and realise you’ve done all the worst things you can think of already. 

Yoongi looks at you. It feels a little bit like he’s waiting for something. 

‘I’m sorry for being such a terrible person,’ you offer. 

‘I’m sorry for not being the husband you wanted,’ Yoongi says. 

‘Damn, I should have said that. Can I change my apology?’ 

Yoongi gives you a half-smile. He starts to stand, and you reach out and tug his towel. The two sides come apart, and you kneel between his legs. 

‘Please,’ you say, looking up at him. 

Yoongi strokes your hair away from your face. ‘I’m always thinking about this,’ he says. 

‘Me sucking your cock?’ you ask, kissing your way up his thigh. 

‘You and me,’ he replies. 

He hardens as you lick along his cock. You curl your fingers around him and put him in your mouth.

Soon, he’s hard enough to push against the roof of your mouth. 

You lick a stripe along the underside of his cock, and he hardens even more. 

‘You like this, oppa?’ 

‘I like it, jagiya.’ 

Yoongi’s cock is beautiful when it’s fully hard -- perfectly straight, veiny and thick enough to make you gasp when he first enters you, no matter how many times you’ve had him. 

He seems to know how much you like the stretch as he pushes into you, he’s always slow about it, teasing at your entrance, pushing in slowly until you’re writhing under him. 

He leads you onto the bed now, somehow hitting the lights as he goes because he knows you like it when it’s dark. 

You get on your hands and knees for him, poised at the end of the bed. 

You can hear him approach you. He puts a hand on your bare ass, groans and slides his hand up your naked back.

‘Always so quick to get naked for me, princess,’ he says.

‘I love being naked for you, daddy.’

His hand stops on your hip. 

‘Yeah sorry oppa I was just trying it out.’

Yoongi laughs and slides a finger down your slit, pushing your thighs apart.

‘When you’re wet and naked like this, baby, you can call me anything you want.’

‘I want to call you Yoongi,’ you tell him. 

You can feel the head of his cock against your cunt. 

He slips in, and you moan.

His hand splays across the curve of your spine, angling you for him.

‘You’re always so perfect for me,’ he says. He kisses your back, following the line of your spine. 

His hands come around to cup your breasts, toying with your nipples. You cry out as he pinches.

‘Yoongi!’

He shoves his hips against your ass. ‘I’m here,’ he tells you. 

You put your hand on his, over your breast. Yoongi stops, and then he pulls out, flipping you over on the bed.

‘Look at me,’ he says. You look up at him as he enters you again.

He knits his fingers through yours, holding your hand as he rocks into you. 

His lips meet yours in a slow, tender kiss. He slides all the way into you, until his cock feels so deep you don’t know where he ends and you begin.

He stays still like that, hard and heavy within you, as he kisses your lips, your cheeks, your eyes.

It feels like he’s loving you more than he’s fucking you.

‘Are you ok, baby?’ he asks, and he sounds so tender you feel a surge of emotion. You haven’t got the headspace to unpick it right now.

So you nod and smile up at him. ‘I’m good, Yoongi.’

He smiles back. 

‘You’re so soft, like this.’

You shift your hips. ‘You’re very hard,’ you observe, grinning.

He thrusts, once, and you moan.

‘Don’t stop,’ you say. 

You can feel his cock jerk at the pleading in your voice.

He lifts your leg to his shoulder, and you both moan at the change in position.

Yoongi turns his head to kiss your calf as he starts moving again. 

You’re so wet now you can hear yourself over the slap of his skin on yours.

His lips seek yours again, swallowing your cries as you pulse around his cock. He shudders and you feel his warmth fill you.

You pull him down on top of you in a tangle of limbs and sweaty skin, and you’ve never felt so complete.

***

You’ve planned out the final three stages of your plan to make things up to Yoongi with laser precision.

Well, as precise as you’re capable of being.

You meet Yoongi for lunch sometimes these days, and today you’ve taken the afternoon off because you know he’s playing tennis with Seokjin after lunch.

In the first couple of years after you got married, Yoongi had forgone his driver and driven you around in his car, a vintage sports car he’d seemed to like. 

You’d had it sold to a classic car collector and used the money to buy him a completely different car, the antithesis of the car he’d had. It was flashy, and brand new, and soulless. 

You still remember the way his jaw clenched when you presented it to him. 

You hope today goes better. You’d tracked down the collector you’d sold Yoongi’s original car to and repurchased it from him.

Thankfully, it still seems to be in perfect condition. Namjoon had a friend check it over for you.

You can’t wait to see Yoongi’s face when he sees it.

Yoongi smiles at you as he parks up in your driveway. ‘Why are you so excited?’

‘I have a surprise for you,’ you tell him. ‘It’s —-‘

His phone rings and he murmurs a quick ‘sorry’ before answering.

You fidget impatiently in your seat as he talks. You pick up that he sounds tense, irritated.

Yoongi hangs up and turns to you. ‘I need to go back to the office, baby.’

‘Sure, of course. Want me to drive you?’ 

‘You should probably just get lunch. I might be back late.’

‘Sure.’ You lean over and give Yoongi a kiss and hop out of the car.

You wave at him as he drives off, but you’re not sure he sees you.

***

Yoongi ended up coming home after you fell asleep, and he was gone by the time you woke up, so you’re not sure if he saw his new car.

You’re in your office replying to emails when Mr Jee, your boss and one of the directors, a good friend of your father’s, knocks at the door.

‘Congratulations,’ he says.

For one wild moment you wonder if he’s congratulating you on reaching the last two stages of your plan to atone for your past sins with Yoongi.

‘For what?’ you ask.

‘For reaching all the milestones on the Juno launch,’ he says.

Juno is a new service you’d launched a few months ago, a food delivery service with a USP of being able to order from multiple places at once.

It’s doing better than all projections, you’re pretty proud of it and your team for seeing it through.

‘You’re getting an award at the company dinner next week,’ Mr Jee says, smiling kindly at you. 

‘Does it come with a raise?’ you ask, because you aren’t your father’s daughter for nothing.

Mr Jee nods, serious. ‘Come see me in my office in the morning and we’ll talk about it.’

As soon as he leaves you pick up the phone to call Nara and tell her, and it occurs to you for the first time that Yoongi might be interested too.

Impulsively, you call him. 

He answers on the second ring. ‘Are you ok?’ He asks.

He sounds worried.

‘I’m fine,’ you say. ‘I just —‘

‘Before I forget, I saw the car.’

You forget your own news temporarily.

‘Do you like it?’

‘I love it. Thank you, baby. Maybe we can take it for a spin once this Novatech thing is over.’

‘Love to,’ you say, immediately.

Yoongi says, ‘ah, sorry. I need to go. I’ll be back late, hopefully see you at breakfast tomorrow?’

‘Yeah, see you, Yoongi.’

You’ve hung up before you remember you didn’t tell him your news.

***

Nara’s pulled some strings at her publishing company to help you with your penultimate task.

To make up for sending Yoongi’s STI screen to his entire company, you’ve managed to get him to be featured in one of those lists of hot up and coming tech multi-millionnaires. 

You hadn’t really had to do much more once you got in the door to meet the editor than to wave a picture of your gorgeous husband at her.

Yoongi’s got enough of a reputation that he had made their shortlist anyway.

The picture had just been the icing on the cake.

Thinking about it, you aren’t sure that sending Yoongi’s STI screen was that bad a thing to do. At least his employees knew their boss was responsible for his sexual health. 

You remember Yoongi’s thunderous face as he’d pointed out that half his staff were his parents’ age, his parents’ friends and deeply conservative. 

Anyway you’ve been sent an early copy, and Yoongi’s feature is so hot you feel like running around and showing him off.

Yoongi’s aware, of course, he’d had to consent to the feature, but it’s come out even better than you could have wished for.

You’re lying in bed, still awake, when he comes home. 

He sits on the edge of the bed, putting his hand on your thigh. 

‘Still awake, baby?’

‘I’m glad I got to see you before I fell asleep,’ you tell him.

He loosens his tie, tugging it off. 

‘Want me to rub your back?’ you ask.

‘Nah. I just want to sit here with you for a bit.’

‘Hey,’ you say, remembering. ‘Are you free this Friday?’

‘Ah, I have dinner plans. Why?’

‘Just I have this company dinner to go to and I was hoping for some company.’

You giggle at your inadvertent pun and you can sense Yoongi rolling his eyes.

‘I promised I’d take my team for dinner to thank them for their hard work with the Novatech deal.’

‘Ah, ok.’

You roll over to hide your disappointment. 

‘Good night, Yoongi.’

‘Good night, my love.’

‘Say that again,’ you say.

‘Demanding little brat. I said good night.’

‘What did you say at the end?’

‘Nothing.’

You huff in annoyance. 

You’re falling asleep when he finally gets into bed with you.

‘I said you’re my love,’ he tells you.

‘Thought so,’ you murmur. 

Yoongi reaches around you to hold your hand and you fall asleep in his arms.

***

You don’t normally invite Yoongi to events at your company, well you haven’t prior to this.

Nara sometimes comes with you, and she’s with you tonight.

She cheers the loudest when you’re presented with your award, and you can’t help laughing when you get back to your table.

‘How’s your voice?’ you ask, teasing.

‘Always here to scream on your behalf,’ Nara says, loyal friend that she is.

You hug her tightly. 

‘Come on now that I have my raise and my award, let’s go celebrate. Drinks on me.’

You wake up in Nara’s bed with fifty missed calls and messages from your husband.

Ah shit.

You call Yoongi to assure him that you’re fine and say you’ll meet him for breakfast. 

Nara’s already up, looking disconcertingly healthy in her gym clothes.

You hug her goodbye, pull on some sweats and dark glasses and go to meet Yoongi.

He’s at a coffee shop you both go to sometimes because the pastries are good.

Seokjin’s with him. 

They both look frighteningly bright and chirpy in your hungover state.

Yoongi passes you a coffee. 

‘You should let me know if you’re going out,’ he says. ‘I was worried.’

‘I’m sorry, I will next time. We were just celebrating.’

You fish your award out of your bag and put it on the table in front of him. 

‘I got an award at the company dinner last night for Juno.’

For the first time ever since you’ve met him, Seokjin actually looks impressed. 

‘You were involved with that? I use Juno all the time.’

You nod proudly.

Yoongi frowns. ‘Why didn’t you tell me? I would have come —-‘

‘You had plans, anyway,’ you say. 

You break off as Park Gyuri approaches your table. 

Like everyone else in your life, she looks bright, chipper, fresh.

You resist the urge to pull your hoodie over your head and tie the strings, taut.

‘Thanks for dinner last night, Yoongi,’ she says. ‘We probably should have rescheduled considering it was just two of us, but it was great, anyway.’

Her words make you glad you’ve got sunglasses on that hide half your face.

Ah shit. 

You’re tired, and emotional, and too fucking hungover for this. 

You think you’re going to cry. 

You get up, quickly, mumbling something about forgetting something in your car.

As soon as you’re out of the line of sight of the coffee shop, you speed up. 

‘Hey,’ a voice says. ‘Hey stop.’

Kim Seokjin is beautiful, but he’s not the asshole you want right now.

You press your lips together so they don’t tremble. 

You turn your face up to his, hoping he can’t see how teary you are.

Seokjin says, ‘Min Yoongi’s my best friend, but he’s a goddamned idiot half the time.’

He waits until he’s sure you’re looking at him.

‘Say the word and I’ll get my bodyguard Sungho to fuck him up right now.’

You can’t do anything but stare at him in astonishment. 

He holds out his arms. ‘They say I’ve got a good chest to cry on. Broad shoulders, and all that.’

You’re half-crying, half-laughing as he hugs you. ‘Who says that?’ you ask.

‘Shut up, brat,’ he advises. ‘Just enjoy the Seokjin shoulders to cry on.’

‘Not a thing,’ you say, snarkily, but you let him hold you anyway.

***

Seokjin drops you off at home.

Yoongi’s waiting by the door.

‘Are you ok?’ he asks.

‘Yeah, just a little tired,’ you reply.

Yoongi says, ‘I’ve never been unfaithful to you, Y/N.’

You’re worried you’re going to start crying again. 

‘If I’d known I’d have rescheduled the team dinner,’ he tells you. ‘I’m sorry I wasn’t there.’

His words soothe your sore heart like a balm.

He reaches out to slip your sunglasses off, your last flimsy layer of protection.

You know now that you’re firmly, irrevocably in love with your husband.

You melt into his arms.

***

It’s the evening of your final task to make things up with Yoongi.

You’re not even sure what the real world significance of ten tasks means.

It’s arbitrary.

Your relationship with Yoongi has been mending itself purely through getting to know each other.

You know Yoongi cares for you. He’s been showing it with his actions even if he can’t bring himself to say the words.

But you, you love words. You love romance and dreaming and all those other things people get ridiculed for loving.

You check in your bag to make sure you have the ring you picked out for Yoongi.

You’re going to ask him to marry you tonight.

He’s meeting you at the tallest building in the city because you wanted the gorgeous view when you propose.

You’ve just arrived at the front steps when Yoongi pulls up in the car you bought him.

He gets out, and you walk over to him.

He greets you with a kiss, and it’s so sweet it gives you butterflies.

‘Hey, I want to tell you something before we go up there,’ he says.

‘I know you have this idea that you want to make things up to me for things you’ve done in the past, but you should know I don’t think you need to do any of that. You were young, and hurting, and I wasn’t your choice. I don’t blame you for any of that.’

You go to speak, but he stops you. 

He reaches out to hold your hand. 

‘I’m sorry I wasn’t the husband you wanted,’ he says, ‘because you’ve always been exactly the wife I wanted.’

Yoongi’s lips curve in that half smile you’ve grown to know so well. ‘I’ll always choose you, my love.’

You lean into his arms. ‘Damn. Why do you always say everything better than me?’ you ask. 

You reach into your bag. ‘Since we’re doing this here on the road.’

You drop to one knee elegantly. ‘Will you marry me, Min Yoongi?’

Yoongi looks down at your face, at the ring you’re holding out to him.

‘Come up here, brat.’ 

He pulls you in his arms again. 

‘Is that a yes?’ you ask, between kisses.

‘I hate to break it to you, but we’re already married,’ Yoongi says, dryly.

‘I wanted to propose to you up there, with the world at our feet,’ you complain.

Yoongi ushers you into the car, closing the door and sliding in after you.

‘The world’s already at our feet,’ he tells you. ‘Can I take you home?’

You put your hand on his. ‘Yes.’ 

Read next: Sorry - a drabble

©hamsterclaw 2022

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Vows aka 10 ways to win your husband's heart Masterlist

An arranged marriage AU

You've been in your arranged marriage with Yoongi for five years, and he's never once retaliated for anything you've done to him. One day you realise you've lost your appetite for provoking him, and you set about trying to win his heart instead.

Vows Part 1 Part 2

Drabbles - Sorry, Pretend, Lonely, The suit, Choices, Geneva, Avila, Drive stick, Sire, Drown, Sulky

Schooled - Seokjin's revenge

Firsts

Everything

Doll

Penance

Every time like the first time

Switch pt 2

Untouchable

First Strike

Shiner

©hamsterclaw 2022-2023

---

Nightcall

Yoongi's never been anything but honest with you. He's not looking for a relationship. It's too bad that you've been in love with him since you met him.

Pairing: Yoongi x F! reader

Rating: 18+

Genre: Non-idol AU, angst, smut

Word count: 2.6k

Warnings: Sex, swearing, emotional unavailability

Yoongi’s bare ass flashes past you, pale as the rest of him, as he steps into the shower. You avert your eyes so he doesn’t catch you looking as he turns.

You brush your teeth and pat serum onto your face. You’re always conscious of your skin, sometimes you hate the way you look, barefaced.

Yoongi showers in silence, steam fogging up the glass partition separating you.

You’re moving before you give yourself a chance to second-guess yourself, stepping behind the glass with him.

The surprise in his eyes nearly makes you lose your nerve, but he’s quick to rally.

His hand closes around your arm, and he pulls you into a kiss. He tastes minty, fresh. He cups your breast, touching, squeezing. The weight of his cock brushes against your belly as you lean into him.

‘Yoongi,’ you sigh.

He pushes you against the marble-tiled wall, his body insistent against yours, the hardness of him making you breathless.

‘Turn,’ he grunts, hands already on your hips spinning you around. He drags your hips back, pushing down on the curve of your spine, positioning you for him.

You’re not quite wet enough when he enters you, but Yoongi knows how to get you there.

He cups your breasts, litters your back with kisses, thrusting shallowly until you’re slick enough that he can glide into you.

‘Fuck,’ he pants. He’s moving fast, hard, you don’t think you’ll have time to cum and you’re right.

Yoongi groans as he spills himself into you, arms tightening around you, holding you.

It’s the best you’ve felt in a long time.

Then, too soon, he’s pulling away, rinsing himself off.

He barely looks at you before he steps out of the shower, leaving the water running.

You stand in the shower longer than you need to, trying to compose yourself, and by the time you come out he’s fully dressed.

You spend time on your makeup, put on the work clothes you brought with you the night before when you came over, and pack your things.

You’re stepping out of his bedroom, heading for the door, when he calls out after you.

‘Do you want a drink or anything?’

You’re thirsty, but you want to go before your feelings catch up with you.

Yoongi’s quick when he wants to be. He’s crossing the living room, handing you a glass of juice, watching you gulp it down.

You hoist your overnight bag over your shoulder.

‘Bye,’ you say.

You risk a glance at him.

He’s looking at you like he cares, and your resolve wavers dangerously.

You leave, closing the door behind you, walking quickly because the greater the distance you put between yourself and Min Yoongi, the better.

***

Min Yoongi is honest to a fault. He said from the first time you fucked that a physical relationship was all he was prepared to offer you. He told you not to expect to meet his friends, to be taken out on dates, to even think about romantic gestures.

You make casual conversation but he doesn’t ask you anymore about your dreams, your feelings. He asks you about work but he doesn’t probe.

He’s never asked you when your birthday is.

If he notices that your phone is constantly lighting up today, he doesn’t say. You’ve put it on silent but your friends are chatting about what a great time they had with you this evening at your birthday dinner, before you left to meet Yoongi.

The joint present they got you is tucked in your handbag, and if Yoongi notices the pale pink wrapped box, he doesn’t say.

He’s sliding his hand up your thigh as he kisses you, making the red silk of your dress ride up.

He’s a good kisser, firm but not insistent, letting you set the pace. Kissing him has always been your favourite part, because he holds you, really holds you, when you kiss.

It makes you feel like he’s there, it helps you pretend that he really cares.

Yoongi tugs at the tie holding your dress together, unwrapping you, smiling at you as he sees your matching lingerie.

‘So pretty,’ he says. His voice gets so deep when you’re together like this, sometimes you can barely make the words out but you love the sound of it.

Yoongi’s sucking at your tits in that way he knows you like, getting you slick and sticky for him so that by the time he enters you, you’re humming with pleasure.

He doesn’t take long to make you cum, he may not know where you work now but he knows how to make you arch your back for him, how to make you cry out his name.

You’re breathing hard still, coming down from your high when he gets up off you, leaning back on the couch he’s just fucked you on.

Sometimes he holds you after you have sex, and those are your favourite times because God knows, you’ve been in love with him almost since you met him.

You feel a pang in your chest because you know you deserve more than this. You would have loved to have him hold you for a while, today.  

You’re automatically straightening your clothes, putting your shoes back on, picking up your bag to go. The ridiculously cheesy birthday card your friends got you falls out of your bag as you pick it up, and Yoongi picks it up, handing it back to you.

His expression is impassive, you don’t know what he’s thinking.

You tuck it into your bag and force a smile.

‘See you later, Yoongi.’

‘You’re not staying?’ he asks.

‘Oh, I have an early start tomorrow,’ you lie. It’s true, but the main reason you’re not staying is that leaving in the morning is harder than leaving him the night of.

Spending the night in bed with him makes you want things he’s not prepared to give you.

You’re the one blurring the lines, because Yoongi’s always been clear with you.

‘Happy birthday,’ he says.

You smile at him, easy. ‘Thanks.’

‘Why don’t you wait up here for the taxi?’ he asks.

‘Oh, it’ll be here soon, don’t worry,’ you say.

He doesn’t tend to walk you out, so you’re surprised when he gets redressed, shoving his feet into slides, pulling the hood of his sweatshirt up over his head.

He waits with you for the taxi, waves as you’re driven away.

It’s not the worst end to your birthday.

***

Your best friend, Lia, doesn’t understand why you’re so caught up with Yoongi, but she loves you so much she doesn’t make you feel less because of it.

Yoongi had a girlfriend when you met him, a woman he’d been dating seriously for a while. He’d made it clear from the beginning that he was a taken man, and you hadn’t befriended him with any intention or expectation of anything more.

He’d been funny, irreverent, honest. You’d hung out at the park a few times because you were both trying to get into running. The running thing had petered out quickly, but then you’d started getting coffee together after your runs, then breakfast.

Then you hadn’t heard from him in a while, you’d assumed he was busy.

When you saw him again he was different, a little harsher, less soft. He’d invited you over to his place, which was unusual.

You were deep in friend mode, too distracted to recognise a booty call when you saw it.

You’d stopped him as he leaned over you, put your hand to his face so he’d look at you, questions written all over your face.

‘We broke up,’ he’d told you.

You’d realised then what he needed you for, and you’d sealed your own fate when you’d let him use you that night.

Maybe ‘use’ is too callous a word, because God knows, Yoongi had made sure you’d enjoyed yourself too.

It was after that first time that Yoongi had said what he’d said about not expecting anything from him.

It’s been months since then of late night texts, leaving his apartment in the early morning. The Yoongi who texted you to come over wasn’t the same Yoongi who you’d met at that party of mutual friends. The Yoongi who’d taken you running and made you laugh had turned into a harder Yoongi.

He was hurting, you could see that much.

There’s a niggling worry in your head about what he’ll do when he’s healed, when he doesn’t need you.

***

Jung hyuk is a decent guy, you decide. It’s not his fault he’s so damn boring. He’s obviously highly intelligent, he’s an accountant of some description.

He’s one of Lia’s boyfriend Henry’s work colleagues, and you’re going to kill Henry when you next see him for setting you up on this date.

‘What are your plans this weekend?’ you ask politely, taking a mouthful of your pasta.

He sips his wine. ‘Nothing much, probably some hiking. My sister’s got engaged and my mother wants us all around to dinner this weekend too.’

‘Oh how lovely. Do you know her fiancé?’ you ask.

‘We haven’t met,’ he says.

You take another bite of your pasta, because carbs are the only way you’re going to get through this meal.

‘What about you?’ he asks, valiantly.

You’re opening your mouth to answer when the front door of the restaurant opens and you see a familiar dark head.

Yoongi’s walking in, but it’s not the Yoongi you’ve come to know over the last few months, who seems to live in sweats and baggy tees.

This Yoongi is so beautiful he takes your breath away.

His dark hair is styled away from his forehead, a lock falling carelessly forward over his pale skin. He’s smartly dressed, in a suit jacket, a shirt, clothes that look like they’ve been tailored especially for him.

His familiar silver earrings glint in his ears, and they’re the one thing that look the same.

Because the other unfamiliar thing is that he’s got a woman on his arm whom you instantly recognise as his ex.

She’s as beautiful as he is.

You’re not surprised at seeing them together, maybe a part of you has always known that your thing with Yoongi is transient.

What you are surprised at is how small and sad seeing them together makes you feel.

Jung hyuk’s speaking to you, and you apologise, turning back to him, reaching for your composure and your social smile, pasting it on your face.

You make it through the rest of your date with barely any idea of what you’re saying.

Jung hyuk, like the decent guy he is, wants to see you home, but you beg off, saying you’re meeting a friend.

You walk a few doors down from the restaurant to a bar and order yourself something to drown your sorrows in.

You’re on your second drink, armour almost entirely back on, when a painfully familiar low voice orders a whiskey next to you. You glance up to see Yoongi. He doesn’t look at you as he takes a seat next to you at the bar.

You turn back to your drink.

Your skin feels prickly, there’s a thrumming through your veins, a thrill at seeing him that you can’t deny.

Your body’s always had a visceral reaction to seeing him that your conscious self isn’t in control of.

You can’t stop yourself. You say his name.

At first you think he doesn’t hear you.

Then he’s turning to you, hand sliding around the back of your neck, pulling you into him.

His lips meet yours, and your eyes squeeze shut so you can focus on how he feels.

As always, the feel of him stems your longing. You know it’s transient but it feels so good.

He tastes like whiskey, and honey, and him.

Then he’s pulling away, tossing back the remainder of his drink, curling an arm around you to usher you out of the bar.

He keeps his arm around you as he pulls out his phone with his other hand, ordering a taxi. You’re tucked into his chest under his coat, face pressed against him, so close you can smell his subtle cologne, the fabric softener he uses on his clothes.

Lately you’ve been more careful about where you put your things when you go over to Yoongi’s. You’ve been planning your exits because you want less time after the high of being together and the inevitable fall when he doesn’t ask you to stay.

You want to be well on your way home so you can pull yourself together again.

And so you track where your things are – your heels in his entryway, kicked off hastily as he peels your coat off you and hangs it on a coat hook. Your clutch, placed carefully on the hall table next to his wallet and keys.

Your dress makes it to his bedroom floor, your panties in a fold of black lace next to it.

Your bra never makes it off you, not completely anyway, straps tight around your upper arms as Yoongi fucks you into his bed.

You moan into his ear as you cum, and he says your name as he spills inside you. Repeatedly, almost like a chant. Like he’s thinking of you and not the woman he dressed up for tonight.

Yoongi gets up to use the bathroom, and you get up to get your clothes back on.

Retracing your steps as you make your exit, picking your things up so there’s no trace of you ever being there apart from your DNA on his sheets, on his skin.

You’re getting quicker at this, so quick it almost feels like you’re running away.

Who are you kidding? You are running away.

Your phone lights up when you reach home, but for your own self-preservation, you ignore it.

***

You wake slowly, the insistent buzzing of your doorbell needling your semi-consciousness so that by the time you’re awake there’s a line between your brows, furrowed in annoyance.

You stumble to the door, press a button for the intercom.

‘Hello?’ you ask, voice husky from sleep.

‘It’s Min Yoongi,’ he says. ‘Can you let me in?’

There’s no time to wash the sleep from your face. It’s not like he hasn’t seen you first thing in the morning anyway.

You open the door warily.

‘Hi Min Yoongi,’ you say, looking askance at the two cups of coffee in a cardboard tray in his hand.

He’s got the grace to laugh. ‘I thought I might not be the only Yoongi you know,’ he says, trying to play it off.

‘You’re right. I know a lot of Yoongis,’ you say, straight-faced.

You nod to the coffee he’s holding out to you. ‘For me?’

‘I wondered if you wanted to get breakfast with me,’ he says.

You look at him for a long moment.

There’s a fluttering in your chest that only gets stronger as you take in his clothes, his hair, how good he smells.

‘Is this a date?’ you ask. Your voice comes out steady even though there’s a roll of the dice associated with it, your heart at stake.

Yoongi smiles at you, looking so much like the old Yoongi who used to take you for coffee that you know what he’s going to say before he says it.

‘Yeah,’ he says. ‘I’d like to date you, if you’ll have me.’

‘Whoa there,’ you say, reaching for your coffee. ‘Let’s just see how coffee goes.’

Yoongi laughs and then you’re smiling at each other like idiots.

It’s the best you’ve felt in a long time.

©hamsterclaw 2022

---

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

---

Yoongi’s a murder detective fighting burnout when he’s assigned the case that you and your former partner fucked up.

Paring: Yoongi x f! Reader

Genre: Detectives!Yoongi and reader

Rating: 18+

Word count: 6.6k

Warnings: Swearing, descriptions of murder, bloodshed and assault, sex, depression and burnout, mentions of guns

The flashing blue lights in Yoongi’s window are followed by the wail of sirens cutting through the early evening bustle.

Yoongi looks out the window. He’s three floors up from street level, there’s raindrops tracking along the dirty glass, the faint smell of mildew that accompanies any rainfall in this filthy city.

Under the table, his good leather shoes, the ones he saves for weddings and funerals, have rubbed a hole in the skin over his achilles. Yoongi had worn them for his disciplinary hearing today, the part of him that still wants to be a cop temporarily winning over the part of him that doesn’t.

He wonders if this is what burnout feels like.

His superior, Kim Namjoon, had called him into his office after the hearing to tell him he was on probation, to clean up his act because he wouldn’t be so lucky as to get off next time.

The truth is, Yoongi had known while he was pressing the suspect’s face into gravel with his booted foot that it would come back to bite him on the ass.

He’d done it anyway.

Yoongi’s never been kind to scum who exploit children, but his partner, Jung Hoseok, had seen something in Yoongi’s face that day that had made him report Yoongi.

Yoongi doesn’t blame him. Hoseok has been his partner on and off for five years and he’s as sterling as they come. His moral compass is as strong as it was the day they graduated from the academy, despite all the fucked up shit they’ve seen.

Unlike Yoongi.

Yoongi was never black and white to begin with and now he’s so far into the grey he scares himself sometimes. It’s never been his goal to be the kind of cop who metes out his own justice.

Only madness lies that way.

Anyway now Hoseok’s been reassigned temporarily to narcotics, supposedly a break from homicide, and Yoongi’s partnerless.

Probably not for long, there’s always some hungry rookie wanting the credibility of working homicide.

Yoongi sighs, closes the file he’d been skimming. It’s well past seven, there aren’t any open cases that need his immediate attention and he figures he might as well go home to his apartment and his cat, Kenzo.

The pavement’s slippery under the smooth soles of his good shoes, Yoongi pulls his coat tighter against the early autumn chill as he walks the five blocks to his apartment.

The smell of fried wontons fills his nostrils as he passes a conduit street in the back end of Little China, Yoongi’s tempted to stop and pick up dinner.

He’s tempted every time and succumbed yesterday so he soldiers on, not without a pang of regret. He regrets food choices because he’d rather that, than think about his actual regrets.

The bang of a gunshot when he’d been two minutes too late to what then became a crime scene.

Fucking some girl with a cute face because he hadn’t been man enough to treat Mara the way she deserved.

Choosing to stay in homicide even after it had become clear to him that he had plumbed the depths of human depravity. Scarring his psyche repeatedly because it’s easier than making the active choice to request a transfer.

Yoongi unlocks his door, toes his shoes off, hangs up his coat.

There’s a flicker of movement in the corner of his eye, a flash of grey fur as Kenzo skitters across the entryway, close but not touching him.

It’s the kind of greeting Yoongi can get behind.

He pours out a serving of dry food into Kenzo’s dish, heads to the fridge to reheat yesterday’s wontons.

Eats standing at the tiny kitchen island, cracks open a beer to wash it all down.

He catches sight of his face, pinched in the scowl it seems to fall into more often than not these days.

Jesus, is he getting old?

Yoongi avoids looking at his reflection again as he showers. Changes into the same t-shirt he’s been wearing for weeks, contemplates watching porn just to take the edge off, but decides he can’t be bothered.

He falls into sleep, deep and dreamless, wakes up with an almighty crick in his neck just before dawn from the way he’d been huddled in a tight ball under the covers.

He knows he’s not right, but he’s been not right for so long Yoongi wouldn’t even know where to start putting himself together again.

***

Redemption comes in odd packages, Yoongi thinks, as he looks up a case he worked on six months ago, a shady businessman on the fringe of organised crime who’d got high as a kite and beat a sex worker to death.

He’d been killed on the way to serving out his sentence in the cushy prison in Busan his fancy lawyer had managed to negotiate, crushed in the back of the transport vehicle when it had been t-boned by a lorry.

Apparently a freak accident, Yoongi doubts it but he’s also not going to look too closely, it’s out of his jurisdiction and he’s too jaded to mourn the loss of another brutal asshole. They’d had to identify the sex worker by her dental records and DNA, her face had been unrecognisable.

There’s a knock on the frosted glass panel on his office door, Yoongi looks up as Kim Namjoon walks in, followed by the latest hungry rookie angling for a stint in homicide.

‘Min Yoongi, this is Y/N L/N,’ Namjoon says. ‘She’s a new transfer in from the Seoul branch.’

Yoongi doesn’t have to fake his disinterest as he nods politely at you.

‘What’s the case?’ he asks.

Namjoon looks pointedly at the crime scene photo blown up on Yoongi’s screen.

Yoongi waits.

He can feel your gaze on him, but he’ll get to that later.

The anticipation of a new case never gets old, he’s been in homicide since he graduated off the beat ten years ago and he no longer thinks it’s sick of him to get excited about another murder.

It’s the thrill of the hunt that he lives for, the translation of nebulous facts and witness statements into a puzzle that he can solve.

Yoongi’s damn good at his job. It almost makes the sacrifices in the rest of his so-called life worth it.

Namjoon hands Yoongi a case file, crisp, sharp edges waiting to razor his fingertips open. Flat.

Inside, the standard cover page, then a note that makes Yoongi sit up straight out of his slouch.

He looks at Namjoon to find Namjoon’s already looking at him.

‘The reaper of Seoul?’

Yoongi realises as he says the words out loud how it sounds.

The capture and subsequent conviction of the serial killer who’d terrorised the citizens of Seoul for three years had made headlines nationwide.

Last year.

‘Yeah,’ Namjoon says, the tension in his jaw evident now that Yoongi’s looking at him properly.

Namjoon glances at you. ‘It would seem he never left.’

You shift your weight and your eyes meet Yoongi’s.

‘My partner and I broke the case,’ you say. There’s a brittle smoothness to your voice that Yoongi recognises as a paper thin facade over the hauntedness underneath. ‘Turns out we didn’t.’

***

The note in the case file is a single sheet of letter paper, lined in blue.

The handwriting is precise, neat between the lines.

Oh dear.

Better luck this time?

Best regards from your neighbourhood Reaper.

Yoongi looks at you, sitting across the room at the desk Hoseok’s temporarily vacated.

You’re staring at your screen, face backlit in blue, expression unreadable. You’re in black, nondescript knitwear, your hair pushed back from your face, eyes narrowed.

He clears his throat. ‘You worked the case with your partner.’

It’s a statement you answer to like a question.

‘It was the first case I picked up when I joined homicide,’ you say, turning to Yoongi. ‘It started with -‘

‘Kim Seulgi,’ Yoongi says.

You nod, almost grimacing at the name of the Seoul Reaper’s first high profile victim.

‘Her family wanted answers.’

Kim Seulgi had been born of Seoul’s elite, an architect with her grandfather’s firm who had picked up a number of accolades for her work on the National Opera House.

She’d been engaged to an equally accomplished classical pianist, Jeong Minho, and had been the only offspring of her wealthy parents.

She’d disappeared three days before her wedding, only to turn up on her wedding day, floating in the Hangang, dressed in the clothes she’d disappeared in.

You say, ‘She was an ambitious first target.’

‘Was she the first?’ Yoongi asks.

The flicker in your eyes tells him this isn’t the first time you’ve considered this.

‘My partner Kiho.’ There’s strain in your voice. You start again. ‘My partner, Kiho, and I thought he’d killed before.’

You shrug. ‘The captain felt we were wasting time looking back into his early years.’

Yoongi says, neutral, ‘Budgets are limited, your case must have passed the thresholds for plausible deniability.’

‘It seemed to fit,’ you agree.

Your eyes meet again. ‘Not all of it, though.’

Yoongi knows, intimately, what it’s like to not be certain. Sometimes all you have is your instinct. It’s one thing to build a case no reasonable person would doubt, but you’re also betting on your gut. You’re betting on being a good enough detective to know that the pieces fit, without forcing them to fit.

You’re betting on being honest with yourself, and Yoongi knows more than anyone how tempting the lies can be.

Now you’re the one watching him, taking the measure of him.

His email pings.

‘That’s the link to the full case file,’ you say.

You get up, carry a stack of notebooks to his desk.

‘Our notebooks,’ you say.

Yoongi looks at the stack.

Every cop’s got their own collection of notebooks, raw data and impressions that don’t always make it into official reports.

The equivalent of dirty underwear when you’re not expecting company versus lingerie when you’re down to fuck.

This close, he can smell your shampoo, bright and faintly floral.

You blink at him.

‘I need to sort something with human resources,’ you say. ‘I’ll see you later.’

In actual fact it’s 36 hours later when he next sees you, at 4am, at a crime scene.

***

The rain falling is more than a drizzle, enough that the tent around the victim is the first priority.

There’s an imprint of violence in the air, Yoongi knows you feel it too by the way your lips tighten as you duck under the yellow tape to join him.

You nod at him in greeting, then there’s silence as you enter the tent.

The victim’s on her front, face turned to the right, hand tucked under her cheek.

She hasn’t been dead long enough for livedo to set in, she would almost look asleep if it weren’t for the purple of her lips, the greyness to her complexion.

The bath of blood she’s lying in.

Yoongi can just see the edge of the gaping wound on her neck.

You wait until forensics turns her body over.

The top three buttons of her silk blouse are undone, her chest slick with blood.

Yoongi’s reading the crime scene like he’s reading you, and he knows what you’re going to say before you say it.

‘It’s him,’ you breathe. The devastation in your eyes makes it difficult for him to look at you. ‘Fuck, it’s him.’

***

You’re shivering visibly despite the hot coffee Yoongi’s poured you, despite the fact that he’s turned the heating in his ancient Hyundai up as far as it’ll go.

There are droplets of water in your hair, sparkling incongruously in the gloom.

You’re waiting till first light to knock on neighbourhood doors, the victim was found in a quiet cul-de-sac.

Two minutes from her own front door.

Not much chills Yoongi these days but that fact does make him pause.

The audacity of it.

He says, ‘I have a blanket in the trunk.’

You’re protesting but Yoongi gets back out in the rain anyway, grabs the blanket and gets back in.

Hands it to you, takes your cup as you drape the blanket around yourself.

‘It gets colder here than Seoul,’ Yoongi offers, handing you your coffee back.

‘We fucked it up,’ you say, and Yoongi knows that’s what you’ve been thinking since you saw the body.

He’s just been waiting for you to be ready to say it.

‘So make it right,’ he says, simple.

‘An innocent man’s in prison because Kiho and I fucked up,’ you say.

Yoongi doesn’t want to minimise it but he doubts the man you put away was completely innocent.

‘I read your notebooks,’ he says. ‘Who’s Jeon Bogyeol?’

There had been twelve murders before the arrest. All women in their late twenties to mid thirties, all living alone.

They’d all lived in the same part of Seoul, but apart from that there was nothing to link them that he could find.

You look at him warily. ‘He was a night watchman at the apartments of seven of the women.’

Yoongi waits.

‘We cross-referenced staff at all the addresses, and his name kept coming up. Like Jang Daeseong.’

You flinch at the name of the man convicted of the murders, as though it didn’t fall from your own lips.

You keep talking, though, your voice never faltering. ‘We never found any links between Jeon Bogyeol and the other five women.’

‘Did he have a history?’ Yoongi asks. He’s looking out the window at the first rays of sunrise, muted orange through the rain. His shoulder aches, an old injury he doesn’t think about except when he’s tired, and cold.

‘There was a neighbour,’ you say. You’re chewing on your bottom lip, a tell Yoongi’s noticed for the first time tonight.

‘She called the police once saying she’d seen Bogyeol taking a woman into his apartment against her will.’

You’re frowning. ‘The beat cops who responded to the call out said there was no sign of anyone else in his apartment. The neighbour moved away.’

‘Moved away?’ Yoongi asks, and you glance at him, understanding the sharpness in his tone.

‘I was going to look into it when the Chief shut us down,’ you say. It’s stated simply, like a fact, no sign of defensiveness.

Yoongi offers you more coffee from his flask.

‘Where’s Bogyeol now?’

‘When the new letter came in I looked him up,’ you say. The steam rising from your cup obscures part of your expression for a moment, but Yoongi can hear the tremor in your voice.

‘He’s less than fifty miles east of here.’

Dawn’s breaking, the rain’s finally starting to peter out, but Yoongi’s chilled anyway.

***

The morning sun is high in the sky by the time Yoongi and you finish interviewing the neighbours and the new victim’s friends and family.

Yoongi’s phone rings. It’s Namjoon.

‘Can you talk?’ Namjoon asks.

Yoongi mouths ‘Namjoon’ in response to your inquiring expression, puts some distance between you and him.

‘Yeah,’ he answers.

‘The post-mortem results are back, and the preliminary tox screen is negative. The ME’s put the cause of death as exsanguination.’

Yoongi processes this. ‘It’s the same MO as the previous Seoul reaper victims,’ he says.

Namjoon sighs. ‘Has anything new come out of your interviews?’

‘No,’ Yoongi says. The victim had been well-liked, none of the neighbours had seen or heard anything, and on the surface of it there were no conflicts he could see. Her boyfriend of two years had been away on a work trip, his location confirmed around the window of the crime.

Yoongi’s looking at you as you wait against the car, and when your name comes out of Namjoon’s mouth he’s already got an inkling of what Namjoon wants to know.

‘I reviewed the case,’ Namjoon says. ‘There are no obvious flaws or errors in their investigation.’

Yoongi grunts. ‘There was a lead that they didn’t follow up on.’

He fills Namjoon in.

‘I’ll follow it up.’

Namjoon says, thoughtfully, ‘I wonder where her partner’s working now.’

Yoongi’s surprised Namjoon doesn’t already know, to be honest, he’s always two steps ahead of Yoongi.

He flicks his gaze to you again. You’re still waiting against the car, and there’s a loneliness to your posture, a fatigued downturn to your mouth that makes him say, ‘Hey Joon, I’ll call you back, ok?’

He ends the call, unlocks the car.

‘We should get back and compare notes,’ Yoongi says. His voice has dropped the way it does when he’s tired, and shit, he is tired. He hasn’t slept well for a while.

‘Let me drive,’ you offer. You take his keys, and your fingers brush his for an instant.

The contact, brief though it is, makes Yoongi’s skin tingle.

He wonders if you notice his reaction, but you’re already sliding in, adjusting the seat, starting up the car.

***

Yoongi wakes when you’re parking the car, sits up, a little embarrassed.

‘I’m sorry,’ he says, looking to gauge your reaction.

‘Don’t be,’ you reply. ‘I would have done the same if you’d driven.’

There’s a hint of mischief in the curve of your half-smile.

‘You mumble in your sleep.’

Yoongi rubs a hand over his face. ‘What’d I say?’

‘I couldn’t make out any words,’ you tell him, but there’s a twinkle in your eye that makes him wonder if that’s really true.

Mara is the only person who’s shared his bed in recent years, and she’d never mentioned anything.

You swipe your ID to get into the station, hit the lifts.

In the dire grey lighting you look almost as tired as he does.

‘Coffee?’ Yoongi offers, when you pass the vending machine on the way to the office.

‘Yeah,’ you say. You’re on your phone, frowning over a text.

Yoongi passes you a cup.

‘Problem?’ he asks.

‘Kiho,’ you say. You look at him. ‘My old partner. He wants to meet up.’

‘It’d be useful to talk through the case with him,’ Yoongi agrees.

Your expression is difficult to read. ‘He’s in a retreat a couple hours drive from here. He took time off after we closed the case.’

Yoongi gulps his coffee. ‘There isn’t anything else we can do here anyway, we’re waiting on leads.’

He reaches out his hand for the car keys. ‘I can drive.’

***

The retreat Kiho is staying in is set amongst the foothills of a mountain, rolling grounds all around, a view of the cliffs overlooking the sea.

It seems to Yoongi like a place only the very rich or the very damaged would live.

Unless you get better pay packets in Seoul he’s apprehensive about meeting Kiho.

You sign in at the front desk, the receptionist greets you warmly, like she’s met you a few times before.

You lead Yoongi through a huge lounge, through open patio doors and into a green. Yoongi’s looking around at the residents, scanning the area the way he does automatically whenever he’s in an unfamiliar place.

You’re waving a hand, and then you’re embracing a tall man tightly. Neither of you say anything but Yoongi can see the way your shoulders slump, like the tension’s draining out of you.

It’s only when the tall man looks up at Yoongi inquiringly that Yoongi notices the long scar running along his neck. Tracing the path of his jugular, vertical rather than horizontal.

Kiho extends a hand.

‘So you’re going to get our guy,’ he says.

Yoongi doesn’t know what to say to that.

‘We’re going to get him,’ he says, finally.

Kiho turns to you. ‘You haven’t told him,’ he says to you.

You’re looking at Yoongi.

‘We can tell him now.’

***

‘I started getting notes after Jang Daeseong was convicted,’ you say. You’re sitting in a gazebo with Yoongi and Kiho, mugs of coffee in front of you.

Yoongi raises an eyebrow.

You flick your eyes to his, then look away, unlock your phone.

Yoongi takes your phone, scrolls through a gallery of pictures.

Lined paper, handwriting he’s seen before.

Yoongi reads through the content, then returns your phone to you.

‘The originals are with forensics,’ you tell him. ‘The paper and ink are generic, impossible to trace. There’s no trace of DNA, not so much as a partial print.’

‘The notes stopped coming last month,’ you say. ‘Right around the time I moved.’

Kiho’s scratching his neck absently, Yoongi catches how your gaze drops to his scar.

The length of it’s longer than a stab wound, he thinks the surgeons might have had to extend the scar to repair the vessels beneath.

You turn to Yoongi.

‘We have to stop him,’ you say. ‘Use me to lure him out.’

‘He nearly killed me,’ Kiho says. His expression is sober, his tone flat.

He stops there, but Yoongi can hear his next words, loud and clear.

What’s he going to do to you?

‘We can’t let him keep going like this,’ you say, very gently.

Kiho meets Yoongi’s gaze.

Yoongi doesn’t falter.

‘He has to be stopped,’ he agrees.

***

The drive back to the police station goes quicker - there’s something about seeing your old partner that’s given you a bump of energy.

Yoongi can practically feel the adrenaline fizzing in your blood, coming off you in waves.

He’s worried about the crash when the adrenaline ebbs.

He sure as fuck hopes you can cope with the lows better than he can.

He’d put in a call before you left the retreat, Namjoon’s fast tracking a last known address on the neighbour of Jeon Bogyeol who’d moved away.

You’re typing an address into the satnav yourself, face drawn, eyes serious.

Yoongi doesn’t have to ask whose address it is.

‘Are you sure you’re up to this?’ he asks.

His voice is as neutral as he can make it but he already knows that you’ve made your decision.

It’s written all over you, in the way your shoulders are squared, in the tilt of your chin, in the way your hands are tensed into fists in your lap.

‘I need to see this through, Yoongi,’ you say.

Yoongi takes a moment.

‘What happened to Kiho?’ he asks.

‘He didn’t see who it was,’ you answer. Your eyes are fixed in front of you, jaw tensed.

‘He was heading home in between shifts and he got jumped in the car park under his apartment. If he hadn’t been found by the car park attendant —‘ you voice trails off, and you shiver.

‘He was lucky the car park attendant called for help right away. That his next door neighbour, fresh off a shift in the trauma department, arrived home when she did and was there to take over. That he lives five minutes on blue lights away from the best trauma centre in Seoul.’

You look at Yoongi. ‘Kiho’s damned lucky to be alive.’

‘It’s a different injury from the reaper’s usual MO,’ Yoongi says slowly.

You nod. ‘He was toying with us.’

‘You said you received notes from the Reaper,’ Yoongi says. He’s watching you carefully in the rearview. ‘What did they say?’

Your lips press together in a line, but your voice is steady when you answer.

‘He said he’d been watching me, and that he was coming for me. That I’d be his final kill.’

***

The address you’ve put in for Jeon Bogyeol is a house in a run down suburban neighbourhood, the type of place Yoongi grew up.

The houses are haphazardly arranged, like a careless scatter on a Monopoly board, connected by a warren of roads too narrow for more than one car to pass.

Yoongi can see you tensing up the closer you get to your destination, and after he parks and switches off the engine, he places his hand on your arm.

Your eyes are expressive, more so than your voice.

‘We haven’t got grounds yet for an arrest warrant,’ you say, flat.

‘We’re working the case,’ Yoongi replies. ‘And if it’s right, we’ll work it until it’s airtight.’

Your response is to stare at him a moment, then to push open the car door.

Yoongi notices that you’ve unzipped your jacket, making your holstered gun more visible.

His own gun presses against his hip, the weight of it reminding him that although he’s only drawn it a handful of times, each time has been with intent.

He sure as fuck hopes neither of you will have reason to draw your gun today.

***

The address is little more than a shack, a rickety door that looks like it’ll give under a strong kick, a boarded up window that’s visibly cracked.

Yoongi knocks, identifies you both.

Follows procedure because he’s determined to get it all right this time.

Get the monster locked up where he belongs.

You don’t have grounds to break down the door, at least not until you go round to the back and see the pink tricycle upended in the dirt, streamers splayed tendrils of pink and white.

There isn’t much that sends Yoongi into the grey as much as the suggestion that a child might be involved.

He doesn’t really recall looking at you to confirm, just knows that one minute he’s outside in the chill and the next he’s inside the shack, gun drawn, the metallic tang of blood in the back of his throat.

There’s nowhere to hide in the empty shack, Jeon Bogyeol is gone.

You do a cursory search but both of you know you aren’t going to find your answers here.

Then Yoongi must blank out, because the next thing he hears is your voice, firm, saying his name.

He’s panting, covered in sweat, back against a wall, your hands grabbing fistfuls of his jacket to keep him upright.

He blinks, and you snap into focus. There’s ringing in his ears.

Your mouth opens, and the ringing stops. He hears your voice.

‘Let’s go, Yoongi.’

He lets you lead him out, folds himself into the passenger seat of your car, notes distantly how you put your hand on the top of the doorframe like you’re worried he’s going to bang his head.

You start the engine and then you drive, and Yoongi’s grateful that you don’t say anything at all, don’t ask for an explanation of why a fucking tricycle sent him into a tailspin.

Yoongi looks down in his lap because he’s not ready to see if you’re looking at him differently now that you’ve seen him wig out.

You put the radio on after a few minutes, stop at a drive thru after an hour.

It’s only when you hand him a coffee, silently, that he’s moved to speak.

He clears his throat, and you’re the one who speaks, still looking straight ahead, out the windscreen.

‘You don’t have to tell me. I mean, I’ll listen if you do, but you don’t have to.’

Yoongi chews on that a moment.

‘Three years ago I worked what we thought was a murder in Busan. It turned out to be an abduction.’

Yoongi laughs. There’s no humour in it.

‘We found her. She was still warm. If we’d been ten minutes quicker at figuring it out, if her fucking dad had told us about the business deal he had that had gone sour sooner, if I’d even just tried harder…’

His voice trails off.

He risks a glance at you.

You’re still not looking at him.

‘I can’t speak to whether you could have prevented it, Yoongi. All I know is that none of us come to work to do a bad job.’

Your hand lands on his forearm briefly.

‘Some days are just bad days at the office.’

It’s not the first time Yoongi’s heard it, but it’s the first time it’s been said to him with no judgement that he can hear.

***

When you get back to the precinct, Namjoon’s waiting.

He hands Yoongi another case file.

‘I got Jimin to follow up on those leads we talked about,’ Namjoon says, no preamble.

‘We visited Jeon Bogyeol’s last known address,’ you say. ‘There’s no one there now, but it hasn’t been long since he moved out.’

Namjoon says, ‘Keep me informed.’

He nods to the case file. ‘There’s some interesting information in there.’

As Namjoon walks off, you turn to Yoongi.

‘I’m going down to visit someone I know in forensics, see if they can check the house.’

Yoongi heads for your joint office.

There’s a cleaning cart parked just outside the door, which opens just as Yoongi reaches for the doorknob.

The cleaner apologises and bows politely.

Yoongi steps aside to let her pass.

‘You forgot this,’ he says, spotting the dusting cloth left on your desk.

He hands it to her and places the file on his desk.

Outside, it’s raining again.

***

Yoongi wakes with a jolt.

You’re perched on the edge of his desk.

‘You should go home, get some sleep.’

‘In the middle of an active murder investigation?’ Yoongi mumbles.

‘I’m one of the potential targets, remember?’ you say, grimacing. ‘He might come to us.’

At Yoongi’s expression, you say, ‘We’ve been doing nothing but following up leads since the last murder. The last investigation took months, almost a year. What are you going to do, not sleep until he’s caught?’

‘I don’t sleep much anyway,’ Yoongi says, but he knows you’re right.

‘I know you don’t,’ you reply. There’s an empathy in your tone that reminds him you’re a homicide detective too.

You exchange a look, and then you both speak at the same time.

‘I should go —‘

‘Do you like wontons?’ Yoongi blurts out.

You raise an eyebrow. ‘Is this like inviting me in for ramen?’

‘What?’ Yoongi splutters. ‘No, not like that. There’s this place I go. They have—-‘

‘Wontons, I get it,’ you say. You get up. ‘Yeah. Let’s go.’

***

It’s been a while since Yoongi shared a meal with someone else, the last person was Hoseok, who could go straight from a crime scene to a steakhouse without turning a hair.

You’re chasing a wonton around your plate, fatigue lining the corners of your mouth.

Yoongi asks, ‘Where do you live?’

‘The other side of town,’ you tell him. ‘Near the financial district.’

‘Fancy,’ Yoongi muses.

‘More than I can afford,’ you say darkly. ‘If this case goes on for a while I’m going to need to move.’

You look up at him. ‘Where do you live?’

‘Close to here,’ Yoongi says.

‘Yeah?’

You put your chopsticks down. ‘I should —-‘

This time, Yoongi interrupts.

‘Do you want to come round for ramen?’

Your eyes meet, and there’s a beat of silence. Then a pulse of connection that sends heat through Yoongi’s veins.

Your knee brushes his under the table.

‘Yeah,’ you answer, deliberate. ‘Fuck, yeah.’

***

Yoongi’s always hated the preamble to a hookup, in his line of work uncertainty is a thing to be avoided.

You work the case until you get an explanation no reasonable person would doubt.

He finds himself waiting, though, now that you’re standing in his apartment.

You’re looking around, and he wonders if his existence seems as lonely on the outside as it feels on the inside.

He’s wondering if you’ve changed your mind, if you really did think he meant ramen, when you reach out and grasp the front of his shirt.

Slip the tips of your fingers just under, hold the placket as you use your other hand to unbutton. Start at his throat, work your way down, slowly.

His skin prickles under the warmth of your fingers.

You lean forward and press a kiss to the base of his neck.

Yoongi reaches up, slides a hand around the nape of your neck, and you tilt your face to his.

Close up, you’re soft.

Yoongi traces your bottom lip with his thumb, and your lips part.

You don’t say anything, though, and that’s ok, because Yoongi thinks you’re as talked out as he is.

It’s been a hell of a fucking day.

You’re kissing his neck again, instead of his mouth, and that’s ok, because this isn’t love, it’s comfort.

A human connection in a day filled with monsters.

Yoongi sighs as your hands slip over his bare chest, round to his back.

He helps you lift your top over your head, admires your breasts, nipples pressing against the fabric of your bra.

He cups the weight of them in his hands, and you moan.

Yoongi’s cock is filling out, and you’re undoing his belt like you want to see for yourself.

You drop to your knees in front of him, press your mouth onto the length of him over his boxer briefs, sigh with pleasure.

‘Not too much,’ Yoongi warns, ‘not if you want me to fuck you.’

You look up at him, hair mussed, a smile curving your lips.

You tug his boxer briefs down, and Yoongi curls a hand around himself so as not to hit you in the face.

‘Just let me —‘

You open your mouth to take him in, and Yoongi groans at the feel of your warmth.

When did he last —

His crown nudges the back of your throat, and you swallow, and he loses his train of thought.

He grabs your shoulder, tugs you up, kisses the smear of his own stickiness at the corner of your mouth.

The light slanting in through the window is hues of gold and orange, filling in the hollows of your face, outlining the curves of your body.

Yoongi has to stop looking at you because he doesn’t want to cry at how much he’s missed being close to someone like this.

‘Where do you want me?’ he asks, voice taut.

‘Anywhere,’ you say. ‘Just turn these fucking lights out.’

***

In the dark, Yoongi’s most enraptured by the warmth of you.

Your skin is smooth, so soft under his hands as he wraps his fingers around the curve of your hips.

His cock glides in and out of the heat between your legs, and your moans are beautiful but what really gets him are the hitches in your breathing as he moves.

He turns you over, onto your back, and you pull him to you. Your mouth opens on his shoulder in what would be a kiss if you weren’t biting down. Your tongue flicks over his bruised skin, an apology.

You haven’t spoken to each other in words in a while but Yoongi doesn’t think either of you need words right now.

At least he doesn’t.

You’re tightening around his cock now, your cries quickening until you gasp his name in a tone that makes him grunt and his hips jerk, taking him deep as he can go.

Even in his pleasure he makes sure not to crush you as he collapses next to you.

Then you’re up, walking over to the window, pulling up the sash, lighting a cigarette without asking if he’s ok with it.

Yoongi admires the outline of your profile against the glass.

‘I needed that,’ you say, taking a drag, hunching a little to blow smoke out of his window.

‘Me too,’ Yoongi says, honestly.

He ties off the condom, gets up to toss it in the trash on top of yesterday’s takeout.

Pours you a glass of water on his way back to bed.

He half expects you to be dressed, and you are, but in his clothes, not your own, an old t-shirt he’d tossed on the chair by the bed yesterday morning before he left for work.

He can’t see your face clearly in the dark. It makes it easy to find his voice.

‘You should stay,’ he says. ‘We can get coffee in the morning.’

You’re quiet. ‘I want to.’

Yoongi climbs into bed, and after a moment you slide in next to him.

Your bodies aren’t touching at all, but somehow having you there with him is enough.

Yoongi means to check on you, but he’s asleep so quickly he doesn’t get a chance to.

***

There’s a basketball hoop set into the wall in the back end of the station, a concrete square with a chain-link fence.

The building opposite is a block of offices, as is the building next to it.

Yoongi makes the shot, and you grab the ball on its first bounce.

You say, ‘Forensics got nothing from Jeon Bogyeol’s shack. He bleached the shit out of the place before he left.’

Yoongi grunts, watches you point and shoot.

He’d read through the file Namjoon gave him on the neighbour - it’s incomplete but she was last seen alive twelve weeks ago in a coastal town.

There’s something niggling at the back of his brain, he’d suggested shooting hoops in the hopes that the activity might shake the thought loose so his conscious mind can make the connection.

His phone vibrates in his pocket.

Namjoon.

‘I’m going up to see Namjoon,’ he says. ‘You coming?’

‘I’ll stay here for a bit,’ you say. ‘I’ll be up in a sec.’

Yoongi shrugs, lets himself back in.

Takes the stairs up to Namjoon’s office on the third floor.

There’s a cleaning cart parked next to the staff kitchen as he rounds the corner.

Yoongi’s about to knock on Namjoon’s door when his scattered thoughts crystallise.

The case file Namjoon had given him had a grainy photo of Jeon Bogyeol’s neighbour, the one who’d reported him and then disappeared.

He’s seen her face before, and recently.

Coming out of your office.

‘Fuck,’ he swears.

He grabs his phone out of his pocket, dials your number.

Your phone rings, and rings.

Yoongi takes off, down the stairs, back the way he came.

By the time he bursts out of the back door of the station, gun drawn, his heart’s thumping triple speed, but his hand is steady as he aims it at the man with a knife standing over you.

His finger goes from trigger guard to trigger.

‘Fucking drop it,’ Yoongi warns.

He doesn’t, so Yoongi shoots.

***

Jeon Bogyeol’s neighbour who had reported him was called Seo Hyerin.

She was in her early forties, an ex-teacher who he’d coerced into helping him by turning up at her new place even after she’d moved to get away from him.

She’d been too scared to disobey him, but in forcing her to help him, Jeon Bogyeol had given her access to enough information to clinch the case against him.

Once she’d found out he’d been shot and was likely to go straight from hospital to prison, she’d shared all that information with Yoongi and you.

The pieces fell into place so easily there was no need to make any of it fit.

And now Yoongi’s sitting in the kitchen of your apartment, watching as you pack things up.

He’d been right. Your place was fancy.

You were being transferred back to Seoul to finish up, see things through with the case.

He realises you’re looking at him.

‘My new place is a couple hours drive from here,’ you say.

‘Yeah?’ Yoongi says, like he hadn’t already looked it up.

He’d also looked up timed automated cat food dispensers, just because it was one thing to have a neighbour drop in and feed Kenzo if he’s stuck with a case occasionally, but it’s another thing if he’s regularly going to be driving down to see you.

If he’s regularly going to be spending the night away.

It’s uncharacteristic, for him, but he’s hopeful.

‘I slept pretty well that time,’ you say, looking down into your box.

You look up at him, and the curve of your lips makes Yoongi think to himself that he’d like to kiss you, sometime.

‘In your apartment,’ you clarify, like he wouldn’t already know.

‘I make good ramen,’ Yoongi says. ‘I can make it again for you, you know.’

You laugh, and the sound makes Yoongi feel warm.

He realises that he’s smiling.

Fuck, it’s been a while.

---

Fallen

You meet a man claiming to be an angel, and he turns your life upside down.

Pairing: Namjoon x F! reader

Genre: Non-idol AU, smut, angst

Rating: 18+

Word count: 11.3k

Warnings: Sexually explicit scenes, swearing, mentions of blood, a little mild blasphemy

For reliablemittenmain and sahmfanficbts. Thank you both for your support, always.

You’re running late for work. Your heels click briskly on the pavement as you sidestep the tourist family, weave through the throng of people congregated by the bus stop and cut through the park. You pull out your phone.

Three minutes. You can be in your building within that time, if not at your desk and technically, that would still make you on time.

You glance over your shoulder as you overtake a jogger, and that’s when you see him.

He’s standing by the fountain, broad shoulders curled in on himself, arms drawn in on his front.

He’s beautiful, all tawny limbs and golden skin, but that’s not why you noticed him.

He’s completely naked.

You stay away from strange men in this city, everyone knows that. You don’t want to be at best, sworn at or at worst, assaulted.

You’re speeding up, about to pass him, when you take one last look at his face.

He’s crying. There are tears streaked down his cheeks, and he looks so unhappy you feel like you’ve been kicked in the chest.

You’re a city girl through and through, but even cold-hearted you can’t just leave him crying and naked.

You slip your oversized, ankle length coat off.

‘Hey,’ you say, holding it out to him.

He looks your way immediately, and something in his eyes makes you feel terribly sorry for him.

Your coat’s straining at the shoulders, he can’t even completely close it over his broad chest, but at least it belts at the waist and covers him down to his knees.

You have no money with you apart from an emergency twenty.

You hand it to him. ‘Here, it’s all I have.’

He looks confused, which confuses you.

‘Can I get you a taxi somewhere?’ you ask.

You pull out your phone and note that you are now five minutes late. Great.

‘Are you hurt?’ you ask.

‘I’m an angel,’ he says. His voice is deeper than you expected.

‘Sure,’ you say, taking a step back. ‘Do you have a family?’

‘I have brothers,’ he tells you.

Relief courses through you. ‘Do you have their numbers? I can call them for you.’

He looks at you.

You don’t know if you’re making a huge mistake, but there’s something so lonely and distraught about him you can’t leave him.

‘Come on,’ you say. ‘I’ve got to get to work, then I’ll help you find your brothers.’

Thankfully, he’s a fast walker.

You see the looks you get as you walk into your building, tall naked man in tow wearing your coat, but you don’t have time to deal with any of that right now.

You work for a fashion magazine, everyone’s seen more outrageous things.

You wave at your assistant as you breeze past her. ‘Aera, I’ve got a friend with me this morning. He’ll stay in my office during the staff meeting.’

Aera eyes you and your ‘friend’ warily, but is as professional and unflappable as ever.

‘What’s your name?’ she asks, politely.

You look at your ‘friend’.

‘I’m Namjoon,’ he replies. His coat gapes open a little, which reminds you.

‘Can you get Minho to send round a rack of clothes in his size?’ you ask Aera.

You wave an arm as Namjoon enters your office.

‘Make yourself a drink if you want. I’ve got a staff meeting to get to, it should only be an hour or so. When the clothes come around, pick anything you want and get dressed. I’ll clear my afternoon so I can help you, ok?’

You’re talking fast, you’re not sure if Namjoon got everything you said, but he seems to have calmed since the park.

‘Ok,’ he says. He smiles a little, and a dimple pops in his cheek on the side where his lips have curved up.

‘Ok.’

You pause by the door. ‘I’m Y/N. If you need anything, ask for me. Bathrooms are that way.’

You leave him sitting on the chaise longue in your office.

***

The staff meeting is running long, as usual, there are increasing interruptions from harried PAs and your in-house photographers are looking increasingly fidgety. Your entire social media team are on their phones, brows furrowed, faces backlit.

‘Thank you, Sungho,’ you say politely to the head of the marketing team.

You face the rest of your team and say, ‘I think that’s enough to get on with – thanks so much –‘

You don’t have to complete your sentence because no one would hear it anyway with the way everyone’s heading out the door.

Nari, your best friend and fashion editor, lingers after everyone’s left.

‘Lunch later?’

‘I’d love to, but I’ve got a problem to solve,’ you reply. ‘I picked up a man in the park this morning and I need to help him find his brothers.’

Nari laughs. ‘Picked up a man in the park?’

‘He was naked and crying.’ You run a hand through your hair. ‘I couldn’t just leave him.’

Nari goggles at you. ‘Are you serious? You picked up an actual random man?’

You have to laugh. Nari’s as cynical as you are.

‘He says he’s an angel.’

Nari catches your arm. ‘Wait. Is this safe? Do I need to call the police?’

‘For what? A man who says he’s an angel?’ you scoff.

You reach the doors of your office. ‘I’ll take him somewhere where he can get help.’

‘Keep me updated so I know where to direct the cops to if you get brutally murdered,’ Nari says. Her words are harsh, but her eyes are serious. ‘Are you sure you’ll be ok?’

‘I’ll be fine, Nari,’ you reassure her.

You open the doors of your office, and are greeted by the sight of Minho and Namjoon.

‘Where did you get this fine man?’ Minho asks. ‘I came over with Supreme but he’s a Fear of God man if I’ve ever seen one.’

You’re about to reply when Namjoon turns around.

He’s dressed entirely in Fear of God’s seventh collection, and you knew there was a reason Minho’s your best stylist, because damn.

Damn.

‘Close your mouth,’ Minho says, smug.

‘I knew there was a reason I hired you,’ you breathe.

Minho laughs. ‘Can we talk about a raise?’

‘I pay you more than I pay myself, Minho,’ you say, raising an eyebrow.

Minho wheels his rack out, and you take a seat.

‘I’ve got the rest of the day to help you,’ you say. ‘Tell me about your brothers. Are they local? How can I get in touch with them?’

Namjoon looks at you. ‘I don’t know.’

‘You’re going to have to help me here,’ you warn. ‘I can’t do anything unless you –’

‘I don’t know,’ Namjoon says again. Frustration knits his brow, and he says, ‘I can’t – remember how I got here.’

‘Are you hurt?’ you ask. He hadn’t had any visible injuries, from what you saw this morning, but you guess he could have a head injury.

‘I don’t know what I’m meant to be doing,’ Namjoon tells you. He puts his head in his hands.

There’s so much anguish in his eyes you feel yourself softening again.

‘Ok. I’ll make an appointment with my doctor to get you checked out, just make sure you’re ok, then we’ll make a plan, ok?’

You’re a problem solver, you always have been, and he’s just another problem for you to solve. You’re good at that.

***

Thankfully your doctor can squeeze Namjoon in.

You pass Namjoon the tablet so he can put his details in, and he stares at it for so long you can feel your eyelid twitch.

‘Need a hand?’ you ask, finally.

Namjoon looks at you. ‘Yes, please.’

You click through the questions. ‘How old are you?’ you ask.

‘In human years?’ Namjoon clarifies.

You stare at him. Maybe it’s not a physician that he needs, but a psychiatrist.

‘Sure, in human years,’ you say, agreeably.

‘A thousand and fifty-five,’ Namjoon says.

You blink.

‘I’ll round it down to twenty-eight,’ you tell him. ‘When’s your birthday?’

At his blank look, you say, ‘Let’s make it today. Happy birthday.’

‘How tall?’

‘With wings?’ Namjoon asks.

‘I’m gonna put six foot,’ you say hastily.

At least he’s consistent.

You find yourself glancing at his back just to double check he hasn’t actually got wings that you’ve missed.

You make up the rest of the answers and hope Dr Lim will forgive you.

***

You put your order in and sit back, looking at Namjoon curiously.

Dr Lim had done some bloodwork but had pronounced Namjoon as fit a physical specimen as she’d ever seen.

She hadn’t been able to speculate on his delusion that he was an angel, but had given you the number of a good psychiatrist friend.

You haven’t made an appointment with them yet.

Namjoon’s looking around the restaurant, taking in the people around him quietly. In his beautifully cut clothes, he looks like a hyper-real, impossibly glossy version of normal, like the models and fashionistas you work with.

Apart from the look of sadness in his eyes.

‘Do you remember anything else?’ you ask.

Namjoon looks at you seriously. ‘I’ve been thinking about why I’ve fallen.’

‘Fallen?’

‘I was talking to Seokjin about -‘ he swallows and breaks off, and never finishes his sentence.

‘I don’t know how to get back,’ he says, anguished. ‘There’s so much wrongness here, everyone’s so unhappy.’

‘Is that why you were crying?’ you ask, putting your hand on his.

He stares at your hand, and you withdraw it, self-consciously. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘Don’t be sorry,’ he says, immediately. ‘There were so many people this morning, looking at me and nobody stopped, until you.’

‘People are shit sometimes, including me,’ you tell him. ‘You can’t trust everyone to help you.’

‘Should I trust you?’ he asks.

You smile. ‘Not always,’ you tell him. ‘But I’m trying to help.’

Namjoon makes a scoffing noise. ‘I was teasing,’ he tells you, earnestly. ‘I trust you. You bring light with you.’

You have to laugh. ‘You’re the angel,’ you tease back.

Namjoon smiles at you fully for the first time, and to your delight, you realise he has symmetrical, matching dimples in his cheeks.

You can’t help but smile back.

You’re amused at his reaction to the food you’ve ordered for him. He acts like it’s his first meal in years, savouring each mouthful, eyes filled with genuine wonder at the flavours.

‘More?’ you offer, pushing your unfinished salad towards him.

He finishes it off for you and his soft sounds of pleasure make you feel happy, and, to be honest, a little aroused.

You tamp down your attraction to him. You need to help him, and a beautiful man like him probably wouldn’t be interested in you in that way anyway.

You realise he’s stopped eating and is looking at you. His gaze is strangely penetrating.

You force a smile. ‘Well, now that you’ve eaten both our lunches, what should we do next?’

***

You’re out of ideas, so you retrace your steps to the park you found him in, hoping to jog his memory.

You sit on a park bench whilst he walks around the fountain.

You find yourself wondering for the umpteenth time where he’s come from and what you’re going to do with him at the end of the day.

You don’t know him, but you’ve spent a few hours with him, and you don’t feel as wary of him as you should, considering he’s a complete stranger.

There’s something sad about about the set of his shoulders as he walks back to you.

‘What am I going to do with you, Namjoon?’ you ask.

He looks ahead of him, instead of looking at you.

‘I’m lost,’ he says, almost like he’s saying it to himself.

‘How do you get back?’

‘I don’t know,’ he says, hopelessly. ‘I need to talk to Seokjin, but I can’t feel him.’

‘Tell me about your brothers,’ you suggest.

He looks at you then, and you shrug. ‘We have nothing else to do right now.’

‘There’s Seokjin. He’s wise, and responsible, and he always –‘ his voice cracks.

He rallies. ‘Seokjin always looks out for us. There’s Yoongi – he cares so much about all of us.’

‘Are all your brothers angels too?’

Namjoon smiles, and there’s so much love in his eyes you’re moved.

‘They’re love,’ he says simply.

You smile at him, oddly moved.

‘What am I going to do with you?’ you ask.

Namjoon tilts his head. ‘I think that there’s a reason you stopped for me.’

‘Anyone would have – ‘ you begin.

‘No one else did,’ Namjoon points out. ‘Until you.’

You don’t know what to say about that.

You look away and spot an ice-cream truck. ‘Want to try ice-cream?’ you ask.

You end up buying him two cones because he wants to try chocolate and vanilla.

***

You’re walking down the street in the vague direction of your office building when you pass an art gallery.

Namjoon’s so busy looking at the art he nearly walks into a lamp-post.

You touch his arm. ‘Want to go in?’

His smile is radiant. ‘Can we?’

You can’t help but notice how attractive Namjoon looks in his beautiful clothes, frowning in front of a piece by Choi Wook-kyung.

You’re struck by a sudden urge to take a picture of him.

‘Hey, Namjoon,’ you say.

He looks up, torn between concentration and curiosity, and you take his picture.

He grins at you. ‘Can we stay a bit longer?’

‘I’ll go and get a coffee whilst you stay. I’ll be back in twenty minutes, ok? Stay here.’

You point out the clock above the entrance.

Namjoon nods.

When you get back, twenty minutes later, Namjoon’s nowhere to be seen.

You stop an attendant. ‘Did you see a tall man in a camel coat?’

She nods. ‘He just left.’

You head out the door quickly and look out at the pavement.

He’s gone.

***

You walk around for a while, retracing your steps. You leave your phone number at the gallery in case Namjoon comes back.

There’s no sign of him anywhere.

You’re surprised by how worried you are.

Objectively, Namjoon’s a big guy, he looks like he’s more than capable of looking after himself.

You just don’t want anyone to take advantage of him.

You’re on your way back home when you get a call from Aera.

‘Y/N, your friend Namjoon’s here. He looks upset.’

There’s a surge of urgency in your chest, like a string pulled uncomfortably taut.

‘Be right there.’

You do an about-face and start jogging, grateful that you changed out of your heels before you set out with Namjoon earlier.

By the time you get to your office you’re so tense you can barely breathe.

Namjoon’s sitting in the chair opposite Aera’s desk. There’s a smudge of dirt on his cheek, but he looks otherwise unharmed.

You’re hugging him before you realise it. You feel the tension ease the longer you hold him, so you keep your arms around him.

Finally, he relaxes into your touch completely.

You pull back a little. ‘Are you ok?’ you ask.

His face is so close to yours you can feel his breath on your cheek as he sighs. ‘Better.’

You make your decision as you look at each other, and you hope it isn’t the biggest mistake of your life.

‘Come on. I’ll take you to my place.’

***

Namjoon looks good on your couch, relaxed.

He’s perked up a little since you got home.

‘Do you want to watch a movie?’ you offer.

You put on a drama you think he might like and pass him a blanket.

It’s been a long fucking day.

You wake once, in the middle of the night, disoriented, and realise you’d fallen asleep on the couch with Namjoon.

He looks at ease, comfortable, calm, so you close your eyes and go back to sleep.

When you wake again, it’s morning, and Namjoon’s quietly crying.

‘Namjoon,’ you say.

He looks at you, eyes wet with tears, and says, ‘I dreamed about Seokjin.’

He tells you the rest over breakfast.

Seokjin had told him not to worry, that he and the rest of his brothers were watching over him, and to give it time for everything to become clear.

It’s clear how much Namjoon reveres Seokjin’s wisdom, but practical you wishes Seokjin had been more generous with the details.

You’re planning out your day when your doorbell rings.

It’s Yi-Jin, the man you’ve been dating for a few months.

He looks down at you, brow creased with concern. ‘Are you ok? I thought you were going to call me last night.’

‘Sorry,’ you apologise. ‘Something came up unexpectedly-‘

You break off abruptly as Namjoon walks up behind you and Yi-jin’s expression changes.

Your stomach churns. Shit.

You know how it looks.

The man in your apartment early in the morning. The blankets on the sofa. The two coffee cups on your kitchen island.

Yi-Jin raises an eyebrow.

‘Yi-Jin, this is Namjoon. I met him yesterday, and he needs some help.’

Yi-Jin’s expression doesn’t change. You sigh.

‘You’d better come in. It’s a long story.’

You’re taking Yi-Jin’s coat when he says, quietly, ‘don’t you think your shorts are a bit too short?’

You glance down at your exposed thighs and feel an odd flush of shame.

‘I- I’ll get changed,’ you say quickly.

Namjoon’s standing close to the door, in the same room as Yi-Jin but as far away from him as possible.

He gives you an odd look.

‘Just getting changed,’ you mutter. You force a smile. ‘Yi-Jin’s my boyfriend. I’ll be out in a minute ok?’

You wait for him to nod before you go into your bedroom.

You change into baggy sweatpants and a hoodie.

When you come out, Yi-Jin and Namjoon are standing on opposite ends of your kitchen island.

You introduce them to each other and explain the situation to Yi-Jin.

You don’t mention that Namjoon believes he’s an angel.

Yi-Jin’s jaw gets tenser and tenser as you speak, whilst Namjoon, in contrast, looks relatively relaxed.

You realise Namjoon’s been moving closer to you as you’ve been talking. You put your hand on his arm to reassure him and realise that he’s positioned like he’s protecting you.

‘Can I speak to you privately, Y/N?’ Yi-Jin asks.

Once you’re in your bedroom Yi-Jin starts speaking his mind.

‘You know I admire your kindness, Y/N. I just think it’s a little naïve of you to take this guy in. He could be dangerous, for all you know. I’m just worried about your safety.’

You can’t blame him, it’s exactly what you’d be telling him if he’d picked up a naked woman off the street.

You reach up and hug Yi-Jin. He pulls you close, kissing the top of your head.

‘Will you call me if he says or does anything to make you uncomfortable?’

‘I will,’ you promise.

As Yi-Jin leaves, he stops in front of Namjoon.

‘I’d just like to warn you that if anything happens to Y/N, I’ll hunt you down and make you suffer,’ he says, voice more threatening than you’ve ever heard it.

Namjoon stands his ground. ‘I would never hurt her,’ he says to Yi-Jin.

‘See that you don’t,’ Yi-Jin replies, evenly.

You huff out a sigh of relief once Yi-Jin’s out the door.

‘He’s just looking out for me,’ you say to Namjoon.

‘Why’d you get changed?’ Namjoon asks.

Yi-Jin’s comment about your shorts comes back to you.

‘I wanted to,’ you tell Namjoon.

He doesn’t look convinced.

***

You’re reading through an article on a new designer when Namjoon, who’s been pottering around your apartment, puts a mug on your desk.

You smile up at him. ‘What’s this?’

‘Coffee,’ he says.

You take a sip and swallow it as quickly as you can.

‘You know what,’ you say hastily. ‘Let’s go out for coffee. I’ve done most of what I need to do for today.’

Namjoon looks disappointed. ‘Didn’t you like it?’

‘How many scoops of coffee did you put in?’ you ask, carefully.

‘Five.’

‘Are you trying to kill me?’ you ask, amused. ‘I mean, I love coffee, but that’s a lot, even for me.’

You wave off his apologies and grab a bag. ‘Come on, we might as well pick up food with our coffee.’

It turns out your new angel friend’s muscles aren’t just for show. Namjoon walks around with you, uncomplaining, as you pick up some things you think he might like to try.

You try not to stare too much at the way his biceps flex as he reaches for things on high shelves.

You end up asking him to reach up for things anyway.

Finally, Namjoon asks, a smile in his voice, ‘Is the top shelf coffee really better than the bottom shelf coffee?’

‘I don’t know what you’re implying,’ you say, grinning at him.

He plucks a bag of coffee from the top shelf and takes a step closer, crowding you into the shelf.

‘You keep looking at my arms,’ he says. There’s a confidence in his voice that’s new.

‘You have pretty arms,’ you tell him, smiling up at him, unrepentant.

‘You have pretty everything,’ Namjoon replies. There’s a pause, then he says, ‘Especially legs.’

‘You’re a bit flirty for an angel,’ you tell him.

‘You should meet my brother Jimin,’ Namjoon replies. There’s a flash of sadness in his eyes, and he steps back.

‘You’ll get back to him,’ you say, encouraging. ‘When you finish whatever you were sent down here to do.’

‘I hope so,’ Namjoon says quietly.

Back at your apartment, you set out your groceries and pass him an apron.

‘So how does it all work?’ you ask, curiously, as he’s chopping onions.

Namjoon looks at you.

‘You know,’ you clarify, waving a spatula. ‘The big beyond. Life beyond earth. Life after death. Souls. Angels. Demons. God. Heaven. Hell.’

Namjoon frowns. ‘I don’t know if I should tell you.’

‘Come on,’ you wheedle. ‘A clue. A hint. Anything.’

‘There are many angels. We guide humans through life,’ Namjoon says. He looks at you seriously. ‘We can’t over-ride free will, but we can intervene with certain things.’

‘What do you think you were sent down here to do?’ you ask, passing him a cucumber to chop up.

He looks at it quizzically, so you show him.

‘I think I was sent down here for you.’

Your hands freeze on the knife.

‘Me?’ you ask.

‘I feel connected to you. I didn’t know you when I was an angel, but I think you’re the reason I was sent here.’

‘Like a guardian angel?’ you ask, sceptically.

Namjoon shrugs. ‘At least you got me and not Taehyung.’

‘Why not Taehyung?’ you ask.

‘He loves beauty. He’d refuse to let you out of his sight.’ Namjoon smiles, affectionately. ‘He can be very clingy.’

You laugh. ‘Your brothers sound like fun.’

You look at each other for a moment. ‘Why do you need to help me?’ you ask.

Namjoon looks down at the vegetables on the chopping board.

‘I don’t know. What do you need?’ he asks.

‘I have everything I need,’ you reply. ‘A family who love me, wonderful friends, a job I enjoy, a partner who appreciates me.’

Namjoon lets out the barest of snorts, and you whirl on him.

‘When you’re around him, you act different,’ Namjoon says.

‘Different how?’ you ask.

That’s all you can get out of him.

He’s pretty stubborn for an angel.

***

You take Namjoon on a hike in the hopes that it’ll make him feel closer to nature.

Maybe you just wanted to see him in shorts.

You wonder if God is going to punish you for lusting after an angel.

You wonder if he’s really an angel because so far he seems just like a normal man to you.

Apart from that he’s learnt to cook so that he can make breakfast for you.

You blink away your thoughts as Namjoon says, without turning around, ‘Stop staring at me.’

Your face immediately starts burning. ‘What?’

Namjoon laughs, and there’s a flash of cockiness again.

‘It’s ok,’ he says. ‘I know you like the way I look.’

‘I have a boyfriend, sir,’ you tell him, outraged.

‘I like that,’ he tells you.

‘What?’

‘When you call me sir,’ Namjoon says.

He doesn’t say anything else as you splutter, but somehow the way he snickers quietly makes you feel even more flustered.

You’re in your head, worrying about a deadline at work, when Namjoon stops so suddenly in front of you that you walk straight into his broad back.

‘Oooops, sorry,’ you say.

His arm reaches behind him to steady you and he turns around quickly.

‘Are you ok?’ he asks, concerned.

His hand on your arm is making you feel woozier than smacking your face into his back did.

It’s only when his hand is cupping your chin gently, thumb smoothing over the bridge of your nose, that you get your voice to work.

‘I’m good, Namjoon.’

‘I’m supposed to be protecting you, not hurting you.’

‘Who’s going to protect me from you?’ you breathe, looking up at his pretty face, the dimples that flash as he smiles at your words.

‘Everything happens for a reason,’ he says.

‘Really?’ you ask, curious. ‘Is there a greater plan? God’s plan?’

‘I’m not supposed to tell you –’

‘I get it. It’s classified,’ you say, rolling your eyes.

Namjoon laughs quietly. ‘I wish you could meet Yoongi.’

‘Your sarcastic brother?’ you ask.

‘He’s not sarcastic, just brutally honest. Cynical.’

‘Like me,’ you say.

Namjoon laughs again. ‘Like you,’ he agrees.

***

The cream silk dress you’re wearing is fitted, revealing more of your figure than you normally like to show.

You take one last look in the mirror and pick up your clutch.

Namjoon looks up from the book he’s reading on your couch.

You’d be flattered by the way his book snaps shut and the way he straightens up, staring at you, if you weren’t so nervous.

‘Do I look ok?’ you ask.

‘You look –’

He’s standing now, taking a step towards you as if to take a closer look.

‘You look very beautiful,’ he tells you, and there’s so much sincerity in his voice you can feel most of your nerves fall away.

‘It’s a big event for Yi-Jin, all of the executives in his company will be there,’ you tell Namjoon. ‘I want to look good for him.’

‘You don’t have to worry about that,’ Namjoon tells you.

The doorbell rings, and you answer, buoyed by Namjoon’s response to you.

‘Hey,’ you say, smiling warmly at Yi-Jin.

He smiles back. ‘Are you ready? We should go.’

***

You slide the key into the lock as quietly as you can, hoping not to wake Namjoon.

It’s 4am, and dark in the apartment.

A sudden movement in the corner of your eye makes you jump.

Then Namjoon’s there, hand reaching out to touch you. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you. I must have fallen asleep on the couch.’

You can barely make out his features in the dark. You’re grateful, it means he probably can’t see you that clearly either.

‘You should go to bed,’ you say. ‘I’m going too.’

There’s a wobble in your voice.

Namjoon says, ‘Wait.’

He looks like he’s about to turn the light on, and so you grab his arm. ‘No.’

Namjoon says, ‘Ok.’ Then, ‘Want some tea?’

‘Sure. Let me get changed ok?’

You slip into a comfy t-shirt and shorts and wash your face. You don’t look too bad, considering.

Your phone lights up.

It’s Yi-Jin.

You send him a quick text to confirm you’re back home safe then leave it charging in your bedroom.

Namjoon passes you a mug of hot tea.

‘How was the event?’ he asks, politely.

‘It was fine,’ you say.

It’d been fine, you think. Yi-Jin had been his usual charming, suave self, and you’d tried your best to keep up.

‘You looked very beautiful in your dress,’ Namjoon says.

There’s a pang in your chest.

Yi-Jin hadn’t said anything about your dress until he’d taken it off you in his apartment. With a hand on your waist, he’d said, ‘Guess you’re glad you can get out of this. It seems a little tight. You look better in less fitted clothes.’

You don’t know what he meant by that, but for some reason you’d felt awful after he said that.

‘You would say that, you’re my guardian angel,’ you say, lightly.

Namjoon’s jaw tightens. It’s subtle. You wouldn’t have noticed if you hadn’t been looking.

‘Didn’t Yi-Jin like it?’ he asks.

‘Of course, I can wear what I want. He doesn’t get a say in what I wear.’

‘What did he say to you?’ Namjoon presses.

You’re grateful for the darkness as you look down into your cup of tea.

A tear slides down your cheek.

Your voice sounds normal when you speak.

‘He didn’t say anything,’ you reply.

Namjoon says, ‘Hey –‘

You get up. ‘Thanks for the tea. I should get to bed.’

In bed, you bury your face in your pillow and squeeze your burning eyes shut until sleep takes you.

Sometimes you’re so damn lonely you don’t know what the point of it all is.

***

Namjoon looks at you worriedly.

Neither of you were sure when his tenure as your guardian angel was going to end, but you figure as long as he’s here he might as well try to fit in.

Task one of adulting: get a job.

You’d pulled a string and got Namjoon a job with your artistic director, Il-pyo. He owes you a favour, you remind yourself as he eyes Namjoon.

‘He’s got great vision,’ you reassure Il-pyo.

‘Where else have you worked?’ Il-pyo asks Namjoon.

You laugh. ‘It’s his first job, Il-pyo. He doesn’t need the money, his family make enough.’

Il-pyo’s brow lifts, and you know you’ve hit the right button.

You love Il-pyo, but he’s a snob through and through.

‘Come with me,’ he says, voice decidedly warmer.

***

After work you meet up with Namjoon for iced coffees and to catch up on his day.

‘Il-pyo treating you well?’ you ask.

Namjoon laughs. ‘He kept asking which Kims I’m related to.’

‘What did you tell him?’

‘I told him my family are involved in justice and he said, ‘say no more’.’ Namjoon shrugs. ‘I guess he thinks we’re in the law.’

You grin. ‘Not just a pretty face,’ you say, nodding in approval.

‘You think my face is pretty?’ Namjoon asks, a cocky note in his voice.

You lean a little closer. ‘All of you is pretty, Namjoon,’ you tell him, sincere.

His hand lands on your arm as you try to lean back.

‘All of you is pretty too, no matter what Yi-Jin says to you,’ Namjoon replies.

You stare at his hand a moment.

Why is he so good at piercing your armour?

You tilt your chin. ‘I know,’ you say, trying to sound cocky yourself. ‘I do work in fashion you know.’

Namjoon smiles at you, serene. ‘So do I.’

You have to laugh.

***

Sometimes Namjoon wakes up early in the morning. You can hear him pottering around, trying to be quiet, as he makes himself tea.

Sometimes you join him in a cup and watch the sunrise together.

He says he likes the quiet of early morning, not that it’s ever really fully quiet in the city.

It’s on one of these early mornings that Namjoon seems particularly restless.

‘What is it?’ you whisper, mindful of your neighbours.

‘I – ‘

There’s a glow in your living room, pooling around his feet.

Your first thought is that he’s been summoned back.

Back to where?

He’d never told you answers to any of the big questions you’ve asked him.

Namjoon’s smiling, and you realise that instead of disappearing, he’s still as solid as he ever was, as are the other six men who’ve now materialised in your living room.

Holy hell.

Wait. Is hell the right place?

It all gets a little blurry after that, because of the light and the glow and the fact there are six beautiful naked men in your living room.

You squeak and close your eyes.

‘Has she never seen a naked man?’ comes a curious voice.

‘I’ve seen many naked men,’ you retort, facing the general direction of the voice. ‘But I’m trying to give you some privacy.’

Namjoon’s deep voice is warm, reassuring. ‘Come on, I’ll get you clothes. Then you can all come back and meet her properly.’

‘I’ll get the kettle on,’ you say, voice still a higher pitch than it normally is. You open your eyes a little too soon and catch sight of a peachy behind and a cheeky smile from a man with the face of an angel.

Or is it an angel with the face of an incredibly hot man?

You think scattered thoughts about naked asses and hot men whilst making tea.

One by one, Namjoon’s angel brothers trickle back into your kitchen.

The first, Jimin, a blond man with the most flirtatious grin you’ve ever seen.

Then Taehyung, a curly haired hunk with intense eyes and a sweet, boxy smile.

Then Yoongi, who gives you a half-smile that immediately makes you want to get to know him better.

Then Hobi, who really does look like an angel, smiling and helping you pour out tea.

Then Jungkook, he of the cheeky smile and perfectly pert behind.

Finally, Namjoon and Seokjin, his wise big brother.

He comes around your kitchen island to give you a big hug. ‘Thanks for looking after Namjoon,’ he says warmly.

‘I think he’s been looking after me,’ you reply, smiling.

You look up at Seokjin over your tea. ‘Have you all been sent to look after me too? Because this is a lot.’

Seokjin smiles, and you admire how ethereally beautiful he looks. ‘We’re just here for a day or so. We missed Namjoon.’

‘Can he go back?’ you ask, concerned for Namjoon. ‘Because I’m sure earth is pretty shitty compared to wherever you’ve floated down from.’

‘Namjoon has a task to perform. Once he’s done it, he’ll come back to us.’

You feel an unexpected pang of sadness at the thought of Namjoon leaving.

‘He misses you a lot,’ you say.

Yoongi glances at you.

‘Does his task have anything to do with me?’ you ask.

‘His task is related to you,’ Seokjin confirms.

You look at Namjoon.

‘Can we do something to speed it along? He misses you all so much.’

Namjoon puts his hand on your arm. ‘I’m also happy here with you,’ he tells you.

You put your hand on his. ‘This world is shitty, Namjoon, you should get out of it while you can.’

You tilt your head. ‘Plus, I can look after myself. I don’t need a guardian angel.’

Namjoon smiles at you, and there’s the tiniest flutter in your heart.

‘Always so tough.’

You’re so busy looking up at him you miss the way Yoongi and Seokjin exchange a meaningful glance.

Yoongi says, ‘Can we spend the day with you, Namjoon?’

***

Which is how you end up going to work with seven beautiful angel men.

You’d told Namjoon he could take the day off, but he’d insisted on showing his brothers how he spends his days.

Yoongi says quietly to you as you set things up in your office, ‘It looks like you’ve been taking good care of Namjoon.’

‘He’s a good guy,’ you say. ‘I mean angel.’

‘I’m not worried about him anymore,’ Yoongi says.

You smile. ‘You shouldn’t be. I won’t let anyone hurt him.’

Yoongi’s eyes are serious. ‘You should let him look after you too.’

‘He does. He makes me coffee every morning.’ You look down. ‘He knows when I’m upset.’

'Namjoon's always been the most human out of all of us.'

You look at Yoongi, intrigued, about to ask more, when he puts an arm around you and you find yourself relaxing into his hold.

You’re startled by Namjoon’s familiar voice. ‘Are you ok?’

You can feel the rumble of suppressed laughter in Yoongi’s chest, but his voice comes out perfectly serious. ‘Just thanking Y/N for putting up with you.’

Namjoon’s voice is tetchy. ‘I thought I’d have problems with Taehyung.’

As if on cue, Taehyung speaks from somewhere behind you, and you shiver involuntarily at the depth of his baritone as he says, ‘It’s my turn for a hug next.’

‘Actually, we should get to work,’ Namjoon says pointedly.

He ushers his brothers out of your office then comes back to check on you.

‘See you after work?’ he asks, dimpling at you.

‘Sure,’ you say brightly.

You watch Namjoon and his brothers walk out and wonder how in heaven you’re supposed to work when so much beauty walks the earth.

***

You’re sitting near the balcony of your living room, sipping your wine and watching as Namjoon and his brothers horse around.

They’ve eaten a truckload of food and seem content now to sit and talk. You love how physically affectionate they are with each other, even Seokjin.

You feel sorry that Namjoon has to put up with whatever task he has to do with you when he clearly misses his brothers so much.

Your phone lights up with a message from Yi-Jin.

Yi-Jin: Hey, I miss you. What are you up to?

You haven’t seen him since the company dinner you went to with his bosses.

Y/N: Nothing much.

Yi-Jin: Want to come over?

In truth, you’d rather spend time with Namjoon and his brothers, but they don’t really need you here either.

Y/N: Sure. I’ll be there in twenty.

You freshen up quickly and go to say goodbye to Namjoon.

‘I’m going over to Yi-Jin’s for a bit. I’ll see you guys later, ok?’

Namjoon tears his eyes away from where he’s watching Jimin and Jungkook arm-wrestle.

‘It’s late. Will you be ok?’

‘I’ll be fine,’ you say, reassuring.

He pulls you into a hug. ‘Call me if you need anything,’ he tells you.

There’s no way you’re calling him away from time with his brothers.

‘Sure,’ you say.

You wave casually at the group of men before you leave. You doubt they’ll even notice you’re gone.

When you get to Yi-Jin’s he’s casually dressed, in sweats, a loose top.

You can see the way his body moves under the thin material.

He’s beautiful. He goes to the gym, looks after himself.

He’s always telling you to do the same.

‘Hey,’ he says, kissing you in greeting.

‘How’s your week been?’ you ask.

‘Amazing. My new PT is great. Really motivating.’

He eyes you. ‘Thought about what I said?’

You try to derail him, because you feel a little sensitive about what he said about your figure the last time you met up.

‘Mmmhmm, what?’ you ask, kissing his ear.

He pulls back. ‘You’re so beautiful. If you signed up to my PT he could really make the most of –’

You kiss his ear again, tongue out, flicking at his lobe in the way he likes.

‘Baby,’ he says sternly. ‘I’m trying to be serious. Don’t you want to look your best?’

‘What’s wrong with the way I look?’ you ask.

‘Nothing. It’s just that you could look better.’

You stop cold.

You think of Namjoon and his brothers and how much they love each other.

You want to be loved that way too.

‘I should go,’ you say, calm, flat.

‘Don’t be like that. I’m just trying –‘

‘Trying to make me feel bad about myself?’ you ask.

You hate crying, but suddenly it’s too much.

‘I gotta go, ok?’

Yi-Jin stops you. ‘Listen, don’t take this the wrong way.’

‘I think we should break up,’ you tell him.

He scoffs. ‘Just over me giving you some advice?’

‘You make me feel bad,’ you tell him. ‘I don’t need that in my life.’

You turn and walk straight out of his apartment.

You can hear him calling your name, but you don’t stop.

You’re two blocks down before your thoughts start to clear.

What the hell are you supposed to do now?

It’s close to midnight. You don’t want to go back to Yi-Jin. You can’t go home to Namjoon and his perfect brothers.

Sighing, you look up nearby hotels.

***

You’re coming up to your floor when you hear banging, then lowered voices.

You’d spent a sleepless few hours tossing and turning in a hotel bed before giving up and heading home.

You speed up when you realise the voices are coming from the general direction of your door.

To your dismay, Yi-Jin’s at your door, and Namjoon’s standing in your doorway.

‘Where the hell is she?’ Yi-Jin asks, and Namjoon’s opening his mouth to reply when he spots you.

He’s the first to reach you, pulling you into his arms. You can feel the tension thrumming through his body, the way he relaxes as you hold him back.

‘Are you ok?’ he asks, softly. ‘Where were you? I thought you were with him. My heart stopped when he came around asking where you were.’

You can feel how fast his heart is still beating.

‘I’m fine, I went to a hotel.’

Yi-Jin says, ‘Is this why you broke up with me? The fuck?’

You let go of Namjoon and turn to him. ‘We broke up because you made me feel bad,’ you tell him.

‘And this makes you feel good? Some guy you don’t even know who you take in like some sort of stray.’

‘Yi-Jin, come on, don’t –‘

‘Where the fuck were you last night, Y/N?’ Yi-Jin asks. ‘If you weren’t with me, and you weren’t with him, who the hell were you with?’

‘Seokjin,’ Namjoon says, jaw clenched. ‘Can you take Y/N inside?’

You hadn’t even realised Seokjin was here. To your mortification, you realise that most of Namjoon’s brothers are peering out your doorway.

Yoongi steps up next to Namjoon.

‘Yi-Jin, please can you go,’ you say. ‘This doesn’t need to escalate like this.’

‘Sure,’ he says. He laughs, humourlessly. ‘Does he know how shit in bed you are?’

You hurriedly step in front of Namjoon, blocking his path as Yi-Jin leaves.

Your face is burning with humiliation.

It would have been bad enough to have this confrontation in front of Namjoon, but to have it in front of all his brothers who worship him and barely know you makes you feel physically sick.

‘I guess we’re not getting back together,’ you joke.

No one laughs.

You step past Namjoon and Yoongi, through the throng of men into your apartment.

You walk quietly to your bedroom, close the door behind you, climb into bed and cry into your pillow until you fall asleep.

***

You wake up to a hand on your shoulder.

Namjoon’s sitting on the edge of your bed, face close to yours.

You look at him, then bury your face in the pillow.

‘Go away, Namjoon.’

‘Jimin says we should take you out and cheer you up,’ Namjoon tells you.

‘I can’t be responsible for corrupting a bunch of angels.’

‘The collective noun for angels is a chorus,’ Namjoon points out.

You glare at him.

‘Can you even sing?’

‘A little,’ Namjoon replies before he realises he should just shut up.

‘Yi-Jin’s a jerk,’ you complain.

Namjoon says, ‘He dimmed your light.’

‘Damn right,’ you reply. You sit up, and your loose top slips off your shoulder.

Namjoon’s eyes fall to your bare skin.

‘Shit,’ he says. He ghosts a hand over his lap, and you blink in confusion at the obvious bulge.

Without thinking too much about it, you lean forward and bury your face in his groin, nosing against his erection.

Namjoon groans quietly, and his hand clenches into a fist.

You sit up, heart thumping, shocked and aroused at the sound of him.

‘You’re an angel,’ you say.

‘I’m in the body of a man who’s watched you parade around in short shorts for too long,’ Namjoon replies.

‘What’s God’s punishment for corrupting an angel?’ you ask.

Namjoon gets up. ‘Sex isn’t corrupting me,’ he tells you.

He laughs. ‘If it were, let’s just say I’ve corrupted myself. Many times. In the shower.’

You look at him thoughtfully.

‘If you wanted to bring someone home –’

‘Please,’ Namjoon says. ‘Have you seen yourself?’

He shakes his head. ‘You said Yi-Jin made you feel bad. Why would you believe all the bad things he said and not believe all the good things I say to you?’

You think about that as you shower and get dressed.

***

You really hope Namjoon meant what he said about you not corrupting his brothers, because you’re worried you won’t get into heaven at this rate.

You took the boys out to dinner, then a bar, and things get a little fuzzy after that, but now you’re watching a tipsy Jimin dance shirtless on your table at a club whilst being squashed between Taehyung and Yoongi.

Taehyung leans close, and every time he does it you shiver at his voice.

You think he’s doing it on purpose.

He purrs into your ear, and now you know he’s doing it on purpose.

You don't necessarily feel like you want him to stop.

You get up to get some air, and Namjoon’s by your side instantly.

You let him sweep you along through the crowd of warm bodies, the pulse of the beat throbbing through the air, to the exit.

You step out into the cool night air with him.

Namjoon takes a step back so he can see your face.

‘All good, Joonie?’ you ask.

‘Joonie,’ he says, trying the word out, rolling it around his mouth.

His hand is warm on the small of your back. He makes you feel so safe.

‘What are you going to save me from Joonie?’ you ask.

‘I wish I knew,’ he tells you.

‘So you can go back to heaven with all the other angels,’ you finish, for him.

There’s a look in his eyes you don’t understand.

‘Too bad I can’t take you with me,’ he says, quietly.

‘I’m too bad to go with you, Joonie,’ you purr into his ear, emboldened by the alcohol and his earlier response to you.

You brush a hand over the front of his trousers.

Namjoon hisses, then pulls you up against him. His head tilts down, and you hold your breath until your lips meet.

His kiss is sweet and electrifying, sending a jolt through you that you feel to your toes, making heat unfurl in your centre.

‘Joonie,’ you murmur.

He hums his response instead of using words, tongue licking into your mouth in a rhythm that makes your heart pound.

His arms around you feel so good that you could cry.

You push with your foot on tiptoe, and even that slight movement has Namjoon giving way to you, letting you press him against the wall.

You’re unashamed about putting your free hand on his hip, dragging his pelvis against you.

Namjoon hums again, and cups your ass in both his hands, spreading his legs to grind against you.

‘This what you want?’ he asks.

‘Yes,’ you tell him. ‘Yes.’

‘You got it,’ he promises you.

Namjoon drags you into the club to say goodbye to his brothers, and Yoongi and Seokjin give you identical knowing smiles as they watch the way Namjoon holds your hand tight in his.

‘Can I get in trouble with the higher ups for this?’ you ask Yoongi, worried because you know the answer isn’t going to stop you.

Yoongi snorts, but his voice is surprisingly gentle when he speaks.

‘You could never get Namjoon in trouble,’ he says, ‘and our Namjoon would never put you at risk.’

You’re trying to decipher his words when Taehyung comes to say goodbye.

‘Are you an angel, or a devil?’ you ask.

He laughs. ‘A bit of both. But aren’t we all?’

You want to say something else but Namjoon’s already pulling you away from Taehyung.

You say goodbye to Jimin and Jungkook, but it’s awkward talking to their bare chests, even if you have already seen them naked, so you don’t prolong it.

Seokjin stops you as you’re about to go. ‘I’ll see you again,’ he says, cryptically.

‘Not if I see you first,’ you reply.

His laughter sounds like bells as you let Namjoon lead you out of the club.

***

Namjoon drops his keys in the dish by the door and in the same movement tugs you closer.

You’re already so close you can feel every ridge and crevice of him, but you press into him eagerly.

His voice, when he speaks, is lower than you’ve ever heard it.

‘Don’t know where to start,’ he says. ‘Want all of you.’

‘Let me,’ you say.

All your misgivings about corrupting an angel fly from your head when he unbuttons his shirt.

He might be an angel, but his body was made for sin.

You run a finger down his torso, between his defined pecs, down his abs to the trail of hair that disappears into the buckle of his belt.

He shivers, and you see goosebumps prickle his flesh.

You kiss down the trail your finger’s just traversed, stopping when you’re kneeling in front of him.

‘Off,’ you say, and Namjoon, always keen to please you, unbuckles his belt.

You undo his jeans, pushing them down his muscular thighs.

Namjoon’s hand curls over the outline of his cock, and you dart your tongue between his fingers as you kiss his hand.

‘Wait,’ you say, looking up at him. ‘Should I say my prayers first? I’m about to defile an angel.’

Namjoon looks torn between amusemement and exasperation.

‘You’re infuriating,’ he says. ‘And deeply blasphemous.’

‘I want you to be deeply blasphemous in me,’ you say, unable to resist.

Namjoon lets out a strangled groan. ‘That shouldn’t sound as hot as it does.’

Your mouth opens again, and Namjoon fills it with two of his fingers.

His thumb caresses the underside of your jaw.

‘Shhhh,’ he tells you. ‘I’ve been waiting to be with you like this for a long time.’

You couldn’t talk even if you wanted to, so instead you swirl your tongue over his fingers.

‘Is that what you like?’ Namjoon asks, heavy-lidded, pressing his hot mouth to your ear.

His voice is so low now you can barely make out the words.

His tongue licks a swirl onto the skin of your sensitive neck, and you whimper around his fingers.

He laves his way down your neck to your collarbones, down the low neck of your top.

His tongue swipes lower and lower until you’re curling your fingers in his hair.

At the first lick of his tongue across your aching nipples, the relief is so great that you keen.

Namjoon gives you exactly what you want, tongue rough and slick across your nipple even as he opens his mouth to take more of your breast in.

You moan as he suckles at your breast, big hand cupping your other breast, squeezing, kneading, the pad of his thumb rough against your nipple.

You press your thighs together, and Namjoon strokes a hand over your skin, down towards the apex of your thighs.

You tilt your hips, and his hand slides over you, cupping you over your panties.

‘Joonie,’ you say, hand over his, hips wriggling.

He laughs quietly. ‘Impatient girl.’

He tugs your panties off, you barely have to lift your hips to help him. He looks up at your face as he slides two fingers into you, confident you’re slick enough to take him.

He fills you so perfectly you can feel yourself pulsing around him. His thumb strokes your clit, experimentally, and you cry out.

Like this, panties around your thighs, his hand between your legs, everything’s so tight you can barely stand it.

You’re about to say his name when his lips crash onto yours again. His co-ordination is so good, tongue licking deep into your mouth as his fingers delve into you, that you’re cumming around his fingers without warning. His thumb massages your clit, and your cry of pleasure leaks out around the seal of his lips.

Namjoon hums his approval, a rumbling sound from deep in his chest. He plants a sloppy kiss on your nose, leaning his forehead against yours as you come down from your high.

When your eyes open, he’s looking at you. Is that affection in his eyes?

‘Let me,’ your voice comes out cracked, whispery. You feel like you’ve shattered. ‘Let me make you feel good.’

Namjoon stares at you for a moment, then a dimple pops in his cheek.

‘You think it doesn’t feel good to me to watch you cum like that?’

Transfixed, you watch as his smile widens and a matching dimple pops in his other cheek.

‘You’re not just blasphemous, you’re also an idiot.’

There’s no heat in his voice, but you’re reminded of Yi-Jin’s words.

Does he know how shit you are in bed?

‘Shut up,’ Namjoon growls, and, startled, your eyes snap to his.

‘Tell the voice in your head to shut up,’ he tells you, eyes steady on yours. ‘Stay here with me.’

He settles his hips over yours, holding himself up so his weight isn’t fully on you.

You can feel him, hard and heavy, pressing against you.

‘Stay here with me, my love,’ he pleads. ‘Stay.’

The slide of him into you for the first time makes your eyes squeeze shut.

‘Oh Joonie,’ you breathe.

‘Yeah,’ he utters. ‘Feel me?’

‘Yeah.’

Your hands flutter across the sheets as he starts to move, trying to find something to anchor yourself.

You settle for curling a hand around his arm, thumb pressing into the softness of the crook of his elbow.

Namjoon grunts. ‘Feel so good.’ He grinds his pelvis against yours, and you moan.

‘Shit. There, Joonie, there.’

Namjoon pulls out a little, brow furrowed, chest gleaming with sweat, eyes flicking between your face and where you’re joined.

‘So pretty,’ he tells you.

You want to return the compliment, but he starts moving again, fucking into you so well that you cry out instead.

Namjoon doesn’t seem to mind. His strokes are confident, strong and sure, dragging you relentlessly to the edge until you’re breathless, his name falling in increasingly urgent cries from your lips.

‘Joonie,’ you moan.

‘Yeah, I know,’ he says. His voice is strained now, but there’s the flash of a dimple as he says, ‘go on, cum for me.’

He snaps his hips again, and you cum, succumbing to the waves of pleasure crashing over you. You think he says your name as he joins you, but you couldn’t swear to it.

Namjoon curls his arms around you, holding you, and you get the faintest impression of a weight over both of you, gossamer light and feathery.

Like wings.

***

When you wake up, your face is tucked into Namjoon’s chest, his arm curled around your waist.

You love the solid warmth of him.

You lift a hand to his chest, and he says, ‘Well good morning to you too.’

You look up at his face.

‘Good morning,’ you say, smiling brightly at him. ‘How does it feel to be fallen?’

Namjoon’s hand slips down to your ass, squeezing lightly. ‘Firstly, I’m not fallen. Secondly, I feel pretty good right about now.’

‘Me too,’ you agree.

You wriggle against him a little, because you like the feel of his hand on your ass.

His cock stirs against your belly.

‘Oooh,’ you say, pleasure in your voice.

You reach down to touch, but his hand stops you.

‘Nah. You don’t get to touch until you’re good and wet for me.’

‘Joonie?’ you ask.

‘I said what I said.’

Namjoon gets up and settles between your legs. He presses a kiss to your inner thigh, high up. He looks up at you, eyebrow lifted.

‘You gonna give me what I want?’

‘Yeah,’ you say. ‘Yeah.’

***

You’re out to dinner with Nari.

She’s one of your oldest friends, you moved to the city together after university, and you’d lived together until she moved in with her fiancée, Junho.

‘How’s the wedding planning?’ you ask.

‘It’s going,’ she says, dryly. ‘The florist bailed so I have to meet another one this week.’

She reminds you about the cake-tasting you’re going to next week.

‘How are things with Namjoon?’ she asks, carefully.

Of all your friends, Nari’s been the most wary of Namjoon.

‘He’s great,’ you say. ‘We slept together.’

‘Was it a religious experience?’ asks Nari, deadpan.

You laugh. ‘It was – like sleeping with a human man, if that man was incredible in bed.’

‘I’m glad,’ Nari says, and she genuinely does sound happy for you.

You smile at her. ‘Not going to tell me off about the girl who stole my Marc Jacobs? The man who stole my laptop?’

Nari laughs. ‘You do have a habit of helping people who don’t deserve it.’

She puts a hand on yours. ‘And dating people who don’t deserve you.’

‘Yi-Jin was hot,’ you point out.

‘Yi-Jin was a hot douchebag who couldn’t appreciate how stunning you are,’ Nari says, acid in her tone. ‘If I run into him again he won’t know which way is up. How dare he say all those things about you.’

Her eyes flash, and you love her so much in that moment you could cry.

‘I’m scared for him,’ you joke.

Nari grins. ‘Someone’s got to be your enforcer. I’m not sure your angel man is allowed to fight. He’s probably too enlightened for fisticuffs.’

You think about how you had to step in front of Namjoon to stop him from lunging at Yi-Jin, and how Yoongi had squared up next to him.

‘I don’t know,’ you say, more dreamily than you’d intended.

Nari gags. ‘Yuck. Please tell me you’re not thinking something sexual right now.’

‘What?’ you ask, flustered.

‘Incoming. I think Namjoon’s early to pick you up,’ Nari says.

You turn and sure enough, Namjoon’s making his way across the restaurant to you both.

He nods politely at Nari. ‘Hi Nari, I agreed with your points at the staff meeting earlier.’

Nari tilts her head, haughty. ‘Fear of God suits you.’

She leaves without a goodbye, and Namjoon looks confused.

‘Does Nari hate me?’ he asks.

You laugh. ‘No. She likes you, a lot, actually.’

You’re walking back home with Namjoon, taking a circuitous route so you can pass his favourite gallery.

As he looks in, curious as though he doesn’t pass it every day, you ask, impulsively, ‘Hey. Do you want to go on holiday?’

Namjoon looks at you. ‘I’d like to go to Venice.’

‘Can you fly us there or do I need to book flights?’

***

Which is how you find yourself on a balcony of the Ca’ d’Oro, looking out into the Grand Canal.

‘So I guess, being a thousand years old, this is modern to you?’ you ask, teasing.

Namjoon leans back, sun dappling his hair, highlighting the angles of his face, kissing his dimples.

‘This is all new to me,’ he tells you.

He laughs, and he looks so young that you hug him.

Later, in the church of Santa Maria Assunta, you say, with mock reverence, ‘You’re the oldest thing in here.’

Without missing a beat, Namjoon says, ‘And yet, you still show me no respect, brat.’

You flirt with him all through the streets of Cannaregio, through the churches with their elaborate frescoes, until he takes you back to your beautiful rented flat and makes love to you with an intensity that evacuates the words from your head and has you clutching at him, desperate for release.

‘More churches?’ you ask, a pout in your voice when he wakes you the next morning.

‘No more churches,’ Namjoon replies, voice completely serious. ‘I’m worried with what we did last night, we might catch fire if we tried to set foot anywhere sacred.’

‘Shall we stay here?’ you ask, already reaching for his hip only to discover he never put any clothes back on at all.

Namjoon shifts his hips to allow you better access.

‘Why don’t you suck my cock instead?’ he suggests, mildly.

‘You’ve got a filthy mouth for an angel,’ you note, from where you’re already licking up from the base of his cock.

Namjoon laughs, low. ‘And you, my love, are divine.’

Afterward, Namjoon lays flat on his back next to you, white sheets twisted around his hips, arm behind his head.

He looks beautiful like this.

‘Is this how you save me? By fucking me into oblivion?’ you ask, breathless still.

‘Is it working?’ asks Namjoon.

‘I don’t know. How can we tell?’ you ask.

‘Guess we’ll have to keep going,’ Namjoon returns.

Once he’s asleep you get up and make yourself a cup of tea and look out at the canal in the moonlight.

You tell yourself you’ll be fine once he’s done his task and has to leave, but increasingly, you wonder if you will be.

***

You’re hurrying down the street, late to meet Namjoon, not really looking where you’re going, and when you crash into someone initially you think it’s your fault.

It’s only when you feel hot breath on your face, the sour smell of sweat, that you realise something’s terribly wrong.

You’re pushed up against a wall, hands pulling at your clothes.

You try to push the man away but he doesn’t budge.

You’re still worrying about Namjoon, about him having to wait for you, when the soft snick of a switchblade makes everything crystallise into focus.

‘Wait. I’ll give you money, my phone. Don’t hurt me,’ you stutter.

The pressure on your chest eases slightly as you push your bag at him. ‘Take it all.’

Your bag’s pulled away from you, and you stand, perfectly still, as your things are tossed on the ground.

You turn your head and see Namjoon standing a few feet away.

It’s all terribly slow.

The sudden appearance of Namjoon startles your attacker, and he lashes out with the hand holding the blade, just as you take a step forward, trying to put yourself between him and Namjoon.

Namjoon’s not slow.

There’s the sound of metal slicing flesh, then metal clattering to the ground, as the attacker flees, leaving you to pick up the pieces.

Namjoon’s still standing, just about, hands over the bloody wound in his chest. Blood’s pouring through his fingers.

‘Joonie,’ you breathe, anguished.

You’re so panicked and upset it takes you longer than it should to realise that the blood’s slowing.

Namjoon’s running his bloody hands over you. ‘Are you ok? Are you hurt?’ he asks.

‘No, I’m fine. You’re hurt,’ you tell him.

‘I’m fine,’ he tells you.

There’s an urgency to his voice you haven’t heard before.

‘Listen to me, my love.’

He grips your face in both his hands until you look at him.

‘You are love,’ he tells you. ‘You’re light and you’re love and you’re perfect. Don’t forget.’

‘What –‘

His lips meet yours, and like always, he steals your breath when he kisses you.

It’s only later, when you’re back in your apartment, that you realise the significance of his actions.

Namjoon’s sitting with his back to you, looking out your balcony.

You put your hand on his shoulder.

‘Was that your task?’ you ask, quietly.

Namjoon smiles at you, and there’s a sadness to him that you haven’t seen since you first met him in the park.

‘It probably was,’ he says.

He laughs, a little. ‘Got there in the end, my beautiful heathen.’

‘I’ll be happy when you get back to your brothers,’ you tell him.

He pulls you into his arms.

‘We knew it wasn’t going to be forever,’ he says, very gently.

‘Nothing is forever,’ you say. You peek at him hopefully, and when he doesn’t say anything, you groan.

‘Really, Namjoon? Not even now?’

Namjoon kisses you.

‘I can’t tell you the secrets of life,’ he says. ‘But I meant what I said when I told you that you are love.’

‘That doesn’t tell me anything,’ you say, and there’s a pleading note in your voice now. ‘I love you, Namjoon. And now you’re going to go, and leave my life?’

He doesn’t answer, not in words anyway.

His lips seek yours, and like the first time and every time thereafter, you lose yourself in his kiss.

He pushes you onto your sheets, and fills you the way he always has, the solidity and warmth of him making you feel safe and secure.

You cry his name as he makes your pleasure soar, even as the weight of him anchors you.

He’s beautiful and he’s divine, and he makes you feel his love even if he’s never said the words out loud.

It’s only towards the end, when he collapses down next to you, that he vows, voice thick and so low you almost can’t make out the words, ‘I’d give up eternity for you, my love.’

You want to speak but you’re floating. This time you feel it, stronger than ever, the impression of wings enfolding both of you in warmth.

It feels like goodbye.

***

One year later

You step out of the church where Nari’s wedding’s just been held, blinking a little as your eyes adjust to the bright afternoon sun.

You look out at the beautiful early spring day, the daffodils starting to bloom, the colour starting to return to gardens outside the church.

Spring days make you think of Namjoon.

Everything still makes you think of Namjoon.

You’d woken alone the morning after Namjoon had saved you from the mugger.

The truth was, he'd saved you way before then, showing you how to hate yourself a little less. To be kinder to yourself.

Every day you tell yourself you’re happy he’s back with his brothers, and you are.

You wish you didn’t still miss him so much.

You watch idly as a family with a toddler walk across the path, followed by a group of runners.

You walk up to the fountain in the church gardens and look at the coin an elderly wedding-goer had handed to you, telling you to make a wish.

You toss the coin in and watch it sink to the bottom with all the other copper pennies.

You make your wish.

When you open your eyes, a naked male ass is in your line of vision.

You’d recognise it anywhere.

‘Hey,’ says a familiar low drawl. ‘Got a spare coat?’

‘Nah,’ you reply, nonchalant even though your heart is pounding triple-speed.

You turn away and head back to the church.

Footsteps sound behind you.

‘Really, you’re gonna leave me out here naked?’ asks Namjoon.

You turn, feigning innocence. ‘Well, I’d invite you in, but it’s a wedding. There’s a dress code and everything.’

‘Damn,’ Namjoon says.

He stops mid-sentence, because you’ve whirled around and thrown yourself into his arms.

‘What is this, Namjoon? A one-night appearance to remind me what I’m missing?’ you ask, between kisses.

‘No. I’m here for good. For the rest of your life. For the rest of our lives,’ Namjoon replies, breathless from trying to get the words out whilst you’re kissing him.

‘Why?’ you ask.

‘Because you are love. You’re my love,’ Namjoon replies.

You pull back. ‘Are you really here, Namjoon?’

‘As long as you’ll have me,’ he promises.

‘I guess that’s forever then,’ you say.

Namjoon’s dimples appear, so sweet you could cry. ‘Forever sounds good to me.’

©hamsterclaw 2022

Author note: Like almost every other writer I know, I get insecure about my writing. Am I shit and are people too polite to tell me? Every damn time I post it's a battle of - is this good? Should I post this? Nah, maybe another time. My big realisation is that no one will ever be as hard on me as I am on myself. So I should be easier on myself! We all should. I liked writing this story a lot - and have an idea for Yoongi and JK in this AU which I’m excited to write! I hope you enjoyed reading.

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Reprieve

You're the newest recruit to Namjoon's investigative team. Unbeknownst to the rest of the team, you've met before, and he knows about your past, which is why he doesn't trust you.

Pairing: Namjoon x F! reader

Rating: 18+

Genre: Non-idol AU, police detective Namjoon, smut

Word count: 6.7k

Warnings: Sex and swearing, non-graphic violence, mentions of drugs, gangs

Kim Namjoon’s heart is thumping in his chest, fuelled by adrenaline and terror. He’s in the middle of a drug deal that’s gone very badly wrong.

He’s undercover with his partner Hoseok, standing on the opposite end of the warehouse.

There isn’t gunfire yet, but weapons are drawn, fingers on trigger guards.

His partner angles his head to the exit. He’s called for backup, but they’re at least five minutes away.

There isn’t anything in the police manual that explains how to deal with this. Namjoon glances at Hoseok, who’s now signalling something he can’t make out.

What the hell is he trying to say?

The room is full of men with guns and itchy trigger fingers, apart from one woman, unarmed.

Namjoon feels that this situation is wrong, somehow. The only women who get involved in things like this are usually girlfriends of bangers or part of the gang, or being exploited in some way.

He meets her eyes.

She looks back at him evenly. She looks preternaturally calm.

Sirens cut through the tension, and the characters in the tableau start to murmur. Namjoon’s not sure who the first person to run is, but he knows who he has to follow.

Kang Min, the leader. Namjoon keeps his eyes on him as he makes his way through the warehouse.

The sound of a cocked trigger makes his heart stop.

Namjoon turns and realises there’s a gun levelled at his chest.

‘The fuck,’ comes a female voice. ‘Let the kid go.’

Namjoon watches as the woman he saw earlier steps in between him and the loaded gun.

‘Not the time, Jae. Let’s get the fuck out of here.’

Namjoon’s already moving. He hears swearing, the sound of a slap, but he doesn’t look back.

***

Back at the station, Namjoon’s in between conducting interviews with Hoseok when he sees her again.

She’s sitting slightly apart from the men. There’s an ugly bruise over her cheek, a cut close to her left eye.

He walks over.

‘Thanks for stopping that guy from shooting me,’ he says.

She flicks her eyes up at him. ‘You’re too young to die. Get better at protecting yourself or get out of the line of fire.’

She looks down, and Namjoon takes that as the end of the conversation.

Later, then he’s starting on the paperwork, he spots her booking sheet with her name and date of birth on.

L/N Y/N. Fuck. She’s younger than he is.

***

You’re early for the interview, but that was a mistake because looking at everyone else here is making you nervous.

Inside you’re the girl from the bad side of town. You doubt any of these middle-class twentysomethings have seen half of what you have.

It doesn’t make you feel any better that you can hotwire a car, shoplift with ease or that you know three ways to disarm a man without leaving a mark.

Right now, those are useless skills, because they’re not needed in this job. And you need this job.

‘L/N Y/N? You’re next.’

You nod at the woman running the interviews and wish you hadn’t worn a light skirt suit because you’d give anything to wipe your sweaty hands now.

The door opens, and a tall man holds out his hand to you.

‘L/N Y/N? I’m Kim Namjoon.’

You clasp his hand and give it a firm shake, then look up into his face.

It’s your first mistake.

It’s the man from the warehouse five years ago. The man who looked so nervous he was asking to be targeted.

The man you stopped Jae from shooting.

If he recognises you, he gives no sign.

The interview, with Kim Namjoon and two other men whose names escape you, goes fine, up until the point where they ask about previous jobs.

You shift in your seat. ‘This is my first job,’ you say, flatly.

One of the men looks at you curiously, but before he can say anything, Kim Namjoon is standing, offering his hand again. ‘Thank you for your time, we’ll be in touch by the end of the week.’

You can’t wait to get out of there.

You’re sitting in the café next door when the door pushes open and Kim Namjoon walks in.

You don’t know if he’s seen you, but you’re not going to call attention to yourself.

You look down at your coffee. The pastry that had been flaky and warm now tastes like sawdust.

His voice makes you jump.

‘Do you live close by?’ he asks.

‘Not far,’ you say, pasting a smile on your face to cover your nervousness.

‘Why do you want this job?’ he asks. His eyes are serious as he waits for your answer.

You click through the list of model answers in your head before deciding on the truth.

‘I lived it. Your other candidates will find links, but I’d guarantee you I’m the only one from that room who knows Kang Min’s son goes to school with the Sung family heiress.’ You shrug. ‘I can search a database as well as any of them, but I can put it all together too.’

You look up at him.

‘Why would I trust you?’ he asks. His face is unreadable.

You get up. ‘Do you have to ask?’ you ask him. ‘You’re alive, aren’t you?’

His hand lifts as though he’s going to stop you from leaving, but you aren’t done yet.

‘I need this job,’ you tell him.

It’s the closest to pleading you’ve ever come in your life. His expression softens, just enough for you to see that he’s wavering.

‘We’ll be in touch at the end of the week,’ he says.

You nod.

The call comes at the end of the week that you’ve been successful at interview and that you’re to start the following week. It’s an administrator who calls you to let you know.

You’d been hoping to speak to Kim Namjoon again.

***

It’s near the end of your first week as part of Kim Namjoon’s team, and so far all you’ve done is look up various snippets of information for members of the team.

You spend most of your days working alongside a young but serious looking man called Jungkook. He’s quiet, probably a little shy, but he helps you out a lot as he’s been working for Namjoon’s team for months.

You’re asking Jungkook about cross-referencing arrest warrants when you see the change in his demeanour. In one second flat, the soft, kind Jungkook you’d been talking to turns into serious Jungkook, sitting up straight, eyes wide, ready to take orders.

You know who he’s responded to even without turning around.

You stand, to give yourself extra height, which is ludicrous, because he still towers over you.

Kim Namjoon is tall, broad and intimidating as fuck.

He nods at you. ‘Can I speak to you about something in my office?’

You’re already stepping forward. ‘Yes, of course.’

You stand nervously in front of Kim Namjoon. He’s perched on the end of his desk.

‘Comms have intercepted a call about the Victoria Pier,’ he says. He pulls off his glasses and tosses them on his desk.

‘It’s an unusual location,’ you say, frowning. ‘They’ve never used it for a drop before.’

‘That’s what I thought,’ Namjoon says.

‘Unless –‘

He looks up at you, waiting.

‘Kang Min’s new daughter in law used to date a guy who ran a small business out of the town next to the pier,’ you say.

The way Namjoon’s eyebrows rise show you that this is news to him.

‘Who was the guy?’ he asks.

‘Chan Jung-hyuk,’ you say. ‘Prick.’

Namjoon waits for you to say more.

‘I dated him briefly,’ you say shortly. ‘Anyway, I can check out the link.’

Namjoon nods. ‘Bring your findings directly to me by the end of shift.’

You nod and are heading out the door when he stops you.

‘Is your car the white Hyundai that parks near the end of the lot?’ he asks.

You look at him curiously.

‘You need to get it checked. It’s leaking oil.’

You feel your cheeks heat. ‘I’ll sort it,’ you say.

***

Your father was the bookkeeper for the Kangs for most of his life. He’d inherited the job from his uncle before him. Your family have worked for the Kangs for generations, a step removed from the violence but always aware of it.

When your father died a few years ago, there had been no one to take his place from your family. You’re an only child, your mother died when you were very young.

It was the perfect opportunity to get out.

Your father had been well-respected, loyal and reliable. He’d kept you as separate from his work as he could have, as a result you’ve always been on the outskirts of the gang, with no involvement with anyone from the gang.

Kang Min had sent you his condolences after your father’s death, and for a while you’d waited for a summons. It had never come. You’d chosen to move away from your family home and to start a new life.

Working for the police had seemed like playing with fire, but over the years, with no contact, you think perhaps you’ve got away with it.

The job you’ve got now pays good money, with hours that suit you and is close to your new home. Plus, you’re technically just a data drone. There’s nothing about you to attract any attention.

It’s exactly how you want it.

Namjoon eyes you as you finish explaining your report.

‘The other members of the team don’t know about your link to the Kangs,’ he tells you.

‘There’s no link,’ you reply, terse.

Namjoon scoffs. ‘Hoseok may not remember you from that warehouse, but I sure do.’

‘If I hadn’t saved your life, you wouldn’t remember me either,’ you tell him. ‘Seems unfair that I should be punished just because I stuck my neck out for you.’

Namjoon stares at you.

When he speaks, his voice is gentle. ‘You’d been beaten when I saw you at the station that night. Was that because you stopped him from shooting me?’

‘I can’t remember,’ you say. You may not be part of the Kangs but you’re no snitch.

Namjoon nods. ‘Thanks for your report. It’s very helpful.’

‘Will there be anything else, sir?’ you ask.

He shakes his head, and you leave his office, breathing a sigh of relief as you do.

***

You’re frowning over your car, trying to get it to start, when another car pulls up alongside you.

You glance over as Kim Namjoon rolls his window down.

‘Good morning,’ you say.

‘Car trouble?’ he asks, getting out.

He’s in his shirtsleeves, you can see his jacket thrown over the passenger seat.

You watch as he rolls up the cuffs, forearms flexing, biceps pressing against the material.

He catches you looking.

‘The car,’ he prompts. His lips are perfectly straight, but there’s a spark of something in his eyes.

‘Sorry,’ you say distractedly. ‘It won’t start.’

‘I’ll give you a jump but I think you’ll need to take this to the workshop,’ he says.

You don’t know the first thing about cars apart from how to steal one.

You think you’d better keep that information to yourself.

After an unsuccessful jump, Namjoon shuts your car hood for you. ‘I’ll give you the number for the garage I use. My friend Taehyung is pretty skilled.’

You nod.

‘Come on, I’ll give you a lift to work,’ he says, opening the passenger door. He picks up his jacket, and you slide into the seat.

Namjoon’s a good driver. You glance over at him as he weaves through traffic.

‘How are you finding the job?’ he asks, without looking at you.

You lean back into the seat. ‘It’s great,’ you say, honestly. ‘Jungkook’s fun to work with.’

‘He’s a good guy,’ Namjoon agrees. ‘The info you got checks out,’ he confirms to you.

You hadn’t been worried that it wouldn’t, but you guess if you were Namjoon you might not trust you either.

You chew on your bottom lip worriedly as you look out the window at the passing traffic.

You wonder if Namjoon knowing about your past is going to colour his judgement of you.

You need this job, it was the highest paying out of all the jobs you were qualified for.

You realise Namjoon’s watching you in the rearview mirror.

You wonder what he thinks of you.

‘It’s routine to double and triple check all the information I’m given,’ he says to you. ‘It isn’t personal.’

‘Of course,’ you murmur.

You can’t get out of his car fast enough.

***

It’s a team dinner at the bistro opposite work.

You’ve never really been in this kind of situation before, but at least you know Jungkook.

You recognise Hoseok from your interview. He smiles at you kindly.

You’re relaxing a little, the rest of the team seem nice, when a familiar figure enters the restaurant.

You freeze in your seat, then hurriedly get up and excuse yourself.

It’s Hye-jin. You went to school together, which is fine, but you happen to know she’s dating a member of the Kangs. Which would also be fine, apart from that she has the biggest mouth this side of the planet.

You don’t think anyone will be interested that you were sitting with a table full of cops, but you can’t be too careful.

You let yourself out the back entrance of the restaurant, through the kitchen, and startle as a hand reaches out to grab your arm.

‘What’s up?’ Namjoon asks.

His voice is quiet, almost casual, but his eyes on you are shrewd, observant.

‘I feel sick,’ you say, hoping your voice sounds as casual. ‘I thought I’d leave early. I was just about to text Jungkook.’

‘Let me take you home,’ he says.

‘What? No, it’s fine, I’m getting a taxi.’

What does this man want from you?

He hasn’t let go of your arm. His voice hardens. ‘Do I need to be worried about you?’

His words are laden with meaning.

‘I’m not a snitch,’ you tell him, evenly. ‘I’m just not sure it’d be good for me if the Kangs knew I was working for the police.’

‘Come on,’ he says. ‘I’ll take you home, then I think you’d better tell me the whole story.’

You stare at his hand around your arm. ‘What are you going to do if I don’t go with you?’ you ask.

He drops your arm immediately. ‘I’m asking,’ he tells you.

You consider the repercussions for your job if you don’t talk to him.

‘Sure,’ you say. ‘I’ll tell you whatever you want to know.’

Namjoon takes you home. You lead him up to your small apartment. There are no pictures anywhere, you know how it looks.

‘My parents are dead,’ you tell him. ‘I have no family.’

You tilt your chin. ‘My dad used to work for the Kangs. He was their bookkeeper until he died a few years ago. I haven’t heard from Kang Min since.’

Namjoon’s sitting on your couch despite the fact you hadn’t invited him to sit.

‘Why do you need this job?’ he asks.

‘I need the money.’

‘I can’t afford a mole in my team,’ Namjoon tells you.

‘I’m not a mole,’ you say. ‘But if you can’t trust me you might as well fire me. If you’re suspicious of me, your team will be too.’

You can’t believe you’re being judged for risking your own life for Namjoon, but in your experience, life’s never been fair.

‘What were you doing at the warehouse that night?’ Namjoon asks.

‘I was dating one of the guys. Jae. No one ever believed I wasn’t a part of it. They knew my dad was the bookkeeper.’ You smile, but there’s no humour in it.

‘Jae couldn’t believe it when I stepped in front of you. Like I couldn’t believe it when he slapped me with his gun.’ You shrug. ‘I guess it was a night of surprises for all of us.’

‘Why did you stop him?’ Namjoon asks. He’s still looking at you, a muscle ticking in his jaw.

‘Honestly, Namjoon? I didn’t believe he’d shoot me. I didn’t think you deserved to die.’

You give Namjoon a cold look. ‘I’m rethinking that now.’

To your surprise Namjoon laughs. ‘A lot of people say that about me,’ he tells you. ‘That they want to kill me.’

You slip off your jacket. ‘I can’t imagine why,’ you say.

Namjoon stands, and you realise he’s staring at you again.

You follow his gaze and too late, remember your tattoo. It’s visible under the gauzy material of your blouse, a swirling snake that curls under your breast and around to your back.

You take a step close to Namjoon. ‘If you want to see it close up, you’ll have to buy me a drink first,’ you tell him, hoping to throw him.

He looks down at you, unmoving. There’s heat in his gaze now, making you feel warm all over.

His hand comes up, thumb brushing your lower lip so gently it’s almost like you’re imagining it.

You flick your tongue out at his thumb. His hand curls over the angle of your jaw, fixing the position of your face.

He leans down, slow, giving you plenty of time to move away.

Like you were ever going to.

You meet his lips eagerly, closing your eyes at the feel of him. His lips are firm and warm. He kisses you slowly, dragging his lips over yours, tugging at your top lip. He slants his head to get closer, and you slip your tongue into his mouth. He tastes like the sake he’d been drinking at dinner.

When you pull away, you lean your forehead against his chest, trying to catch your breath. His hand cups your head, holding you to him.

He huffs out a breath.

‘What am I going to do with you?’ he says.

You’d answer, but it sounds he’s asking himself more than you.

***

Jungkook’s looking at you thoughtfully, and this worries you, because nothing good ever came of Jungkook thinking.

You think you’re as smart as him, but he has a knack of hitting the nail on the head.

‘Pocky?’ you offer, hoping to distract him.

Jungkook accepts. Now he looks faintly ridiculous with a chocolate stick on either side of his mouth, like tusks, but that thoughtful look is still in his eyes.

You get up and start sorting through the crime scene reports Namjoon’s had delivered to your office.

‘I was walking to my car last night and this guy came up to ask about you,’ Jungkook says.

The chocolate stick in your hand snaps.

‘Yeah?’ you say. Your back is to Jungkook, thankfully he can’t see the expression on your face.

Jungkook hits a key on his keyboard. ‘This guy.’

You turn around to see the database picture he’s pulled up and helpfully zoomed into.

It’s Jae.

Specifically Kim Jae-beom, your ex-boyfriend who was a hairsbreadth away from killing Namjoon, all those years ago.

‘He’s an ex,’ you tell Jungkook.

‘There was a drug bust a few years ago, before I started. Namjoon and Hoseok were leading the case.’ Jungkook’s looking at you. ‘I was reading through the reports, and I recognised your picture.’

You look Jungkook fully in the face but don’t say anything.

Your face healed a long time ago, you don’t even have a scar, but right now it feels like it’s burning.

‘Where are you going with this, Jungkook?’ you ask.

Jungkook asks, ‘Why was he looking for you?’ His expression isn’t unkind, but you sense he’s not going to let it go until he gets an answer.

‘I don’t know,’ you say, honestly. ‘I haven’t spoken to him in years.’

‘I think I should let Namjoon know,’ Jungkook says, gently.

‘Sure,’ you say. You know you shouldn’t feel hurt, Jungkook’s just doing his job, but part of you had thought your relationship was friendlier than colleagues. You’ve been working together closely for months, you think you get on well.

That’s what you’d thought, anyway.

All day, you wait for Namjoon to haul you into his office and ask you again about your previous gang ties, but it doesn’t happen. By the end of the day, your nerves are frayed.

You nod goodbye to Jungkook and head for the bus stop. Your car’s still at the mechanic, Namjoon’s friend Taehyung seems reliable but you won’t be able to collect it until next week.

You’re already thinking about going straight to bed when you reach your apartment. You’re fumbling with the keys when a shadow falls across your door.

‘We need to talk,’ says Jae.

You shove your keys into your pocket. ‘What about, Jae?’

‘Can we do this inside your apartment?’ Jae asks. He’s not really asking.

You let him in and wait.

‘Are you working for the police?’ Jae asks, as soon as the door’s shut behind him. He leans against it. Ther’s no other way out of your apartment.

‘I just do data entry and follow up parking tickets,’ you tell him. You’re only partly lying. ‘A job’s a job.’

Jae’s still leaning against the door, the there’s a tenseness to his posture, like a coiled spring.

‘You should find another job,’ he tells you, flatly.

‘There is no other job,’ you reply. ‘And I was lucky to get this one.’

Jae moves quickly. In a move too fast for you to fully follow, he’s got you pinned against the kitchen counter, hand out flat. Your wooden chopping board slams down on your hand, and you hear the thud before you register the pain.

You push out at Jae with your other hand, but he’s strong.

‘We have a history, which is why I’m going easy on you,’ he tells you. It’s ironic given the flat look in his eyes. He doesn’t look like he cares at all that you’re writhing in pain.

‘If I have to come back, it’s not just your hand that they’ll have to put back together,’ he says.

He slams the board down on your hand again, and you bite your lip until you taste blood in your mouth.

He’s gone before you can say anything else, leaving your front door ajar.

***

You take two days off work, just until you can move your fingers without crying. Thankfully, it’s your non-dominant right hand.

Even so, Jungkook notices.

He raises his eyebrow at you.

You’re not telling him a damn thing if you can help it.

You’re staring at each other in challenge when you hear pointed throat clearing.

You look up to see Kim Namjoon.

‘Y/N, can I see you in my office please?’ he asks, politely.

You stand and follow him. You resist the urge to glare at Jungkook before you go.

Namjoon stands behind his desk, as though he wants to put distance between you. You haven’t seen him since you kissed him.

‘Please sit,’ he says.

You’ve barely sat back before he asks, ‘What happened to your hand?’

‘I was clearing out boxes in my apartment, and a stack of books fell on my hand,’ you lie. You’ve been practicing it so much it rolls of your tongue smoothly.

‘Is it broken?’ Namjoon asks.

‘It’s just a little swollen,’ you reply.

‘You should get it checked out,’ Namjoon advises you.

‘I have,’ you say, briskly. ‘Anything else?’

‘Jungkook said one of the Kang clan approached him to ask about you,’ Namjoon tells you.

‘It was Jae,’ you say.

Namjoon’s looking at your hands folded across your lap. ‘Did you speak to him?’

‘The Kangs know I’m working for the police,’ you tell him, honest. ‘They want me to find another job.’

Namjoon nods. ‘Do you want a transfer?’

You shrug. ‘I don’t think going to a different department will solve the problem. They’re not going to check which division I work for, they just don’t want me working for the police.’

‘I can help you find another post,’ Namjoon says.

For some reason his words, like Jungkook’s, cut deep. On some level you understand that he doesn’t want trouble in his new investigative unit, but he’d been prepared to take you on when he thought you might give him intel on the Kangs. Now he’s quick to cut you loose when there’s the slightest hint of trouble.

You haven’t done anything wrong, but it feels like you’re being punished anyway.

The memory of his lips on yours makes it feel even more like he’s pushing you away.

It was foolish for you to ever think you might be able to escape your past.

‘Sure,’ you say. ‘I’ll put in my resignation.’

Namjoon gets up. ‘It’s safer for you to have another job,’ he says.

‘It is,’ you agree. You look at the floor. ‘Will that be it?’

You spend the rest of the day working solidly. You’re preparing to leave when Namjoon stops by your office.

‘Need a lift home?’ he asks.

‘I’m fine, there’s a bus,’ you say. You force yourself to meet his eyes.

‘It’s on my way,’ he says.

***

Namjoon walks you up to your apartment despite your protests. You look around a little warily for Jae but thankfully he’s nowhere to be found.

‘I’ll pick you up for work tomorrow,’ Namjoon says. ‘If that’s ok with you.’

‘Thanks for the lift,’ you tell him.

You’re halfway into your living room before you realise it’s all wrong. You’re looking for the baseball bat you laid near your front door when there’s movement in your peripheral vision.

You’re shoved up against the wall, stars behind your eyelids as your face hits the exposed brick.

Jae’s merciless, strong, his hand curled around your neck squeezing so tight you can’t breathe.

You struggle against him, elbows out. He lets out a grunt as your elbow connects with his chest.

You both freeze as the knock on your door sounds.

It’s Namjoon, calling your name through the door.

Jae’s hand closes over your mouth.

All you know is, Namjoon’s bigger than Jae and you could sure use his muscle right about now.

You stomp down on Jae’s foot, just enough for Jae’s hand to slip off your face, then scream as loudly as you can.

The knocking stops, then the door shakes in its frame as Namjoon puts his weight into kicking it open.

Jae shoves you onto the floor and runs to your bedroom. He’s out the window before you’re up.

Your door flies open just as you’re about to get to it.

Namjoon’s breathing hard, scanning the room.

‘He went out through the window,’ you tell him.

‘What the hell happened?’ Namjoon asks. His words are harsh, but his hands are gentle on your face as he examines it.

‘Kang really doesn’t want me working for the police,’ you say. You hiss as Namjoon’s thumb brushes across a tender spot on your brow.

‘Do you have ice?’ Namjoon asks. He’s already heading for your freezer.

***

You’re trying not to get flustered at Namjoon’s proximity to you, but you’re failing. His warm hands are cupping your face as he holds a makeshift ice pack to your forehead.

You lift your hand to take over holding the ice pack, and you see his gaze fall to your hand.

You’re glad Namjoon was there to help you, but you don’t need to give him information he didn’t ask for.

He’s asking now, though.

‘Your hand. Did books really fall on it?’ he asks.

‘Jae,’ you say.

A muscle flexes in Namjoon’s jaw.

‘Why didn’t you just tell me Jae was threatening you?’

You look at him warily.

‘We’re the fucking police, Y/N. We look after our own.’

‘I didn’t realise I was considered one of you,’ you say.

‘That’s a failure of my leadership. You’re part of my team.’ Namjoon shakes his head.

You get up. ‘Want a drink?’

Namjoon gets up to help you. ‘Where else are you hurt?’

You catch sight of your face in the mirrored surface of the toaster. ‘Nowhere,’ you say, wincing at the sight of the graze across your cheek and forehead.

‘Why did you come back, anyway?’ you ask, curious, as you sip your water.

Namjoon frowns. ‘The front entrance to your building. There was a dent in the metal frame.’ He shrugs. ‘Also, I wanted to ask about your hand.’

‘Well, thanks,’ you say, belatedly.

‘I’m sorry I didn’t make it clear you could come to me,’ he tells you. He looks regretful. ‘I’m also sorry about kissing you. It was – inappropriate.’

You look up at him, straight-faced. ‘Not as inappropriate as what I wanted to do with you.’

Namjoon stares at you for a moment, then huffs out a humourless laugh.

‘How could any man look at your face and want to hurt you,’ he mutters. He doesn’t sound like he’s asking you, so you don’t answer.

He tosses you the ice pack. ‘Come on. I’ve got a spare room at mine. Why don’t you stay at my place tonight?’

***

You’re sipping a mug of tea Namjoon’s made you and looking around Namjoon’s house. He lives in a two storey in the suburbs, it’d been a half hour drive from yours.

Namjoon’s looking at you.

‘Do you want another job?’ he asks.

You choose your words carefully. ‘It’s probably for the best. The Kangs are aware I’m working for the police, and you’re aware of my links to the Kangs. I’m a liability.’

‘You’re not a liability,’ Namjoon says. ‘I don’t think you’re working for them.’

You laugh, dryly. ‘Jungkook and I are at a crossroads. If you’re ever worried about a mole in your unit, never suspect Jungkook. He’s so loyal to you I thought he was going to kick me out himself.’

Namjoon’s frowning, so you add, ‘it’s not just about you trusting me Your team has to trust me too. It’s only a matter of time before someone else finds out.’

‘Finds out what? That you were in the wrong place at the wrong time, and that you saved my life?’

You look at each other.

‘You don’t owe me just because I did that.’ You put your hand on Namjoon’s arm.

‘You stepped in front of a loaded gun, for me.’

‘I didn’t know you. I would have done it for anyone.’

‘Still,’ Namjoon says, frustrated. ‘You did it for me.’

‘So what, now you’re responsible for me?’ you scoff.

‘Yes,’ Namjoon says. ‘Also, I hired you. I put you in this situation. And if I’d broken that door down faster you wouldn’t be sitting there looking at me with that goddamn huge graze on your face.’

‘Don’t look at me then,’ you say, tiredly.

‘That’s the problem, that I can’t fucking stop looking at you,’ Namjoon replies.

You stare at him.

‘Should we just stop talking and fuck instead?’ you ask.

There’s a flicker in Namjoon’s gaze.

‘If only fucking was the answer,’ Namjoon says. He gets up. ‘Go to bed. I’ve got to do some thinking about tomorrow.’

***

You’re quietly heading towards the door the next morning when Namjoon calls out from the kitchen.

He comes to the door, two mugs of coffee in his hands.

He holds it out to you.

‘If you’re going to sneak away you might as well have breakfast first.’

‘I wasn’t going to---’

You break off at the look on his face.

You take the coffee he’s holding out to you, and set it down. You take his other mug and set it down, then tug his arm.

You reach up and curl your arms around his neck, pressing yourself against him. He leans down, and you go on tiptoe to press a kiss to his lips.

Your arms loosen, and you’re slipping down a little when he curls his arms around you, big hands cupping your ass.

‘Did you sleep?’ you ask him, between kisses.

‘Not a wink,’ he tells you, voice husky, sexy.

‘I thought about you,’ you tell him. ‘Like this.’

Namjoon nibbles your neck. ‘Hold on,’ he says.

He carries you to his bedroom, his king bed with its rumpled grey sheets.

‘Are we doing this?’ he asks, kissing down your neck, tugging at your t-shirt.

‘Hey, I saved your life,’ you tease. ‘You fucking owe me.’

Namjoon laughs.

‘I’m going to show you how grateful I am,’ he promises.

***

Namjoon’s hands are splayed on your back, smoothing over your skin as he kisses you. He’s slow, languid, like he has nothing but time.

You, however, have been fantasizing about his arms around you ever since that night at the restaurant.

‘C’mon, Joon,’ you whisper to him, positioning yourself in his lap, legs spread to accommodate his torso. You roll your hips over his to encourage him.

Namjoon’s pulling the front plackets of his shirt that you’re wearing apart. He slips a hand over your tattoo.

‘What the fuck is this?’ he asks, fingers tracing the snake, from bevelled head, down the coiled body, to the tail over your hip.

‘It was easier to blend in than to stand out,’ you tell him, kissing his neck. Your tongue flicks against his ear. ‘Especially when I started dating Kangs.’

Namjoon groans. ‘Do that again.’

‘This?’ you ask. You nibble at his ear, pressing your lips to his neck. He smells delicious, woody, musky.

Namjoon’s big hands curl over your ass as you roll your hips against his again, helping you grind on him.

You bite his neck, and he groans again. ‘Fuck. Let me get a condom.’

You help him slide his briefs off, just enough that his rigid cock is freed, slapping against his skin. He’s so hard you’re worried it’s going to hurt.

Namjoon presses the condom into your hand. ‘Put it on me,’ he says.

You’re tearing into it when his hand slips between your legs, fingers sliding through your arousal. He slips a finger into you, and you clench involuntarily around him.

‘One more,’ he grunts. He slips another finger into you, other hand over your hip, thumb stroking over your clit.

Your hands tighten over his cock, and he groans. ‘Fuck.’

He jerks away, pushes you back onto the bed and presses his whole face between your legs. He licks you out in earnest, humming his approval as you get slicker and wetter for him.

‘I need –’ You break off, and Namjoon nods.

‘I’ve got you,’ he tells you.

He slips the condom that’s dropped out of your hand onto himself, coming back to rest on top of you.

‘You ready?’ he asks.

‘Yeah,’ you say.

He watches your face as he positions himself, pushing in slowly, inching his way in.

Your hips wriggle and you push up, trying to take more of him.

‘Joon,’ you plead.

He laughs darkly. ‘I’m here.’ He pushes in another inch, so maddeningly slow you could scream.

He dips his head to kiss you as he pushes the rest of the way in, tongue invading your open mouth as he fills you with his cock.

‘Good?’ he asks.

You open your eyes when you realise he’s waiting for an answer.

You nod. ‘Good. Keep going. Fuck. Keep going.’

Namjoon’s teeth sink into his bottom lip as he thrusts, filling you again and again, rocking against your clit. His thumbs on your hips feel like they’re bruising you, but you’re barely aware of it, too caught up in how good he feels.

The weight of him, the stretch of his cock, the sweat glistening between your bodies.

You cry out as he fucks you, relentlessly pulling you to the edge with him.

‘Go on,’ he urges. ‘You’re nearly there.’

His voice, already deep and low at the best of times, sounds guttural, more of a rumble than actual words.

Another push of his hips, a well-timed long stroke of his thumb, and you’re cumming on him. Namjoon’s hips stutter as you cry his name, and his rhythm falters, a low moan falling from his lips as he spills into you.

He’s panting, trying to catch his breath, when you curl your arms around him, pulling him down to you.

‘Don’t want to crush you,’ he utters. ‘Your hand.’

‘I like the weight of you,’ you tell him.

Namjoon huffs out a laugh. ‘What am I going to do with you?’

Again, he doesn’t sound like he’s really asking you, so you don’t answer.

***

Again, you’re nervous, but this time it’s a situation that’s more familiar to you.

You’re not the girl from the wrong side of the tracks trying to pretend to be middle-class and uneventful at an interview.

Today, you’re on your own turf.

Kang Min used to come to your house to meet your father when you were a girl, and they used to drink and talk and smoke well into the early hours of the morning.

You didn’t always stay up with them, but Kang Min was never anything but kind to you.

You bow as you approach him, at a hole in the wall noodle restaurant your father used to take you to as a child.

‘Uncle,’ you say, politely.

He sits back, and there’s a sudden flare of fear in your chest as you wonder if you’ve misjudged this situation completely.

Instead, he smiles. ‘Y/N. You’ve grown up.’

‘I found this amongst Papa’s things,’ you tell him, holding it out. ‘I thought he’d want you to have it.’

He looks at it as you place it on the table in front of him.

It’s a silver box lighter, the one your father always used to use when they smoked together at your house. You’ve polished the tarnish away yourself.

He looks up at you. ‘Your father was one of my best friends, you know that.’

‘I know, uncle.’

‘He never wanted you involved in the business,’ he says. ‘I’ve always respected his wishes.’

He looks at you shrewdly. ‘What’s this about you working for the police?’

‘I needed a job,’ you tell him. ‘I can’t live off the inheritance.’

‘He wanted you taken care of. I promised him I’d do that,’ Kang Min says. ‘Will you find another job?’

‘I’ve resigned,’ you tell him, truthfully.

‘He built up a trust for you. I’ll give you access,’ Kang Min tells you. ‘I’d have given it you sooner if you’d come to me.’

‘I didn’t know – ‘

He cuts you off. ‘I’m not going to involve you in anything, as long as you give me your word you’ll not lose your loyalty to your father’s memory.’

His eyes flicker over the tattoo that’s faintly visible through your gauzy shirt. You hadn’t been entirely truthful with Namjoon. The tattoo had never been for the men you dated. It’d been one of your father’s ideas to prove your loyalty to Kang Min after he was gone.

Your brilliant, pragmatic father who’d taught you how to hotwire a car, shoplift with ease and three ways to disarm a man without leaving a mark.

‘I won’t forget,’ you tell him.

He smiles then, eyes on the lighter you’ve given him.

‘See that you don’t.’

***

Namjoon’s waiting a block away from where you met with Kang Min. The relief on his face when he sees you makes you feel warm inside.

‘Done?’ he asks.

‘Done,’ you say.

You’re another block away before you speak again. ‘You’re going to help me find another job, right?’

‘What would you like to do?’ asks Namjoon.

‘I always wanted to learn to fix cars,’ you say. ‘Think Taehyung will take me on?’

Namjoon whistles. ‘I think you’d be hot as a mechanic.’

‘I don’t know though, who’s going to save your ass at drug busts?’ you tease.

Namjoon levels you with a look. ‘You know that was one of my first cases as a detective.’

You raise your eyebrows. ‘And?’

‘I’m a better cop now than I was.’

You nod. ‘More careful?’

Namjoon gives you a crooked smile. ‘Stakes are higher now that I’ve got your pretty ass waiting for me at home.’

‘Damn, you haven’t even taken me to dinner yet?’

‘Let’s go right now,’ Namjoon says. ‘Then I’m taking you home with me.’

He curls his arm around you and you lean into his embrace.

You don’t know how this is all going to work out, but it’s a promising start.

©hamsterclaw 2022

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PEOPLE ID LIKE TO KNOW BETTER!

definitely love nika @back2bluesidex for tagging me, never have i ever thought i'd get to participate in such games( ˶ˆᗜˆ˵ )

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Last song~ chemtrails over the country club [must listen ya'll (..◜ᴗ◝..)] Fav colour~ yellowww, just as bright as my hobi baby Currently watching~ doctor slump, arrietty, the wind rises, ocean waves ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა Sweet, savory or spicy~ a sweet mix of sweet and spicy Relationship status~ broke up with a mentally sick mf a month ago (ㆆ_ㆆ) Current obsession~ mathematics i guess ¯_(ツ)_/¯, and unforgettably hobi and his new album, and studio ghibli ( 灬´ ˘ `灬 )

people i'd like to know more,

@hamsterclaw

@dilfhoseokie

@midnighttherat

sadly don't know anyone in tumblr other than them ૮₍˶ ╥ ‸ ╥ ⑅₎ა, would add @back2bluesidex but she already done :[

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