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minted (explicit) | myg

title: minted (explicit) pairing: street king!yoongi x street cart vendor!reader rating/genre: explicit (18+) ; angst , suspense , smut ; haegeum au , gang au summary: all you do is wake up, sell your fruit on the dusty streets below your flat, and go to sleep. but everything changes when a customer you always look forward to seeing turns out to be dangerous. really, really dangerous. note: again, this wasn't on the docket for 2024 until i saw one (1) mint yoongi edit on my pinterest feed💀 anyways, this is dedicated to hali @sailoryooons for ur belated bday, nary @joonary for being a cutie pie and letting me adopt the tangerine cart girl idea in general, and luce @minttangerines for ur url and for being a wonderful friend. love you all! warnings: this series may not be for everyone, language, violence, weapons (guns/knives/chopsticks/etc.), blood/wounds mentions, drugs, alcohol, murder, gang activity, poor reader is just trying to get through the day, mint!yoongi, haegeum!yoongi, tatted!yoongi, his eyebrow is pierced, tension, slow burn, choking, reader suffers from “my cabbages” levels of disaster, slight e2l, fight sequences, multiple future explicit scenes, yoongi deserves his own warning, chains but who is ever ever shocked, graphic depictions of violence drop date: august 5th, 2024, 9:03pm est word count: 9.4k aiyaaa✌ mood playlist: here

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Ever since you could remember, gang activity in your town has run unchecked. 

Anything goes. Rough fights out of nowhere, car chases busting streets, or even random delinquents snatching food on the run, dust kicking up onto stock they left behind. 

And out of all the districts, yours is begrudgingly the second worst. 

Why? You still aren’t completely sure. But you do know that the darkest is reserved for the underbelly that only slithers in rumors. A place in which you will never find yourself. 

But you do wonder what must happen there to warrant the winning title because each day here is a battle to keep yourself afloat. 

All you do is sell fruit. Why are you fighting for your life every week? Why can’t you exchange goods for money in peace? If you could compare it to the movies you grew up watching on an outdated television, it’s a grungy reflection of the wild west.

But through all the shit you’ve chosen to endure, at least one person is always kind enough to buy his wares and go.

And today is no different.

You still don’t know his name. But you yearn to. Because his hair is the color of magic and rebellion, and his tattoos really set off that bright mop of locks. 

If those lethal, piercing eyes weren’t enough.

When he lifts three long digits, it takes all your strength to nod and get his purchase together. This is the part that never changes, either.

Just like always. One, three, or five fingers for tangerines. Never two, never four, and never any other fruits. 

It’s charming, in a way. As if he’s more particular than most about what he wants—a trait elusive to many.

Like clockwork, you would hand his order over in thin plastic, and he would walk away to hitch a ride on a passing cart. Just like he does right now with a lazy gait, white tee billowing from his jeans. 

Another day. Another exchange.

In the wavy heat of summer, you sigh. Wondering if anything is ever going to change, and if you would ever get to know more about your most frequent, most mysterious patron.

After a while, you do try talking to him. 

Those looks of confusion slowly turn into little hums or grunts, then into single words that keep you going for days. Even though you rarely hear it, his voice is just as attractive as he is. 

One day, you offer him a plantain, handing it over and telling him it’s on the house. 

“Thanks,” he says amongst the clinks and conversations of the street, pocketing the food away. 

When he does, you see a flash of black metal, and you already know what he’s carrying. You’re used to seeing all sorts of those around nowadays. In this district, you’d be shocked if he didn’t have an arsenal on his person while traveling through.

Besides. Even you have a couple collecting dust in your own flat, handed down by extended family but never used.

“If you ever need anything other than tangerines,” you start with a point to his pants, “Please buy those instead.” 

He’s unmoving. Blinks are all you get so you have no choice but to explain,

“I’m so tired of eating them with everything.” 

When he huffs in amusement, your heart flutters thrice. There’s no reason for a sheen of sweat and sticky mint locks to be so deadly. 

“Then eat something else,” is all the stranger advises before walking off. 

Well.

Even though you don’t have much of a choice, the guy does have a point. You wouldn’t be shocked in the slightest if his aim’s just as straightforward as his wit.

Once one exchange lasts longer than a sentence, the two of you start little conversations during his visits. Which prove more fatal than normal since he’d rest his tattoos on the top shelf of your cart. 

From what you can make out, there are creatures stretching in beautiful teal and vivid orange, and even striking white on his other arm. They ripple so well with his veins, a canvas that sways and hypnotizes with every drum of his fingers. 

You know what they symbolize, though it’s unique to have all of them together. 

Taboo, even. 

But you can’t hold back your admiration because of the sheer beauty. What would they feel like if you just… 

“You always stare this long?”

Shit. “Oh, sorry. I just… I rarely see anyone’s ink up close.”

To your dismay, he takes his arm back. “I don’t have a lot of time today, princess.”

“Right, sorry. Hold on,” you respond, cringing hard at blurting two apologies in a ten second span. 

Meanwhile, your way too handsome regular cocks a brow, clearly comfortable making you squirm as you hand over his bag. 

Effortless. In your chaotic life, It’s almost intoxicating feeling someone this resolute in their whole demeanor. If only you could be so commanding and assured one day. 

But here you stand instead, pretending to count fruit you one hundred percent know the stock of already. “Your art is really nice, by the way,” you admit to your inventory. “All the high-powers. I like what you picked.”

“Didn’t choose these.”

Ah. Way to assume things. 

Raising your head, you make to apologize a third time.

But he’s already retreating with his tangerines, hand stuffed in a pocket and beautiful waves a little less vibrant than you recall. 

“What.” 

“I worry sometimes.” 

His gaze lifts. “About me?” 

“Yeah.” 

You don’t know why you choose to say that of all things. But it’s honest. You always wonder about him and think about the weapon in his jeans. Does he use it? Does he ever need to? 

Maybe you should pick up a hobby or two.

Fingers resting dangerously close, he asks with a tilt of his head, “What would you do, doll? If something happened to someone like me.” 

Someone like him? What does that mean? 

Great. Now you have even more to wonder about, as if he knew that was your exact predicament.

You stare, roaming along his arms before meeting his eyes—almost. “Find someone else to buy my tangerines.” 

Huffing, his brows tick up with his mouth. “I respect that.” His attention doesn’t leave your face as he slowly takes his purchase. “See ya.” 

“Bye,” you whisper back, watching him go. More thoughts and concerns bouncing around your mind in the sticky heat of midday. 

These little nicknames he’s using also aren’t helping your issue in the slightest. 

It starts when you hear shouting from a block down.

“Here they come!”

“Bunch of idiots this time.”

“What do you mean this time?”

Rough raiders this early? They should know it’s almost time for Dragon’s sweep. Bold.

After you hear the telltale yells, clanks, and bangs, your section of the street braces for impact. 

And it swoops in like a whirlwind, ruffians tearing through, pillaging and stealing and swiping goods into thick woven baskets. 

Baskets? The usual suspects always carry leather bags. You assume because of their sturdiness and inconspicuous nature, but what do you really know.

Here it goes again. 

As your fruit is taken right from your cart, you sink to your toes, mourning the regular loss of your menu.

No use fighting. Like every other time, you all let it happen because there’s no point in trying to protect anything that isn’t valuable. Perishables and small homemade goods aren’t worth getting gutted over. Truly, the worst losses you suffer are when—

Your cart shifts violently before thieves topple it over, cracking one of your wheels and splitting the wooden boards in three places.

Springing to your feet, you douse the perpetrators in anger, “What the hell!”

“Oh, this was yours?” Someone chides while his cronies run past. “Thanks for the oranges, love!”

“They’re tangerines!” you correct at his retreating back, kicking your cart before yelping at your bad decision. “Damn it…”

Back to your knees you go. Head drooping, arms encircling, and disappointment pooling around like a shadow.

More shouts and feet in the road rampage through. Then it gets quieter. And quieter. 

Then it’s done.

After silence swells in the wake of chaos, groans start making their way down the street. 

“What’d they get from you this time,” you ask your neighbor, a charming old man selling anything from bowls to wide, round frying pans. 

Looking over his little wreckage, he blinks hard. “They got my woks. Nothing as bad as yours. You okay?” 

Walking over to help clean his mess up first, you bend down with a sigh, “I’ll be alright. But it still sucks.. My poor tangerines..” 

“I’m sorry.” 

“Not much to do about it now,” you resign, all your energy taken from you, too. 

A little bit of time passes as you complete your usual round of help, though this raid was worse than others. As they all give their thanks, you keep thinking about how to make the whole situation better. Moreso for them than you because you’ve always been one of the least vulnerable ones on the block.

“You should find another place to sell, dear.” 

In disagreement, you slip into a saddened smile. “I can’t leave you guys,” you explain to the lady you’re holding pails for. “Who will help clean everything up?” 

“Don’t underestimate your elders now.” 

“Fair,” you respond through a chuckle, handing her one of the metal buckets. “If only better protection was an option around here.”

“You know the rules,” another shop owner drones through lingering spices, “Dragon won’t protect us if it isn’t in their own interests.” 

Unfortunately, he’s right. Every single raid that hasn’t coincided with a gang sweep goes overlooked. Even the city police don't bother coming down your street anymore, which is another issue in itself.

If only Tiger or Crane had been the high-powers in place instead. 

At least they seem to be more fair.

After you finish helping, you finally venture back to your own cart, realizing that the trek is a lot further than you thought. 

Did you really walk so far this time? The damage was dealt for much more than a block at this point. 

Not like you need to sprint back, though. What’s left to steal? Everything you got swept into those woven containers.

Still so odd…

But not as odd as the sight that greets you on your return. 

Because instead of seeing your wreckage of a cart tilted and abysmal, it’s upright and being mended.

By none other than your favorite set of hands.  

What the hell? What’s he doing here? You quite literally have nothing to give so there’s no reason for him to spare a second at your broken stand. 

Fast-walking, you hastily try to halt his help, “Oh, shit, you don’t have to—” 

“Course I don’t.” 

That shuts you up. In your split second of silence, you note with agony that his hair is messily tied in a minted bun. Are his sleeves bunched at his biceps, too? Great. What were you even telling him again? 

Ah, yes. You were telling this mystery of a man that he doesn’t have to literally put your stand back together. “Seriously, I got it.” 

“Don’t sweat it.” 

“But it’s my cart, I don’t need your—”

With one look over his shoulder, your mouth snaps shut. And suddenly can’t move to argue again. 

What the hell is up with today? 

Forget all that. What’s he doing? At least you’re familiar with all the shop owners and vendors on your block, though you can’t say you wouldn’t do the same thing for someone you don’t know. But this guy has always been so standoffish and barely approachable. So how is he lending both hands to help you right now? 

Whatever. If he’s gonna be as stubborn as this heat, you can be, too. 

Scanning the area for scattered tools, you find a sun-warmed hammer and get to work, fixing one end of the cart while he works on the other. When you feel his gaze on your working shoulder, it takes massive strength to ignore him—even if you wanna know what his issue is and why he smells really, really good this afternoon.

Looks like you need more nails for this board to fit. When your eyes find a couple on the ground, you clinch a second piece between your teeth while hammering in the first. 

Sounds stop at your side, but you wait until you pluck the metal nail from your mouth and stamp it in to look over.

Oh. He’s eyeing the hammer. Not you. Obviously. 

You wordlessly hand it over, arm slicked with exertion. Because after the day you’ve had, you don’t feel like everything needs a spoken sentence attached. 

It takes the guy a bit to take it from you, but when he does, he holds your stare. “Thanks.” 

You simply nod, eyes sticking to him as he works on the tattier side wait it looks almost new. Better than it has in a very long time. Did he really get that much done in the time you were gone? There’s been great care taken during his repair if that’s the case.  

Hmm. You finally learn something about your favorite customer. Maybe he’s just been a mechanic or carpenter this whole time? 

Contemplative, you get up on sore legs to walk to your cooler—something thankfully missed by the rough raiders. Digging through the clinkage, you retrieve a local beer you recently procured from the restaurant across the street. 

It’s not much. Absolute bottom shelf. But it’s all you got other than a few pieces of oni-coin, so he’s gonna have to deal with it.

When you offer the glass, your regular eyes it for a moment. More than enough time for you to get a good look at his striking floral top.

Well. Mechanic and carpenter are out of the question because that one piece of clothing looks more expensive than your entire apartment building.

Who even is this guy? Now you feel destitute handing him something so cheap.

Just when you think he’s gonna refuse, he takes the beer and smoothly shucks it open, suddenly making you wonder how a bracelet can do that and why it was so attractive.

God. You need to walk straight to the nearest inlet stream and dunk your head right in.

“Thank you,” you whisper, gulping at his full swigs. “You really didn’t have to do all this.” 

“Got some time to kill,” he shrugs. Standing, the man takes another sip, peering along the street with sunlit eyes. With the bottle near his mouth, he murmurs, “You really need to set up somewhere else, doll. This street’s turning into a hot spot.” 

Squinting up at the long lines of clothes and curtains floating in the breeze, you sigh at the building nearest. “I live close,” you sulk. “And this is the easiest place to get to.” 

Those are excuses. Just tell him the real reason you won’t venture out and plop yourself somewhere more profitable. Well, maybe not all of the reasons, but the main one. 

Leaning back on your cart, you stare at the loose dirt, swiping some with your shoes. “Maybe I’m just used to it at this point.” 

He won’t respond. Or he’ll respond in his own way, which is mostly silence. 

But a bright strand falls over his face before he hums, “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” 

Many people have warned you at this point. It’s basically your stubborn and spiteful nature that’s making you stay in the first place. Why would you move when you chose to be here? Why leave a place you actively choose to call home? 

Fighting spirit quelled, you nod right to your stand as you count what’s salvageable. “I know, but I like it here.” When he lifts an unbelieving brow, you look away. “It’s true. But trust me, if there was a way to just make it all stop, I’d take it.” 

He takes another swig, both of you looking into the street and watching things slowly get back to normal pace. Adults and kids alike are back to wandering around, buying what’s left and offering condolences. 

“I’m not fixing another cart,” your patron turned repairman grunts, motioning to your wheel as he steps back. “So don’t fuck this one up.” 

Huh? It wasn’t your fault! All the accidents and chaos that blow through aren’t something you can control oh he’s grinning. Why is he grinning? Why do you feel hot all over? 

His teeth shine in daylight. “I’m messing with you.” 

Ah. 

This version of him is not good for you at all.

When he starts to walk away, you blurt out a quick, “Wait!” 

Shit! Why did you do that? What are you possibly supposed to say right now? All you wanted was to see him a little longer… And while staring at his backside would be more than enough, you kinda wanted to actually talk. 

What do you do? He stopped; he’s waiting. 

And he looks impatient as hell. 

Snapping into action, you round your cart and trot over, offering your name as if you didn’t just give up where you lived. 

Then—without thinking—you ask for his with the most curious, innocent, “What’s yours?” 

Silence has never been so booming.

In the dusty swirls of your street, you wait with a back that’s getting sweatier and colder with each passing second. 

Was that not okay to ask? Did you fuck up with a single question? 

Perfect. You just blew your one good thing about being out here. Wincing, you crush your words so hard you think your teeth will break into dust, drifting off into the very breeze wafting his striking locks. 

After a condescending puff, he only smirks.

Then he takes one step. And another. And another.

The air around you melts, weighing on your shoulders while lighting them aflame all at once. It’s a feeling you can’t describe to anyone else, because they would just need to stand next to this man to believe it. 

Checking to see if the street is clear, your best customer leans over. Slowly. Purposefully. “Yoongi,” he offers with a voice so handsome you’ll think about it for days. “But don’t fucking tell anyone.” 

Oh. 

Why did… you kinda like that? 

Blinking, you swallow. “I won’t.” 

This is when he’s supposed to just leave. He’d walk away, bag swinging with his strides. But ever keeping you on your sore toes, the man just chuckles low before rasping out the most devilish sentence in existence, 

“Always took you for a good girl.”

Then he backs away, turning on his heel and leaving you a statue in the street.

Yoongi. 

For a hardened soul, his name is so… 

Tender. 

For the next sixty days, you don’t get ransacked once. 

But there’s also been no sight of Yoongi. 

As the weeks trudge by, you can’t decide which outcome is worse.

The skies are magnificent today. But obviously at a molten price.

“Thank you for trying,” you say to a lovely wares owner before venturing back out into simmering streets. Exhaling, you wipe sweat from your brow, squinting before choosing to walk left or right. 

Left seems promising. 

You’ve been searching for hours now, perusing through shops, checking out vendors both nice and catty. But after a whole day’s search, you still haven’t found what you’re looking for. 

It’s nothing urgent or pressing. But you would at least like to be prepared. 

Since your initial mission is a bust, hopefully your next one makes up for it before you melt right into gravel and dirt.

Find a meal.

Walking along the busy roads, you pass a few options and keep them in mind, making sure to greet a fellow tangerine cart vendor with a smile. Hopefully they do well today.

A couple steps further, a giant cooler catches your eye. Seafood of all types lie inside along cubes of ice, and you weigh the pros and cons of smelling like fish just to have a cool head.

But before you can make any choices, the smell of spices and hearty soup softly pull your feet inside the restaurant nearby. 

What’s here? Noodles? You’re always down for that. Apparently even in scorching weather.

After ordering, you take your seat at a random middle table in a chair facing the entrance. 

Always facing the entrance.

Damn. You really need to accomplish what you set out to do. But sunset is fast approaching these days, and you aren’t anywhere close to home. All you have time for now is eating and heading out. 

The service here is quick, at least. You’re already thanking the owner for sliding a bowl in front of your sweaty form. 

With a head full of thoughts, you stare into nothing, stirring your noodles and waiting for the heat to die down. 

Maybe you should’ve just walked a shorter distance and checked the shops you originally wanted to browse. If things went to plan, you could’ve been back by now, freshly showered and curling up on a worn down bed. 

But instead, your feet are sore, your head is anything but washed, and you have to trek home empty-handed—on the first day off you’ve had in months. 

Defeated, you sigh, going back to your bowl and watching sliced vegetables swirl in aromatic broth. 

At least the food in this area seems good. And the fading decor really adds to the… 

Ambiance. 

Wait. 

Dragons. A lot of them. 

You can’t pull your eyes away from the crew walking in, bringing heat from the sweltering sun in their eyes and donning their telltale, striking teal. 

But you can only kid yourself for so long because the one that truly has your gaze tethered is the man in front. The one you haven’t seen in weeks. The one looking right back at you with a visage so shadowed you feel like moving tables to let him pass. 

…Yoongi? 

His jacket. The colors.

He’s in Dragon?

Suddenly his hair makes terrifying sense.

As his guys stalk through, you swallow hard, not expecting to see him and having no earthly idea what to do with this harrowing information. There are so many thoughts overlapping each other that they all amalgamate into one huge batch of sludge. 

Aren’t you smack dab in Crane territory? There’ve been white suits peppering the streets everywhere. 

So what the hell is Dragon doing here?

From the slight confusion pinching his forehead, you know Yoongi didn’t expect to see you, either. Which makes it even weirder when he slowly takes your chopsticks right from your fingers. 

Hold on, what—

“What are you—”

A lone, long digit over lips is the only response you get, silencing you immediately before you whip your head around to watch him rush past. 

All of them waste no time tearing up the stairs, a myriad of blues blending with gritty paint and smoke. 

And just like that, your reunion is over. 

Home. You need to go home. Leave, leave, leave, because something is bound to be going down upstai—

A thud faintly shoots out into the staircase, and you spin around again in your chair, eyes snapping to the ceiling. 

Shit. 

Even though you’re on high alert, you realize with a quick sweep that no one else is noticing. Or moving. Or even paying attention to anything else but their own company. 

Does no one else care about the commotion? Do hits happen in this area that often? 

Mind running, you can’t decide what to do. Because even though Yoongi’s guys have plenty of weapons, he clearly had nothing since he needed to borrow your damn eating utensils.

Another crash rains dust on conversations around your shoulders, causing you to look up one last time. 

Go home, go home, go home. In what universe would Yoongi himself ever need your help here? 

With one more look at your noodles, you curl your lips before biting a side. 

Already yelling at yourself for choosing to book it towards the back staircase. 

Shit shit shit this is so stupid. This is probably the worst decision you’re gonna make in your life.

But your gut is churning thinking about Yoongi. Even a seasoned swordsman needs expertise to wield mere chopsticks and win. 

Fuck, if you succeeded in your search today, you probably could’ve been a little more useful. 

Swiping your own set of red from a nearby cup, you hightail it up, slowing as you round a corner and immediately hear multiple clangs and scuffles beyond the last turn.

Stop. You can go back. You can still turn around and go home.

An inhale.

Your feet propel you up and into a dark hall. As you slowly slide along the wall, your gut churns and churns. At a bang, you crouch with a skipped beat of your heart.

This is really, really dumb. But you can’t stop yourself and you have no clue why.

Nothing happens around you. So you keep going. With each careful slide of your foot, you get closer and closer to the noise.

Approaching the corner, you very slowly stick your head out for a peek.

And it’s pure commotion. Pure chaos. Holy shit, what is going on? 

Fuck, there’s already a body lying limp on the floor meters away—

Your chopsticks. You wanna hurl.

But a man flies out of a room ahead before he grips and wrestles with another, and you reel yourself back to avoid being seen by either one.

Where is Yoongi? Is he okay? Did he leave already?

You give one more peek, scanning the long raucous corridor as swift as you can to see any sign of.. Mint.

He’s still here. How’s he just walking so nonchalant as his crew fucks shit up? Crap, he just went into a room and out of sight. 

“Where’d they go?”

“Upstairs!”

Fuck, that was in the restaurant! Get up get up you have no choice but to hide now. 

With pounding steps, you rush forward and book it, entering a large room to dive behind some steel shelving and large, woven baskets right as more Dragons come in behind with fists clenched.

Breathe. Steady. Calm the fuck down.

The grunts rush to the hallway to join the fray, and you wait in the now pungent solitude of your room. With only a still body to accompany you. 

What do you do? What even can you do? 

Just as nerves grip your stomach like a vice, Yoongi strides into the open area, heading right for the exit and not even sparing his kill a glance. 

Go. Go now. Why can’t you move? Why aren’t your hands letting go of your cold confinement? It smells like death and blood and you need to leave with the only person you know—or don’t—so why can’t your feet just fucking—

Someone else slithers into the room. A man in brown with a knife. A knife, a knife, a knife he’s getting faster and Yoongi doesn’t hear him the guy is too quiet fuck! “Yoongi!” 

It all happens before your brain can paint the bloody picture. Shooting out from your hiding spot, you race towards the assassin, slamming into their lanky build just in time.  

Both of you topple to the ground, your target roaring in pain and twisting like hell to fight back fuck you didn’t get him how you needed to he’s got you—

Pain erupts in your hip as you’re grabbed, the room spinning as you’re thrown to the side and your ear hitting concrete right before chopsticks ping down. Thinking quick, you knee the guy as hard as you can, scrambling to finish the job because if you don’t, you’re gone gone gone.

“Bitch!” Your opponent clutches your shirt right as you reach for the nearest red pair, seizing your throat right as you grip and swing them around to stab the other side of his neck with a yell.

Luckiest timing of your life. 

“Hng!” Fuck, he’s still holding down hard and choking, choking, squeezing. “Fuck you!” 

Fight back. Keep the weapon inside he’s too strong finish him finish him. 

Darkness. Ink drops in water. Your vision taints as your grip loosens, and you can only hope that Yoongi got away safe. He had to. At least you… Were able to do… 

This one thing… 

…

Oxygen and life rush back into your lungs, color burning through your esophagus as you gasp for sweet sweet air. Right as you come to, all you witness is the heavy heel of a boot twisting the forearm latched onto you. 

And when the shoe leaves your vision. Lifeless eyes stare back.

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck that was close. Oh god. You actually did it. Oh fuck. 

Coughing, you rush up as you get tugged and pulled right against chains and embroidery, your ears ringing with a gravelly command and glass breaking in the nearby corridor,

“Don’t say my fuckin’ name so loud.” 

“Excuse me?” 

Yoongi roughly lets you go before pinning you with pure anger. Not to say thank you. Not to tell you any words of gratitude at all. The only other thing he finds the need to say is simply, 

“You shouldn’t be up here.” 

What the fuck. You just murdered someone for him and this is all you get? Eyes welling, you feel your body slick and sticky with crimson when you turn, coughing and spitting out regret before you wheeze, wheeze, wheeze, “That’s—that’s all you have to say?” 

Dread swirls around your stomach like poison.

But the sternness from before completely vanishes as Yoongi lifts your chin. His eyes scan your throat and chest, and you rip your head away from his touch because he is not excused just yet. 

“It’s not mine,” you snap, knowing exactly what he’s looking for and what you must look like to him. Dirty. Gross. Certainly a far image from the girl selling tangerines.

But your face is gently held again, and somehow this softer turn carries more strength to swivel you forward. 

Why is Yoongi still looking? Now he’s holding your gaze as if he’s never seen you before. What’s that about? You’re still the same, the same, the same.

…Are you?

More crashes and shots are heard down the hall, and Yoongi snaps his head up in an instant. 

God, you smell. You reek. Your nose is tainted and your hands even more so. There’s no way he’s gonna have anything to do with you now. 

But you get the shock of the century when the man commands you to come along. “Let’s go.” 

Absolutely not. This is all you got in you for a lifetime. “What? No, no, no. No way, I’m going home.”

“And they’ll follow you the whole way back.” 

“I—I didn’t mean to—” 

Shots ring out before grunts barrel out into the short hallway. All of them piling out from crevasses and hidden passages. 

You give one more look at the two men now crumpled on the ground, bile rising up and threatening to spill. 

“Tough shit, princess. You did, now live with it.” 

Live with it. How poetic. 

You were protecting him. You did what you had to do. But you have blood on your hands again and now Yoongi will see you as something else besides a fucking street vendor. 

“Are you coming or not?”

You’re gonna puke your guts out.

With a stilted cry, you bend to snatch your weapons up yet again—gagging at the squelches and much deeper red—before following Yoongi’s long steps. 

Your hands. They’re shaking so bad you can’t even pocket the chopsticks properly. But you finally get them down, crushing your palms and squeezing just to stop them from rattling. 

When you wait behind Yoongi checking the corner, you turn around to make sure you aren’t being followed. And seeing the hallway still a moving mass of broken glass and hard swings, you think you’re safe. 

The stairs feel so different on the way down. Is that because you feel completely changed? There’s no coming back from this. Another side of you died right alongside those two people upstairs. 

No time to think about that. You have to follow his lead. And he’s slowing down why is he slowing down? 

Oh. Normal. Be normal to not garner suspicion. You have to do the same. 

Wait. You can’t go down there with a shirt full of stained evidence! Grabbing him and pulling back, you whisper, “Yoongi—”

His growl is so fierce your head spins, “What the fuck did I say about my n—”

“My clothes,” you panic. “I can’t.” 

Yoongi gives you a quick look before gripping the duffle strap. Brows lowered, he grits out while dumping it, “Lose the shirt.” 

“What?” 

“Do it.” 

“Where’d he go?”

“It’s gone!”

Your heads snap up before you lock eyes. And he doesn’t need to say anything to show you what he’s thinking behind those minted bangs.

As you hastily strip, your brain works in weird ways. Instead of processing how you very much need to hurry the fuck up, you lament the bra of choice today. And how sweaty you look. Because of course those are your thoughts of choice right now. 

Something’s dumped on you before your shirt hits the ground, and you think about its warmth before you realize exactly what’s on your shoulders. “You sure?” 

He’s already heading down. Oh god. You’re really putting this on shit shit shit. 

You’re quick to slip into the material before checking for your chopsticks, rushing down the rest of the stairs to meet him. Nerves firing on all cylinders, you follow Yoongi out of the restaurant with a single, disturbing thought. 

This is going too well. 

But you’re passing tables, you’re walking by the fish display, don’t fucking sob you’re out in the street now. 

Relax. You’re walking. His white tee is flawless and people have no clue you left a bloody shirt on a stairwell. Don’t fucking cry.

But suddenly.

Shouting erupts behind you both, just as a cop car rolls past the restaurant only to get surrounded. 

And with one look back, your brain freezes. Right before Yoongi sounds a little too delighted to say something so foreboding,

“Looks like you’re in it now.”

Adrenaline spikes as you burst into motion. Hot summer air stings your lungs as legs propel you forward, with nothing in sight except for your partner in high crime. 

Yoongi’s right. 

You’re in it now. 

And just like the delinquents that you despise, the two of you both kick up dust on the run. 

You’re really doing this. 

Holy shit, you’re really doing this and there’s no waking up, no jolting awake, no pinching yourself to know that it’s all a dream. The only thing pinching is your sides, fresh stings of karma with each heavy footstep through crowded streets, buildings, levels, wherever the fuck you go. 

At least Yoongi is commanding as he leads you through the city—clearly from a heap of experience. Though rattled, you follow him with more adrenaline than questions. Because running is all you know. Run, run, run, escaping is your only objective and you cannot let up even once.

Your feet pelt down a staircase before you leap onto a disposal bin, impact denting as you follow Yoongi’s long strides across the colorful tops. Shouts and metal pings echo behind you as your chasers catch up, and you grit your teeth so hard they rattle as you jump to alley ground. “Fuck!”

Searing, searing pain rushes through your legs as you twist and wind through busy corridors, squeezing into the gaps Yoongi finds as he barrels in front. 

“Get back here!” 

“You fuckers!”

Who’s following you? Are they even Crane? You don’t see a shred of white on their clothes at all so are they working for some random guy Yoongi stole from?

When you watch him turn at the shouting, all thoughts vanish as your gut churns. 

He’s grinning.

You just killed someone for him. And he probably has more blood on his hands than you can imagine. 

And he’s… enjoying this? 

You feel sick, mind blazing with a million red warning signs. How could you ever have had feelings for h—

You bounce off a passerby as you run, grunting at the sudden pain in your shoulder when another person rams into your back and topples you over, dirt scraping into your palms and knees. 

Shit shit shit it’s so dusty on the ground and all you see are traveling shoes where are you? Where is he did he leave did he even see you fall? It’s too condensed here there’s no way he’s not taking the next chance to disappear.

Forget all of that, they’re coming. The chasers are coming and you see them see you down get up get up get up what the fuck get up now.

Ripping out a groan, you rush to your feet as soon as someone swoops in, bashing someone right behind you with someone’s crate of fruit. 

Yoongi? He waited for you?

“Go!” 

Both of you hightail it with you now in the lead, and your eyes buzz as you slip through holes in the crowd. Left, left, right, around, left again, between. 

An intersection ahead. Yes. Lose everyone in the vehicle traffic or hitch a ride with a stranger. Fascinating how the survival tactics that spawn from your block develop in real time on the run.

Almost there, almost there, almost there—fuck! 

Whiffing in front of your nose, a metal weapon smacks the ground at your toes. 

Flailing, you dodge the next swing, ducking before you see a black duffle smack your assailant in the face. 

Keep going. Finish him and get away. As Yoongi shifts left, you lunge forward, sending a swift punch to the guy’s ribs that hurt like hell goddamn oh fuck someone brought a knife!

“Yoongi!” Just as the surrounding civilians yell and clear out, you rush toward his aid before you’re tackled, air whooshing out of your lungs as your back pummels into gravel. Fuck fuck fuck this masked woman also has a dagger. A thick one. Don’t let her win don’t let her win hold on for dear fucking life. 

Did you think you’d find yourself in a grudge match to keep metal from sinking into your chest today? No. Ever? Also no. 

Your arms are shaking. Shots ring out. Sweat is your enemy. The street is in uproar. Where’s Yoongi did he hear you? Fuck, the metal tip is pricking you now this is— 

Mercifully, your attacker yelps as something slams into her side, dark brown clothes crumpling before you’re hoisted upward and dragged back into the crowd. 

“Let me go or I’ll kick your ass—”

“You good?” 

Oh, it’s Yoongi. Again. Okay. Eyes swirling, you lock onto the gun held flush in his other hand before you nod. “I—I think so—”

“Then keep up.” 

Winding between people, you’re only focused on getting away. But when you catch glimpses of him, he’s back to his glint. He’s exhilarated.

If only you were both doing anything else. If only you weren’t so queasy and guilty and loathing of your own self.

Right as you finally burst into bustling traffic, Yoongi boldly stops a taxi at its hood, motioning you to follow him inside. 

Shocked but head reeling, you open the door closest to your sweaty legs and slide in. 

And before you can even greet the shouting driver, Yoongi pulls you to his side and rushes something out in your ear, 

“Kiss me.” 

“I said get out!” 

“What?” 

“Come here.” 

You’ve kissed before. Not many times, but enough to know that this man knows what the fuck he’s doing because you feel like your soul just abandoned you to exist in this car forever. You don’t know why this is happening or where this came from, but his lips feel as soft as his name and as deadly as the gun he’s pulling on your driver—

“Han Station,” he drawls, halting time and space. “Or your papers are burned by morning.” 

Oh. 

You were just… Oh. 

Lips puffed and head swirling, you sit frozen in your spot, marinating in the realization that the best kiss of your life was a mere distraction. And as you watch Yoongi keep his aim straight, you assume he probably didn’t even think much of it, either. 

“…I thought you looked familiar,” the driver slowly grits, hands gripping his wheel before he shakes his head. “You’re a little far from home.”

You think that’s all he’s gonna say. But his eyes are sharp in the rear view mirror, knowing a gun is pointed straight at his dome. “Aren’t you.”

What is he getting at you need to leave fast—

“Agust.” 

…Huh? 

Agust? 

This is the first time you feel a heartbeat against your arm, and you hold a breath as Yoongi tightens his fingers on the gun. 

When he doesn’t reply, the car fills to the brim with tension, and you feel crushed by its liquid weight. 

Don’t you have to go? Aren’t you in a chase? Are you getting a little too hot?

When you go to slide to your own side of the car for some space, the hand around your shoulder squeezes. 

And you’re more confused, exhausted, and thrown off than ever. 

“Han Station,” is all Yoongi—Agust?—repeats, voice ice. “Now.”

To which the taxi driver stares, standing his ground until he breaks eye contact first to obey. 

“Fuckin’ Dragons and their useless whores.”

Oh, fuck that. 

Before you can lunge forward to outright strangle the man, Yoongi does something that has your eyes magnifying into saucers and hands shooting up to your mouth.

He fires the gun straight at the man’s thigh, yelps leaving both the driver's throat and yours holy fuck! 

“You bastard—”

“You’ll live. Drive.”

“Fucking—fuck!”

The car shifts through traffic, swerving left and right and cutting off slower vehicles. When force smushes you closer into Yoongi’s side, you can’t help but notice how fit he is, and how calm he’s being despite the whole chase. Despite that spike in adrenaline. Despite blowing a hole in a stranger’s leg for six words.

He also feels really, really good against your side, but you can’t let that matter anytime soon. There’s absolutely no way you can let this dangerous man in, especially after this entire nightmare of a day. 

So you swallow, trying to compartmentalize because you’ll reach insanity if you don’t.

Does anyone out there know you took a life minutes ago? Or hours ago? You just kissed a criminal five and a half minutes ago. Would they care about that, too?

The window is suddenly much more interesting than any of your wandering, slingshot thoughts. 

Wait. It’s very pretty in this area, and you finally can tell some semblance of where you are. Because you only know of one part of the city that looks like this, and it’s deep in Crane territory. 

Did you both really make it this far? 

Carefully tended to, it’s a lot greener on the sidewalks, and more open on the roads. And it’s on one of these roads that you finally notice the sunset, gold accents shining on sleek street signs and the tops of buildings that seem much more at rest than you do. 

Rest. Sleep. Home. 

With the luck you’re having, it would be a miracle and a half to reach even one of the three. 

Did you get followed? You don’t know how much longer you can run, so you really fucking hope not. 

“Almost there,” Yoongi whispers, voice scratching your ear in the worst and best ways. “When we get out, move your ass.” 

When you watch the wary, heavy breathing driver in his rear view mirror, you bite out, “I know how to get out of a car, thanks.” 

“Just listen to me.”

“Why?”

“Do you trust me?” 

“No.” 

That came out quicker than you could stop it. But Yoongi only lets silence come between you before he squeezes your shoulder. When he speaks, you can hear how carved out his smirk is without even seeing it, 

“Good girl.”

And you spoke the truth. It wouldn’t have come out so fast if it weren’t. But you know to at least follow his advice here because he’s kept you alive thus far. He didn’t need to drag you out and protect you the whole way, so it’s not like he would steer you wrong here. Right? 

Right? 

“Here,” Yoongi orders before the car slows to a stop. 

That wasn’t so bad. You can get out normally now so why did Yoongi say—

Right as your foot hits ground, the taxi peels out, forcing you to throw yourself out of the side before the rest of your body leaves with it. 

Fucking hell that hurt what the fuck was that for? 

Dirt and dust coats your tongue before you do anything to spit it out. Saliva rushes from your glands as you cough and hack, all while feeling every muscle group in your body begging to not stand up. 

But you feel rough, commanding hands on your arms. “You good?”

“Yeah—”

“Then get up. Get up.”

Straining and wincing like hell, you follow Yoongi’s lead yet again. Because you hear cars rolling up with bad intentions and that means you have to sprint again. 

What the fuck did Yoongi steal? And how the hell are these guys still on your tail? Their resources have got to be as good as Crane’s and yet, they don’t feel the same at all. 

You’re hobbling, but you’re going. You’re rushing. You’re going to get through this alive. 

Instead of heading into the underground, you find yourself ascending a flight of steps. Rumbles and rattles hit your ears as you realize exactly what kind of station this is—one you haven’t seen anywhere in your district. 

Han Station is a floating railway? 

Holy shit, where are you?

Yoongi skids around a corner before you plant hard to stop yourself, only to see him clash with someone before something connects right with your stomach, and you crumple before you feel a solid hit to your head. 

Oh.

The world spins and moves as you hear vibrations, slowed sounds that could be shouts. Gunshots? Or maybe songs? You don’t truly know but your head is aching—

Your arm rushes up to block something before your body follows, and you scream before gripping whatever you can and flipping a whole body forward. 

Reality crashes back into your ears as you snap out of your head. 

You haven’t had to do that maneuver in forever. Was muscle memory more than enough?

“Come on!”

Go. Go, follow him, both of you need to get to the rail shit it’s leaving!

The blaring reverberates through the air, pinging off metal and wheels screeching on the track lines as you bolt for the open doors.

Mid-stride, Yoongi swings to look at the people barreling up the stairs. “One more time: do you trust me?”

“No!”

“Good”—his hands grip your waist—“Jump!”

Head empty, you leap onto the railcar right as it starts to pick up speed, and you watch in horror as Yoongi empties his clip behind him until he can’t anymore. 

“Yoo—” Fuck, what was his name? He seems to not prefer the one you call him and that has to be for good reason. What was it?

You’re leaving. He’s gritting his teeth while hitting the bottom of his gun but he needs to get up! What was his fucking name! 

“Agust!” 

Yoongi finally whips his head around, dashing to the end of the train and straining to carry the duffle. 

He needs to launch it or leave it behind. There’s no way he’s not being weighed down so hard. “Here!” you yell, knowing that look is only reserved for people he doesn’t want to trust. It’s normal. But it still stings. “Hurry up!”

After one more second, he swings it around and flings, leaping onto the side handrail after you get blasted by the bag holy fuck that hurt. 

He was running with this the whole time? No wonder his shoulders are so cut this is heavy.

Straining, you peek out into the wind, seeing Yoongi holding on and scooting along thin steprails towards your awaiting hands.

Shit, this is dangerous. Buildings and the city below fly by, and a parallel train whooshes and roars past as you finally tug him inside with shaky wheezes.

Just like that.

You made it out.

What the fuck. You did it. No one else was able to get onto the train. You’re safe for now. 

Finally, finally, finally able to breathe. 

But goddamn, you both stand out like blood on a blank page.

As you struggle to fully stand, you notice everyone else on the train—well-kept, carrying themselves in sleek linens and lush outfits, hair done beautifully and to perfection. 

Which makes it unsurprising that plenty of them regard the pair of you with suspicion and morbid curiosity. While intrigue covers the one with an unfairly handsome face, zings of jealousy and judgment fire your way. 

You feel so out of place. You are so out of place. But that doesn’t give anyone the right to look at you like filth. The words from the taxi driver pierce your brain again, and you feel rage and pain bubble up to your tongue,

“Anyone got something they wanna sa—”

But Yoongi does something that has your brain chemistry altering because he casually bends a knee in front of you while holding the top rail, forcing you back into the side of the train car and only seeing his jewelry. 

When your eyes snap to his, he regards you before peering outside. “Stop,” he mutters. “You're causing a scene.”

“Me?” Oh, he has some nerve. “What did I do, you’re the one—”

“Quiet.”

Ridiculous. Huffing, you let disagreement tug your lips while joining him in watching the world go by. 

Realizing with a pang that you are probably never getting back home. You’re never gonna see your favorite neighbor with his woks and caterpillar eyebrows. All the produce you were planning to sell will only succumb to mold and time. 

Your tangerines… 

When a tear falls, it glints in your reflection before quickly being swiped away. 

No. Don’t do any of that here where people can see—where he can see. No one will know what the hell you just went through today. Be normal, strong, normal. 

The ride lasts a little longer, with people coming and going during each stop. When there are seats open, neither you nor Yoongi move to take them. The two of you stay glued where you stand.

Silent, together, and covered in hidden blood.

The next stop seems to be in a quieter sector of the city. All around you are buildings you’ve never seen before stretching miles into the sky, and the streets are so neatly paved you’re convinced they’re fake. 

“This is us,” Yoongi whispers, hand guiding your hip to move toward the doors.

Skin scorching under his touch, you can only nod.

Where are you now? Where are you getting off? 

You both exit the train with a few others, and you watch with heightened curiosity as they carry satchels and wear shoes that look horribly uncomfortable. As you move down the steps, you keep craning your neck to take everything in, and more questions fill your head than answers. 

But the truth remains even as you and Yoongi stop in front of your destination.

You cannot run anymore. Even if more of whoever those guys were showed up, you may just choose to sit down instead of take another stride. Besides, your body is still running a thousand steps even though you haven’t moved since getting on the train anyway. After today, the chase may never stop.

“We’ll stay here.” 

We? Stay? 

“Here? This place is…” You keep peering up and up, the top of the building so high your neck hurts. It’s so foreign and magical your only adjective is a quiet, “Nice.” 

At your side, Yoongi seems annoyed when he asks, “Expect something different?” 

“Yeah, like… I dunno, a secret lair or something.” 

Air whooshes from his nostrils, but there’s a stark absence of a smile. Looking up at the building, too, he explains something that you’ve never heard of before,

“We’re in a grey zone. No one will follow us here.” 

Right. Because that somehow makes sense to regular civilians like you. Because you are one, are one, are one. “Allegedly,” you scoff, not knowing what to believe anymore.  

Yoongi pauses before heading up, and his agreement makes you look. “Allegedly.” 

Mm. 

After taking the tiny steps to the entrance, you wonder what he must be thinking bringing your haphazard look in tow. 

Because he could’ve left you behind at any point in time. But he didn’t. What does that mean? Why is he keeping you alive and at his side?

While you’re taking in the opulent and vast lobby, Yoongi guides you toward the front desk, shifting the duffle on his shoulder. 

This place is gorgeous. Nothing like you’ve ever seen. How were they able to install a waterfall in a building? What kind of money does this so-called grey zone have? 

Yoongi nods toward the concierge, who quickly nods back and scurries away and into a room.

If you weren’t so tired, you could probably make something of that exchange. But you are very much exhausted so frankly, you don’t give a shit right now. 

Although. You do give a shit about the fingers suddenly interlacing with your own. As your hand is held, you shoot your best client a look so potent he stares back. “What now,” you snip, question low and dripping with distrust. 

Unfazed, Yoongi slowly pulls you into his side, a steady hand coming up to wrap around your tired hips. So nonchalant, so lax, so confusing as he murmurs,

“Just wanted to.”

Your heart trips into the next beat.

On sore legs, you wait until the concierge comes back with a key, eyes swiping over you as if they finally noticed your existence. Which seems to perplex them as they hand over the metal device.

And Yoongi just takes it, not a word said before he directs you across the lobby to what look like elevators.

Even these look fancy as fuck. Wherever you are and whatever this place is, you feel even more out of place than on that judgy train. 

A hotel worker bows before he motions to the opening doors. “Nice to see you again,” he murmurs to the ground, seemingly expecting the same non-response given to the front desk. “Would you like the usual, Mister—” 

“No,” Yoongi clips him off. “Not this time.” 

“Understood.” 

Brows pinched, you’re starting to get a weird feeling. 

How does everyone know Yoongi so well here? He said this was a grey zone, which you’d think would be akin to a neutral or non-threatening one. So why does it feel like he’s got this area on lock? Who exactly are you getting into an elevator with? 

…Who exactly did you save? 

Yoongi was right when he said you’re in it now. But faced with more questions surrounding him than anything or anyone else, you’re starting to wonder what pit of hell you dropped yourself into. 

Especially after catching the look of utter panic from the serviceman. 

Right before sliding doors shut the world out. 

—

—

⟶ what do we feel! | 🥢 join the taglist 🥢 | masterlist

a/n: thank you all for being so patient as i work through this! it was originally supposed to be a oneshot, but i like, need characters to get to know and learn about one another before heading into spice lmao. I NEED PLOT OK. THERE WILL BE LOTS OF SMUT I PROMISE DSHFKDSF we just gotta get through the slow burn first >:)) a/n 2: if there's something you liked about this or a line/scene/whatever thing you enjoyed, feel free to let me know! feedback is never expected, but always appreciated. if the interest level is high, that adds motivation like no other. thank you all for reading! ++ feedback box: ⇥ of course, any reblogs/comments/messages are appreciated! ⇥ for the ones that are too shy to reblog with a review, comment on this, or send a message, i went ahead and made another anonymous form where you can send in what you think! ⇥ no emails collected, no need to put in a username. it’s literally just a comment dropbox :D feedback can be as short/sweet or as long as you’d like! ⇥ here! ++ more links: ⇥ masterlist  ⇥ minted masterlist

[fearlessword]

They are everything to me! EVERYTHING

[fearlessword]

[fearlessword]

I’ll meet you in my dreams - Chapter 3

Summary: You dreamed of the boy who played piano before you knew who he was. Humming the melodies you heard in your sleep brought BTS into your life and you thought it was just meant to be.When you finally have the chance to see him perform live, you realize that the dreams you have are more than a coincidence. You hope he dreams of you too.

Slow burn/ Slow build/ canon divergence/ d-day tour / soulmate- ish

Pairing: Idol! Min Yoongi x Reader

Ongoing

Masterlist

Author’s note: You are the kindest readers! Really! My phone kept lighting up with notifications of your likes and even some comments! Thank you so much! I am currently writing chapter 6, I wanted it to be ready before the 13th, but it may take longer than that. Chapters 1-5 are already posted on AO3. Thank you for the love and I hope you like this one! See you soon!

“You’ll never see, you sing me to sleep every night from the radio”

March 1st, 2023

Your hands were tied now. You got waitlisted, Cami got waitlisted, the other coworkers without a membership didn’t stand a chance. You are sure a code isn’t a guarantee that the tickets would be yours. The only hope was a friend of one of the teachers at the school, that was the only person you knew that had the code, and well, maybe you have a new ARMY friend now.

Just the fact that someone got the code was a relief. The downside was that there’s nothing you can do, and, considering you were a control freak, having no other option but wait was enough to make you freak out.

To be honest, everybody was freaking out, from your roommate to your co-workers and even the principal, everyone knew how important this was to you because you were acting crazy and anxious, everyone signed for the pre-sale (even if you knew that people without memberships wouldn’t stand a chance). Today, of all days, you felt cared for by everyone around, who made a point to check if you were okay.

So, when the afternoon came, and the bell rang announcing the end of the school day, you bid your students farewell and immediately opened twitter on your laptop, just to check how things were going. There was nothing you could do on the Ticketmaster website, your account wasn’t linked to a code anyways.

“You know, refreshing twitter 1000 times per minute won’t make it any easier. I’d say it will make it worse.” Camila’s voice echoed behind you.

“I know, I know. I just need to know. It’s my first time doing this, and I’m not actually doing this and it’s driving me insane!” You retorted standing up and pacing.

“Woah, have you thought about calling her? I’m sure she’s nervous too”

“Don’t you think that’s too controlling of me to do that? We kind of talked about the seats we want and the other options in case they sell out. I’m so obsessed with this man it’s probably not healthy.”

“ I mean, you are a fan and it means something to you and it’s obvious you have a connection of some kind with him because you keep dreaming about him which is weird and interesting at the same time” she rambled “But, you are also paying and you are a fan, so, I know this is important to you, and not too much at all, just facetime her!”

You stared at your friend and smiled. Then, grabbed you phone in your bag and called Natalie, your newest ARMY friend.

“Hi, ________! I was about to call you”

“No way!”

Cami looks at you with arched eyebrows, amused.

“ Yes! You know, we both want the Saturday show, but I was thinking that maybe I should try the queue for Wednesday or Thursday too. Just in case. Many people will want to go on Saturday cause it’s the weekend, I want to make sure I can get us tickets”

“Uh, sure, I mean, Saturday is ideal, but I also don’t want to risk it” You answer.

“Alright, any minute now. Floor as close as possible or any of the side lower bowls right? I don’t know why I am asking, we talked about it. I’m so nervous” she lets out a nervous laugh and you laugh as well. At least you’re not the only one.

“ It’s gonna be okay, I’m sure we’ll get great seats” You don’t know if you’re telling this to her or to yourself, still, you try to believe it.

“We will. It 's time! Wish me luck”

“Good luck, Natalie!”

“_________, the page is refreshing! Oh God! I hope the school’s wifi is good enough” At exactly 3 p.m Natalie's nervous face gives space to focused features. You held your phone tighter and sat on your desk, shaking your legs while silently watching the woman’s face through the screen.

“ More than 2000 people in front of me, what the fuck” Your heart stops at the same minute, even if you could get to the map page, the chances of getting a great seat seemed far away now.

“More than 2000 for the one on Thursday too… Come on!” She paused and then screamed “Oh my God, 200 people before us for Wednesday”

“God, Natalie! I was about to cry here”

“Don’t fail on me, Ticketmaster.”

Your free hand runs through your hair, making a mess of the long curls. You wonder how many of your students are probably going through this same process right now, and you want to laugh and cry at the same time.

“It’s my turn… let me see. We want the floor… _________, floor is general admission, are you okay with that? It’s the soundcheck too.”

“Yes. I’m good with that, yes”

“Okay, selecting… Your credit card number is on my account, right, let’s get it, please ticketmaster work for once in your life, let me get it”

At this point, you didn’t even want to look at the screen, you knew how this website was tricky on pre-sale days, especially after the whole fiasco with the Taylor Swift Tour. You hoped the website wouldn't break down on Natalie’s turn. It felt like time was passing slower than it should, your legs hanging from the desk couldn’t move more, and you were scared of having the chance just so to have it taken away from you.

“Yougottheticketslettheanticipationbegin, __________!!!!! We are seeing him”

“Did it work?” You look at the screen and she’s showing you the confirmation page.

“It worked! Oh my God! I can’t believe it actually worked. Oh fuck it’s on a Wednesday, my poor students. Oh God, we are seeing him”

“Are we truly seeing him?!” Excitement was an understatement, you squeaked and jumped from the desk and smiled so big your cheeks hurt.

“____________, I’ll talk to you later, maybe I can still talk to the HR and tell them I’ll need the day off, make sure to do that too, okay?”

“Natalie, I can’t thank you enough. Thank you so, so, so much!”

“No worries, I can’t wait to scream with you during the show”

You put your phone away and look at Camila, who was watching the whole scene silently with a smirk on her face.

“Tell me this isn’t a dream”

“It’s not a dream, amiga. You’re seeing the guy from your dreams so soon now”

“This does not feel real. It was so fast.”

“It was meant to be. I feel it.” You cover you tearing eyes with both hands and and giggle as you hear your best friend saying that.

“I'm seeing Yoongi”

“About that, now that you got a ticket for the concert here, I should give you this” She took a folded sheet of paper out of the back pocket of her jeans and handed it to you.

“And that is?”

“Just unfold it and see”

And so you did, and looking at the paper, you couldn’t help but shed some tears.

“Is this what I think it is?

“If you think it is a confirmation email for a ticket of one of the shows in Korea, then yes, yes it is”

“Cami, how did you do this?”

“You forget that you made me get a fan club membership, so I wanted to make sure you saw him.”

“In Korea?” You say in a high-pitched voice.

“It’s not that difficult to stay up and buy tickets in the middle of the night, when you have a real purpose. I mean, I got a nosebleed, I hope you don’t mind, I guess the time difference and lack of practice count when doing this, but I got it and it’s during Summer and you don’t have school as an excuse for not going, so you better get your savings for your Korea trip and actually buy flight tickets to go to Korea and see your dream man there.”

“You are the craziest person I’ve ever met” You hug your friend tight, not knowing what to do with the tsunami of information that came in your direction in the last 15 minutes.

“Besides, I think that your dreaming about this guy is weird but I also feel there’s something there and I know you won’t do anything about it if there’s no push. So here’s your push, consider this an early birthday gift.”

“I don’t know what kind of ideas you have about this, but they are just dreams.Thank you. Hell, I’ll see him twice”

“Yes, _________, yes, you will”

🪷🪷🪷

April 21st, 2023

The first thing you did when your alarm went off was to grab your phone and open the Youtube app. Thankfully, the miniature for the music video was already on your home page, so you lost no time and just played the video.

To say you were mesmerized and entranced by the music video and the song playing was an understatement, you were so impressed by the lyrics and the two versions of Yoongi you were seeing, everything looked so perfect, and that was enough to make you excited to listen to the entire album. But it was when Yoongi pulled a cigarette out of the box with his teeth that you let out a loud squeal, that made your roommate come check on you.

“Are you thirsting for the BTS guy at this time in the morning?”

“He just smoked a cigarette in the MV”

“You hate those things!"

“He made it look really hot”

Cami rolled her eyes and dragged herself to your bed.

“Come on, I wanna see it”

You both get comfortable on your bed and you restart the video. Your roommate watches attentively, and teases you, elbowing you slightly everytime a cigarette appears. You end up watching the rest of the video together and you barely have words when it comes to an end.

“He is really an artist” that’s all you can say.

“I saw what you meant with the smoking thing, nice song, he’s just not really my type”

“And what’s your type?”

“A tall brunette with a buzzcut and very, very handsome, but also nice and kind and good with his words. He could also be a doctor, maybe, I don’t know”

“That’s oddly specific”

“Well, maybe you get to meet him soon”

“I get to WHAT?”

“We need to get ready, we are teachers and we can’t really be late, come on”

“Camila, get your ass right here” you scream as she runs through the door. “This is not over!”

You laugh as you get ready to work. You decide to listen to the album after you get home, to actually pay attention to the lyrics. As you walk to the subway station, you make sure to run your lesson plans for the day through your mind, taking the time to also plan the Friday night ahead of you.

Your work day goes by slowly, like every other Friday. At this point of the school year, with Summer Vacation approaching, your students don’t want to have classes anymore and, if you’re being honest, as much as you love your job, you weren’t fond of teaching at this time of the year either. So you did your best to make your lessons light and fun, for them and for you, eventually taking some time to talk about topics that were interesting for all of them.

When the bell rings, you wish a great weekend for everyone and pack your things as quickly as you can to walk to the subway station. As usual, you stop at Times Square, but instead of changing trains, you decide to walk around the small Bryant Park. You buy yourself the sweetest and creamiest cold brew. The cold coffee was not the best idea, considering the city was still chilly, but it was your favorite, and it was your way of treating yourself after a long hard week of work. You people watch for a while, taking in the groups of tourists walking on 42nd street, from where you assume was Grand Central, in the direction of the outdoors on Times Square. You see people talking, sitting around the tiny green tables, you observe the empty carousel, and the outfits of the women walking around (those were always nice to watch). You observe the mix of trees and the buildings all together and the food trucks around and although this area of the city was incredibly chaotic and not your favorite to walk around, you were glad you could sit and appreciate the beauty in this chaos.

After taking the Q train and arriving in your apartment, you take a long relaxing shower and wear your most comfortable set of PJs. You feel inspired to cook a nice dinner to watch the documentary with. As you get the ingredients to make your favorite pasta dish, you hear the door open.

“I beat you home today” you sing from the kitchen.

“I had some papers to grade and decided to follow your steps and not bring work home. I hated it. My bed is a much more comfortable grading spot” your roommate answers.

“Are you having dinner here?”

“Yes, give me a minute to shower and I’ll help you out”

But dinner was so easy to make that, by the time Camila was back, you’re already done. You put the creamy pasta on plates and take them to the living room, opening the Disney + app to find Yoongi’s documentary.

“I’ll only watch it with you because I’m a great friend” you hear your best friend say and you look at her with an amused smile, knowing well she wouldn’t watch anything she was not interested in.

And so you watch the documentary and see how this album started. You are washed with a sense of deja vu when you see a scene of 2020. Differently from the In The Soop cuts, this time, what you see is exactly like your first dream and you pay attention to all of the details to make sure you’re actually watching it. How could you forget your first dream with him? This time, thanks to the subtitles, you could actually understand what they were talking about and your heart skips a beat when Yoongi tells Jimin about the amygdala, explaining how this is a part of the brain that processes trauma, and telling his friend about the song. You vaguely remember thinking about how you wanted your brain to process your trauma better and wishing for it to just work right before dreaming of Yoongi for the first time. And as the performance of the song goes, you take in the lyrics.

It's no news that you identify yourself with BTS songs. But this one felt different. As he raps and unfolds each of his traumas you can't help but think about your own traumas and how you did that too three years ago.

You can feel Camila’s eyes on you. And you know she knows what you are feeling and she knows that you dreamed about this. You feel like you should comment on it, but saying it out loud sounds like madness, because this time, you actually know that it happened in real life too.

The movie continues with his trips and his writing process and you try to let your deep thoughts go to watch it properly. It is your first time listening to the songs of the new album, and you can see that all of the effort shown in the documentary was worth it, the songs and the performances were more than anything you were expecting and you couldn't wait for the tour.

"You and this guy are so similar." Camila says when the documentary is over.

"I guess I can relate to him a little bit" you say. "Now, I need to start practicing these songs for Wednesday"

"You cooked, I do the dishes" your roommate announces when you both stand up.

"I won't argue you with that"

You say goodnight before walking to your room, where you get your airpods and get ready to listen to the D-DAY album, in sequence, of course. With the lights out and cell phone in hand, you search for the translation of each song as you listen to them. You observe every figure of speech, every rhyme, all the story telling, and you repeat, inside your head, the scene from your dream, the one you just watched on the TV. How could someone on the other side of the planet think in the same frequency as you and describe your feelings so well? You didn’t want to get obsessed with the idea of it, because it gets crazier with time, but you can’t help but feel like, somehow, the universe brought you Min Yoongi because it knew you needed someone to relate to.

You listen to AMYGDALA once again, and another time, wishing you could take the pain away from someone that didn’t even know you, and with Yoongi’s voice singing in your ears, you fall into deep sleep.

🪷🪷🪷

When you gain consciousness again, it’s dark and pouring. You find yourself in front of a beautiful house that looks like it just came out of a movie set. Its light colored bricks (you couldn't possibly identify the color in the dark) were covered in vines, the only illumination surrounding you is the warm yellow light that comes through the windows.

You run to the porch to avoid getting even more wet. The hiss of the wind is loud and the cold early spring air embraces you as tiny droplets of water touch your skin, making you shiver uncomfortably.

You look at the imponent maroon door and entering the welcoming house sounds like the perfect plan right now. It’s obvious you are dreaming, there are no houses like this in New York City, so worst case scenario, it’s a nightmare and you’ll wake up regretting your decisions. This, or you’ll freeze to death and then wake up. Either way, you’ll end up in your tiny apartment anyway, might as well enjoy it while it lasts.

The door opens at the same time you raise your hand to give it a knock. You take a step back and take in the scene. Nobody is on the other side. Weird.

A mass of warm air touches your face gently when you step into the living room. The smell of coffee, cinnamon and vanilla flies around and makes you look straight to the kitchen and dining room to your left, but they are empty, so you walk to the fireplace in front of you, taking a moment to appreciate its coziness while getting warm.

You decide to walk around and explore the other levels of the building, which, from what you saw until now, has no furniture except for the old blue Victorian couch.

Holding the rail, you go up the stairs, and see that the walls are filled with beautiful, but empty frames. At this point, you don’t even bother finding it weird anymore, after all, it’s a dream, but you wonder why there are no pictures and why your mind decided that the only pieces of decoration you see in this house of stone are simply not serving their purpose.

As you walk down the aisle of the first floor, you see 4 doors. Slowly, you try to open the first one to your left, just to find out it is locked. You try the one to your right and the two other doors after that. All locked. You huff.

“Why is this too boring?” you say out loud, as you turn around and direct yourself to the stairs to go to the second floor, only to hear a muffled female voice upstairs. Curious as you are, you run up in the direction of the voice, just to find the same set up of the floor below you, with the exception of a pulled down ladder at the end of the corridor, that led to what you can only assume is an attic, where the sound and the voices come from.

You walk with caution to the ladder and the sound is louder, but not clearer. It takes climbing the steps to realize that the female voice that is now screaming, is actually your own. You stop midway, your upper body just past the attic door,and search for the source of your own voice, just to realize a video is being projected on one of the ceiling walls. You recognize the scene of that dreadful day so many years ago when you got home after an early dismissal day, just to find your ex boyfriend with your best friend. This time though, you could see it through a different point of view, the exact moment when you started packing your bags to leave your old apartment.

“Where do you think you are going? Hey! Stop! We can talk through this” your ex said, while dressing himself up. You hear your old self let out an ironic laugh after that. You look at her, the shorter curly hair was a mess, the red eyes burning with anger and disappointment.

“Talk through this?” Past you screams, opening another drawer and just throwing clothes in a suitcase. “You must think I’m really that stupid to give you the time of the day after this. I don’t want to hear from you, I don’t want to see you. I wanna pack my things and go to the farthest place from you”.

“_________, this is your home. Calm down.”

“My home? My home? You should’ve thought about that before cheating on me at my fucking home on my fucking bed. I’ll come back to get the rest of my things when you’re not here.” You close your suitcase, and direct yourself to the front door. You turned, just in time to catch a sight of him and your so-called best friend getting dressed as well. "Please, don’t even bother, just keep doing whatever you were doing before. I’ll make sure I won’t interrupt you ever again.” And you walked out.

The video stopped after that and you were stunned. Talk about a dramatic event. You don’t understand why your subconscious wants you to remember that, especially now that you are actually healing. Maybe this is in fact a nightmare, and you were supposed to keep rewatching that infernal scene until you wake up.

You decide to go up the rest of the steps either way, whatever comes next, can’t be more painful than what you just watched. As you step into the room at the same time someone stands up and comes in your direction.

“What the hell?!” You exclaim.

“Hm, this never happened before” The one and only Min Yoongi mumbles, staring at you.

Right, you have never had a conscious dream about him where you could actually talk to him. But, considering that his documentary was the last thing you saw, it seems like his presence in your dream this time is not that weird. You stare back at him, his dark messy hair, puffy cat eyes and black hoodie. Your heart jumps through your shirt and that unexplainable feeling comes again.

“Hi”

“Hi”

“Did you watch all of it?” You ask.

“I did. I’m sorry. I should’ve stopped when I saw what it was”

“I mean, it’s not actually your fault. It’s my subconscious.”

“Still…”

“It 's fine.” You look around, finding the film projector and another film reel on the side. “Interesting. What’s in the other film?”

“I don’t know. I only set the one we just watched.”

“We should watch the other one”

“I don’t know, I’ve already seen too much”

“It’s not like you are real”

“Not real?”

“Besides, I don’t think there was any other moment of my life more traumatic than that one. I’ll be fine” You say while taking the other film reel out of the projector and putting the new one. Yoongi doesn’t look too sure, but he directs himself to the pile of pillows on the floor and waits for the projection. As it starts, you sit by his side and focus on the wall in front of you.

It is a cloudy day and the dirty atmosphere of the city makes the scene look even grayer. You try to recognize the place, but it takes seeing a tall black haired boy to see that this wasn’t about you.

“I shouldn’t be seeing this” You say and make the mention of standing up before dream Yoongi holds your wrist gently and pulls you back.

“It’s only fair.” he says.

So you sit down and watch it with him.

A younger version of Min Yoongi leaves the door of a restaurant with bags of food on his hands, then proceeds to put the bags inside of a delivery box on a motorcycle. He wears his helmet, jumps on his bike and rides it around the city. He stops once. He stops another time. And you know what is coming, because you remember when Yoongi had the surgery, you remember seeing videos of him dancing in pain and you remember the lyrics of Amygdala, even if you only listened to that song a couple of times since the documentary release. You know the feeling of wanting your brain to erase the memories you so want to forget in order to move on. And even if it’s all in your head, it hurts to think of what happened to a human you love so much.

You stare at the dream version of Yoongi sitting by your side who has his glistening eyes fixed on the scene projected on the wall. With his lips closed in a line, he swallows thickly and you turn your attention to the movie again. And that’s when the scene unravels: The rain starts to pour and, as he is turning, a car hits young Min Yoongi, who falls on the road. You can’t help but feel your heart breaking into pieces as you watch the rain touching his face, it feels even worse when the scene is cut just to be substituted by flashes of Yoongi crying, in pain, and taking what seemed like an unhealthy amount of pills. If only you could change the past to comfort him. You’d do anything so he wouldn’t have to go through this kind of pain again.

“Was that what really happened?” You question, almost whispering.

“Exactly like that” the man by your side responds, then proceeds “What I saw... Did it really happen to you too?”

“Yes, but, for what is worth, you really helped me through it, it doesn’t hurt anymore” you look at the version of Min Yoongi in front of you, and think of everything you’ve learned about him through his songs and through the documentary of the day before. You are conscious this is not real, even if it feels like it, but you also know you will never have a chance to say to the real Yoongi what you wish to say, so you take a chance in this parallel dream reality, or whatever this is.

“ I know this is all in my head, and there are so many things I’d like to say, but, I just want you to know that if I could go back in time and help you through all of the pain you felt, I would. I know it doesn’t change it, but I really wish you’d know that. I wish I could’ve saved you, too, Yoongi” you stop and see the corner of his lips curve slightly. “I guess this was a weird thing to say out loud” cover your face with your two hands and a muffled groan leaves your lips.

“No, no, no… it’s not weird” He turns his body completely to you. “I don’t know if you’d believe me, or if anyone would believe me, but you did.”

“I did?!”

“You saved me in so many ways”

Your head turns in the direction of his voice immediately. And all you can see is a kind smile and bright eyes. You can’t help but feel that old familiar warmth all over your body, and as much as you wouldn’t like to indulge in delusion, at that moment, you pretended it was all real.

And just like it started, you’re pulled from deep inside your subconscious to you tiny apartment in New York City, where the ringing of your alarm clock announced the start of a new spring day.

To be continued…

Masterlist | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter (AO3)

[fearlessword]

I’ll meet you in my dreams - Chapter 2

Summary: You dreamed of the boy who played piano before you knew who he was. Humming the melodies you heard in your sleep brought BTS into your life and you thought it was just meant to be.When you finally have the chance to see him perform live, you realize that the dreams you have are more than a coincidence. You hope he dreams of you too.

Slow burn/ Slow build/ canon divergence/ d-day tour / soulmate- ish

Pairing: Idol! Min Yoongi x Reader

Ongoing

Masterlist

Author’s note: Hi tumblr! I’ve been wanting to post this fic here for such a long time! Seriously! I can’t believe I actually did it! I’m so excited for you to read this chapter! I post on AO3 first, but it’s nice to share my work on this platform too! Please send me your thoughts on this chapter, I’d love to hear it. I’ll come back in a few days with chapter 3, but if you want to read it before that, you can find it here. I hope you like it! Thank you for being here!

Chapter 2

February 2023

“…So long as men can breathe or eyes can see, so long lives this, and this gives life to thee…” you read.

“This is one of my favorites, and one of the most famous Shakespearean sonnets. You guys already know how much I love words but in this sonnet…” you pause with a sigh. “I feel so happy reading it, it took Shakespeare only 14 verses to explain how powerful and everlasting words are. Can you imagine how extraordinary it would feel to be the muse of a piece of work like this? I don’t want to go crazy over this, but how beautiful is that? And to see that he was indeed right, the poem does give life to his beloved muse, it makes me want to cry. How beautiful is that? Just think about it?!”

“Ms. _______, you are fangirling over poetry again” one of the students says.

“Well, it is my profession after all! I am also a fan of so many things, it’s the way I function!” You laugh. “But you guys need to agree, it’s beautiful. You should think about writing a sonnet like this to your Valentines next year… Does anyone want to comment on their first impressions of this piece before we go deep into our analysis?”

The students were ready to give their opinions when the bell rang, announcing your lesson was over and stopping the discussion from happening. The backpacks and chairs in the classroom combined in a messy, hustled melody created by your high schoolers. It was the end of the school day, after all.

“ Well, it’s nice to end the day with a hook. Please read Sonnet 18 one more time and write a short comment about it in your reading journals. We’ll discuss it in the next class. Enjoy your Valentine’s day, everybody!”

One by one, the students left the room, leaving you alone with the mess of the classroom. As usual, you organized the desks and chairs for the next day, erased the white board, turned the electronics off and put away all of the supplies in the cabinet. You only left out your pencil case and the piles of assignments to grade. It was Tuesday, but the faster you start grading, the easier your Friday will be. Even though being a teacher means that you eventually (or always) take work home, you made yourself a rule that you’d avoid working during your weekends. Also, no teacher wants to grade anything on a Friday afternoon. It’s not like you have anything to do on Valentine’s day, either way.

You directed your attention to the desk and a huff left your body as you thought about the few hours of unpaid work you had ahead of you. You didn’t know if the gray Tuesday made your situation worse or better. You tried to see it with a positive attitude: at least you wouldn't spend the next few hours inside, admiring a perfect sunny day through the windows of your classroom.

Before sitting down to start grading, you got your phone and your airpods in your bag, you didn’t bother to turn the airplane mode off, and, to be honest, that was probably the best option if you wanted to really focus on your work. A playlist of your favorite songs is the one selected for the occasion. You put your phone away, grab your green pen and start.

When The Truth Untold started, you were halfway through grading. You couldn’t help thinking of how unlucky you were. BTS came into your life only during the pandemic, which meant no concerts, but lots of content and late night meme videos and Korean lessons that distracted and helped you when you needed the most. When the concerts finally happened in the US, you were out of the country to complete part of your Masters in Literature in England. It was more than a dream come true, from visits to the Globe to visits to the lakes and all of the places your favorite authors and characters saw long before. It felt bittersweet. The timing was just wrong, and now, it felt like the chances of seeing all seven of them just escaped through your fingers. All you could do was wait. Wait until the seven of them come back, and trust them. It was hard, but was there another option?

Just fans understand how hard it is.

Alright, you need to focus on the grading.

The playlist kept going as you corrected and graded and wrote comments in each of the papers, carefully analyzing the work of your students. Every once in a while, you’d laugh at how they expressed their opinions on their essays. How fun their snarky comments were! The piles of paper were organized into folders. Thankfully, in less than three hours, the work was finally done, (until the next time, which will probably happen sooner than what you want.) It’s half of the week, and finally time to go home.

Winter was unusually warm this year. Still, the short walk from the school to the subway station felt longer because of the cold air. It wasn’t too cold, but it wasn’t comfortable either. The hot mass of air that embraces you as you enter the station is welcomed, at least during the colder seasons. The station was packed, it’s always a struggle when it’s peak time, but on days like this, when the busy people of the city go out to dinner to celebrate the existence of their love life, it is just the worst. When the train came, you found a spot where you could stay, close enough to the door so you could leave it three stations later.

You hope there is a seat for you in the Q train that will take you to Brooklyn. Deep down, you know it’s hopeless. At 6 pm Times Square station is filled with both New Yorkers and tourists. You could differentiate them easily, from their clothes to the kind of demeanor they have. The empty eyes were usually the giveaway whether someone was a New Yorker or not. You hoped you had the same curious eyes you had when you first moved to NYC for college, but you understand that, as much as you love the city and all it means to you and your journey, routine takes some of the magic away. Right now, you bet your face gives away your exhaustion too, if there’s someone watching you, you’re sure they know you live here.

People watching was your favorite pastime during your commuting time: imagining what each one of those people was like, their dreams and hopes, if they had any. Today, you could see a considerable amount of bouquets in the train, and it makes your imagination go wild imagining what expects these people once they get to their destination. You try not to get caught while you look at them for the next 30 minutes, then, you leave the train and walk home.

You were fumbling in your bag in a failed attempt to find your keys when the door of your apartment slammed opened.

“Where the hell were you?” Your roommate demanded.

“At the school, Cami.” You answered as you took your shoes off and went inside.

“ Why weren’t you answering your phone? I called so many times.”

“I was grading papers”

“On Valentine’s Day?”

“It’s not like I have a date”

“______ you seriously need to do a better job at answering your phone” she huffed. “I was freaking out here”

“Is everything okay? Are you okay? Is my family okay? It was in airplane mode and I just didn’t care to check it after I left the classroom.”

“Everybody is okay. Well, emotionally I’m definitely not okay. I’ve been freaking out here since I got home from work. Seriously, we need to communicate better so we can actually leave school together, we can grade here! Why do you have to stay there so late anyways? I needed to talk to you and You. Weren’t. Answering.” She paused. “Why am I freaking out? It’s not like it’s something I care about. Oh my God! Maybe I care about it because you care about it." Camila pointed at you. "What is happening to me?! Am I literally freaking out on Valentine’s day because of a tour of a guy that I’m not even interested in? I promise I won’t be alone for Valentine's day next year, I need a date to look forward to instead of getting crazy over a K-pop man. This is the worst day of my life!” Camila rambled while pacing in the living room

“Did you say tour?”

“Seriously? That’s all you heard?!”

“You were saying so many things”

“Alright, sit, and please, I am begging you to turn the airplane mode off”

You do as she says, and as soon as your phone connects to the wifi, hundreds of notifications pop on your screen, including notifications from the Weverse app. Your heart jumps. One of the members of BTS on tour? You opened the app.

SUGA | Agust D TOUR

“What?” Your voice was so low you could barely hear it.

“Why are you so calm? Isn’t he the whole reason why you are a BTS fan?” Camila pauses to massage her temples. "Why am I freaking out? Isn’t he the guy you dream about all the time? ”

Yes, he is. You thought. The one and only Min Yoongi. The reason why you became an ARMY in the first place.

Turns out, the mysterious guy from your dreams back in 2020 was real. You've dreamt of him so many times before finding out he was actually a living person and not a figment of your imagination.

After the first time dreaming about him, you were washed with a sense of comfort you couldn’t quite understand. The crying over your ex had gotten better with each dream, simply because the feeling of seeing him in your sleep made you feel happy the whole day and forget anything else.

You could see him… Writing, laughing with the most precious smile, reading, recording at the studio, and at last… playing the piano. A real piano. The first time you heard him, though, he looked younger, but you could still see the same focus and the same passion as he played each note so beautifully. That morning of quarantine, almost a month after the first dream, you woke up with the urge to cry from how mighty the scene was. The warmth of the presence of the boy in the piano was already a familiar feeling, but actually listening to his music? Ah, you wanted to stay in that scenario forever. You hummed the song throughout the day, you asked Camila if she knew that melody, just so you could listen to it again. You thought about that the whole time, until you remembered how technology existed and you could just hum the melodies to your cell phone.

It was a BTS song.

And so you listened to that sweet piano melody, and heard him rapping for the first time. And searched for the names of the guys in the band. And finally, you saw the face of that mysterious man on your phone screen. It was weird that you dreamed of an actual person that turned out to produce music before knowing the person actually existed, right? Why you were dreaming about a korean idol and why it made you feel so content was a mystery to you. You tried not to dwell on that, realizing this was the way the universe sent BTS to you, when you needed it the most. And slowly, moving on from your trauma was easier. Letting your ex-boyfriend go was getting simpler each day. You finished that letter (Was it a letter or a novel? With the amount of pages you wrote, you didn’t even know anymore) and just let it go. Yoongi helped you, the boys helped you, and they didn’t even know.

Sometimes when you watch stuff, you get washed with the sense of deja vu. But it is what it is. Yoongi keeps popping in your dreams from time to time, you started to write about him and you irresistibly became an ARMY. How could you not?

“Earth to ______'' Camila snapped her fingers in front of your face “ I thought you’d scream! For God’s sake, I did! Why aren’t you freaking out when I am? You are the fan!”

“Sorry, Cami, I just don’t know how to react. You know how much they all mean to me. But with him… I just can’t believe I’ll finally have the chance to see him” your eyes burned filled with tears.

“Oh, amiga… We will try all we can to get you the best tickets. You will see him play the piano in front of you. I know how much this means to you, how much you changed after you became a fan. I will make sure it happens. I promise.”

You looked at your friend, sitting by your side on the pink couch you insisted on buying for your living room.

“You can’t control that, Cami”

“I can’t, but I will sign up for the pre-sale with as many email accounts as I can. I will even buy the membership thing.”

“ You sound like a fan”

“Well, if he helps you so much, maybe I should be a fan, do you think one of them could visit me in my sleep too? I bet it would be fun” She jokes.

“I wish I could talk to him, even in my dreams”

“When you go to the concert, he will look at you and you guys will fall in love”

“Cami, this is not fanfiction”

“Are you really quoting me right now? Well, I will create my own fanfiction if I want to. Nothing’s impossible. It would be great, then next year you won’t be alone for Valentine’s day. Maybe we can go on a double date, cause next year I’ll definitely have someone.”

“I’m not alone, you are literally in front of me”

“You know the kind of alone I’m talking about. Now, let’s make our Galentine’s dinner. I saw this recipe of spinach gnocchi that seems very easy. I want to try it tonight. Then, we’ll have a date with Mr. Darcy.”

“Camila, have I told you that I love you?”

“Te quiero, amiga, but you better answer your phone next time”

🪷🪷🪷

After squealing during the entirety of “Pride and Prejudice”, you called it a night and went to your room. It was late, but you couldn’t stop yourself from checking all of the details of the announcement and texting your ARMY friends back.

It felt surreal. That your bias will go on a tour. That you’ll finally have the chance of seeing one of them. Excitement was an understatement. You could feel your heart beating against your ribcage. You needed to sleep now, but your whole body was already buzzing with anticipation of going to the concert, of seeing Yoongi in front of you in real life.

Instead, you open the Weverse live and watch it. You pay attention as he talks about Slam Dunk and shares about Fashion Week. You worry when he said he hasn’t eaten, you smile with him once you see his reaction to the tour announcement coming out. You are washed with a wave of love for the artist on the screen.

“It’s not good to be delusional, _______” you say out loud. But you are not sleepy enough right now, and it was indeed Valentine’s day, so your imagination starts making up alternate realities of what could’ve been. You get your dear journal and write a poem, a confession.

“Let’s see each other in person, Yoongi” That’s what you hope and pray for.

🪷🪷🪷

Yoongi POV

Yoongi woke up on that Wednesday with that fuzzy feeling on his chest again. He knew this was getting too weird for his own good, there was no way dreaming about a random person he had never seen in his life was a normal thing.

Three years ago, he thought seeing a woman crying while writing was just a way his brain found to deal with his own creative process and the frustrations coming with it. But the story was getting too complex, the scenes were getting too detailed. There’s no way he knew sonnet 18 by Shakespeare by heart to create that kind of scene. He didn’t even know it by heart in Korean!

He couldn’t complain. He was nervous about his solo tour and his album and seeing her in his dreams gave him a warm sensation of calmness. He hasn’t heard her voice many times, so listening to the teacher in his dreams reading that poem with such devotion made him happy. He closed his eyes, still in bed, trying to replay it in his mind. The big smile and kind eyes shining so bright while talking about the sonnet with so much passion… His heart shrinks a little, the good kind of pain, he wishes he could see her for real, if she’s real. She must be. She has to.

He knew that feeling wouldn’t leave him, even if he tried, the warmth, the pull and the want to see her one more time. This would follow him for the rest of the day and he was getting used to it after such a long time.

He didn’t know what to do. Yoongi knew people would say he’s crazy if he dared to talk about this out loud. So, he resorted to his old friends, the yellow notepad and the pencil. And just like the other times she followed him in his mind, he wrote her another song.

To be continued.

Masterlist | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

[fearlessword]

I’ll meet you in my dreams - Masterlist

Summary: You dreamed of the boy who played piano before you knew who he was. Humming the melodies you heard in your sleep brought BTS into your life and you thought it was just meant to be.When you finally have the chance to see him perform live, you realize that the dreams you have are more than a coincidence. You hope he dreams of you too.

Slow burn/ Slow build/ canon divergence/ d-day tour / soulmate- ish

Pairing: Idol! Min Yoongi x Reader

Ongoing. This fic is updated on AO3 first. You can find Chapters 1-5 here.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

[fearlessword]

I’ll meet you in my dreams - Chapter 1

Summary: You dreamed of the boy who played piano before you knew who he was. Humming the melodies you heard in your sleep brought BTS into your life and you thought it was just meant to be.When you finally have the chance to see him perform live, you realize that the dreams you have are more than a coincidence. You hope he dreams of you too.

Masterlist

Chapter 1

Wake up. Teach. Eat. Plan. Overthink. Cry. Sleep.

Repeat.

You didn’t know how your life turned out to be like this. You hated it. You hated the city streets were empty. You hated that the principal kept watching each lesson just to criticize your teaching.You hated teaching online and how burned out you were because of it. You hated not being able to see your friends, or what’s left of them. You hated that fucking virus that postponed all of your plans. You hated how much you missed your cheating ex and that traitor you once called best friend.

Everything sucks in 2020.

At first, it seemed like it was just for a while, which also meant a good break before the craziness that came with Spring and the end of the school year. Two months after the government announced the quarantine, you were burned out, rethinking life choices, crying yourself to sleep because of a break up you thought you had moved on from. Your roommate and coworker Camila was the only good thing. She became a nice friend who could relate to you. Both of you were just two tired teachers trying to survive in New York City during a pandemic. The growing friendship you had made it bearable. When nights were especially hard for you and you’d sob and cry at 3 am, your friend wouldn’t say a thing, only to greet you with open arms, a mug of hot coffee, and a silent promise of ice cream and movies after dinner. You didn’t deserve it, considering you were the reason she’d wake up in the middle of the night, but she didn’t hold it against you, and you were grateful for that.

If you were being honest with yourself, you knew you shouldn’t be crying for a relationship that finished two years ago. It was hard not to, especially now that there wasn’t much, besides work, to keep you busy. It was the last week of May, Summer was just around the corner and you yearned for the joy the season brings. At the same time, shaking off the feelings that came with the isolation was not an easy feat. He cheated on you with your best friend, after all! You tell yourself he doesn’t deserve your tears, but it takes time to erase things like that.

You are lonely and confused, angry to feel the way you felt. Grieving the youth you’re giving away while staying at home. So, on that night of May, you did what you should’ve done 2 years ago. You got your blue journal, a pencil, bursted your earbuds with the saddest songs you could find, and for the first time in what felt like an eternity, you wrote.

The words spilled from your mind to the paper, a letter addressed to the one who made you feel like this. How you met, how you became friends, the moment you realized you loved him. The memories you wanted to erase flowing so easily through your hands. The story was kept in your head for so long, suffocating you a little bit every day, it was like you could exhale for the first time. How you missed this!

You were so focused on revisiting all of the moments to write, that you didn’t check the time. It was late, so late. And you needed to sleep now if you wanted to have energy for the long day of teaching you had ahead of you.

You checked the amount of words you’ve written. Seven pages. It was still just the beginning. Your eyes were red and wet and you got yourself a headache. As cathartic as it was to write like this, it had left you with zero to no energy to keep going. As you were embraced by your sleep, you wished the part of your brain that processed traumatic experiences just did its job.

That night, you dream of a man and a piano.

Not exactly a piano, it was more like a keyboard.

All you could see was that he was making music.

The room was compact, so much it didn’t look like a room. “Maybe he’s camping”, you thought. There was a bunk bed and a tiny table underneath it, which was where he was working with a yellow notepad and pencil positioned close to the laptop. His pale skin was in contrast with the black straight hair covering part of his face. Still, you were able to see some of his facial expressions. He was so concentrated in his craft, long fingers testing notes in the mini keyboard connected to his laptop.

You wish you could listen to the melody he is so focused on, he was clearly showing signs of conflict, while listening to it on his headphones. He throws his head back and breathes loudly, like he needs a break, the hair moves out of his face and you can see his eyes now. Deep, dark, catlike eyes.

Oh God. He 's beautiful.

You could feel a pull, an inexplicable warmth inside of you… You were curious about him. You were curious about the circumstances. Why were you consciously dreaming about a man you have never seen in your life? Why aren’t you in this dream? How could he fascinate you so much in minutes?

A door opens and there’s light in the room. You hear a voice speaking a language you don’t understand. You hear a deep voice, his voice, replying in the same language. Then, everything goes black.

You were pulled out of the dream, eyes open, back in your room, but with remains of the comforting warmth inside of you.

It stayed with you the whole day, just like the memory of the boy making music.

That night, the crying is not that loud, your writing process still hard, but not unbearable.

You were still tired, still heartbroken. The routine was the same.

But there was that warm feeling in your chest. And as your head touches the pillow in the middle of the night, you hope to dream of him again.

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