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moonleeai · 5 days

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Oh Collateral… how I miss thee!

Jump on this train! It’s a great ride 😁

Collateral 🗡️ POV: Namjoon

Namjoon is tired. He is tired of waiting to hear from Yoongi. He is tired of allowing his exhaustion to continue pushing you away.

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❗ THIS IS A CHARACTER POV CHAPTER!!!

if you do not wish to perceive any POV that is not the main character, please feel free to skip this one!

🗡️Namjoon x Female Reader x Yoongi

🗡️ word count: 7.3k

🗡️ mafia au, established relationship, poly, smut, angst, fluff, nsfw, explicit, 21+

🗡️ warnings: mention of Jeongguk & reader doing drugs (mdma, coke), drinking champagne, and getting sexy (oral) - all off screen; Namjoon reminiscing about the day Yoongi almost got married; oral sex (allusion to squirting); discussion of blood & head wounds; worry and anxiety.

🗡️ notes: mc is referred to in 2nd person (you/your) pronouns for this chapter since she appears more than just in passing!

🗡️ early draft beta read by @neoneunnajimin - with minor unbeta’d edits done since.

🗡️ posted april 2024 - originally dec. 2023 | read on ao3

As soon as Namjoon wakes up, he feels a swell of anxiety begin at the center of his chest and work its way through his limbs. He rolls from his right side onto his back and breathes slow and deep, attempting to center himself and quash the feelings of discontent.

He hates it when Yoongi goes silent.

No matter how many times Yoongi swears that he is never going to fall back into old habits, Namjoon cannot help but worry, especially after the recent incident in Paris. More than once, he has found the man he loves with one foot in the grave. He cannot do it again.

He also hates the way distance has begun to build between the two of you. And he knows that it is all a product of his own insecurity—that the walls climb high as the heavens whenever he is scared out of his fucking mind and does not know whether he can turn to others. But he cannot bring himself to tell you all of his fears.

How could he? How can he look you in the eyes and admit that he is terrified of losing the man both of you love so much?

Namjoon groans as he stretches, raising his arms high over his head. He slept well for the first time in weeks, and although he feels a little guilty for feeling like he has to get out of Yoongi's mansion in order to accomplish his momentary peace, he is glad to know that you have found a distraction, as dangerous of a distraction as it may be.

The sights and smells of his home are strange to Namjoon after spending so much time in Yoongi's bed, storing things in Yoongi's closet, and cleaning off the stress and grime from his days in Yoongi's shower. But it also feels nice to have a place to get away and center himself.

As soon as he walked through his door last night, Namjoon let out a sigh of relief mixed with worry. For days, he has wondered if leaving the mansion and essentially shutting you out completely could do more harm than good. But after several nights of horrible sleep, compounded with days of being in a stressed, shitty mood, he decided that for his sake and for yours, a night away would be best.

Of course, you had to wake up and notice he was gone. And, of course, you had to run off to the one maniac who could potentially cause you even greater physical and emotional turmoil.

Namjoon still has no idea why Yoongi and Taehyung think it is a good idea for you and Jeongguk to get along so well, but he also does not object enough to ask you not to. Due mostly to the fact that he feels he does not have any place asking you not to spend time with him.

He has no issue with sharing you, and as long as Yoongi is happy, he is happy. But Jeongguk is a loose cannon, and Namjoon just knows that the two of you together could be absolutely volatile, much like Jeongguk and Ryujin were all those years ago.

With a final stretch and yawn, Namjoon rolls over and picks up his phone. As always, he is awake around fifteen minutes before his 7:00 AM alarm, and he is surprised to find several text messages from Jeongguk.

Gguk: Hey, hyung! Don't be mad, but I gave our buttercup molly. And coke. And champagne. She's fine physically, but she's not having a great time emotionally. What antidepressant is she taking? Probably should have asked her that before I suggested we roll.

Gguk: Any word from Yoongi? I have a feeling his absence is really wearing her down. Although…I'm sure you already know that. I don't mean to assume you don't.

Gguk: Also, hello, good morning, I hope you are doing well!

Namjoon rolls his eyes and chuckles, shaking his head. Jeongguk is already a handful, but on MDMA, the poor guy tends to spiral. In fact, Namjoon is shocked that none of the messages contain an I love you or an I miss you or a Do you hate me?

Namjoon: Oh, boy, what have you kids been getting into??? ;) I can check on the antidepressant when I return to Yoon's place. Is she feeling any better?

Namjoon: I haven't heard anything from Yoon in a couple of days. Thinking about making a trip to Hong Kong, though. Think you can hold down the fort? I don't really want to ask Seokjin.

Namjoon wears only a pair of blue boxer shorts, and he tosses aside his forest green comforter to place his feet down onto a matching forest green area rug, then walks to his closet. With Yoongi away, he has been dressing more comfortably in jeans and sweaters, refraining from wearing any black.

Sometimes it feels nice to just be Kim Namjoon, and ignore the rest of the titles that come with the name. Sometimes he likes to pretend he isn't The Dragon.

He picks out a soft medium-blue sweater and loose-fit blue jeans. He does not style his hair, nor does he put on jewelry or a watch. When his phone vibrates in his pocket just moments after he slips it in, he hesitates before pulling it out. In his heart, he knows that it is not Yoongi, which only makes the thought of checking the message sting a little more.

The stress Namjoon feels while torturing a man within an inch of his life pales in comparison to that he experiences when Yoongi is avoidant.

Namjoon does not bother to make his bed. He leaves his closet, takes a left, and goes into his large ensuite bathroom. All of the cabinets and furnishings are handcrafted from driftwood with ceramic knobs and handles. The tile is a neutral tan, and Namjoon chuckles softly when he sees the room that feels far more like home than the black and gold Yoongi loves so much.

If only Yoongi would allow him to redecorate. Namjoon thinks maybe Yoongi enjoys shit being so gloomy, to a fault.

He brushes his teeth and washes his face, then after he is patted dry and ready to return to the mansion, he pulls his phone from his pocket. He considers shooting you a text to ask whether you are hungry and interested in joining him for breakfast when he sees Jeongguk's message.

Gguk: Of course, of course. I can keep an eye on shit while you leave. Also, I'm going to bring buttercup back to you soon. She misses you a lot. Are you at the mansion or your place?

Namjoon: My place, but heading to the mansion now. Have you eaten?

Gguk: Well, I got to eat but she didn't…;)

Namjoon leaves his bedroom and makes his way down the hall toward the stairs, thumbs lingering over his keyboard as he laughs and reads over Jeongguk's message.

Namjoon: Bragging about eating my girlfriend's pussy? You know, I've killed men for less.

Hanging in Namjoon's hallway are photos from over the years of him and the family men, but most of them are photos of himself and Yoongi. Although he does not stop to look at most of them anymore, he feels the presence of their nostalgia every time he walks by, and he does lift his eyes to glance at a particular photo at the top of the stairs that is much larger than all the others.

In the photo, Namjoon is looking at the camera, holding onto a big, colorful bouquet of flowers. His hair is shorter and lightened blond with a lavender tint, and he wears a black turtleneck, black slacks, and a black trench coat. Yoongi teased him earlier that day for coming to his wedding dressed for a funeral, but in a way, that was what it felt like.

What had already begun as a tumultuous day with the man he loves promised to get married had turned extremely sour when news of the father of the bride-to-be's betrayal spread like wildfire. Namjoon still remembers the look of fear on Ryujin's face when whispers reached the back of the church as she was walking down the aisle.

The bouquet Namjoon holds in the photo is the one she dropped before running out. And in this particular photo, Namjoon and Yoongi are standing side by side.

Yoongi does not look at the camera, however. Yoongi looks at Namjoon.

He stands in his tailored black suit and bow tie, dark hair cut shorter than Namjoon has seen it in years, and he looks up at Namjoon with an expression that is so soft and so loving that seven years later, it still takes his breath away.

The feeling in Namjoon's heart that day was a strange one.

On the one hand, he remembers feeling an immense amount of relief. For a while things with Ryujin had been strained and weird, and he had really been struggling to figure out where he fit at Yoongi's side.

Leading up to the wedding, there had been insinuations that once the two of them were married, Namjoon would have to take a step back and end whatever was going on between him and Yoongi. Because of this, he had been feeling a deep sense of grief that was impacting his ability to think clearly and be there for the family as Yoongi's right hand.

But then, with her out of the picture, he felt lighter. Like a weight had lifted from his shoulders and the sun was shining for him once more.

He also remembers feeling kind of guilty. Yoongi was unreadable as always and none of the other guys were giving him a chance to fully process what had happened.

Rather, they all seemed intent on dragging him around the property and making him pose for photos as if the wedding had never been called off. They reasoned it didn't make sense to let the photographer's skills go to waste. After all, everyone was dressed to impress and looking dapper.

Yoongi seemed to be masking whatever he felt with shyness, keeping his eyes on his feet while the photographer positioned him in front of the various installations of his parents' gardens. Of his gardens.

"Mister Kim?" the photographer said at one point, making Namjoon perk up and ask, "Hmm?"

She looked at Namjoon as if waiting for him to return to earth and join the rest of his friends, and it only then occurred to him that the six of them were standing in front of one the archways, watching Namjoon impatiently.

"Oh," Namjoon muttered, stepping forward to get into line with the others.

Despite there being space between Yoongi and Jeongguk, Namjoon began to shuffle down to the far right of the group. But Jimin took him by the sleeve, muttering, "Get by his side," forcing Namjoon to stop in his tracks and course-correct. All he had ever wanted was to be beside Yoongi at all times…he just wasn't sure that it was where he belonged.

It was palpable the way Yoongi relaxed as soon as Namjoon took his place by his side and instinctively lifted an arm around his thin waist. In an instant, Namjoon felt shy, and he struggled to look into the camera, only lifting his gaze and smile when he was told to.

But little by little everyone let loose, and they dragged the kind photographer all over the estate, climbing the statues and shrubberies to pose for photos. He could almost hear the worried sound of Yoongi's mother scolding them for being so reckless, making him miss her dearly. She would have loved to see her son dressed in a tuxedo.

"Anyone wanna pose as the bride?" the photographer asked near the end of their impromptu session. "I grabbed the bouquet just in case."

Namjoon hadn't noticed the bouquet that Ryujin dropped hanging from the strap of the photographer's camera bag, but there it was. Wildflowers and roses hand-picked from the very gardens they posed in—the gardens that Yoongi's mother tended for years—gathered in a beautiful arrangement with white satin and lace. The photographer held it out toward the group, delighted when Jimin swiped it.

Briefly, Namjoon thought Jimin would look beautiful next to Yoongi—that those would be fun photos to look back at once the dust had settled and Yoongi had a chance to cope. But then Jimin shoved the bouquet into Namjoon's chest, making him gasp and stumble awkwardly, gripping onto the satin-covered stems.

"Jimin what are you—"

"Don't be stupid," Jimin interrupted quickly, taking Namjoon by the shoulders and forcing him to rotate and walk backward to be at Yoongi's side once more.

All of the guys knew about Yoongi and Namjoon—Yoongi had never been interested in keeping it a secret. But he still couldn't help but wonder at the time if all of it might have been too much for Yoongi.

"Joon," Yoongi said quietly, kicking butterflies in his tummy and making it hard for him to breathe. "You good?"

And although Namjoon nodded and said, "Yeah, of course," he could only glance at Yoongi standing by his side, feeling all too aware of how they must have looked: like a couple. Like a married couple.

Namjoon swallowed thickly and took a deep breath, then he finally turned to the man he loved so dearly and offered a smile. "You look really handsome today," he said, watching as Yoongi regarded him with a soft, wide-eyed stare.

Shyly, Namjoon turned to the camera, bouquet held against his chest, and smiled. He hoped that his face was not as red hot as it felt, suddenly a bit claustrophobic in his turtleneck and long jacket.

"Perfect," the photographer said, looking over the viewfinder before taking a step back and lining up another shot. "Can I get both of you to look at me?"

Namjoon continued to smile into the camera while Yoongi shifted beside him, and the warmth of Yoongi's arm against his made him relax a little more. They took several more shots this way, and Namjoon almost lamented it coming to an end.

But the photographer convinced them to do some funny poses in several more spots around the garden, and with the cheering of their friends, the two of them really got into their roles. Namjoon carried Yoongi bridal style for various shots, and Yoongi surprised him with how playful he became, holding out the bouquet and kicking his feet out the way a bride might have.

When the day wrapped up and the photographer bowed to take her leave, Namjoon felt happier than he had in years. If only he could tell Yoongi. If only he could ask whether Yoongi felt the same.

With both of Yoongi's parents gone and the responsibility of all of the operations being thrust into his lap with no guidance, Namjoon knew then that the lightness they shared that day would likely never return. What he would have given for things between them to just be simple.

"We look like a married couple," Yoongi joked when they got the photo back, and in that moment, Namjoon knew he had to frame it and put it on display in his home.

Often, over the years, Namjoon has considered what it would be like for the two of them to actually be a married couple. Namjoon has always thought he would trade absolutely everything to make it happen, if only he could. He feels that way now, looking at the photo with a heaviness in his chest.

Namjoon's phone vibrates in his hand, pulling him from his thoughts, and he lifts it to check the notification without unlocking the device. It takes a moment for him to remember what his last message said—that he has killed a man for less than bragging about sexually pleasing his girlfriend.

Gguk: Big deal, so have I!

With a scoff, Namjoon slides his phone back into his pocket and begins to devise a plan. Foremost, he needs to get in touch with Yoongi's chef. He should have arrived at the mansion several hours ago, and Namjoon is craving eggs benedict.

Next, he needs to get in touch with someone in Hong Kong. Yoongi may not be responding, but he knows Uiseok or Wonjin will talk.

He just needs to go to Hong Kong and assure himself that Yoongi is safe. From there, he hardly cares what comes next. In fact, he could use some time away from Seoul and all of the responsibilities that come with being here. If Yoongi wants to stay in Hong Kong, Namjoon does not object, he just does not want Yoongi to be there alone at a time like this.

Namjoon slides his feet into a pair of sneakers and groans as he bends to tie the laces. Although he is in the best shape of his life, he feels worn down lately. His body aches, and he feels tired all the time. Not to mention, his recent workouts with Jeongguk have been wearing him the fuck out.

Christopher calls Namjoon's recent mood and exhaustion depression and often recommends he try to medicate it, but he is disinterested in the prospect. New medications can dull one's senses and Namjoon having his senses dulled could cost someone their life.

Once he is outside, walking down his stone steps onto gravel and dirt, he pulls his phone out and calls the chef. He asks if the chef wouldn't mind prepping for eggs benedict, and then he hangs up and gets to work on task number two.

Being that it is an hour earlier in Hong Kong, Namjoon is not concerned with Uiseok and Yoongi being together this early, so he places a call. The phone rings and rings and Namjoon nearly prepares himself for what he might say in a voicemail when it stops ringing and he hears a groggy, "Hyung?"

"Uiseok," Namjoon responds, walking along the path where trees obstruct its view from the road. "I hope you weren't sleeping."

"Nah, I've been up," Uiseok responds with a droopy lilt that suggests he was definitely asleep a moment ago.

Namjoon swallows thickly, unsure how to proceed before saying, "Look, I don't want to involve you in our shit, but Yoongi hasn't been responding to any of our calls or texts, and we have some business to iron out. I was thinking about making a trip out if that isn't an inconvenience to you."

Uiseok hums, then says, "Nah, man, come on by! Mi casa is your casa."

"Alright, thanks," Namjoon responds, eyes on the gravel that he kicks at with his toe as he walks. He hesitates asking after Yoongi, but finds he can't help it. "Is he…I mean, everything is good, right?"

"Yoongi?" Uiseok asks as if shocked by the question. "Yeah, man he's great! Everything is running according to plan. Copasetic. No sweat, no sweat."

"Hmm," Namjoon mutters, coming out of the clearing of trees and squinting up at the morning sky.

He does not fully believe what Uiseok says, but not because he thinks the man is being dishonest. He just knows Yoongi's affinity for bottling shit up and wearing a mask of nonchalance—one of the key lessons his father taught him about running a city. "Well I'm glad to hear that. I wonder if it would be better for me to surprise him with my visit."

"A surprise could be fun," Uiseok responds chipperly, taking the bait. Namjoon does not want to come out and say don't tell him I'm coming. "We got nothing happening this week, but if something comes up, one of the guys will be around at all times. You know how it is."

"I do," Namjoon mutters as he approaches the front steps and begins letting himself into the mansion. Now that he is at his second home, and he at least has some confirmation that Yoongi is alright, Namjoon feels eager to get off the phone. "Cool, cool. Well, I'll let you know when I am on my way.

"Sounds good, man. Sounds real good. Can't wait to shoot the shit again. Travel safe."

Namjoon mutters, "Thanks," under his breath while pulling the phone from his face and ending the call. Something just does not feel right and he can not figure out what it is. Probably, he just needs to see Yoongi and assuage his doubts.

Once he is inside the mansion, sneakers kicked aside and feet slid into a pair of Yoongi's comfy slippers, he takes in his surroundings and smiles. He meanders over to Yoongi's large blue velvet chair and groans as he slowly sits on it, closing his eyes as the familiar smell of home greets him. If he tries, he can detect hints of Yoongi's musk, but he thinks he may also just be imagining it out of desperation.

Beside the chair there is a small black marble table with gold furnishings, on top of which sits a beautifully decorated Tiffany lamp adorned with stained glass dragonflies and an intricately designed bronze base.

Namjoon always marvels at the furnishings which Yoongi opted to keep versus getting rid of. The black and gold all came in after his father died, replacing all the rich mahogany that the old man loved so much, with the exception of the dining rooms.

But the lamps and all the velvet furnishings were Yoongi's mother's. The chair Namjoon sits on and the couch that accompanies it used to be up in her room at the far left end of the mezzanine, collecting dust until Yoongi insisted on bringing them downstairs.

Whenever the mansion is cold and empty, Namjoon misses Yoongi's mother the most. He misses her soft, knowing smiles, and her warm, kind hugs. Most of all, he misses Yoongi having someone to confide in. Although Yoongi tries to be an open book with those he loves, nobody really got to his heart the way his mother did.

Namjoon sighs as he reaches for the little marble side table and pulls out a small drawer on its front. Inside is a silver cigarette case with a dragon carved on the front of it—a gift Yoongi gave to Namjoon for his sixteenth birthday. Namjoon pulls it out and clicks a little button on the side, and although the spring mechanism is worn with age, the lid pops open to reveal three perfectly rolled joints and a small green rectangular box of matches.

The mornings are becoming cooler, but it is still rather nice outside, so Namjoon considers sitting out in one of the gardens to smoke. But then his phone dings, filling the silent room with a loud, single chime, and without reading the notification, Namjoon decides to change his plan.

He slides one of the joints and the little book of matches out of the case, then snaps the case shut and returns it to the drawer, slowly pressing it tightly closed. Instinct tells him that you and Jeongguk will be on your way back soon, so he makes his way back toward the front door. He would rather greet you out there than have you come to the garden, to him. Although he has no idea what type of mood you will be in, he is eager to put his best foot forward, despite feeling the overwhelming need to be a little stoned in order to face the day.

The saying, absence makes the heart grow fonder, blips into Namjoon's mind, and he shakes his head and laughs to himself. Having a little time away from you has certainly helped him miss you, and has made him eager to see you.

Absence from Yoongi, on the other hand…

Namjoon groans once more as he bends to slide on his sneakers, then he reaches for the door knob. He steps outside, turning to slowly close the door behind him, which he wedges open with a random boot. Then he slides out his phone to check it, holding the matchbook in his palm beneath the device while cradling the joint between two fingers.

Gguk: Heading your way! See you soon, hyung.

With a smile, Namjoon slides the phone back into his pocket, lifts the joint and matches, and begins to slide the tiny green box open to retrieve one of the few remaining matchsticks. He lets out a deep breath as he strikes the stick to the side of the box, igniting a small flame, and then he lights the joint with a deep inhale.

This box of matches comes from a hotel he and Yoongi stayed in several years back in New York. The trip was meant to be one of sight seeing and trying American food, but they barely left the hotel suite, holing up and fucking all week, living off of room service and the fancy hotel bar.

The memory brings back a flood of others with Yoongi—of trips to Japan and Amsterdam and Paris and Taiwan, and anywhere in the world Yoongi has wanted to go, which Namjoon has agreed to without hesitation.

A bittersweet rush of anxiety and adoration swells in Namjoon's chest, and he is pulled from his thoughts only when he hears the crunch of gravel underfoot, coming from the path that leads to Jeongguk's home. He smiles, listening for faint voices and is surprised when he hears none.

The thought of you being quiet is one thing, but Jeongguk almost always has something to say. He wonders if Jeongguk has finally gotten over his phase of needing to impress you and is beginning to get a little more comfortable.

Namjoon smokes his joint a little too fast. His nerves are going haywire and he is becoming increasingly paranoid over the prospect of seeing you again. Jeongguk says you miss him, and he does not doubt that could be true, but he is more than well aware of how distant he has been, lately.

However, when he looks up and sees the two of you coming onto the driveway—you slung over Jeongguk's back, wearing a set of Jeongguk's hoodie and matching joggers—all he can do is smile like a maniac. Love makes his heart pound rather than trepidation.

As you slide off Jeongguk's back, Namjoon holds his arms out, inviting you for a hug, and he is pleased when you run into his arms, slamming against his chest hard enough that it nearly makes him cough. He considers offering Jeongguk what is left of the joint but notices the youngest keeping his distance.

"Sweetheart," Namjoon says, taking a deep inhale of Jeongguk's unmistakable lavender body wash, "did the two of you have fun?"

When you look up and smile, saying, "Yes," it feels like the sun itself is shining from within Namjoon's heart.

"Thanks, Jeongguk," you say, turning in Namjoon's hold, which he loosens to give you range of motion, and to puff back what is left of his joint.

Jeongguk seems distant, which is worrying, but he could also be tired. Either way, calling attention to it and putting him on the spot does not seem like a good idea. There is a chance you both are still feeling the effects of the MDMA, and Namjoon does not want to push anyone's emotional buttons.

"Thanks for the late night booty call, dollface," Jeongguk finally says with an unconvincing wink as he waves the two of you off, spins around, and makes his way back home.

"You two are so cute," Namjoon mutters, feeling like he has found himself caught in the middle of a rather sweet crush, even if he is worried about the two of you together.

You spin and wrap Namjoon in a tight hug, asking, "Is that so?" and although it seems innocent enough, the playfulness in your voice lights a spark in Namjoon that he has to attempt to ignore. At least until after breakfast. So, instead, he simply hums and then decides to change the topic.

"I spoke to Yoongi," he lies, and you gasp and step back, eyes wide and eager. Finally, the weed seems to be taking hold and making Namjoon relax a little more, and he continues. "What do you say we fly to Hong Kong tomorrow and bring him home?"

You nod so fast—so eagerly—that Namjoon actually worries you might get a headache. Feeling hunger pangs and a bit of lightheadedness take over, Namjoon takes one last puff of his joint and flicks it into the driveway.

"He regrets creating distance and he wants to talk about it in person," Namjoon continues, instantly regretting letting his mouth run. Of course, he knows this to be the way Yoongi operates, but he is still making shit up. He feels desperate to calm your worries in some way, adding, "Rest assured that we have done nothing to push him away."

Even as the words leave Namjoon's lips, he fears they could be false. What if the injury to his face was the last straw, and Yoongi no longer feels safe with the two of you. Namjoon can still imagine the horrible feeling as you yanked on his arm and the blade that the two of you held onto caught on Yoongi's face.

Judging by your eyes, you are just as doubtful, but you smile anyway, and that is enough to get Namjoon out of his spiral.

"Are you hungry?" he asks, eager once more to change the topic.

"Starving!" you respond cutely, and the two of you enter the mansion, kicking out of your footwear and closing the door tightly behind you.

“I’ve been craving eggs benedict, so I had the chef whip up some hollandaise sauce," Namjoon says as they make their way through the main hall. "Does that sound good to you?”

He is not sure what he expected you to say in response, and is shocked when you come back with, “Awe, I was hoping you might burn the mansion down making me an omelet.”

Namjoon is quick to turn and begin tickling you, digging his fingertips behind your ribs in a dance that he knows makes you crazy. You squeal as he shouts, "Yah! I am not that bad of a cook!"

"I submit!" you shout, lifting your hands in the air and nearly punching Namjoon in the face. "You're an amazing cook!"

Although Namjoon is unconvinced, he decides the chivalrous thing to do would be to stop. He is also too damn hungry to continue torturing you, and he slots an arm around your waist when you seem to teeter in place.

"Are these Gguk's clothes?" Namjoon feels compelled to ask, tugging at the fabric near your side, feeling his heart pound behind his ribs when you look up with a wide smile and nod.

Something in the way the two are now, as if you seem to be back to how you were before, sparks desire deep in Namjoon. The moment the two of you finish breakfast, Namjoon wants to savor you for dessert.

And he does.

The way your entire body trembles—legs draped over his shoulders and thighs squeezing the sides of his head only urges Namjoon on more. It has been weeks since he has been able to make you cum so much; weeks since you have not been suddenly interrupted by a horrendous flashback the moment you let your guard down; weeks since the last time Namjoon has felt thankful for a waterproof mattress pad.

Namjoon's nose, cheeks, and chin are soaked, and he eats you in broad, greedy strokes, moaning against you unabashedly, eager for you to know that he feels so much pleasure just from getting you off.

"Daddy," you whine, drawing out the syllables as your thighs clench and release and clench again. He has slowed his fingers inside you but your release continues to squelch and dribble around his hand.

Namjoon merely hums in response, dragging his tongue over your soaked pussy, tasting your lightly sweet, lightly tangy release—a flavor that makes him insane with lust. He is certain that he could eat you out for hours.

"Too much," you cry, but Namjoon merely slows down, releasing your clit from his lips with a loud smack as he groans, "That isn't your safeword, baby."

You moan in response, legs falling spread and quaking as Namjoon continues languid swipes of his tongue. The high from the weed he smoked earlier has all but dissipated, replaced with a high from you. And he almost, almost forgets how worried he is about Yoongi.

But then he is plagued with it once more—the image of beautiful Yoongi with blood pouring down his face—seeping between his fingers. Namjoon’s jaw quivers and he swallows thickly, overwhelmed with the urge to vomit or cry or both.

“Hmm?” he hears you hum, and he glances up to find you propped up on your elbows, watching him with concern.

Namjoon can’t help but chuckle. “How are you so observant?” he asks, leaning up on his elbows and wiping his face on the back of his hand.

Although you look sweaty and fucked out, still seemingly trying to catch your breath, your gaze is razor sharp and focused, lips in a half smile.

“I’m obsessed with you,” you mutter cutely, smile growing. “It’s easy to be tuned in to you.”

Namjoon sighs and smiles, but he feels a hint of worry. He has been trying so hard to protect you from his thoughts, but he wonders if it would not be better for you to be let in. That is part of loving someone, after all.

“Ugh, I’m gonna kill the mood,” Namjoon groans, feeling that the mood is already dead.

You chuckle and shake your head, saying, “Never.” Sitting up further, you open your arms and say, “Come here, Joonbug.”

Namjoon gets onto his hands and begins to crawl, caging your hips and then ribs. And then he gently falls forward, taking you down with him in a tangle of arms and giggles.

“I keep having flashbacks too,” Namjoon mutters, closing his eyes tight. Yoongi continues to bleed in his mind, but as your hands begin to play with his hair, he melts, pushing the image out. How could he have been so cold when your warmth is so healing?

He swallows again and continues, “I keep seeing Yoongi with his hands and cheek covered in blood. Head wounds…fuck, they bleed so much.” Your hands stop momentarily and then begin to move again. “So much more than you might expect. When Taehyung was stitching him up, it looked like a river had flowed down his chin and neck. I’m sorry for telling you this.”

You say nothing, making Namjoon nervous. “We’re both at fault for what happened,” he adds quietly, chest heavy with remorse. “So please don’t take all the blame. Don’t carry the full burden, okay?”

“Okay,” you utter softly at the same time your chest quakes.

Namjoon knows before his eyes can lift in confirmation that you are crying. “Sweetheart—“ he begins, but you shake your head, cutting him off.

“I’m so sorry you had to see that,” you half-whisper, tears flowing down your pretty cheeks. “That had to have been so scary.”

A humorless scoff works through Namjoon's chest. "To be honest, I was numb at the time. I go into a protection mode where, until I am sure that someone is okay, I do not react emotionally to the situation. It wasn't until we got home and I brought Yoongi up to shower while we contemplated coming to get you that everything became too much to bear. I completely fucking lost it."

"Why didn't you come get me?" you ask, and Namjoon loves you for it. He loves the way you challenge him, and how you do not leave any detail unaddressed. He turns his cheek to the side and buries it against your chest, listening to the steady beating of your heart while your hands sooth his head, neck, and shoulders.

"Believe it or not, we were only home for about two hours before Taehyung came to bring you home, and as soon as we arrived, men started filing in for an emergency meeting that Yoongi had called; we didn't get to sleep at all. At that hour…when we first arrived to Taehyung's place…it took a little while for any staff to arrive to the property, and Yoongi insisted he tended to Jimin before him. We were in that fluorescent basement all fucking morning. I helped apply pressure to a rag against his face and dissociated quite a bit."

"I would have helped," you mutter, but Namjoon knows it is more for your own benefit than his. Even in the face of terror, you tend to put yourself before others, which is precisely why he prefers to keep you at a safe distance when possible.

"How can I win your forgiveness?" Namjoon blurts, making an attempt to lift his head and torso enough to look at you.

But you hold him in place, making your hands and arms heavy against his head and shoulders, sending a clear message that you already have him right where you want him. Your chest shakes and he imagines that you are quietly laughing, but he wishes he could see your face.

"Joonbug," you sigh, smile evident in your tone while your nails scratch against his scalp. "There is nothing to forgive. While I hate to be left out, all I needed was an explanation."

Namjoon feels guilty for his recent silence and all the space he created, thinking it was just as much for your own benefit as for his. He laments not just telling you how he feels.

"I shut you out after Yoongi left," Namjoon mutters, staring at the dark blue curtains that hang against the wall, tracing over the rise and dip of each crease where they are bunched close. Although he feels at a loss for words, he attempts to at least get some of his thoughts out. "I didn't mean to, I'm just…I don't know. I'm not always good at all of this."

Blunt nails scratch just hard enough that Namjoon has to suppress a groan, fluttering his eyes closed.

"At all of what?" you ask.

"Being open, I suppose," Namjoon says, although he knows you are going to refute it.

"I don't believe that to be true," you respond, proving him right.

Namjoon chuckles, feeling affection swell behind his ribs. On the nightstand, his phone dings, indicating a message has come in, but he decides that whoever it is can wait just a minute longer. He wants to stay in this moment and consider his next words thoughtfully.

But then his phone dings again, and he thinks that maybe it could be Yoongi. And again it dings, and he worries that it could be Yoongi and that something could be wrong.

"You gonna get that?" you ask, finally loosening your hold and removing your fingers from where they tangle in Namjoon's hair, and he lets out a sigh of frustration. The audacity of having to move his body when it is perfectly comfortable here in bed with you.

"Alright, alright," he grumbles, rolling out of your hold and onto his back, which makes you groan and complain when all his weight is momentarily shifted onto one side of your body. You sit up as if anticipating whatever could be on his screen, pulling the comforter close to your chest, which makes him feel a bit more anxious than before.

Namjoon shifts onto his knees and crawls the rest of the way over to the bedside table, where his phone rests facedown. As he reaches his right arm out, his left arm trembles under his weight—or, perhaps, under the weight of this entire situation. Namjoon turns the phone over and halts his breathing at the sight of three messages from Yoongi waiting for him.

Yoongi: I think Uiseok accidentally blew your spot. He was high as a kite and muttering something about Namjoonie-hyung sliding by for a visit.

Yoongi: I can still act surprised when you arrive, though… ;]

Yoongi: Please hurry? I miss you two like crazy.

Namjoon's heart goes wild in his chest and he begins to panic, unsure which task he should complete first. "Pack a bag," he mutters to you without lifting his gaze, thumbs shaking over the screen, unable to type a response because his mind races too quickly.

"Is it Yoongi?" you ask, voice laced with worry, and Namjoon finally tears his eyes to you, which only makes his heart speed even more quickly.

Your eyes, lined with heavy bags from lack of sleep, are downturned and so beautiful. He traces the shape of your sweat-slick neck and shoulder, then nods quickly, eyes welling with tears. "I think we should leave now instead of tomorrow."

"Oh?" you ask, sitting forward quickly.

"Nothing is wrong!" Namjoon adds, realizing he must be worrying you with his lack of information, only now able to form a coherent enough thought to text Yoongi back. "He just wants to see us as soon as possible, is all."

In a rush, you scoot close to Namjoon, leave a wet smack of a kiss to his cheek, then slide off the edge of the large bed and take off running for your room in the nude. Namjoon chuckles as he watches you, then he gets to work.

First, he calls the pilot, who says he can be at the airport in fifteen minutes with a plane ready in around an hour and a half. Then he calls Hoseok to set up a ride for the airport. And finally, he responds to Yoongi.

Namjoon: We can be there by dinnertime.

Namjoon takes his time stretching his limbs then he pads over to Yoongi's closet, which has a bunch of his own clothes inside. He finds one of Yoongi's black suitcases shoved in the back of the space and lifts it on top of the center island to unzip and begin packing.

Somewhat listlessly, Namjoon packs blacks—sweatpants and sweaters, tees, slacks, a cardigan. Black socks, black briefs, and black and silver face Rolex. Then he changes into his standard uniform of all blacks, layering a tee tucked into slacks with a fuzzy sweater that he borrows from Yoongi.

As soon as the shirt is pulled over Namjoon's torso, snug around his muscles despite being a size too big for its rightful owner, he lifts his sweater paws to his face and takes a deep inhale of the detergent that lingers. It misses too much nuance to fully be Yoongi, but it is a piece of him, and that makes Namjoon choke back a sob.

Soon. He can see Yoongi soon.

He thinks back to the portrait hanging at the top of his staircase and pictures the look on Yoongi's face, imagining that the wedding that day could have been theirs. In all the years he has known and loved Yoongi, nothing has ever been simple. All he wants is for things to be simple. And he thinks about how nicely you would fit in a picture like that, too.

The sounds of wheels rolling into the room and feet running in time with them makes Namjoon quirk a smile, and he turns in time to watch you come into view wearing one of your many floral sun dresses. You have what appears to be a soft light blue sweater draped over your arm, and you have managed to pack surprisingly fast.

"Do I need anything fancy?" you ask as you release the suitcase handle and begin to pull the sweater over your head.

"We can go shopping if you do," Namjoon responds, eager to get to the airport as quickly as possible.

"Alright," you respond with a bright smile that warms Namjoon's chest and settles his worries. In that moment, two honks of a car horn beam through the open window, signaling Hoseok's arrival. "Let's go get our kitten."

alright alright, this is the final chapter i have to offer that was already written. believe it or not, i actually have 22 mostly done. will we get a main update soon??? god, i hope so. thank you for your patience in this trying time! 💜💜💜 Yoongi's pov is also on the way!!!

REBLOGS AND COMMENTS ARE THE LIFEBLOOD OF THIS SITE, BUT LIKES ARE ALSO SUPER APPRECIATED!!! THANK YOU FOR READING, I LOVE YOU!!!

tag lists will be on separate reblogs! they’ve gotten too big to contain as one! if you would like to be tagged in this fic, please let me know!!!

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#yoongi mafia #bts mafia #fic: collateral #bts poly

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moonleeai · 6 days

Text

Review for @bangtanwritershq Ficstoric Society

Leah. Leah. Leah. Wow

Okay…I do not like *scary stuff* and I could FEEL the creepiness and I did not like that 😝

BUT this!! THIS RIGHT HERE!! The way you wrote the fear and angst was almost like freakin POETRY! My poor heart was in for a ride but with the alternating POVs, my brain begged for more!!

And let’s talk Imagery! I read these lines over and over! ……there were so many more too

🔥“Darkness ebbs as the light from the bathroom bleeds across the hardwood”🔥

💦“The bitter taste of cowardice laces together with the cloyingly sweet, carnal flavor of lust that’s coating your insides.”💦

I’m so glad I read this…you have such a gift with words 🙇🏽‍♀️

Bump In The Night | MYG

▻ Bump In The Night ↳ Bogeyman!Yoongi x f.Reader ⤜ Horror/Thriller/Demon, Nyctophobia ⤜ Monster Under The Bed AU | angst, smut ⤜ Rating: MA ⤜ WC: 12,395 ⤜ Summary: The dark can be scary; full of strange, unseen things. Just when you think you’ve got a handle on your fear, the lights go out, and you face the reality that you were always right—you should fear the dark and especially what’s waiting in it. ⚠️ Crass language, fear, inciting fright, playing on emotions, teasing, kissing, fingering, biting/marking, dom tones, begging, choking, panic, unprotected v. sex, feeding on fear, dark thoughts, revealed dark intentions, predator/prey tones, chasing, claiming, serpentine tongue, oral f.receiving, monster cock/sex, metamorphosis

Written for the BTS Fantasy and Fangs Halloween collab for @minisugakoobies A/N: Sunny, I hope you enjoy this as much as I did while writing it. Happy belated birthday and hope you have a pleasant spooky holiday full of Bogeyman Yoongi delight!

A special thank you to @star-my @hisunshiine and @downbad4yoongi for their amazing beta services!

Can also be found on: Ao3 | Wattpad

Beg For It

Nyctophobia [ nik-tuh-foh-bee-uh ] - noun Psychiatry: extreme or irrational fear of the night or of darkness.

One…

Two…

Three…

Breathe. Another few seconds, that’s all you want; just precious moments to prove yourself.

Four…

Five…

Six…

Cold chills slither down your spine despite the hot water beating against your back. Your fingers work vigorously against your cheeks and along your forehead. What feels like a thousand pounds settles along your lashes, even though you know it’s nothing more than marshmallowy-light foam.

Seven…

Eight…

Nin—

You spin around, nearly losing your footing in the shower as you angle your face under the spray from the showerhead. The heels of your palms press against your lids as you try to rid them of the foamy facial cleanser.

Air wheezes into your lungs, stray drops of water sucking between your parted lips as you try to breathe against the panic building in your chest. Jerking back from the spray, you open your eyes, wincing at the sting from the water-mixed-with-cleanser that drips from your lashes and floods the corners.

Nothing. There’s nothing there. All you see is the steam-filled space of your shower, water pelting down at your feet, a smattering of bottles arranged on the lip of the tub, and the inside of your plain shower curtain.

You sigh, irritation itching in your chest. Not even nine seconds. You were trying for at least ten. It never fails to leave a bitter taste in your mouth whenever you can’t seem to get a grip on yourself. It’s just the dark. Hell, it’s not even really the dark. It’s just having your eyes closed against the bright fluorescent lights of your bathroom; a pseudo-darkness.

The unease in your stomach refuses to dissipate as you turn off the shower, step out, wrap yourself in a towel, and go through the routine of brushing your teeth and massaging moisturizer into your skin. You hang up your damp towel, quickly pulling on the oversized t-shirt and shorts you intend to sleep in.

Steam clouds the mirror. You don’t typically care to wipe it away, not anymore. It’s one of your small, personal victories—one you intentionally remind yourself of now after your panicked stint in the shower. It used to be that you couldn’t stand not being able to see the space behind you through the reflective surface. Knowing if something lurked outside your line of sight, it couldn’t hide from being exposed through the mirror. Being able to see behind you was all that mattered. Now, you take pride in not needing to see…yet, the niggling in the back of your head won’t cease. So, you swipe a hand, collecting tiny beads of moisture on your palm as you go.

You’re unsure why the act makes your heart beat a little harder. It’s supposed to elicit the calm you so desperately need. But, once you’ve slashed a clear path across the mirror, your brow furrows as you lean in closer to it. Cold dread thunders through your veins as you jerk back, spinning on your heel to make sure what you saw through the mirror wasn’t just your mind playing a trick on you.

Nope, not a trick or even a figment of your imagination…unfortunately.

You stare in paranoid disbelief at the slender gap along the bottom of the bathroom door. The door that leads into your bedroom where you are absolutely, without a doubt, positive you left your bedside lamp on. The gap is dark, like a void threatening to suck you right into an endless nightmare of unrelenting terror. All that’s missing is a gaunt, skeletal hand sliding its too-long fingers under the door.

Shoving away those intrusive thoughts before they can take root and further fester like a dirty wound on your sanity, you try to think logically. It’s possible the bulb in your lamp could have blown, but you know you replaced it just last month. It’s far too soon for it to blow on its own, and surely, it’s not a faulty bulb. So, why is it out? Were you careless and, in truth, didn’t turn it on? A manic laugh gets caught in your throat as you silently berate yourself. That must be it. You simply forgot. So careless.

Fear is an acrid taste on your tongue as you slowly approach the door. You hate this feeling. Even though you tell yourself there’s nothing out there lurking in the dark to harm you, you simply forgot to leave the light on. The distress doesn’t subside—and it won’t. At least, not until you open the door and prove the dark to harbor no ill intent toward you.

Squaring your shoulders and taking what is supposed to be a calming and fortifying breath, though it feels more like sand slipping into your lungs, you wrap your fingers firmly around the brushed nickel handle. The metal is warm, slightly wet from the condensation formed during your shower, against your palm as you twist it.

You lick your trembling lips, taking one more moment to center yourself. Your eyes slide closed as you mentally recall the layout of your room, calculating how many steps there are to get to the nearest light switch. Your bed is angled so the foot faces the bathroom door, and the closet door to the left near the two windows you know are closed tight with the curtains drawn. The bedroom door is easily the furthest from the bathroom, leaving the overhead light out of the question. You knew, before you even began to analyze, that the bedside lamp you recall yourself leaving on is going to be the closest light source. Still, you needed to go through the motion of solidifying that information in your mind.

As you haltingly push it open, the quiet creak of the door, which sounds deafening in the silence of the bathroom, causes chills to pop up along your arms and the hairs at the nape of your neck to stand on end. Darkness ebbs as the light from the bathroom bleeds across the hardwood of your bedroom floor, slowly revealing the interior of your room.

Your heart lurches, and a scream rips from your chest when you see a dark figure sitting at the end of your bed come into focus as the bathroom door swings further open, the handle barely held in your now numb fingers. Panic barrels through you. Your muscles react instinctively, fingers tightening around the knob as you jerk back, the door closing with a harsh bang as you backpedal across the bathroom.

“Babe,” calls a playful voice from just on the other side of the door. You can barely hear it over the roaring in your ears. Nausea threatens to double you over, even as relief floods your system—such conflicting emotions that you feel suddenly off-kilter.

There is a fine sheen of cold sweat clinging to your neck. Your hands fist into the front of your shirt as the door eases open to reveal your boyfriend standing at the threshold. His dark ensemble makes it seem like the bathroom's light bends around his form, not daring to touch him.

You’ve never liked it when someone intentionally scares you, claiming it’s a joke. It always seems more like a cruel prank than a laughing matter. Though, you note, no one is laughing right now either way. He doesn’t look smug or self-satisfied for having scared you, just simply mildly amused.

“You scared me, Yoongi,” you state flatly, crossing your arms over your chest, hoping he picks up on your discomfort.

The corners of his lips turn down, and his brow furrows as he gives you an exaggerated pout. Even with your pounding heart and the upside down in your belly, you can’t help but appreciate how cute he is when he does that. “I know. I just didn’t see the point in wasting the power if you weren’t going to be in there.” He gestures vaguely behind him to your room, which is barely lit by the light pouring out of the bathroom.

It’s on the tip of your tongue to remind him that even though you weren’t in there, he was. Though, for some reason, Yoongi sitting in the dark doesn’t strike you as out of place. In the five years you’ve been together, you’ve learned to love his odd quirks just as much as any other part of him. He’s genuine, a caring person who isn’t afraid to be vulnerable—a far cry from anyone else you’ve ever given your time to.

“How was work?” you ask, aiming to get back on track with some semblance of normalcy—anything to not dwell on the lingering discomfort that’s still beating away in your chest.

His shoulders hitch up in a nonchalant manner. “Same as always. There’s been a big break in the Hunt case. Director Park thinks we’ll have the code cracked in a few more days. I say by tomorrow night, tops, just in time for our date. It’ll be a reward for my hard work,” his eyes twinkle with mirth. “After all, I think Samhain is a pretty fitting day for dealing with evil, huh?”

You make a noncommittal sound at that last part. Yoongi might enjoy that thought, but to you, tomorrow is more so just a day…simply October 31st and is more about plastic pumpkins, like the ones you have sitting on your front porch, than dealing with evil like that. The fact that Yoongi has convinced you to go to a festival tomorrow night is so wild you’ve been forcing yourself not to think about it.

“Well, I’d put my money on you over Director Park any day,” you say instead, giving him a soft, knowing smile. Yoongi has a penchant for estimations. If he thinks it’ll only take another day to crack a code that’s been wreaking havoc on Interpol for the better part of a year, then you believe him. You don’t pretend to understand all the intricacies of what he does; just know he’s really good with computers and helps whichever government agency needs it most or something like that.

Yoongi gives you a lazy smile in return. “Mmm, that’s what I like to hear. Your confidence in me is like kindling for my fervor,” he croons, wrapping you up in his arms. It feels good to relax in his embrace, the last vestiges of your earlier panic melting away as you soak in his warmth and familiarity. “Sorry I scared you,” he murmurs into your damp hair. “Let me make it up to you.”

“What did you have in mind?” you ask, laughing softly when his fingers slip under the hem of your shirt and teasingly caress your sides—the touch is light, making your skin tighten and prickle in response.

A rumbling groan vibrates through Yoongi’s chest as he playfully nips along your jaw before planting his lips firmly over yours in a dizzying and claiming way. “We’ll start with kissing,” the words are whispered between plucks of his mouth against yours, tongue swiping sensually across your bottom lip.

“Kissing is good,” you agree, smiling against his mouth before melting into another heated tangle of tongues and stilted breaths. That fist around your heart eases, letting your chest expand fully for the first time since before you showered.

“Biting,” he murmurs, pulling away from the kiss to bury his face in your neck. The light pressure of his teeth pressing against your skin has your toes curling against the cold tile floor and your fingers fisting into the front of his shirt.

Yoongi plants his mouth right over your pulse point, his tongue flicking over your throbbing vein as his teeth clamp down gently. You swallow hard against the sensation, your heart shifting gears to thud fast in your chest for a different reason. It’s not necessarily fear that drives your senses higher now so much as it is anticipation and an increase in adrenaline—terror adjacent, something you prefer much more to the former.

You shudder against him, knees going weak as he moans, the sound sending pulsing shocks of vibrations down your spine with how his mouth fits against your neck. His fingers ghost along your shorts before finally pushing past the elastic band. The palms of his hands are warm as they slide around and grip handfuls of your ass.

Using his hold on you, Yoongi lifts you up onto the counter beside the sink. As his hands retreat, they tug your shorts with them, working them around the curve of your ass until they’re caught at your knees. You let him push them further until they slacken and fall to catch around your ankles, then onto the floor. Wincing slightly at how cold the counter is against your bare skin, you urge him to fill the space between your thighs, seeking his warmth flush against you once again.

“Yoongi,” you hiss, sucking in a sharp breath as he slides a hand between your bodies and presses the flat of his fingers against your pussy. You don’t need to look in the mirror to know his teeth have left an impression on your neck. He leans back and licks his lips in a show of appreciation, lidded eyes full of mischief and barely veiled lust. “Please.” It comes out warbled as he teases his middle finger between your lower lips.

“Beg for it,” he says. “Show me how much you want me to make you forget about the darkness.” His voice has an edge, like he’s teasing at something, but it’s lost on you to piece together what it might be.

Sucking in a deep breath, you repeat your plea, “Please.”

Your chest is rising and falling rapidly, and you can feel your erratic heartbeat pounding between your legs and under the sensitive skin of your neck that Yoongi ravaged with his teeth. Lightheadedness kisses the edges of your clarity, daring you to get lost in the delirium that Yoongi is offering.

“You can do better than that,” Yoongi taunts, his laugh low and husky as he pulls away, leaving you bereft of his touch where you want it most. “Beg. For. It.” The words are clipped, punctuated with staccato taps of his middle finger against your sensitive clit.

“Fuck—Yoongi, please! Please, I need you!”

“That’s my girl,” Yoongi smiles wickedly. Two slender fingers sliding into your wet heat are your reward. “You’re so wet already. Look at how your body is pulling me in. Fuck, that’s nice.” He angles himself so you can both look down and watch his fingers slowly pull out, glistening with your arousal before sinking back in.

Your body squeezes around his fingers, walls fluttering in anticipation and building pleasure. “Need you,” you mumble, grabbing at the button on the front of his dark wash jeans with one hand and tugging at the bottom of his black t-shirt with the other. “Fuck me, Yoongi, please. Please, fuck me. I need you to make me forget.”

A flurry of motion accompanies his answering growl of approval as he helps you strip him out of his clothes and the rest of your own. You barely feel the absence of his fingers in your cunt before he pulls your ass to the edge of the counter and shoves his cock inside with a guttural moan that echoes in the small space.

The fit of him inside your body is deliciously perfect, like he was made to please you. Your fingers press dents into his shoulders as you grip him tightly. One of his hands squeezes your hip to keep you from slipping off the counter while the other finds its way to having a light grip on your throat.

His forehead rests against yours, the back of your head pressed against the mirror behind you. The angle makes his thrusts shallow, forcing the crown of his cock to rock against a sensitive spot deep inside that has you seeing spots behind your closed lids.

Yoongi has always been a contrasting lover, hot and cold, in a way that always leaves you breathless and assuaged. The look on his face says he’s fucking you, but the sensual roll of his hips says he’s making love to you—the hand on your throat says he just wants to control you. Regardless of how he fucks, it always consumes you. From the first time to now, he wholly and utterly devours your sanity and spits it back at you two-fold. He brings you palpable lucidity while also destroying all sense of right and wrong. Some call it morally grey; you call it just another titillating facet of who he is.

Pleasure builds fast, and you know you’re about to tip over the edge when the pressure of his hand on your throat increases. It’s an infinitesimal change, but it feels like the tightening of a vice all the same.

The erratic beat of your heart stutters further, swallowing you down into a thick-headed spiral of trepidation. You know Yoongi won’t hurt you. It’s not that—not quite. It’s the idea and knowledge that he could. It’s a taboo feeling, craving that helpless flutter deep in your belly that dares you to indulge in the darkness instead of running from it.

Yoongi’s hips continue to roll against you, your body pinned in place by his hand on your throat. Your eyes flutter open just to fall shut again as the hand on your hip moves until his thumb presses against your clit, making your body jerk and hurtle back toward the precipice of pleasure from before.

With his thumb pressed against one throbbing artery in your neck and the pads of his fingers against the twin on the other side, he has complete and utter control over you. All it takes is another barely-there squeeze to have you changing your grip from his shoulders to his forearm.

The bitter taste of cowardice laces together with the cloyingly sweet, carnal flavor of lust that’s coating your insides. Yoongi rumbles, a moan low in his chest. The rhythm of his hips kicks up until they’re hammering against yours to the point that measures of pain mix with the terror, forming into a rapture of exhilaration. His thumb coaxes your orgasm through precise flicks over your swollen clit.

You can’t help the sound that rips from your throat, squeezing past his grip in a ragged mockery of a moan—bright colors spiderweb across the backs of your closed lids as you sip from his chalice of wickedness. White noise joins the rush of blood in your ears as somewhere in the deep recesses of your mind, alarm begins to bleed into the hazy euphoria clouding your head. “Yes!” Yoongi groans. “That’s it, fuck!”

“Y-yoon—“ you try to choke out his name, fingers trembling from their tight grip on his forearm. Just as you’re about to try and shove him away to get a reprieve, his hand loosens its hold on your throat, and the instant rush of oxygen to your brain washes away all other thoughts as your body surrenders once again to his dominion. The orgasm tears through you, sweeping you out in a hedonistic riptide. Your walls clamp around his cock so hard he snarls and shudders with the trigger of his own release.

You must have blacked out from the overwhelming cascade that besieged your senses because the next thing you’re aware of is Yoongi tucking you into bed beside him. The sheets are cool against your heated skin, a welcome lull of relief. He presses into your sated body, chest against your back and arm possessively curling over your hip. “Get some sleep, my queen,” he murmurs. “I’ll hold the darkness back.”

The room is dark, just as it was earlier when you panicked. But, just as always, when Yoongi is around, it’s less frightening…seemingly somehow less dark and foreboding. He might have darker desires when it comes to pleasure, but right now, he’s the light that chases away your other demons.

🖤🖤🖤

Yoongi

The taste of your fear still lingers in the back of Yoongi’s throat as he pretends to sleep curled around you. He knew turning off your bedroom light would scare you. It’s why he did it. The peckish feeling that rumbled in the pit of his stomach drove him to want to play with you. Your fear instantly sated his hunger, and it made his dick hard when you screamed. You scream so prettily he just can’t help that natural, primal response.

That is, after all, precisely why he chose you. Everything about you speaks to his needs, promising sweet and succulent fruit that’s always ripe for plucking.

He learned early on that if he could elevate your heart rate and incite a sliver of fear in you while fucking you…well, his full belly is testament enough to how much he loves that. You call it a kink, he calls it dessert. It wasn’t his intention to fuck you after he frightened you, but the irritating erection grating along his zipper had other plans.

His mortal form isn’t his favorite. It’s far too small and has far too many baser needs and limitations. Though he does enjoy the feel of your soft, pliant flesh under his—especially when you’re ripe with the sweet smell of terror—it makes it worth the discomfort this inferior mode has.

It’s not lost on Yoongi that he could have ruined you from the start by taking too much from you. But he’s been careful over the years, molding and training your body to be the perfect vessel for him to feed from. The fact you were already experiencing high anxiety and an innate fear of the dark prior to him coming into your life helped tremendously. Nyctophobia is such a beautiful thing.

You claim he’s helped you, for the most part, get over your fears. However, he knows this is just a lie you tell him and yourself to make yourself feel and seem braver. He knows the truth, though. There is no getting over your fear, not when it lives with you…sleeps next to you, touches you, fucks you. He’s everything you’re scared of, everything you think is creeping around in the dark, waiting to pounce. He’s your worst nightmare…literally as much as figuratively—and you have absolutely no inkling of that truth. All you see is what he lets you see: just a sweet guy with a penchant for darker tastes behind closed doors.

To you, he’s just Yoongi. But he has had many names over the centuries: Demon, Baba Yaga, El Coco, Butzemann, Tikoloshe, Bogeyman, and so on. All of them are generally the same, but none are quite right. He is all these things, and yet none of these things—he’s so much more.

It’s a common misconception that he only targets people who do misdeeds. That’s not it at all, for the sweetest fruit is the unwary, the innocent, the vulnerable, and the scared. That is the pinnacle of his desire, the unctuous delight that feeds his depravity and gives him power over the darkness—darkness that calls to him now.

Being careful not to wake you, Yoongi slips out from around your soft, lush body. Feeding on your fear in the bathroom drained some of your vitality, lowering your constitution, and the best recovery for that is a good, uninterrupted eight hours. So, he’ll leave you to replenish so that he may feast once again—one last time before he executes his final, ultimate plan; the whole reason he chose you to begin with and has been periodically parading around in this limited meat suit for years.

The maw of darkness under your bed beckons him to shake off the mortal form and take his rightful place as King among the shadows. Yoongi catches his reflection in the standing mirror across the room. The only thing distinct is the brilliant red eyes staring back at him. It feels good to stretch and dissolve into his proper form, shadows snaking along his limbs and filling his every breath.

You fidget on the bed, brow furrowing as your body reacts to the nearness of his proper form. He likes watching you twitch and shift, soft mewls of fright sounding low in your chest. If he wanted, he could swallow you whole, and you’d never be the wiser, one moment existing in your nightmare and the next slithering into the ether of what comes after. But, it’s not time…not yet.

Letting one of his long, spindly shadow fingers draw back in and reform into the echo of human flesh, he presses the blunt tip against your temple. You instantly quell your movements, and the pitiful cry in your chest subsides. Yoongi can feel the subtle tremble of your body, the vibrations skittering through your flesh as your body recognizes his hellish touch. Your subconscious is as familiar with his umbral form as your conscious is with the lies he’s used to frame how you see him with your eyes.

Digging through the screen of your nightmare, he pulls back the darkness and lets in just enough light to lull you into a false sense of security—something he does nearly every night after he’s fed from you so he doesn’t accidentally drain you dry. By the time he returns, the light will have faded from your dreams, and there will be just enough unfettered distress permeating the air of your bedroom to give him a top off of delicious fear, his own personal cup of pick-me-up.

Yoongi slides under the bed and into the darkness, leaving you to your deep, lambent dreams. He melts through the barrier between your world and his. Euphoria buzzes through him as his depth of power increases. That’s the biggest downfall of walking the mortal plane. There aren’t quite enough shadows or stinking fear to fill the neverending void inside him. But here, in the Realm of Darkness, the taste of terror is thick and nectarous. It lingers in the air and is as permanent as the oxygen you breathe in your world.

Yoongi drifts through the firmament of his domain, letting the worries and stress of what’s to come fade. For a being with endless power and control, he never thought he might have the need to be concerned over something seemingly so trivial. But, the ceremony and ritual he has planned for tomorrow night is easily the most critical thing he’s ever dared to accomplish.

The Realm of Darkness might be sufficiently filled with succulent fodder for him, but there are other limitations he encounters. Constraints that involve the worlds beyond his Kingdom. He doesn’t want just to be able to thrive here on his own turf. He has aspirations of letting his darkness seep into the outer realms—including yours—and if he has his way, you will help him do just that. The barriers will crumble, and he’ll be free to bathe the distant realms in his thick ichor of destruction.

Finally feeling more like himself, he aims for the Shadow Spire, where waits the Throne of the Damned—his throne. All it takes is a simple thought, and he’s standing in the sprawling cavern of the throne room. It stretches wide in all directions, having no end or beginning, just existing as his will needs.

Pillars of malachite soar into the air at equal intervals, disappearing into the glittering cosmos expanse above his head. Silvery flecks of light cast the whole room in a mockery of the night sky of your world, something he’s grown to admire over the years spent there. Yoongi takes a deep breath, soaking in the tangy, bitter stench of brimstone and copper. Soon, he hopes, your delectable perfume of fear will join them.

“Sire,” a gruff voice says in surprise. “We weren’t expecting you back until the ritual. Welcome, is there anything we can do for you?”

Yoongi settles his shadowy form on the monstrous broken stone pillar at the top of the dais that rises from the rocky floor. His court, ever vigilant in their duty to him, wait for him to respond. “Is everything prepared for the ceremony?” he asks, eyes finally landing on the six figures seated on the smaller stone plinths arrayed in a semi-circle in front of him—the Shadow Court once again complete with his return. Hopefully, he won’t have to leave the comfort of his court but one more time. Once the ritual is done, he shouldn’t have to so much as lift a finger to reach into the overworld.

“All is well and ready, Sire.” Wicked smiles spread like wildfire across the court. They’re just as excited as Yoongi is to be finally moving forward with the plan. None of them have tasted the kind of fear that Yoongi has feasted on from you—the fresh terror of the mortal realm—but if they had more corporeal forms, he knows they’d be salivating. Soon, so very soon.

Looking around at his companions, he can’t help but think how humorous it is that you so readily believed his deceptions about working for the human government. He remembers the day he finally stepped from the shadows and made himself known to you. You were immediately drawn to him and couldn't stop yourself from indulging in your curiosities like a moth drawn to a flame.

Yoongi had already come up with an elaborate backstory and characterization for the human he wanted to portray. He knew all of your deep, dark fantasies and brought them to life. Your eyes got round with awe and reverence when he first revealed his supposed job, confirming how gullible and under his spell you were. He can’t deny it’s worked in his favor.

He’s allowed to keep odd hours and disappear as needed. When he returns to your bed before the sun rises, he’ll leave you a note on your pillow about being pulled away for work. You’ll read it and sigh a dreamy sigh as you have every other time he’s done that. You never bother to seek further explanation—your trust in him is so wholly concrete.

There is satisfaction in the freedom you’ve granted him to embrace a darker side. It’s how he can get away with fucking you so callously that your brain warps it into some deranged form of love. You’ve chalked every depraved thing he’s done to you up to him needing an outlet after dealing with such heinous stuff for work. He only had to mention a few well-known acronyms, like FBI and CIA, and you accepted it. As scared as you are of the dark, he’s aware of the collection of slasher and horror novels you keep stuffed away under your bed and that you listen with rapt attention to those silly crime shows and podcasts that tell you he’s not the one you should be scared of. Soon, he won’t have to worry about any of that, though—no more silly backstory, no more hiding, no more stuffy mortal form, no more holding back. Tomorrow signifies a change, a new beginning. It’s the time when the veil between the worlds will be thin enough that he can drag you down without it sucking your life away. Some call it Samhain, Calan Gaeaf, Mischief Night, Halloween—it holds nearly as many names as Yoongi himself does—but for him, it will be the night he calls triumph. The night his shadows will lay a claim to you wholly; the night you stop fearing what goes bump in the night and instead stand by its side and let it consume you.

Wicked Delight

Consciousness comes in fits and spurts of clarity. There is a moment where you’re asleep but aware. With this awareness, you can discern and feel the potent darkness webbing across your subconscious. You’ve seen it before, the myriad of inky tendrils that zig-zag through the light like fissures over a dried river bed. It scares you but also fills you with intrigue so rich it nearly eclipses the fear.

You know that if you could just hang on to that in-between space, the feeling of teetering on the edge of a knife, you could examine the darkness further and figure out what it is and where it comes from. But your body has other plans, sucking you away from your inspection and pushing you toward uneasy wakefulness.

Shifting under the blankets, a crinkling noise draws your eyes open to land on a rumple of white paper lying beside you on the empty side of the bed. With fumbling fingers, you grab the ripped leaf of creamy parchment and turn it so you can see the blue scrawl of words.

Got some darkness to take care of. Can’t wait to see you tonight. Don’t forget; 11 pm sharp, beginning of the corn maze. X

There is no name signed to the note, just an X, but you know who left it, regardless. You roll over, holding the thin paper above you so you can see the faded, faint print under his ink. A smile tugs at your lips when you realize it’s a corner ripped from Kinder und Hausmärchen, one of Yoongi’s favorite books. He has an original first edition that he’s let you moon over a few times. The first time you found a note and saw what it was written on, you nearly crawled out of your skin to berate him for ruining such a prize. He gently chided you for your reaction and assured you it was just a copy, scanned and printed for the whimsy of it.

Looking closer, you see the corner is from a page of the Cat and Mouse in Partnership tale. Your smile fades, turning into a mild frown as an odd feeling ghosts beneath your skin, eliciting goosebumps to pop up along your arms. Sighing, you shake your head and pull the blanket up high under your chin, chalking the sensation up to being cold. Your eyes rove around the room, taking in the early morning light filtering in through your thin curtains, showing you just enough of the inside of your room to be comfortable with not having a light on.

Finally deciding there’s no point in dallying in bed further, you toss back the covers and brace yourself against the chill in your room. Only, it’s not as cold as you were anticipating. Opening the small drawer on your nightstand to deposit the message in with the dozens of others Yoongi has left you over the years, you can help but smile. They’re sweet, little pieces of him that affirm to you why it’s okay he disappears the way he does. The reminder comforts you, especially on this day.

Halloween has never been your favorite. Well, that’s not true, exactly. You do like Halloween—just the modern and more mainstream version with candy, pumpkins, and warm, spiced drinks. Fall colors are also something you enjoy. The cooler air is nice. You’re partial to cozy sweaters and boots, too.

All in all, you enjoy this time of the year. You just don’t necessarily like the darker parts, the scarier parts. Haunted houses and scary movies are things you could do without unless it’s under very specific circumstances. Such as having Yoongi there. Which is the only reason you’ve agreed to meet him at the festival tonight. You haven’t been since you were a teen and got so scared by the fright actors that you swore never to return.

Except, now, you are returning. It’s been on the tip of your tongue for the last week to cancel on Yoongi, feigning a head or stomach ache. But, the sheer excitement in his gaze when you agreed, has been enough to make you bite your tongue every time a protest bubbles up. You can—and will—do this.

With an entire day to go before your date with Yoongi, you busy yourself with mundane tasks. A bit of cleaning, some light reading, and lastly, dumping a few bags of assorted and prepackaged candies into a bright orange bowl with a goofy jack-o-lantern face printed on the side.

You’re usually a porchlight-off kind of person. Still, this year, considering your own venture outside your proverbial Halloween box, you decided why not go the extra mile for others, too? Even if one kid dumps the entire bowl into their treat bag, you’ll at least feel somewhat accomplished in your attempt.

Setting the bowl on your doorstep, you stand back and survey it. The yellow-tinged porch light illuminates the candy and the plastic pumpkins you have arranged on either side of your door. You contemplate adding a ‘please take only one’ sign for the bowl but decide a paper warning isn’t much of a deterrent. Leaving the candy to its fate, you head back inside to finish getting ready.

Time flows in a weird, out-of-body kind of way. You’re aware of pulling on your coat and walking into your garage through the kitchen—even the process of driving to the festival registers in your mind. But, you’re genuinely not cognisant of what you’re doing until you’re staring at the large flashing sign for the festival. You have to practically put on blinders to make it through the ticketing process, ignoring the scare actors as you wait in line.

The corn maze is at the center of it all, meaning you keep your eyes glued to the ground as you skirt the edges of the food stalls and game stands until you reach it. There, you wait, standing at the start of the corn maze and stare at your watch, counting the seconds as they tick by with the small hand.

The air is cool, the crisp scent of fall heavy around you. Laughter and faint screams carry to you from the festival surrounding the maze. The giant corn labyrinth is the center of the entire two-week-long event. Thousands of people flock from near and far to venture within the husked, cream-colored stalks.

If you make it through the maze without assistance from the scare actors, then you get an entire bucket of caramel popcorn drizzled with chocolate. That’s never been enough of a reward for you to try. Even the last time you were here, you never stepped foot into the clustered embrace of the maze.

The festival is lit enough with all the twinkling lights and fair games lining the thoroughfares and the midway. Food trucks and stalls litter through the vendors with stuffed animals and cackling clowns. You try to ignore the bodies that sway and shamble through the crowd—the scare actors. They’re just people dressed up in costume and makeup, but they still elicit that flighty feeling in your belly, that little trickle of fear.

At the ticket booths, there were neon green necklaces you could purchase. You used them as a distraction while you waited in line. They’re ‘no scare’ necklaces, big bright indicators that you’re a sensitive little bitch that doesn’t want to be scared. At least, that’s how you felt looking at them, considering buying one. You know they’re an extremely valid item, a protective emblem that many people need, and that it’s perfectly fine—in fact, it’s encouraged for people to use them if they need to.

As you fingered the green nylon of the lanyard, you couldn’t help chewing your bottom lip, worrying at it until it cracked under your teeth and the coppery tang of blood danced across your tongue. You almost bought it…maybe you should have. However, the fact that you’re half-hidden by the corn maze sign and doing everything in your power not to draw unwanted attention to yourself seems to be keeping you from attracting the actors your way.

The tiny hand on your watch ticks away, drawing closer to turning over the minute, which'll turn over the hour to 11 PM. Sharp. Yoongi’s insistence. Just as the hands come together on your watch, you feel that telltale tingling feeling of eyes on you. It’s a familiar sensation, one you often associate with Yoongi. Daring to step out from behind the sign to the corn maze, you spin in a slow circle, trying to catch sight of him.

“Looking for someone?”

You have to clamp a hand over your mouth to muffle the shriek that rips from your chest as those words drift in from right behind you. So close that it’s impossible to imagine you hadn’t noticed him approaching you as you looked around.

“Yoongi,” you sigh, dropping your hand.

He's enveloping you from behind before you can turn around and give him a pouty yet stern look. His familiar musk and warmth ease your heart back from its hammering gallop. “You’re good enough to eat,” he gruffly murmurs, pressing his nose into the fabric of your coat at the juncture of your shoulder and neck. You can feel more than hear his deep inhalation, as if he’s drawing in the scent of your very soul and branding it throughout his olfactory system.

“The maze closes in an hour. Are you sure we can make it to the center before then?” you ask, voice light and airy as relief infused with drips of serotonin weaken your knees and your resolve to be upset with him for frightening you. You turn in his arms, keen to look upon his face for another kick of comfort, but it sours in your belly when you take in his pulled-up hood and the thick black gaiter covering the bottom half of his face. “What’s that for?”

Yoongi shrugs, shoulders lifting in his typical nonchalant manner. “It’s Halloween. Consider me dressed for the occasion.” He winks at you, but it does nothing to quell the unease still rolling around just beneath your surface. Feigning that stomachache is starting to sound more and more appealing, Yoongi’s excitement be damned.

“You look like a burglar.”

You can’t see his smile, but you can tell it’s there by how his eyes crinkle and lids lower mischievously. “And you look ripe for the burgling.”

“You’re insufferable,” you gripe teasingly, finally letting a smile grace your face despite the lingering anxiety. It’s easy to forget your fears and worries when you’re looking into his umber-colored gaze.

“Come on, let’s go.” Yoongi offers you his elbow, and you tuck your hand into the crook of it, leaning your shoulder against his arm.

The fleece-lined leggings you chose to wear keep you warm enough, paired with the knit sweater and thick tweed coat covering your top half. Your chunky boots are comfortable and practical for the slightly uneven terrain of the cornfield-turned-maze. Yoongi is far more casual in just jeans, the hoodie, and a pair of dusty and worn sneakers.

You study his face the best you can past the edge of his hood and out of the corner of your eye. He’s just as handsome as always. Even the black fabric covering the bottom half of his face doesn’t detract from his allure, which seems to be intensified by the deepening darkness around you as he leads you through the maze entrance.

A festival worker stands off to the side in full-on farmer-gore. Their overalls are covered in faux viscera, and there is a bloodied sling blade dangling from their off-hand as they beckon you and Yoongi forward with their other.

“Tonight's savior phrase is ‘Pumpkin Guts’, yell it out if you need assistance navigating the maze, and a helper will assist you,” he offers before turning to the next patron approaching a few feet behind you and Yoongi and giving them the same information.

“Pumpkin Guts,” Yoongi scoffs with a quiet laugh. “Surely they could have come up with something far more fitting than that.”

“I find it kind of nice. The childish charm of it helps make a situation like getting lost in the maze less scary, don’t you think?”

His eyes look more onyx now that you’re within the maze, the only illumination coming from tiny, sparse fairy lights. They catch your gaze, and you see a smile tilt up the corner of Yoongi’s mouth. “That’s adorable.”

“What?” you laugh, feeling heat crawl into your cheeks.

Yoongi shakes his head, his smile growing. “You always find the good in everything. It’s one of the things I like most about you.”

All the residual anxiety from earlier bleeds away with just that singular statement. You press in closer to Yoongi and angle your face up in silent request, to which he immediately obliges. He hooks a finger in the lip of his gaiter and pulls it down so he can slant his mouth over yours. His lips are warmer than usual, his breath carrying faint hints of bourbon as he teasingly slips his tongue through the seam of your lips. All too soon, he’s pulling away, leaving you with just that small taste of him. The gaiter slides back into place, and he nods ahead of you. “The quicker we make it to the center, the quicker you get the surprise I have waiting for you.”

“A surprise?” you ask, thoroughly intrigued.

His affirming hum in response turns into a soft chuckle as you eagerly quicken your steps, tugging him along beside you. As someone who isn’t partial to being shocked or scared, it’s perhaps a bit ironic that you love surprises of the unknown. They just have to be the right kind—like one from Yoongi; er, well, at least the ones that don’t involve him sitting on your bed in the dark as you open the bathroom door or so you tell yourself—but you digress.

Though, perhaps there is a bit of enjoyment from those kinds of surprises, too. In a twisted, semi-fucked up way, the surge of adrenaline is like a counterweight to the dopamine response from your amygdala that follows any time you get frightened. The perfect balance of emotions. The fight or flight reflex makes your body feel like it’s keyed up with extra energy, leaving you feeling like you’ve just run a mile or fucked for an hour. It’s maybe a little unhinged to salivate over those small sips of terror secretly. Does that make you a masochist?

You’d almost think Yoongi picks up on your inner thoughts with the way he makes an amused sound in the back of his throat and gives you a sidelong, knowing look. Something tingles beneath your skin, an electric feeling akin to loose ambitions. It seems tonight won’t be so bad after all.

The crunch of dried corn husks and hay accompanies the occasional scream or laugh echoing from various points in the maze. You’ve only led Yoongi to a dead-end a handful of times so far, but the anxiety at not having found the center of the maze yet is starting to mount.

“I can feel your stress in the tension in your hand,” Yoongi muses softly. “Relax, you’ll get your surprise.”

“What if they close the maze before we make it to the center, though?”

“They won’t.”

You cut a quick glance at him. He looks smug. “You seem so sure, but from my count,” you shift your attention to your watch, “we only have fifteen minutes before the festival closes, and I’d guess we’re nowhere near the center yet.”

Yoongi shrugs. “I may have paid the vendor to let us stay as long as we need.”

“You did what?”

“Tonight’s special,” Yoongi tugs you to a stop, his hands engulfing yours, and gives you a pointed look. “Very special.” The thumb of his right hand grazes over the expanse of skin above the knuckle on your left ring finger. “Now, let’s go find the center…and your surprise.”

A new sensation trickles in–excitement. Your heart patters faster as you turn and haul Yoongi on with renewed vigor. Gone is any trepidation; in its place, nothing but giddy and barely veiled anticipation. And to think, you’d almost been silly and canceled on him.

🖤🖤🖤

Yoongi

Yoongi wasn’t exaggerating when he said you look good enough to eat tonight. If only you knew how close to an accurate statement that was. He’s had a constant flow of moisture seeping into his mouth since he laid eyes on you standing behind the wooden sign for the maze. He had just finished setting up the surprise for you in the center, utilizing his natural form in order to move quickly without being seen.

All the implements he needs await him at the maze's center. The theatrics of it all are only for fun. He could have simply taken you without them. But he’s always been partial to playing with his food before devouring it. The pungency of your anxiety as you waited was a delightful appetizer to what is sure to be a satiating main course.

Every time you make a wrong turn in the maze, Yoongi can feel the tension in your muscles and the momentary disappointment that flavors your scent. It’s amusing watching you shuffle your feet and grumble under your breath before turning and backtracking.

It’s not lost to him the amount of uncertainty you’ve had ever since he asked you to go with him tonight. Not that he would have given you a choice in the end; he’d have taken you by force if needed. But he’s a passive creature at best, so the less work he has to do, the better.

Using the ruse of there being a surprise waiting for you isn’t entirely untrue. Though, the treat he’s confident that he’s planted the idea of in your head is far different from what’s actually going to happen. He’s spent enough time in the mortal realm to know what you’d have interpreted from him stroking that particular finger with the right look in his eye. Your heart had gone into a frenzy of thick, heavy beats, and your eyes had lit up with wonder.

Yeah, he’s pretty sure he knows what’s driving your feet to move as quickly as they are now. It’ll just make the disappointment taste that much sweeter. Over the five years he’s been administering to you, molding you into the perfect vessel, he’s learned the small nuances that make you tick. Whether it’s for eliciting fear or excitement, desire or anguish, he knows exactly how to produce the results he wants.

“Ugh,” you grumble for the dozenth time when you turn a corner and come to another dead end. “This is impossible. How can you find enjoyment in these things?”

Yoongi smirks. “It’s quite analytical if you really want me to answer that.” The way your nose wrinkles when he says that is positively adorable. “Come on, I’ll help you out.”

You gleefully cede the lead, letting him guide you back and toward a different direction entirely. You’re still excited, bubbling with positive anticipation, even though you’re no longer playing the game, per se. It’s interesting how you so quickly relinquish the hunt—he’d never.

The noise of the festival and maze has long since fizzled away. He didn’t actually pay the attendant. He’s just using some of his ability to mask your presence from anyone who might get in the way. Some of the lights from the midway are still going, and a few rides are lit up. However, the deeper Yoongi leads you into the labyrinth, the darker it becomes. He’s confident you’re so wound up that you don’t even notice how his shadows grow and stretch along the narrow walkway around you.

“Oh, look!” You excitedly point at the opening that comes into view at the end of the row. “I can smell the popcorn. Did that bribe include a bucket waiting for us, too?”

Yoongi has no idea if there is popcorn waiting, but he imagines you’re only smelling the lingering scent. He can’t detect anyone else within a hundred-meter radius around the maze. If the prospect of popcorn makes you happy, then sure. “Of course it did. We’ll need a snack once I’m done with you.” Which mostly isn’t true, though he can’t be sure. Yoongi has never shadow-turned a human before, much less taken a mate in the process. You might be ravenous by the time he’s done; though, he’d bet it won’t be popcorn you’ll be craving.

There is a distinct moment where Yoongi can feel the shift in your demeanor. Your excitement dips into confusion as you take in the finish line area that’s deserted of anyone and anything other than the large 10 ft square structure he erected in the middle. The raw malachite plinths are so dark the lindworm-colored stone seems to absorb the illuminance around them, turning the gateway into a giant pit of darkness that devours the faint twinkling lights. Shadows bleed from the open space between the pillars, reaching for their master.

Yoongi’s blood sings with desire as fear trickles in with the confusion. “Yoongi,” you whisper his name, and it warbles from your lips oh so beautifully. “What’s that?”

“That’s your future, my love.” He untangles himself from your grip, circling you like a predator. “Now, run!” he snarls from right behind you.

You don’t even scream when he shoves you forward, your arms windmilling and boots tripping over the scatter of dried corn husks before you topple headlong between the pillars. The last thing he sees before the waiting shadows swallow you is the whites of your eyes as you throw a panicked look over your shoulder at him.

It’s mildly disappointing that you didn’t even so much as grunt or give him any sort of satisfaction that you’re petrified other than the cloying perfume of your terror that settles on his tongue when he huffs in irritation. Hopefully, when he follows you through the gateway, you’ll already be on the run because he’s in the mood to play a while longer before he shatters the world as you know it.

Yoongi wants you to recognize him, so he only casts off some of his mortal form, choosing to keep his face and most of his body intact. What changes is his size; he grows larger, arms and legs longer, fingers more like talons, and eyes the dark red of fresh blood.

He knows he looks monstrous, even more so with the cloth still covering the lower half of his face and the hoodie now ripped and hanging from his physique. As soon as he slides through the barrier of the gateway, he’s met with that euphoric sound he hoped for earlier. Your scream rends through the thick, stale air of the Realm of Darkness, music to his ears.

“That’s my girl,” Yoongi crows, his voice gravelly and distorted by his natural form. He inhales deeply, sucking in your dismay's succulent and divine fragrance. “Fuck.”

You scream again as he steps toward you, which spurs you into gaining your feet, not even caring to look at the soot-like substance caking your hands and knees. Yoongi can only imagine the thoughts warring inside your pretty little head right now. Wild fear makes your eyes flick frantically around before you choose a direction and sprint at breakneck speed between the skeletal trees surrounding this side of the gateway.

He chose the Forest of Decay specifically because it provides the perfect environment for a chase. It allows him to easily keep up with you while giving the illusion of protection. There’s also not a single nook or cranny Yoongi isn’t intimately familiar with; after all, he can’t have you finding some unknown hole to burrow into.

The flash and flicker of your coat draws his attention as it zigs and zags through the petrified sentinels of the forest. Their long, gnarled branches reach far, entwining overhead like a macabre endless bird's nest. It creates a dim atmosphere, with the faintest hint of light bleeding through the limbs. Each tree is about a foot wide and twenty feet high, the ground covered in sooty ash; it’s an ideal playground.

“Leave me alone!” you sob when Yoongi lets you catch another glimpse of him.

Yoongi shudders as a fresh, new wave of terror undulates from you and washes over him. “No can do, my queen.”

The thrill of the chase adds kindling to Yoongi’s need to consume you whole. Every step you take is reckless. You throw yourself around trees so fast you nearly hit the next. The spacing between the trees is relatively narrow, just a few feet at most. Still, with the way you’re barreling through them, you’ve already accumulated a few scratches and minor lacerations from the dried bark, feet kicking up small puffs of ash with every frantic step. The tangy, sweet scent of your blood makes him salivate. The thick, viscous drool coating his tongue will make it all that easier to fuck you with it once he catches you.

Lumbering on behind you, Yoongi intentionally stomps and makes as much noise as possible. Every crack and thump he makes has a whimper shivering from your throat. The thick appendage between his monstrous thighs swells with each terrified sound you make. Fucking you in his proper form will be such a treat. Surely, it’ll be far better than any sex he’s had with the limits of his human body, even if he does love the way your softness compliments his.

But there is nothing soft about Yoongi now—not when he has such a tasty morsel running and screaming so prettily for him. He’s all hard edges and thick muscle. A manic chuckle bubbles in his chest as he leaps ahead, hounding your heels.

It’s comical, ironic even, when he watches your foot catch on a high root hidden by a pile of ash, and you go sprawling on the ground before him. He’s seen enough of those cheesy horror films so fervently worshiped in your world to know how funny this is.

“Please, no! Leave me alone!” you beg through ragged breaths. Your face and hair are marked with scratches, flecks of dried bark, and the pewter-colored ash covering the ground.

An appreciative moan works its way free of Yoongi as he stands over you, swaying like he’s drunk. Which, maybe he is. There is a faint buzzing in his ears, and if he opens his eyes too wide, your image doubles. Two of you; he grins wickedly at the prospect. Now, that would be a definite treat.

As it is, there’s only you; that will be sufficient for what Yoongi has planned. He looms over you, and the backward-bending joints of his knees give slightly as he towers across your prone form. Your eyes pan over his arched body, perhaps for the first time, taking it in with true clarity. Yoongi lets his skin ripple between human and proper form, coalescing and whirling with shadows.

With a flex of darkness, he rends the remnants of his clothes. The ripping of the seams and subsequent soft plop of the ruined fabrics echo through the suddenly silent space. You’re barely even breathing as you take him in, eyes landing on the swinging cock that nearly brushes your belly as he places a gnarled hand beside your head in the ash.

“You’re mine,” he whispers, though it comes out more like sand in a grinder. Lowering further, Yoongi nudges your chin with his nose, guiding your head sideways to give him unfettered access to your throat. Pressing into the crook of your neck, he huffs hot breath over your skin, rejoicing in the instinctive reaction. Your skin prickles and flushes with goosebumps, and a thick cloud of potent fear wafts up as your pulse hammers away beneath his lips.

“P-please,” you whimper through trembling lips. Tears stream down your cheek and drip off the bridge of your nose. Their salty tang mixes with the sweetness of terror pervading the air.

That word, spoken in that way…it does something to Yoongi. He groans, nipping at the skin of your neck with his blunted teeth before letting them elongate so he can adequately graze your papery-thin flesh. You cry out when they slice through, leaving behind thin blood trickles and shallow scratches.

Your blood is laced with fear, blooming on his tongue like an ambrosia of the gods. “You’ve always begged so prettily, my queen. You’re a treasure, and I’m so glad I found you all those years ago, so innocent and unsuspecting—my perfect mate.”

The next scream that leaves your lips is guttural, full of panic and delirium as Yoongi takes his first pull from your body. Thin wisps of black shadow thread from his lips to yours. They pulse with every drag he takes. He’s fed from you thousands of times, but never like this—never so profoundly.

Fear, terror, horror, fright…it’s all the same, and yet Yoongi is almost sure he can taste the distinction. Like a fine wine, you have tasting notes that vary with every sip. By the fifth breath, your body has grown slack, your eyes wide and glassy. Tears still stream down your face but in silence.

Yoongi watches your pallor grow sickly, waxy as sweat pearls along your hairline and temples. Draining you is a delicate affair, something he’s both dreaded and looked forward to for so long. Watching the fire that he loves so much bleed from your eyes and the vigor leech from your skin pangs him with a foreign sensation, something akin to mourning? He realizes now he will mourn the loss of your human form, even if it’s far inferior to what he will turn you into.

With one final shuddering gasp, the darkest, thickest tendril of shadow snakes its way between your parted lips. Your fingers and limbs spasm as the inky darkness roots in deep, tethering itself to you like the strings of a marionette. It pulls tight in Yoongi’s own chest, cementing his essence to yours. As a barbed ring of shadow settles on the ring finger of your left hand, the bond snaps into place, and chaos ensues.

🖤🖤🖤

You’ve never experienced such visceral fear before. It’s consumed every fiber of your being. You’re no longer who you once were and will never be the same again. You are simply fear incarnate.

A boiling starts beneath your skin, beginning at the tips of your fingers and toes before rolling through to the center of your chest, where it pops and sizzles like dry ice in tepid water, so cold it burns.

It’s like flipping a coin. One minute, you are experiencing insurmountable terror, and the next, you exude it. Nothing can scare you now, not even the monster sitting a few feet away watching you with calculated eyes—familiar eyes, eyes you’ve lost yourself in more times than you can count.

They’re not as cold as they were a moment ago. You distinctly remember how those red eyes softened right before you felt yourself float away. It’s Yoongi, you know this, but it’s also not. He’s different, and it’s not even the deformed, gangly shadow form that makes up his body, either. There’s something more, something that draws you in, like an anchor dragging you into his deepest, darkest depths. He’s a vast ocean, and you’re pretty sure what he just did was akin to drowning you—killing you.

Only you don’t feel dead.

Quite the opposite, in fact. For the first time in your existence, you feel truly alive; and not in the living sense but in the eternal sense. You have no ending or beginning; you exist as you will yourself to be.

With that thought, your body urges you to change, to morph into a far more comfortable form. Darkness seeps from your pores, cascading out of your skin until it becomes a mockery of its former self, and it feels good—so good.

“What have you done to me?” Your voice sounds different, soft yet sultry. It reminds you of black silk and lace, devious and coy, with the perfect mix of husk and drawl.

Yoongi lets out a slow breath, the sound like dry leaves crackling. “Made you mine.”

“What…what are we?”

The soft ash sifts between your now exposed toes, the boots you once wore laying in peeled strips along with tattered remnants of your clothes. Nudity has never been an issue for you, but it’s as if you have no inhibitions at all now. The shadows around your body contort to form curves and perfect swells.

“We have many names. Demons, bogeymen…it’s all very fitting, yet doesn’t quite capture the truth. What I am—what we are—is darkness, fear, terror, and shadow. We are infinite, endless, and everything all at once.”

“Why me?” you whisper. That tether inside of you pulses, pulling tight as you shift and try to put distance between yourself and Yoongi. It’s like a rope around your throat, pulling you up short.

Yoongi narrows his eyes, lips quirking in amusement. “This is the Realm of Darkness—my domain,” he gestures broadly with a clawed hand, “and it was all I had access to until I found a way to enter yours. Once I tasted the sweet nectar of fear it provided and the power it allowed me access to, I couldn’t stop my curiosity and need for more. Then I found you, and I knew you would be the perfect compliment to my aspirations, just the thing I needed to break the barriers completely.”

He straightens up, and the way his body catches your attention has a heat flaring somewhere deep in your being. Your eyes lock on the dark sinews and plump muscles that stretch and contract as Yoongi moves to crouch in front of you. The ribbed and notched cock swaying between his thighs dribbles a thick, viscous line of lavender-colored arousal.

Tearing your eyes from the sight of it, you force yourself to look into his feral, red eyes. His explanation is both confusing and clear at the same time. You understand it, but know that you should be railing against it because it’s morally incomprehensible. You’ve essentially been kidnapped and forced into what this is. Yet…yet—“I feel…” you trail off, trying to find the right word to describe it.

“Powerful,” Yoongi offers with a knowing, pointed-tooth grin.

“Powerful,” you repeat, letting the word roll around your tongue before nodding. Perhaps that’s why you are shrugging off your cares and the moral compass that has seemingly forgotten how to point north.

The subtle smell of burnt wood and sulfur hits you as Yoongi raises a hand to fit across the front of your throat. Those too-long fingers engulf it, sending a shiver down your new body. Instead of your belly filling up with fear, it fills with desire and need. You no longer need to battle the terror, letting it drip away from you instead.

“Look at you. You’re so perfect. You don’t feel scared, but that’s only because this realm leeches it away and devours it before it can poison your mind, leaving behind nothing but how you truly feel.”

You know there has always been a darkness inside you, something that even you feared to face head-on. After all, it must take some kind of crazy to be both scared of the dark and want to embrace it. It’s not just the way Yoongi plied your body and made you forget to care about being proper and good. Is this what you were made for—all the fright and terror you’ve experienced and secretly sought out leading you to this very moment here?

All it takes is one look at Yoongi to know the truth.

You were created for this, crafted to be precisely what Yoongi needed, just as he said.

With that moment of clarity and acceptance, a new sensation slithers down your spine. A lasciviousness that has you moaning in surprise.

“Fuck,” you grind out between clenched teeth.

“Gladly,” Yoongi chuckles, his red eyes taking on a lecherous gleam. “Let’s unleash your darkness on the realms, my queen.”

Between one breath and the next, your knees are splayed wide, and Yoongi has his face buried between your thighs. All it takes is one languid swipe of his long, broad tongue to have you cursing again. Caustic words fall from your mouth, laced with vitriol as it’s unfair how good it feels. It’s like every inch of contact between your body and his writes itself across what was once your soul.

“Mmmph,” you moan incoherently as the beginning of an orgasm lashes against your insides. Yoongi greedily sucks and licks, tongue laving over your throbbing clit before sliding between your contracting walls.

A tsunami of darkness crashes out from within you, blanketing the surrounding forest in shadow. Wisps of clarity ebb and flow, drifting along with the gloom until Yoongi grounds you with an exceptionally sharp pinch to one of your nipples.

“Almost there,” he announces gleefully, licking his lips before launching forward and forcing you onto your back.

Yoongi feels like fire against you, his body scorching everywhere it touches. You expect to feel the soft ash against your back but the only sensation that ebbs in is a cool aeration against the exposed skin between your shoulder blades.

Monstrous arms wrap around you as Yoongi slots his too-big mouth over yours, invading you with his slick, serpentine tongue. Your eyes flutter open, and you catch a glimpse of a pewter sky beyond the scraggy branches that are suddenly closer overhead.

You try to pull away from his devouring kiss to alert him to the jagged web of dry wood about to scrape his back, but he growls and renews his effort to shove his tongue as far into your mouth as possible. Snaps and cracks fill the air, and wood explodes around you.

Realization dawns as more should-be-fear-turned-lust pours through your body and expands beyond it, filling the sky around you with a murky darkness. The power of that emotion propels you further, sending you and Yoongi far above the landscape to suspend over the entirety of the Realm of Darkness, leaving a streamer of smoke-like essence in your wake.

Yoongi throws his head back, finally relenting from the kiss. His broad chest heaves against yours, and his red eyes are wild as they roll manically before landing on you. “How is this possible?” you pant, hands gripping the muscles of his shoulders tightly.

“Anything is possible here,” he whispers fervently before spinning you so fast your vision blurs. The horizon spans as far as you can see around you. You and Yoongi are hundreds of feet higher than even the tallest mountain peak. Everything is a monochrome grey, black, or in-between. A jagged line of mountains rear to your right while inky streams and rivers zig zag to your left. It’s a hideously beautiful display that contradicts all scenic views you’ve ever seen, yet is better than all of them combined.

“Oh, God,” you whimper when Yoongi forces your legs wide and slots his hips between them from behind. Shadows billow around you, charged with energy that crackles and sizzles, barely restrained from being unleashed to wreak untold havoc.

Thin fingers slide around to cup the front of your throat, giving a none too gentle squeeze. Yoongi snarls, “There is no God here. We are the gods!” His declaration is punctuated by the head of his cock prodding against your sopping cunt. This new body is already eager to pleasure Yoongi and receive pleasure in kind.

His hips kick forward, and you feel every delicious ridge and ripple along his thick shaft. It feels like he invades the pit of your stomach, filling you to the brink. It’s a rush of wicked delight, pure erotic rapture.

You moan again, this time invoking the only name left on your tongue, “Yoongi!”

“I’ve been looking forward to fucking you like this for five years,” he grunts, emphasizing the words with his hips pumping against your ass in brutal strokes. “Claiming you wholly, decorating the world with our combined shadows. Look how they writhe for you, waiting for you to command them. Let go.”

Your eyes roll from side to side, taking in the dark, undulating forms stretching wide around you. With each prick of pleasure Yoongi insights in your body, they branch and roil further out, creating the foundation for your own personal bedlam.

Like a bounty won at the end of a hunt, Yoongi ravishes your body with his. He’s brutal, unrelenting and wanton. The hand on your throat tugs with every slam of his hips, bowing your back and forcing you to peer out at the Kingdom begging for your rule. Darkness beseeches you, screaming for your glory and power as it pours out and blankets the sky.

Your world narrows to one pin point of coherency. Yoongi. He is nothing and everything all at once. He is the beginning and the end—fear, loathing, lust, and madness…through it all, he is infinite. And he’s yours.

With one final, shuddering breath you let go; welcoming the darkness once and for all.

“Yes.” The word, whispered from your parted lips, is sucked away with the maelstrom that detonates around and within you.

You barely hear the guttural, primal roar that emits from Yoongi as he buries himself to the hilt and fills you with his terrible darkness. You shatter into a multitude of shards, a glittering storm that dances through the ether, sparking and catching on the thin membrane that stretches between the realms. All it takes is one weak point, a small breach in the barrier, and everything falls apart.

It’s glorious, feeling yourself everywhere all at once. Your body is still fluttering around Yoongi, sucking and welcoming his release into your soul. But, your consciousness is spread wide, bleeding through the nexus of this realm and the one you once called home.

The mortal realm bows to your will. You can feel the beings of the Realm of Darkness funneling toward the broken gateways, pouring through to consume and conquer with the whisper of your glory on their tongues. Fear reigns supreme, consuming everything in its path as you expand your hold on the darkness.

“My Queen of Darkness,” the ephemeral coo caresses your ear, phantom lips brushing along your shadows. Yoongi’s darkness blends with yours, adding to the pulse that seeps to all corners of existence. “No longer will you fear, as you are fear itself…glorious, neverending fear.”

◅ Back to Main Master List ©️ 2023-10-23 ColorMePurplex2

#min yoongi #yoongi x reader #yoongi smut #yoongi angst #yoongi fanfic #yoongi fanfiction #bts yoongi #bts halloween #bts fanfic #bwhq ficstoric society #moonleeai review #fic: bump in the night #author: colormepurplex2

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moonleeai · 16 days

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😍

a jin a day while he is away ♥

day 470

#kim seokjin

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moonleeai · 16 days

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lol yes his chaos goes well with her badassness hehe

Thanks for reading @lo1k-diamonds Lucy!

Code Name: Gummy Bear

˚ʚ pairing: Asset!Namjoon x Agent!Reader ˚ʚ au/genre: Agent/Asset, soft smut ˚ʚ rating: MA ˚ʚ warnings: implied violence, blood, cursing, implied sexual acts ˚ʚ wc: 1262

˚ʚ Summary: You were hired for two things: to keep Kim Namjoon safe and content. What’s the harm in also giving in to what we wants…

˚ʚ Thank you to @downbad4yoongi for beta reading!

˚ʚ Part of the @bangtanwritershq September 2023 “Big Boys” flash fiction writing event

You were assigned to Kim Namjoon’s detail only three months ago. He’s been the most straightforward assignment by far; all you have to do is keep him safe and content. Three months ago, pretty boy was riding his bicycle in the wrong place at the wrong time and witnessed a horrific act under the Han River Bridge. The government can use his information, but the mafia wants to bury him—dead or alive.

The man may be muscular, but he’s more of a lover than a fighter, and you—well, you’re as badass as they come. You can take down men before they know what’s coming, leaving them bloodied and bruised, begging for mercy on their knees— if they survive your attack.

You learned everything about Namjoon reasonably quickly—he’s a talker. All he needs is art in any form and gummy bears. Your team is taking longer than expected to find the last few mafia members. Three months have passed, and Namjoon is getting restless; he keeps putting himself in dangerous situations.

Today, he snuck out to a museum as he sent you on an impossible task to purchase gummy bears and a rare art magazine. It took three vendors laughing in your face before you realized what he had planned.

You take a deep breath and pull out your encrypted phone, “Activate GPS on Gummy Bear.”

“Confirm identity,” a monotone voice says from the other line.

“Agent Daisy.” A code name you unwillingly earned to help ease the minds of your assignments; your deadly actions were intertwined with your persona, so your handler thought a flower code name would help. You hate it.

“Confirmed.” Within seconds, you have Namjoon’s location and hail a taxi to the site. Frustrated, you open the bag of elastic gelatin and rip the heads off the bears with your teeth.

When you arrive at the closed museum, you can smell the trouble. With your phone guiding you to the basement, you hear men shouting and find Namjoon tied to a chair with a spotlight on him. You scan the space and find there are only three thugs. Easy. You pull your hair into a bun, zip up your jacket, and throw the hood over your head. You begin your walk toward them with your head down, the grocery bag making light rustling sounds at your side.

“Yah! Who are you? How’d you get down here?!” Yells one of the men. You continue your walk. “Are you dumb?” He continues trying to scare you as you pick up your pace. You stop just a few steps away, look at the man closest to you, and smugly smile while dropping the grocery bag.

“You boys have something of mine,” you flick your eyes to Namjoon and back to the man, “and I don’t play well with others.”

Before you knew it, all three men were knocked out cold, and your team was collecting the bodies —clean-up protocol.

“What took you so long?” Namjoon scoffs.

“Next time…I’ll quit and leave you for the wolves.” You chide and get in the backseat of a black SUV waiting to take you and Namjoon back to the secure apartment. He likes it when you get mad, says it’s hot, which pisses you off even more. You sit in silence with a blank stare while Namjoon admires you candidly. He reaches out to grab your hand, but you stop him, “Touch me and I will break your fingers.” Namjoon draws his bottom lip between his teeth before smirking and averting his eyes out his window.

You walk through the apartment door like a hurricane. Shoes get hurled in opposite directions, and you throw the plastic bag of art magazines and half-eaten gummy bears onto the kitchen island as you make your way to the bathroom.

Namjoon follows you like a puppy nipping at your heels. You start the shower and take your jacket off, tossing it forcefully to the ground. Namjoon’s eyes widen, “Shit! Are you okay!?” His eyes fixate on your white lace tank top, where blood stains a few places. You glance in the mirror at him standing behind you, innocent and sweet, undoubtedly concerned.

“Yeah, Gummy Bear…it’s not my blood.” You turn to look at him as you remove your top, exposing your bare breasts. You watch his Adam's Apple bob as he swallows hard. “See, everything’s fine. I need a quick shower. You wanna watch?” you snicker. He rolls his eyes and walks away. “Coward!” You call out behind him and giggle as you step into the hotter-than-hell water.

Namjoon has never struggled with resisting you. Your lewd advances and constant showing of skin leave little to the imagination— and he has a wild one. One that has him dreaming of all the things he wants to do with you— if only he weren’t so nervous to open that door. For now, he has fun riling you up and getting reactions, although he never intended for you to get hurt in the process.

Freshly showered, you slip on a baggy t-shirt and go to the living room, where Namjoon reads a magazine and eats gummy bears. He’s lying with one leg flung over the back of the couch, so you plop down by his crotch, throwing your legs over his one leg stretching on the couch seats, and close your eyes. Namjoon quickly sits up, seeming uncomfortable with your proximity. You put a hand on his chest to stop him from moving.

“Relax, Gummy Bear. I need to recharge, and this is so you can’t escape me.”

Namjoon lets out his unknowingly held breath, “Your lip…it’s…”

You curl your lip inward and flit your tongue on the cut, “Yeah. One of those assholes sucker punched me. It’ll heal.”

Eyes still closed, you feel Namjoon’s finger graze your laceration. He says nothing, but you can feel his apology. You open your eyes just enough to notice his stare has turned passionate. Heat spreads under your skin, and your heart begins to race.

“Gummy Bear, are you finally going to act on those impure thoughts?”

“Can I?” Before you can respond, Namjoon is shyly and gently pressing his lips to yours. Then he brushes his lips down your neck, nibbling and sucking, “I’m safe, thanks to you. How can I thank you, Daisy?”

You cringe at the name, and now the heat burns red like a demon. Giving a devilish smile, you pin him down on the couch and straddle his lap.

“What the fuck?!”

“You know I hate that name.” You wrap one hand around his throat, applying light pressure, reminding him how you are completely opposite of a fragile, little daisy.

He taps your arm frantically, and when you let up, he breathes heavily. “Fuck! You fucking terrify me!”

Your pussy clenches, sending a quiver through your body. You lean closer to him, “Mmm, talking dirty to me?”

Namjoon smirks, and you feel his dick twitch, “I want to do so many dirty things...What should I call you? Princess?”

“Fuck a princess, I’m a King.” You laugh mischievously.

He runs his hands up your thighs and tepidly lifts the hem of your shirt, exposing your pussy. He curses under his breath and firmly grasps your hips, then glides your naked core against his hardening cock. You take control of his hands and pull them up to your breasts while rocking your hips against his cock. His eyes roll into the back of his head as he damn near begs, “Fuck me, please!”

“Oh, Gummy Bear…I’m going to eat you alive.”

#kim namjoon fanfic #kim namjoon x reader #namjoon x reader

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moonleeai · 16 days

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Thanks for reading @bobathi 😘

Code Name: Gummy Bear

˚ʚ pairing: Asset!Namjoon x Agent!Reader ˚ʚ au/genre: Agent/Asset, soft smut ˚ʚ rating: MA ˚ʚ warnings: implied violence, blood, cursing, implied sexual acts ˚ʚ wc: 1262

˚ʚ Summary: You were hired for two things: to keep Kim Namjoon safe and content. What’s the harm in also giving in to what we wants…

˚ʚ Thank you to @downbad4yoongi for beta reading!

˚ʚ Part of the @bangtanwritershq September 2023 “Big Boys” flash fiction writing event

You take a deep breath and pull out your encrypted phone, “Activate GPS on Gummy Bear.”

“Confirm identity,” a monotone voice says from the other line.

“Confirmed.” Within seconds, you have Namjoon’s location and hail a taxi to the site. Frustrated, you open the bag of elastic gelatin and rip the heads off the bears with your teeth.

“You boys have something of mine,” you flick your eyes to Namjoon and back to the man, “and I don’t play well with others.”

Before you knew it, all three men were knocked out cold, and your team was collecting the bodies —clean-up protocol.

“What took you so long?” Namjoon scoffs.

“Relax, Gummy Bear. I need to recharge, and this is so you can’t escape me.”

Namjoon lets out his unknowingly held breath, “Your lip…it’s…”

You curl your lip inward and flit your tongue on the cut, “Yeah. One of those assholes sucker punched me. It’ll heal.”

“Gummy Bear, are you finally going to act on those impure thoughts?”

You cringe at the name, and now the heat burns red like a demon. Giving a devilish smile, you pin him down on the couch and straddle his lap.

“What the fuck?!”

“You know I hate that name.” You wrap one hand around his throat, applying light pressure, reminding him how you are completely opposite of a fragile, little daisy.

He taps your arm frantically, and when you let up, he breathes heavily. “Fuck! You fucking terrify me!”

Your pussy clenches, sending a quiver through your body. You lean closer to him, “Mmm, talking dirty to me?”

Namjoon smirks, and you feel his dick twitch, “I want to do so many dirty things...What should I call you? Princess?”

“Fuck a princess, I’m a King.” You laugh mischievously.

“Oh, Gummy Bear…I’m going to eat you alive.”

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moonleeai · 18 days

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jimin x blonde hair

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moonleeai · 18 days

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Thank you, Vanessa 💟

Code Name: Gummy Bear

˚ʚ pairing: Asset!Namjoon x Agent!Reader ˚ʚ au/genre: Agent/Asset, soft smut ˚ʚ rating: MA ˚ʚ warnings: implied violence, blood, cursing, implied sexual acts ˚ʚ wc: 1262

˚ʚ Summary: You were hired for two things: to keep Kim Namjoon safe and content. What’s the harm in also giving in to what we wants…

˚ʚ Thank you to @downbad4yoongi for beta reading!

˚ʚ Part of the @bangtanwritershq September 2023 “Big Boys” flash fiction writing event

You take a deep breath and pull out your encrypted phone, “Activate GPS on Gummy Bear.”

“Confirm identity,” a monotone voice says from the other line.

“Confirmed.” Within seconds, you have Namjoon’s location and hail a taxi to the site. Frustrated, you open the bag of elastic gelatin and rip the heads off the bears with your teeth.

“You boys have something of mine,” you flick your eyes to Namjoon and back to the man, “and I don’t play well with others.”

Before you knew it, all three men were knocked out cold, and your team was collecting the bodies —clean-up protocol.

“What took you so long?” Namjoon scoffs.

“Relax, Gummy Bear. I need to recharge, and this is so you can’t escape me.”

Namjoon lets out his unknowingly held breath, “Your lip…it’s…”

You curl your lip inward and flit your tongue on the cut, “Yeah. One of those assholes sucker punched me. It’ll heal.”

“Gummy Bear, are you finally going to act on those impure thoughts?”

You cringe at the name, and now the heat burns red like a demon. Giving a devilish smile, you pin him down on the couch and straddle his lap.

“What the fuck?!”

“You know I hate that name.” You wrap one hand around his throat, applying light pressure, reminding him how you are completely opposite of a fragile, little daisy.

He taps your arm frantically, and when you let up, he breathes heavily. “Fuck! You fucking terrify me!”

Your pussy clenches, sending a quiver through your body. You lean closer to him, “Mmm, talking dirty to me?”

Namjoon smirks, and you feel his dick twitch, “I want to do so many dirty things...What should I call you? Princess?”

“Fuck a princess, I’m a King.” You laugh mischievously.

“Oh, Gummy Bear…I’m going to eat you alive.”

#namjoon x reader #bwhq ficstoric society #bwhq

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moonleeai · 18 days

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jimin and taehyung are only two months apart but jimin sounds like hes 12 and taehyung sounds like he’s gone through puberty twice and this is why i have trust issues

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moonleeai · 22 days

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Thanks Leah @colormepurplex2 !! 🤗 and yes the real king will always be Min Yoongiiiiiii 👑🤭🤭🤭

Code Name: Gummy Bear

˚ʚ pairing: Asset!Namjoon x Agent!Reader ˚ʚ au/genre: Agent/Asset, soft smut ˚ʚ rating: MA ˚ʚ warnings: implied violence, blood, cursing, implied sexual acts ˚ʚ wc: 1262

˚ʚ Summary: You were hired for two things: to keep Kim Namjoon safe and content. What’s the harm in also giving in to what we wants…

˚ʚ Thank you to @downbad4yoongi for beta reading!

˚ʚ Part of the @bangtanwritershq September 2023 “Big Boys” flash fiction writing event

You take a deep breath and pull out your encrypted phone, “Activate GPS on Gummy Bear.”

“Confirm identity,” a monotone voice says from the other line.

“Confirmed.” Within seconds, you have Namjoon’s location and hail a taxi to the site. Frustrated, you open the bag of elastic gelatin and rip the heads off the bears with your teeth.

“You boys have something of mine,” you flick your eyes to Namjoon and back to the man, “and I don’t play well with others.”

Before you knew it, all three men were knocked out cold, and your team was collecting the bodies —clean-up protocol.

“What took you so long?” Namjoon scoffs.

“Relax, Gummy Bear. I need to recharge, and this is so you can’t escape me.”

Namjoon lets out his unknowingly held breath, “Your lip…it’s…”

You curl your lip inward and flit your tongue on the cut, “Yeah. One of those assholes sucker punched me. It’ll heal.”

“Gummy Bear, are you finally going to act on those impure thoughts?”

You cringe at the name, and now the heat burns red like a demon. Giving a devilish smile, you pin him down on the couch and straddle his lap.

“What the fuck?!”

“You know I hate that name.” You wrap one hand around his throat, applying light pressure, reminding him how you are completely opposite of a fragile, little daisy.

He taps your arm frantically, and when you let up, he breathes heavily. “Fuck! You fucking terrify me!”

Your pussy clenches, sending a quiver through your body. You lean closer to him, “Mmm, talking dirty to me?”

Namjoon smirks, and you feel his dick twitch, “I want to do so many dirty things...What should I call you? Princess?”

��Fuck a princess, I’m a King.” You laugh mischievously.

“Oh, Gummy Bear…I’m going to eat you alive.”

#bwhq ficstoric society #kim namjoon x reader #namjoon x reader #kim namjoon fanfic #moonleeai writes sometimes #bangtanwhq

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moonleeai · 25 days

Text

Capturing Family

For @bangtanwritershq To Begin Again quarter event

Pairing: Jimin x Namjoon

WC:4237

Rating: MA

AU/Genre: marriage au, slice of life, surrogacy

Warnings: implied/referenced homophobia, gay sex

A/N: Written as a slice of life follow up to Closer

Summary: Married four years, Jimin and Namjoon dream of a family. Surrogacy or adoption? The decision weighs heavy. Unwavering support from friends clashes with Jimin's parents' disapproval. A gallery break-in threatens their plans, but their love strengthens. Through challenges, their bond deepens, and with their friends' help, they overcome obstacles and build a beautiful, unique family. A story of love, perseverance, and the power of chosen family.

“Love, we’ve been talking about this for years now. We’re ready,” Namjoon's voice echoes through the quiet park as he takes Jimin's hand in his own.

“But what if we’re not?” Jimin asks, his eyes searching Namjoon's face for reassurance.

“Where is this doubt coming from? You’d be an amazing father, and we have wanted this for years. It’s all coming together; you’ve been at your school for several years, and I have the gallery. It feels like the stars are aligning for us,” Namjoon reassures, the warm summer breeze tousling their hair.

Jimin takes a deep breath and bobs his head a few times. “You’re right. It just feels like a lot all of a sudden.” He holds his hand up, stopping Namjoon from interrupting, “I know it’s not. This is our fourth anniversary after all, but after talking about it for so many years, it just feels…surreal.”

Namjoon gathers Jimin in his arms. “Love, every day feels surreal with you.” Leaning down, Namjoon captures Jimin’s lips with his. They stand there in the middle of the park, surrounded by nature and love.

As they make their way back to their home, a quaint house nestled in a quiet neighborhood, Jimin can't help but feel overwhelmed with happiness and anticipation. Time slips away as Jimin drives them home, their fingers intertwined and hearts full.

Their peaceful sanctuary greets them as they step through the door. The sunlight floods into the open floor plan through large floor-to-ceiling windows, illuminating the space and highlighting all of Namjoon's beloved plants.

Namjoon's restless fingers wander over Jimin’s form as they make their way through the shared space. A sense of peace settles around them as they enter their bedroom, a place where their love and connection run deep.

After weeks of waiting, they finally have a chance to sit down and discuss their family plans in detail. Their past conversations were merely wishes, but now it's becoming a tangible reality. Jimin plops a thick binder onto Namjoon's lap and snuggles beside him, the warmth of his body filling the space between them.

"What is this?" Namjoon grunts as he feels the weight of the binder on his thighs. The entire Encyclopedia Britannica?"

Jimin giggles and nuzzles closer to his husband. "You're so silly, honey. This is our family plan, or at least the start of it. We have a lot to go over."

Namjoon sets down his coffee and reaches for his camera, snapping a quick candid shot of Jimin before powering off the device. Jimin barely flinches, used to being photographed by now. Their walls are adorned with many such candid moments, and Jimin wouldn't have it any other way.

Pushing aside his amusement, Jimin delves into their discussion. He opens the binder and begins detailing their options.

Surrogacy or adoption?

They both agree on surrogacy.

They spend hours poring over Jimin's meticulously assembled profiles of potential surrogates. After much deliberation, they narrow it down to two women, but the conversation keeps going in circles as neither wants to back down. One woman, 32, is a kindergarten teacher and a mother of two; the other woman is a pediatrics nurse in her late thirties and the mother of one.

Frustrated, Jimin huffs and sighs dramatically before turning to face his handsome husband. "Listen," he says bluntly, "we're using your sperm this time. Let me make the final call."

The passion in Jimin's voice gives Namjoon pause, making him reconsider his stance. After some internal debate, he gives a small nod and concedes. "You're right," he admits, "we both deserve equal say in this process. I'm providing the biological material. You should have the right to choose the bio-mother."

Jimin's shoulders relax as some of the tension from their argument dissipates. "Thank you, honey," he says gratefully, crossing over to Namjoon and wrapping his arms around the taller man. “Let’s set up a meeting with this one,” Jimin decides, pointing to the kindergarten teacher.

Namjoon murmurs reassurances of his love as they hold each other tightly, unwilling to let go. After several minutes, they finally part, lips swollen from lingering kisses.

"Bed?" Jimin suggests with a mischievous glint in his eye.

"Mmm, bed," Namjoon agrees with a smile.

Jimin's voice trembles through the phone as he speaks with Namjoon, his tone shrill and panicked. The news he just received is enough to make anyone anxious.

"Can't you give me any more details?" Jimin asks, trying to control the fear building up inside of him.

"Please, my love, it would be best if you came in person," Namjoon responds calmly, hoping to ease his husband's nerves.

Jimin lets out a frustrated laugh. "Fine. I'll call in a substitute and be there as soon as possible."

Namjoon barely has time to convey his love before the line goes dead. He takes a deep breath, trying to convince himself that everything will be okay. Jimin must be scared and overwhelmed, he reasons, which explains why he ended the call without their usual exchange of affection.

Within an hour, Jimin rushes into Picture This, Namjoon's gallery that’s located in the bustling downtown area. "I'm here! I made it!" he exclaims, out of breath and disheveled.

Namjoon excuses himself from speaking with a detective and meets his husband halfway across the moderate space. The contrast between them is evident - Namjoon exudes calmness while Jimin is frazzled and restless, his brown locks sticking up in all directions from running his hands through them repeatedly.

When Jimin received the call from Namjoon about the break-in at his gallery, it felt like the ground had disappeared beneath his feet. His mind immediately went to worst-case scenarios, and all he could think about was the safety of his loved one. So when their bodies collide, Jimin can't help but run his hands over Namjoon's broad frame in reassurance. He knows Namjoon is physically unharmed but needs to feel it for himself. He couldn't imagine life without him.

"I'm fine, love. Really. I wasn't here when it happened," Namjoon reassures him.

Gradually, the words pierce through Jimin's foggy mind, and he collapses against Namjoon, resting his head on his chest. "I know. I know you are, but how about emotionally? This gallery is your pride and joy."

A pained smile tugs at Namjoon's lips as he responds, "I'm still processing, but it will be okay." He rubs Jimin's shoulders comfortingly. "Let me finish up with these detectives, and then we can go home and discuss our next steps." With a quick peck on the lips, Namjoon turns to face the tall and imposing detective, leaving Jimin to survey the damage left behind.

Covering his mouth with a hand, Jimin's heart breaks for Namjoon as he takes in the chaos and destruction caused by the robbers. Priceless prints have been slashed to pieces, glass shards litter the floor, and equipment has either been stolen or smashed on the newly polished concrete.

Jimin immediately sends a text to their friends, updating them on what has happened before Namjoon leads him out of the gallery. He runs a soothing hand over Namjoon's back as they make their way to their small SUV parked behind the building.

The drive back home is silent except for the sound of their soft exhales as Jimin navigates them through traffic. When they arrive, they both drop their keys on the entryway table and kick off their shoes before collapsing onto each other on the cozy sunken couch - a focal point of their living room.

“Love,” Namjoon whispers, his voice soft and soothing as his fingers trace patterns on Jimin's back.

“Honey,” Jimin responds, snuggling into their tangled embrace. “I don’t know where to even start…”

“It’s okay, love. I'm here for you,” Namjoon reassures him, reaching over to grab the laptop from the coffee table.

With a few expert clicks, Namjoon has the insurance claim page open and is logging in to start the process.

But then, Jimin suddenly goes still next to him. “Love, what is it?” Namjoon asks with concern.

Jimin's eyes are glued to the screen in front of them. “Why wasn't the policy renewed?” he says, his voice shaking. “It's saying right here that our coverage lapsed.” Panic rises in his chest. “This won't be covered...”

Namjoon's heart sinks as he leans closer to the computer screen, scanning the information. "Okay... this isn't ideal," he mutters to himself. "But that's why we have savings."

“Joon,” Jimin speaks up again, his voice small and vulnerable. “The savings are for our baby...”

Namjoon's stomach drops at the thought of not being able to access their savings for such an emergency. He immediately starts brainstorming alternative solutions. “Yes, of course. We can't touch that money. What if we ask your parents for help?”

But instead of relief or agreement, Jimin stiffens beside him. “That's not an option,” he says firmly, shutting down any further discussion.

Namjoon is taken aback by this sudden change in attitude from his usually open and communicative husband. Worried now, he furrows his brow and reaches out to rub circles on Jimin's back in an attempt to comfort him.

“Jimin, please talk to me,” he pleads softly.

Taking a deep breath, Jimin finally turns to face Namjoon. Tears are welling up in his eyes as he speaks. “My parents... they weren't supportive of our decision to adopt or use a surrogate.”

Namjoon's heart sinks as he listens to Jimin's words, trying to make sense of it all. “But I thought they were okay with us starting a family?”

The tears start rolling down Jimin's cheeks now, and he looks away, unable to meet Namjoon's gaze. “They said it was fine because they thought we would change our minds. And their exact words were, 'Realize how abnormal it would be for a child to have two fathers'."

Heat flushes across Namjoon’s skin as anger and hurt course through Namjoon as he processes this information. "How could they even say something like that? You know what? Screw them. We don't need their approval or their money. We'll figure this out together, just the two of us." He squeezes Jimin's hand tightly, determined to find a way to rebuild their gallery and make their dreams of having a family come true on their own terms.

Jimin holds onto Namjoon's hand tightly, feeling a mix of emotions swirling in his stomach. "It's not just about the money," he whispers softly. "I know we can make it work, but I don't want to sacrifice our happiness for it. We deserve to have a family and give them the best life possible." Tears well up in Jimin's eyes again, but he quickly wipes them away before they can fall.

"I'm sorry, love," he says, taking a deep breath to calm himself down. Namjoon pulls him close into his embrace, holding him tightly against his chest as they snuggle into the soft couch cushions. He runs a soothing hand through Jimin's hair and presses gentle kisses to his forehead.

"It's okay, baby," Namjoon murmurs, his voice filled with emotion. "We have time." He looks deep into Jimin's eyes, his gaze filled with unwavering determination. "And we will make it happen for us. For our family.”

At the park, Taehyung carefully sets down his takeout box and spreads out a soft, checkered blanket for them all to sit on. The gentle breeze rustles the leaves in the trees above, carrying with it the sweet scent of freshly mown grass and blooming flowers. Taehyung settles down next to Jin and picks up a pair of elegant chopsticks, twirling them between his fingers with practiced ease.

As Jin hands Taehyung a plate laden with fried chicken, kimchi jeon, and mandu, he asks, "Where are y'all in reopening the gallery?"

Namjoon nods along, watching Jin and Yoongi dish out the food onto their own plates.

"We actually finished yesterday and plan to fully reopen next week."

Hoseok does a little happy dance, clapping his hands together in excitement. "That's fantastic! Are we going to have a little celebratory party?"

"Of course!" Jin eagerly chimes in. "I can bring the champagne."

"And Yoongi can create a playlist-," Hoseok starts before being interrupted by Jimin.

"Whoa, let's slow down," Jimin interjects, holding up a hand to pause Hoseok's eager planning. "We're not going to do some extravagant shindig."

Taehyung scoffs playfully, "It's not an extravagant party. It's just a small to medium celebration, you know, with some string lights, light appetizers, champagne, and maybe some decorations."

Jimin's nostrils flare in frustration as he replies, "We don't have the time for that, okay? We are trying to save-" He pauses abruptly and sends Namjoon an imploring look.

Namjoon calmly rests a soothing hand on Jimin's knee and whispers, "It's okay. Go ahead and tell them."

Yoongi swallows his mouthful of chicken before asking curiously, "Tell us what?"

Jimin lets out a sigh and traces the back of Namjoon's hand before intertwining their fingers. "We don't have the time for that because Joonie and I are starting a family."

The chopsticks with a piece of kimchi jeon clatter out of Taehyung's hand as his eyes widen at the unexpected announcement. Jin acts quickly and snags Taehyung's plate just in time before he launches himself at Jimin in excitement.

Yoongi winces at Taehyung's high-pitched squeal.

"Really? Why didn't you tell me?" Taehyung blurts out in a rush, wrapping himself tightly around Jimin.

Jimin rubs Taehyung's back soothingly before attempting to untangle their limbs gently.

"Tae, let him breathe," Namjoon urges with a small smile.

Taehyung gives one last squeeze before pulling back. "Sorry, I'm just so happy for you and Jiminie."

Jimin smiles fondly. "I know, Tae. We didn't say anything because the incident at the gallery kind of delayed things. We had to use the money we set aside for the surrogacy process to fix what was destroyed."

Their friends exchange concerned looks before turning back to them. "What happened?" Yoongi asks with furrowed brows.

Namjoon's head dips down slightly as he replies, "The insurance policy on the gallery had lapsed. So we ended up having to cover the damages and repairs out of our own pockets." He squeezes Jimin's hand supportively before continuing, "We had actually decided on our anniversary to start the process, but we had to shift our plans due to unforeseen expenses. Now we're ready to get back on track."

Jimin nods in agreement. "It wasn't the ideal situation, especially since we had been saving for years for this moment. But we made it work - I started tutoring kids after school let out, and Namjoon took on more commissions. And now, here we are, meeting with an agency on Monday."

Tae lets out a small whimper of distress. "Why didn't you come to us? We could have helped you."

Jimin reaches out to his soulmate, softly cupping his cheek. "Oh, my sweet Tae. I guess we just didn't want to burden you."

A loud, caustic guffaw suddenly interrupts their conversation, drawing their attention across the small circle. Jin sits there looking outraged. "How dare you keep something like this from us!"

Both Jimin and Namjoon are taken aback at Jin's sudden shift in tone, his voice now laced with heat and frustration. They can feel the tension rising in the room as he continues to speak.

"Do you honestly believe that anything you could ask of us would ever be considered a burden?" Jin's voice softens, his eyes searching theirs for understanding, "We care about both of you so deeply. None of us would ever see you as a burden."

Jimin's eyes start to well up with tears, knowing deep down that Jin's words are rational and true. He lets out a shaky breath before speaking, "I know that logically, but..." Namjoon places a comforting hand on Jimin's back as he struggles to find the words.

"We didn't want to impose or be seen as some charity case," Namjoon finally speaks, voicing their shared fear.

Jin growls in frustration, "How could you even think that? We love you two. You've become family to each other, and we only want to help you expand your family further." He crosses his arms over his chest in exasperation. "The nerve of not coming to us right away."

Yoongi nods in agreement, "Jin is right, Jimin-ah. We're here for you always. And personally, I would be honored to be a part of the process."

Namjoon glances at Jimin, who's nervously worrying his lower lip, both of them feeling properly admonished by Jin's words. "You're right. We would love your support as we navigate this journey."

Jin straightens up with a roll of his eyes. "Well, duh. That's what family is for."

The morning of their meeting with the surrogacy agency arrives. Jimin wakes up to the faint smell of freshly brewed coffee and the sweet sound of birds chirping outside his bedroom window. His heart is already pounding in his chest as he pads into the kitchen, still in his pajamas, to find Namjoon pouring himself a cup. They exchange tired smiles but don't say anything as they both sip their coffee in silence, lost in their own thoughts. After a few minutes, Namjoon gently places his hand on top of Jimin's, stopping him from fidgeting with his mug. Their fingers lace together, and they squeeze lightly before Namjoon pulls him into a warm hug from behind.

Jimin leans into it gratefully, feeling Namjoon's heartbeat steady beneath his ear. He closes his eyes, basking in his partner's comfort—a mix of soap, coffee, and warm skin. He can almost feel the palpable distress emanating from Namjoon as he kisses the top of Jimin's head softly.

"Hey," he whispers, "it's going to be okay." Namjoon’s lips brush the shell of Jimin’s ear before pressing another kiss just underneath it.

He continues to trail kisses down the smaller man’s neck, nudging the collar of his sleep shirt aside to maintain contact. A shiver racks up Jimin’s spine as his head lolls to the side, leaning even further into his husband’s hold. A hum resonates through Jimin’s chest as thick fingers settle on his hips before pushing under the large sleep shirt to trail up his chest.

“Need a distraction?” Namjoon’s voice is huskily in his ear, sending goosebumps down Jimin’s spine.

Jimin whimpers, shivering in anticipation, “Namjoon,” he protests weakly. “We have to leave soon.” He can’t help the way his hips roll back a little into Namjoon, seeking more.

Namjoon chuckles in response, trailing his lips back up to Jimin’s ear and sucking gently on the lobe. Jimin moans, his eyes sliding shut as his hand comes up to grip the counter for support. “We have time.” Namjoon presses a lingering kiss to Jimin’s neck before spinning the smaller man around to face him. Pressing their foreheads together as they both catch their breaths, their heartbeats syncing.

Jimin opens his eyes to find Namjoon staring at him with so much love and affection it takes his breath away. “I love you,” he whispers, his voice thick with adoration.

Surging forward together, their lips connect. Jimin’s arms wind around his love’s shoulders, pulling their bodies flush together. The kitchen fills with the sound of their lips smacking together as Namjoon backs Jimin into the counter. His hands slide down to cup Jimin’s ass, giving it a squeeze.

Jimin gasps, opening up to Namjoon, their tongues twisting together. Moaning as Namjoon’s hands cup the back of Jimin’s thighs and lift him onto the countertop. Their mouths move seamlessly together.

Namjoon angles his hips so their erections grind together. Jimin whines into the kiss, gripping Namjoon’s shoulders desperately as he grinds down on his husband’s hard length. Namjoon moans, clutching at Jimin’s thighs, his control rapidly slipping.

Jimin’s fingers start pulling at Namjoon’s shirt, tugging it up and off of him. Namjoon breaks the kiss slightly, panting as he helps Jimin undress him. Their lips part and come back together repeatedly as they discard their clothes, pooling them on the floor with a carelessness they usually don’t have in the morning.

Namjoon lifts Jimin again, setting him back on the countertop, legs hanging over his forearms. A devious glint in his eyes as he presses their hard lengths together, grinding against each other.

“Joonie,” Jimin whines, biting his lip as their friction increases. His nails dig into the countertop as he is teased.

Namjoon pulls back just enough to look into Jimin’s eyes before grasping his chin and bringing their lips together again. Their tongues tangle in a slow-burning dance that is further stoked by their desperation for release. Both moan into the kiss as they rock together on the countertop, pants and groans filling the kitchen.

“Baby,” Jimin whines, “I need more…please.”

With his voice rumbling out, dripping with desire for the man in his arms, Namjoon pulls away a little, reaching for a drawer by the sink. He hushes Jimin gently as the other man whimpers at the loss of touch. Namjoon quickly steps back into Jimin’s arms with one of the small bottles of lube they keep stashed around their home.

Their lips collide once again, urgency and passion fueling their kiss. Namjoon's fingers grasp the lube bottle, uncapping it with a heated determination before coating his fingertips in the slick substance. Without breaking the kiss, he trails his lubed-up fingers between Jimin's spread legs, causing him to moan and suck on Namjoon's thick lower lip even harder.

Namjoon works a finger with skilled precision inside Jimin, who arches his back and keens in pleasure. Jimin can't help but nip at Namjoon's lip before leaning back on his hands and watching intently as Namjoon expertly stretches him open. Soon, Jimin is laid out on the counter, writhing and moaning uncontrollably as Namjoon drives three fingers deep inside him, sending waves of ecstasy coursing through his body.

Namjoon's fingers dig deep into Jimin's flesh, eliciting waves of pleasure as he hits that spot inside him. With a final powerful thrust, Namjoon pulls away, leaving Jimin whining in desperate need of more. In a frenzy, Namjoon slicks up his throbbing cock and drags Jimin upright, kissing him deeply.

As their lips collide, Namjoon guides Jimin's hands to grip him tightly as he spreads his legs wide. With a primal growl, Namjoon enters Jimin with force, watching in awe as his husband’s thick cock stretches his tight hole to its limits. Sweat glistens on their foreheads as they both pant heavily from the intense pleasure coursing through their bodies.

With one of Jimin's legs hooked over his strong arm and the other draped across his firm hip, Namjoon thrusts into him with purpose and force. Jimin's body responds eagerly, aching for more of Namjoon's skilled touch. He clings onto his lover, his fingers digging into his back as each powerful thrust hits him in just the right spot. Jimin can feel himself teetering on the edge, his entire body quivering with anticipation.

"Do you think you can come untouched for me?" Namjoon's deep, raspy voice sends shivers down Jimin's spine, intensifying the pleasure he's already feeling. "Show me how much you want it, baby. Come just like this."

With Namjoon's words urging him on, Jimin lets go and gives in to the intense pleasure building inside of him. His body trembles and quakes as he reaches his peak, unable to hold back any longer under Namjoon's skilled touch. Their bodies move together in perfect harmony, reaching new heights of ecstasy together.

Namjoon's fingers dig into Jimin's skin, leaving red marks in their wake as he yanks him closer. Their bodies collide with a force that sends them both tumbling over the edge, cries of pleasure escaping their lips as they reach their peak together. Jimin trembles with each thrust of Namjoon's cock, his insides filled with a thick heat that spreads through his body. Their chests coated with evidence of Jimin’s desire. The sensation is overwhelming, waves of pleasure crashing over him as he surrenders to the intense pleasure of their love-making.

Breathless and entwined, they take a moment to catch their breath before reality comes crashing back. "We're going to be late," pants Jimin, his chest heaving as he speaks.

Namjoon's hand rubs soothingly along Jimin's hip, the sensation calming him as their lips meet in a final rush of pleasure. With a soft groan, Namjoon pulls out of Jimin, both men feeling sticky and satisfied. Helping Jimin down from the counter, Namjoon rushes him off to the shower, eager to wash away any traces of their passionate encounter.

Returning to the kitchen, Namjoon quickly cleans up their mess with practiced efficiency. Several minutes later, the kitchen is sanitized, and Namjoon joins Jimin in the shower. He takes over washing his husband's body, reveling in their intimate closeness. A gentle smile graces his lips as Jimin returns the favor.

After a thorough cleansing and refreshing shower, the couple steps out of the steamy bathroom to dress for their looming life-changing meeting. The air feels charged with anticipation as they prepare for what lies ahead.

"Ready?" Namjoon asks, extending his hand to Jimin. A smile lights up his face, radiating warmth and assurance.

Jimin’s heart flutters at the sight, and he gladly takes Namjoon's offered hand, intertwining their fingers comfortably. "Ready as I'll ever be. Let's do this, husband."

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