#musings; yoonji

[tewwor]

Each word of hatred and venom fuels him like high grade coal does a hearth. They grin broader, wider until the cheeks start to ache and — BANG! The metal frame crunches, glass shatters, and tires whine before leaving the beaten path. An entirely too joyous whoop punches out of Ari as they grasp onto the dashboard and seat. Now this is what they're talking about! It's exciting! Exhilarating!

... What the fuck is going on with her!

All of that screaming has him looking over through a wild eyed smile. "Okay— okay!" Imagine having the balls to laugh in a time like this. But Ari relents. They wriggle and reposition their body to help stomp at the windshield. After the third kick, they suck their teeth and start to rummage around the inside of their windbreaker. A pen and pad of paper is produced, and they waste no time to scribble something down before slapping it against the dashboard.

"You might wanna shield your head if you can!" That's all the warning she gets before they recite an archaic release. The sigil flashes bright before a force slams past the windshield. An unearthly screech booms among the rain of glass and Ari cackles again. "Deal with the harpy, will you?" They shout at the unfurling kipir. "Here—" The seatbelt's undone for the both of them and they offer support with an arm. "We're gonna have to jump. I can carry you down, don't worry— I'm sturdy as shit."

“I fuckin’ hate you so fuckin’ much.” The sentiment is repeated, and would be, until they made it out alive. Or if they died. The last thing he’d hear would be her southern drawl twanging in his ears. “You probably do taste good, though.” A little shrug. “Ya look healthy enough.”

And then she’s looking in the rearview, spots that goddamn fucking bird soaring behind them. The car is chugging along at an alarmingly slow rate until she decides to just hit the brakes entirely. Clearly driving away was doing no good.

“As soon as this is over I’m beating your fuckin’ ass. That’s a promise.” And then she does, in fact, buckle up so whatever happens next doesn’t send her faceplanting through the windshield.

As the car is slammed into she screams, flinching towards the middle of the cabin as talons rip through the door and windows. The sharp edge catches her leg and slices through the flesh – only a surface wound, but it stings like a motherfucker. One arm snaps and breaks involuntarily which draws another yowl of pain from her.

She contorts awkwardly, uses her worn boots to try to kick out the windshield as they’re lifted higher. “You better get me the fuck outta this truck before I maul you.” It’s not really on purpose, but the green of her eyes is fading quickly to yellow as more limbs threaten to snap.

[tewwor]

𝚅𝙴𝚁𝚂𝙴 — 𝙹𝚄𝙹𝚄𝚃𝚂𝚄 𝙺𝙰𝙸𝚂𝙴𝙽 .

𝙽𝙾𝚆 𝙻𝙾𝙰𝙳𝙸𝙽𝙶 . . .

Canonically, all of the muses within The Marked have died. They were then randomly selected and presented a chance for a second life. Once accepted, they are brought back with a few perks that normal humans don't have, but the catch is that they must hunt curses. They are known as The Marked, and they keep their actual identities a secret from society. The phenomena of the deal dates back beyond a set time. So while most of the muses on this group are of the modern era, the traditions / practice has always been around.

This group was originally located in the states. Upon request by the higher echelon of JJT, they have more or less relocated overseas. All Marked members are to considered as sorcerers.

No one outside of the marked knows them as such. to others, they’re known as 0 ; the beginning to all ends, the end to all beginnings.

0 is an underground syndicate that deals in weapon supply, cage fights, and sorcerers for hire. They’re an odd bunch, certainly, but they always get the job done. Their influences has been spread far and wide to those that know where to look.

The core of 0 are all Marked members, but there are others permitted to join as well. Not a single word is ever said about who or what The Marked are. despite how cohesive and high functioning 0 is, The Marked will always stay loyal to themselves first.

Codenames aren’t used within 0. All Marked members go by their civilian names.

Additional resources / help is often outsourced — this opens a more accessible starting point for other sorcerers and the like. Curse infused / possessed users are welcomed! Just know they’re being watched. Any particularly bad fuck ups and The Marked will take notice and deal with it accordingly.

𝙿𝙻𝙰𝚈𝙴𝚁𝚂 . . .

999 'Kubo Yua' — Security . Imperceptibility CT .

Ace 'Ari Yoonji Im' — Informant / thief . Summoning CT .

Chef 'Yoo Serim' — Cook / alchemist . Sensory deprivation CT .

Curor 'Amine Kovac' — Healer / trainer . Healing blood CT .

Crux 'Josiah McCarthy' — Overseer of both The Marked & 0 / underground fight organizer; black market dealer . Bone manipulation CT .

Evanescence 'Aarav Singh' — No position yet . Power seal CT .

Goshawk 'Iza Burne' — Cleaner . Acidity manipulation CT .

Iris 'Kang Ilseul' — Safe haven keeper & medicinal supplier / Greenhouse nursery worker . Entity bonding CT .

Jackrabbit 'Ines Ortiz' — Techie /  freelance hacker . Body temperature manipulation CT .

Kingfisher 'Shira Kantor' — Cleaner . Matter ingestion CT .

Litho 'Lionel Accardi' — Forger / bookstore owner . Ink manipulation CT .

REM 'Alon Galvez' — Handler / pawn shop owner . Hypnokinesis CT .

Ricochet 'Raayan Iyer' — Trainer / janitor . Absorption Infusion CT .

Shrike 'Choi Siwoo' — Cursed weapons maker . Physical restoration CT .

Tombstone 'Alonzo Cordero' — Tailor . Soul manipulation CT .

Vector 'Han Seojun' — Healer & seeker ( of new agents & retired trainer / Forensic artist . Holy fire CT .

Weaver 'Awan Umar' — Transport / wheelman . Rift Manipulation CT .

[star-my]

born as a tiger

Pairing: Min Yoongi (Mad King) x OFC (Lee Hoyeon)

Rating: T | WC: 5.8k | Ao3 | My Fics Masterlist | Masterlist |

AU: Daechwita AU, Arranged Marriage AU, Historical AU, Royal AU

CW: implied unhealthy/abusive parental relationship, OFC has Trust Issues & implied C-PTSD, Yoongi & Yoonji star in this fic, Namjoon cameo, Jackson Wang shows up (does not throw a party but is cause for one), Jackson goes by Gayi, empty threats of violence but as a love language, sword fighting but friendly, I think that's it, lmk if I should update this

Summary:

Lee Hoyeon trembled at all the thoughts flashing through her head as her carriage pulled up in front of the infamous Changdeokgung palace. Peering out through the window, she was unsettled to see how clean the stone courtyard was, the cool taupe a far cry from the dripping red she’d half-expected after tormenting herself with thoughts of her fiance’s atrocities. All the gossip she’d heard from the maids and guards back home in Dongjak Kingdom was now front and centre in her mind.  The carriage slowed to a gentle stop and the door opened, courtesy of the footman. Hoyeon took his hand, hoping hers wasn’t trembling too noticeably, and took her first step on the grounds she would be empress of in three weeks.

A/N: - this idea lay dormant for a year and a half and suddenly resurrected in the middle of reading a webtoon at 10 pm so here I am answering the author’s call of nature 😭 (*spongebob voice* fOuR mOnThS lAtEr: bless the ATZ hyperfixation for me wanting to get something out of my brain to make more room for the ot8 brainrot and this WIP was the sacrifice it chose)

I did some research for this fic, such as the Changdeokgung palace truly existing (of which I used in my moodboard), the chrysanthemum tea vs plum tea debate, and Yoongi’s sword apparently being called a hwando, etc. Any inaccuracies are mine and I apologize. Please feel free to point them out :)

There was supposed to be some smut but the muses refused. I may add it in the future or post it in a second chapter.

Thanks to the lovely @lunarelles for betaing! Any remaining mistakes are my own <3 Enjoy! 

D-22

Emperor Min Yoongi of the Dalseogu Empire was a force to be reckoned with. His subjects trembled in fear when he was whispered about–even his fellow rulers kept a wide berth around him when they met at diplomatic events. He’s a monster, they said. His reign was written with the blood of his subjects. He was nicknamed the Mad King for a reason–not that anyone would say his unofficial title to his face.

The day after the seventh emperor of the Dalseogu empire was crowned, he killed half of his court. Only a select few officials remained unscathed from the Mad King’s bloodbath. Even the families of the officials he killed were not all exempt – wives, concubines, and children being wiped out by his sword. The Dowager Empress and the Second, Third, and Fourth Prince had all died that day, making it the second most bloody day the Empire had seen since its inception.

Lee Hoyeon trembled at all the thoughts flashing through her head as her carriage pulled up in front of the infamous Changdeokgung palace. Peering out through the window, she was unsettled to see how clean the stone courtyard was, the cool taupe a far cry from the dripping red she’d half-expected after tormenting herself with thoughts of her fiance’s atrocities.

All the gossip she’d heard from the maids and guards back home in Dongjak Kingdom was now front and centre in her mind. 

The carriage slowed to a gentle stop and the door opened, courtesy of the footman. Hoyeon took his hand, hoping hers wasn’t trembling too noticeably, and took her first step on the grounds she would be empress of in three weeks. 

A contingency of guards marched out from the front gates of Changdeokgung, a swish of brightly-coloured silk in their midst. Bowing to Hoyeon, they stepped aside, revealing the silk as the crown princess, the Mad King’s twin sister, Min Yoonji.

“I’m glad you made it here safely, Princess Hoyeon,” greeted Crown Princess Yoonji familiarly, as if this was their hundredth meeting and not their first. “The emperor was out often the past couple weeks ensuring the bandits would not attack the carriages. I imagine you’re rather thirsty and tired. Would you like some tea?”

“Tea would be lovely, thank you, Crown Princess.”

“Please, call me unnie, we are to be sisters in a few weeks.”

“As you wish, Crown Princess.” Hoyeon followed the princess to the quarters prepared for her stay before she wed the emperor. 

This whole situation was most bizarre. The crown princess had been rumoured to be a fierce warrior–much like her brother, the maids had gasped as Hoyeon eavesdropped. Yet here she was, dressed in silks like any other respectable lady of the court and pouring the fragrant tea with a natural elegance Hoyeon had practiced for days to attain.

“So, are you excited for the wedding?” asked Yoonji, refilling their cups with the most delicious blend of tea Hoyeon had ever drunk.

Hoyeon nibbled on her lip, debating how much would be prudent to tell the crown princess. She was lovely and welcoming, but she was also the emperor’s sister. How was she supposed to say she was scared out of her wits and had been for the past several days, since her father had announced her engagement to the Mad King at a state dinner with no warning whatsoever. That she’d tried to learn what she could about her new empire and husband-to-be, but all she had gleaned was that she would be lucky to survive six months as the empress? What could she say, I almost looked forward to this when my father first announced this, so that I had a chance to finally be free from his tyranny, but now I wish I was back with the devil I know?

Deciding the last train of thought had the most truth she could pluck from and spin into a plausible half-truth, she replied, “I was surprised when my father mentioned the alliance to me, but I am pleased to be able to support my kingdom in this way. I will do my best to be a good empress to Dalseogu. I noticed the absolutely beautiful scenery as I made my way here, and it is a lovely empire.” Just ruled by not-so-lovely people, she thought, then ignored the stab of guilt at the mental insult to Yoonji, who’d been rather good so far at calming her nerves.

Yoonji smiled at the compliment to her empire. “I’m so glad you think so! I know it can be a bit…sparse, to some, but I think there’s a wild beauty to the land.”

One of her maids stepped forward to whisper in her ear. Yoonji looked at Hoyeon apologetically. 

“Duty calls, I’m afraid. I’ll leave you to rest now. I know my brother was looking forward to greeting you, but something came up that he couldn’t ignore. He’d like you to join him for tea tomorrow afternoon.”

“Of course, I will be there. Thank you, Crown Princess…unnie.”

Yoonji’s glare softened at the casual honorific. “Lovely! Rest well, Princess Hoyeon.”

The crown princess and her entourage left, leaving only Hoyeon and her maid, Jina. 

“That seemed to go well, Miss,” offered Jina as she began to unpack and brush out Hoyeon’s nightclothes.

Hoyeon groaned, collapsing onto her bed with her hand flung over her eyes. “Appearances can be deceiving, Jina. I can’t afford to trust anyone here, no matter how nice they are–especially the emperor’s sister!”

“I hope she can be a true friend to you here, Miss.”

“Thank you, Jina.”

D-21

“It’s a pleasure to serve you, Princess Hoyeon,” bowed the maid provided by the palace, named Sora. 

“Thank you. I’m sure Jina will appreciate your help in navigating the palace until she becomes accustomed to our new accommodations.”

“I’ll do my best, Princess.”

Sora and Jina chattered away, becoming fast friends, as Hoyeon chewed anxiously on her thumbnail in the corner. 

She learned that Sora had a younger sister, Soha, whom she was very proud of for having recently become a full-fledged palace maid. The head maid was tough but caring once a maid proved herself, and Sora was sure Jina would win her over in no time. There were a couple guards who were insufferable flirts, but they were still respectful. Jina’s best course of action would be to ignore any flirtations and not respond to the provocations. 

Hoyeon finally jumped up from her seat, startling the maids from their conversation. “What time should I be prepared to go for tea with the emperor?”

“If we start now, you should arrive just after the emperor’s meeting finishes, Princess,” replied Sora. 

The maids did their best to dress Hoyeon up in her favourite hanbok, pinning her hair with a gold hairpin the emperor had gifted her via her father, and using cosmetics to accentuate her features.

“You’re a little pale,” commented Jina as she patted some pink onto Hoyeon’s cheeks. 

“Do you blame me?” she retorted. “Sora, is there anything I need to be aware of when I greet the emperor?”

Sora paused from folding a discarded robe. “I don’t think so. Emperor Min doesn’t insist on many formalities if it’s not a formal event. I believe Soha will be serving the tea, so if you need anything, you can ask her to find me, Princess.”

“Thank you, Sora.”

Jina and Sora fell in behind her, Sora quietly directing her through the maze of corridors to the room the emperor was waiting in for her.

She smiled at the guards outside the doors. “Is the emperor available?”

“Unnie!”

Hoyeon turned to see a girl bearing a tea tray. She bowed to her before turning to Sora.

“Unnie, the emperor is still occupied.”

“Do you think he will be long?”

“I don’t think you will wait long,” reported the girl, who Hoyeon assumed was Soha. “Princess,” she bowed again before entering the room.

A loud voice escaped the open door, followed by the distinctive sound of a slap.

A minute later she ran out, tears flowing down her face as she passed Hoyeon and her maids.

Hoyeon stared in trepidation at the girl. What had happened to make the emperor slap her? She’d barely had time to do anything. This didn’t bode well for her.

“Show Princess Lee in,” called a voice. The guards opened the door.

Hoyeon took a deep breath and stepped forward, keeping her eyes on the next step she was taking.

She paused when she reached a low tea table, droplets of tea scattered across its surface. She could see the emperor’s robes across from her and a tea set shattered on the floor to her right.

So that was why Soha had run out. Why was it broken?

“Your Majesty,” she bowed, hoping it was low enough.

“Your Highness,” he greeted in response. “You may stand.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty.” Her eyes flicked up to his face quickly, then back down to hide her surprise.

He had a scar across his right eye, from his eyebrow to his cheek. She’d thought the rumours were just that–rumours. Who had ever heard of a king with a scar?

She supposed with a reputation like his, he didn’t have to worry about naysayers attempting to depose him.

She’d been so surprised at the scar and hadn’t wanted to be caught staring that she barely remembered his other features.

She chanced another glance and found him staring at her.

“You can look at me, Princess Hoyeon.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty.” She peeked up under her lashes.

Was it possible for a scar to heighten his appeal? He had shockingly blond hair pulled back into the typical sangtu, thick brows, a nose that she couldn’t believe the first adjective she thought of was ‘cute’, and pouty lips. Overall, he was rather attractive. 

The benefit to marrying a young emperor was that he was surprisingly handsome, but it also meant he was less likely to die soon. In all honesty, Hoyeon expected him to outlive her.  

She hadn’t met his eyes–his look had been far too calculating. If there was one thing she knew about court politics, it was to never show your fear when someone was around. 

“You arrived much quicker than I expected, Princess Hoyeon. I hope your travels were smooth.”

“Yes, thank you. We had no trouble at all. My father said it was better to arrive sooner lest we be waylaid and made late.” He was just thrilled he could finally get some use out of his useless only child.

“Crown Princess Yoonji said that you were an interesting companion at her tea yesterday.”

I knew she’d tell him about me.

“As was she, Your Majesty. I look forward to getting to know her–and you–better.”

“Good,” said the emperor, clearly pleased. “The crown princess is pleased to be able to help you become accustomed to the Dalseogu Empire. I will be busy with all the things that must be finished before the wedding, so I imagine you will be seeing her often.”

“I’m pleased to hear that, Your Majesty. May I ask you a question?” Better to find out now how lenient he will be towards my impertinence.

“Go ahead.”

“Why did you approach the Dongjak kingdom for an alliance?” Why me?

“It is advantageous for both our lands to have the trade deals this alliance will forge. Dongjak and Dalseogu have not always been at peace, so this was a good way to cement it.”

Slightly surprised that the emperor had actually given her an answer, she nodded. She hadn’t had the slightest shred of hope that he would give her some secretly romantic explanation, such as he’d seen her at some event and been so taken by her that he had to have her. All she was good for was strengthening her kingdom’s ties as one of its most important representatives. 

The guards opened the door and let in Sora, carrying the replacement tea set.

She poured the tea quietly and served their cups to them, then retreated to the side, assuming an at-ease position.

“Please sit,” directed the emperor, settling himself on his cushion. Hoyeon followed his example, making herself as comfortable as she could sitting opposite an unknown volatile man no one could rebuke.

The tea was delicious, stronger than what she was used to back in Dongjak, but she found its tart flavour pleasant. 

“This is exquisite tea, Your Majesty.”

He inclined his head. “It is plum tea. I believe Dongjak more commonly uses the chrysanthemum flowers for their tea.”

“You are correct, Your Majesty.”

Tea with the emperor went fairly well, although Hoyeon caught his considering gaze upon her several times. It unnerved her, wondering why he was taking so much interest in his political bride. 

She didn’t like it.

D-20

Hoyeon giggled, finally somewhat relaxed around the crown princess as the older girl spilled stories about her maids’ and guards’ dramatic dynamics and relationships. 

“Don’t tell the head maid I told you this,” Yoonji leaned forward, finger to her lips. 

Hoyeon’s eyes widened as she bit her lower lip, nodding quickly in agreement. She knew that the maids were one of the biggest and best ally teams she could have on her side in the palace, and she wouldn’t dare do anything to harm her chances of gaining connections.

“So, what do you think of my brother, after your tea with him yesterday?” Yoonji relaxed onto her cushion, pouring herself another cup of what Hoyeon wasn’t completely convinced was just plum tea. 

Her teeth dug further into her lip as she considered how to answer. The siblings appeared fairly close for being possible throne rivals–especially considering that Yoonji had survived the Mad King’s bloody beginning–and she couldn’t speak freely. The princess was a skilled politician, however, and would surely catch on if she lied and began praising the man.

“I find His Majesty…intimidating,” she said slowly, gauging how Yoonji took that ambivalent opening.

Yoonji nodded, motioning to continue with her finger. “He certainly knows how to make himself understood.”

Understatement of the dynasty, thought Hoyeon. 

“He’s…rather good looking. I was surprised,” she mused. Realising Yoonji had raised her eyebrow at her, she went on hastily. “Just that I hadn’t heard anyone speak about that when they discussed the emperor! I had very little information on His Majesty to go off of. I suppose the men that met the emperor were more focused on his character than his countenance,” she snorted, a little self-deprecatingly, glancing up to see if Yoonji would take the bait and either consider her a little simple and romantically-minded or expound upon her open-ended question to know more about her fiance’s personality. 

“Well, I suppose I agree that my brother is rather good-looking,” Yoonji mused, sipping her tea. “I’ve been told often that we appear quite similar.”

“Indeed, that was one of the first things I noticed. You’re both attractive and there’s certainly a family resemblance between you two. By the way, is there anyone you think is good-looking, unnie?” she asked curiously, hoping she wasn’t overstepping.

Yoonji shook her head. “There are several tolerably handsome ministers and princes around, but their personalit-”

A knock sounded at the door to the crown princess’s tea room. Yoonji nodded at Hoyeon in apology, excusing herself to speak quietly with the maid waiting at the door, bringing a message from the emperor. 

Yoonji’s brow furrowed slightly, then smoothed as she turned back to Hoyeon. “The emperor has requested an audience with me, and he wishes to see you after my visit. Would you like to come with me now?”

Hoyeon nodded, setting her tea down and getting to her feet. She still wasn’t entirely sure she had the palace layout memorised, and Jina was currently being interviewed by the head maid, leaving Hoyeon friendless and ally-less if Yoonji also left her behind. 

“I’d be honoured to join you, Your Highness.”

The two young women headed as briskly as nobles could to the emperor’s throne room, where he remained after a meeting with his ministers earlier. 

The guards saw the duo’s approach and opened the tall doors in anticipation of Yoonji’s entrance. Hoyeon chose to remain outside, though the doors remained open, giving the siblings privacy and taking advantage of the moment to prepare her nerves to see her fiance again. She’d relaxed in Yoonji’s quiet company, but reverted to her stiff princess behaviour on their walk here. 

Shaking her head at her rapid closeness with the princess, she straightened her skirts anxiously. For all she knew, the siblings were in there right now discussing her pathetic surface-level attraction to the Mad King and how quickly she’d come to confide in the princess.

Shifting on her feet, she cursed her father once again for removing anyone who’d appeared close to her, making her a prime target for spilling her innermost thoughts when she met someone who appeared to listen. Reminding herself it had only been two days and Yoonji had not yet proved if it was safe to trust her, Hoyeon twisted the jade ring on her finger as she waited.

A loud cry came from Yoonji, giving her deja vu. With an inner sigh, she inched forward, straining her ear to make out what the siblings were arguing about. 

Silently, she watched Yoonji, who appeared unafraid to talk back to the emperor. Was it because she was his sister? He wouldn’t retaliate? Something else? She needed to know everything she could.

“I’m getting married?!” cried Yoonji, clearly. “In two weeks?! Without you telling me first?!”

Hoyeon froze. Her newest ally and possible future friend would be leaving the palace? Was it because they were becoming close? Had Yoonji done something warranting being sent away? No, it was probably just another business transaction, like her marriage was to be. 

Calming her anxious thoughts, Hoyeon shuffled a little closer, wondering who the groom was.

“No, you are leaving Dalseogu in two weeks. You are getting married in a week to Emperor Wang Gayi.”

“You arranged a marriage for me? With the Wang Emperor?!”

“Yes, I did, and you will marry him. That’s an emperor’s order, Min Yoonji.”

“You gave me no choice? I’m so mad that you interfered with my relationships,” Yoonji said flatly, turning and exiting via the hall behind the throne area. 

“Your groom will be here by tomorrow morning,” the emperor informed her, barely raising his voice. Facing forward once again, he motioned Hoyeon to approach him. 

“Good afternoon, Princess.”

She bowed. “Good afternoon, Your Majesty.”

“Good afternoon, Your Highness. Would you like some tea?”

“No, thank you. I just came from having some with the crown princess. I suppose she will be busy now with her wedding preparations, so I am grateful that I could have these past few days to get to know my sister-in-law.”

“I apologize if you feel that my sister’s wedding takes precedence over ours,” the emperor said, surprising Hoyeon. “I wished her to wed soon and thought that now would be best since most of the preparations for ours are already complete and can transfer to theirs. Emperor Wang has to return to Kowloon soon and I wanted him to take Yoonji with him.”

“I am not slighted at all, Your Majesty. I wish the royal couple all happiness and longevity. May I ask why you requested to see me after the crown princess, Your Majesty?”

He stretched languidly, rising to his feet and sauntering down the steps to his throne. “Am I not allowed to wish to see my fiancee?” he asked, approaching Hoyeon. 

“Y-you are, Your Majesty.” Biting her lip, she forced herself to remain standing tall and not move back.

He paused two arm lengths away from her. “I would like to see you every day before our wedding, if you are available.”

“I believe I will be, if that is what you wish.”

He tilted his head, scanning her head to toe. She lowered her gaze to his feet, hoping she hadn’t mussed her clothing since Jina left her at Yoonji’s tea room. 

“You seem rather nervous.”

Who wouldn’t be, being the focus of one of the continent’s most dangerous men?! Hoyeon shrieked internally. Well, it appeared the emperor was more perceptive than her father, so lying was off the table. “I suppose I am. We have only met once, and I am unchaperoned. I do not wish to cause any damage to either of your kingdoms if there were negative repercussions from this event, Your Majesty.”

He hummed, taking a step back so that his black-clad feet were no longer in her vision. “The doors are open and there are plenty of guards and other staff around, Princess. But, if it would make you feel better–Chief Advisor Kim!”

Barely repressing the flinch at his sudden shout, Hoyeon turned to see who the emperor had just summoned. A tall, handsome man rushed in, arms full of scrolls and books, a pair of spectacles sliding down his nose. He pushed them up, a scroll fluttering from its precarious spot under his elbow. 

Hoyeon stooped without thinking, catching the runaway parchment and handing it back to the man, who flashed a thankful smile at her, dimples appearing in his cheeks. “Thank you, Your Highness.”

“Princess Hoyeon, this is my most trusted advisor, Kim Namjoon. He will be our chaperone,” the emperor said shortly. 

“I’m honoured to meet you, Princess. Congratulations on the wedding.”

“Thank you,” she nodded at him and turned back to her fiance, not wanting to spend his patience with her over another man. Still, his behaviour was unlike anything she was used to. The Mad King was her enigma, and she only hoped it wouldn’t take too long to figure him out. 

D-17

The sound of metal hitting metal drew Hoyeon’s attention from the flowery bushes she was admiring, turning towards the walled courtyard ahead of her.

Jina stopped by her side, both somewhat behind one of the pillars by the entrance, watching the two men in front of them slash at each other, silver swords glinting in the sunlight.

The emperor’s distinctive blond hair gave his identity away, and Hoyeon watched his graceful power with an open mouth, seeing first-hand her fiance’s prowess with a blade.

The other man was about the same height, with short brown hair and a slimmer sword than Yoongi’s. He held it with a careless ease that belied years of training, evenly matched with his opponent. 

Their blades clashed, sun rays reflecting off their entwined blades and blinding Hoyeon. She sneezed unexpectedly, interrupting the men’s moment. They bowed to each other, sheathing their blades and walking in different directions–Yoongi towards her and the other man towards Yoonji, whom Hoyeon just noticed was standing at the other side. 

Hoyeon bowed, greeting the emperor. He nodded back at her, taking the damp cloth his attendant held out to him and wiping his face and neck down. The neckline of his black robe gaped a little, affording Hoyeon a glimpse of smooth pale skin and subtly defined musculature. She blushed red, glancing away quickly to watch Yoonji, who had attained her own sword. 

The emperor followed her gaze, leaning his hand carelessly on his hwando pommel. “That’s Emperor Wang,” he confirmed her suspicion carelessly. “Would you like to make a bet with me?”

“A bet, Your Majesty?” Hoyeon flicked her gaze to him in confusion.

He nodded towards the couple. “On who will win their spar, Yoonji or Gayi.”

“They will spar?” Crown princess versus emperor, fiancee versus fiance?

The two moved towards the now-open sparring area in the middle of the yard, raising their blades to the opening position. 

“They have both trained for years. I’m curious myself about the outcome. So, what do you say, Princess?” The emperor leaned towards her, breath brushing her cheek. “Will you bet with me?”

“Very well, Your Majesty. What are your terms?”

He leaned back, studying her in mild surprise. “Hm…you must answer three questions I ask of you fully and truthfully, when I wish.”

That’s all? Like I could lie to you anyways. “Alright. I will hold the same terms, for the sake of fairness. I bet that the emperor will win.”

Hoyeon felt the weight of his gaze on her. “Not my sister?”

She shook her head. “I saw some of the emperor’s prowess when you two were fighting. I have not seen the princess fight, and the emperor surely has more experience, being on the battlefield.”

“But he will be tired since we were fighting before this,” Yoongi pointed out. “And I have fought with the princess. So, our bet. We each bet three complete, truthful answers about any topic we are asked about by the other if they win–you if Emperor Gayi wins, myself if Crown Princess Yoonji wins.”

“I agree to your terms.” Hoyeon shook the emperor’s hand, feeling his long fingers and calloused palms against her bare skin for the first time. He was warmer than she had expected; somehow she’d anticipated a cold-blooded, rigid man. 

He let go of her hand and she swiftly tucked her hands into her sleeves, feeling the ghost of his palm against hers. Focusing on the duo facing off in front of her, she did her best to ignore the warm presence brushing against her side. 

Yoonji was better than Hoyeon had expected, never having seen a female warrior before. Some of her moves looked similar to the emperor’s, but some were distinctively hers. She seemed to be having fun, however, a large gummy smile forming on her face as she parried the emperor’s strikes and danced into his space, making it more difficult for him to evade her attacks. 

Her opponent also seemed to be having fun, a smile growing on his face as they sparred. 

Hoyeon was glad the two were getting along, albeit in a more violent way than she was used to. Given what she knew of the crown princess’s personality, she was curious how the couple’s relationship would progress.

“The princess is quite good,” she said without thinking.

The emperor hummed in agreement. “I trained with her often. She is one of my best generals.”

Hoyeon whipped around in surprise. “The crown princess is your general?”

He nodded, dragging his eyes from the fight to her face. 

“Then why–” Hoyeon bit her lip, realizing her curiosity could be taken as insolence.

“Continue,” the emperor prompted her curiously. 

“Then why are you marrying your general off to the Kowloon Empire?” she asked quietly. He still appeared to have heard her, as he replied.

“The emperor and my sister have been in love for a while now. I will be saddened by my best general, advisor, and companion’s absence, but it is beyond time for her to have her happiness.”

Hoyeon blinked. Was the emperor…sentimental? And what was that about the marriage argument the other day?

“But…I understood the princess was against the marriage?”

“Not at all, she was being sarcastic. ‘How dare you marry me to the love of my life? Alas, I am ordered to spend time with the only man who makes me happy.’ Like that.”

“Oh.”

“Are you slandering me behind my back, Your Majesty?” Yoonji approached the two, her fiance behind her, carrying their swords.

“Is it slander if it’s true?” he retorted. “It seems my bride has not yet grown accustomed to your strange sense of humour. Now tell me, who won? I have a bet on the line, here.”

Realizing she’d been too distracted by the emperor to see who won, Hoyeon looked to Yoonji, who had what she now realised was a faux-betrayed look on her face. 

“You had better have bet on me, brother.”

“Of course I did,” he replied smugly. “So, I won the bet?”

Yoonji’s fiance spoke up. “No, your lovely fiancee did. Congratulations, Princess.”

“Damn, I should have bet on Gayi.”

Yoonji smacked her brother’s arm for his comment. “You are lucky I’m leaving the palace, Your Majesty.”

Hoyeon watched the siblings banter with wide eyes. The emperor was so relaxed and unlike his Mad King persona today. Which was the real one?

“It’s okay, Princess,” commiserated Emperor Gayi. “No one understands these two’s strange relationship, either.”

“I can behead you, you know,” threatened Yoongi. 

“You better give me his empire if you do,” Yoonji poked his stomach.

“Not if you keep touching me, I won’t!”

“OR,” interrupted Gayi, “you can not behead me and Yoonji can begin her reign over my empire peacefully as my empress!”

“But then I’d still have to hear you talk about my sister,” pointed out Yoongi. “It would be a lot quieter if your head was removed from your shoulders.”

“Say something!” Gayi looked at Yoonji, who sighed.

“Yoongi, don’t kill my fiance. It wouldn’t be a lot quieter because you’d then have to hear your sister talk about how much she missed her dead fiance instead…and your fiancee wouldn’t like you to kill her new ally, I guess.”

Yoongi looked at the bewildered Hoyeon. “Hm. It’s better to remove two nuisances at once, I suppose. I shall endure this next week for the princess’s sake, I suppose, since she won our bet.”

“How generous, Your Majesty,” Gayi and Yoonji bowed formally after the emperor, who left with an eye roll at their antics. 

Yoonji straightened once he was gone and turned to Hoyeon with a smile. “Do you want me to show you to the archery range?”

D-13

The wedding of the Emperor of Kowloon and the Crown Princess of Dalseogu went off without a hitch, which relieved some of Hoyeon’s worries. It was exactly the same as it would be for her and Yoongi, so she had a chance to mentally prepare. There wasn’t too much that could go wrong, thankfully, so as long as she didn’t faint next week, she should be in the clear.

Spending time with her fiance the past week and a half, as well as with his sister and her fiance, helped relax Hoyeon. He was courteous, surprisingly soft-spoken in private, and less menacing than she had been prepared for. Slowly, she began to wonder if the rumours had been exaggerated, as royal rumours tended to be, and if she might in fact be safe in the Dalseogu empire. 

Then came the day of her wedding, and all Hoyeon’s nerves returned full-force. Yoonji had left for Kowloon with Gayi, unable to stay for the wedding, and only Jina was there as someone she could rely on.

Her father had sent a witness to his only child’s wedding, too concerned over possible attacks to come himself. Hoyeon snorted as she read the letter his delegate had handed to her, dropping the paper to the table carelessly.

So he could send his daughter to live in the empire, but couldn’t come in person to celebrate her nuptials, the entire reason he would be safe visiting? Well, it wasn’t like she’d expected anything from him, but it still pinched in her heart. 

Jina brushed her robes out smoothly, stepping back and giving her a reassuring nod. “It’s time, Your Highness.”

D-Day

The entire ceremony was a blur, Hoyeon too focused on not making a mistake to take in anything else. She had the vague sense that the atmosphere was overcast, but nothing more than that.

The celebration feast was similarly unfocused, for slightly differing reasons. Yoongi, her new husband (what a strange thought), was right beside her at the head table, paying rather unnerving attention to her. 

Small bites were all she could choke down under his scrutiny, though he did his best to keep her dishes full. Hoyeon was a little confused when he kept adding delicious-smelling dishes to her immediate reach. Any other day, she’d be happy to try the new and intriguing dishes, but with the nerves in her stomach and the eyes on her chopsticks, she couldn’t choke down more than a few bites, something she bemoaned.

Toasts and cheers were continually offered by the celebrating ministers and nobles filling the hall, gallons of alcohol flowing freely. 

Hoyeon grabbed her goblet, draining the dregs in a couple gulps, coughing a little at the afterburn. Yoongi’s scrutiny became heavier, his warmth overwhelming her as he leaned even closer to whisper in her ear. “Are you alright, Your Majesty?”

Hoyeon hiccuped. “I’m perfectly fine, thank you for your concern, Your Majesty. Just thirsty.”

His expression told her he didn’t fully believe her, but he leaned back, letting her breathe easily again. She turned away, patting her burning cheeks with the back of her hand. 

It really should be illegal for someone to look that handsome up close. She considered her previous fears that he would behead her within six months and revised it to worry that she’d be overcome by his beauty within six months instead. 

A sudden weight on her hand made her look down from picking up individual grains of rice with her chopsticks.

Yoongi’s hand rested on hers, his thumb caressing her pulse point. Her heart skipped a beat at the simple touch. He didn’t look at her anymore, thankfully, but his hand stayed on hers the rest of the feast.

Her eyes darted between his profile and her chopsticks several times. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad being his empress. 

General taglist (open): @bangtanwritershq @kayleefriedchicken @otome-wandering + (@moni-logues you seemed intrigued when we sprinted so I hope this is okay :] )

Divider by @bunnysrph | Moodboard photos from Pinterest/Google, edit is mine :]

[rabbitholemuses]

Multi-muse OC RP for Once Upon a Time & Alice in Wonderland

My Muses:

Jefferson Hatter

Alice the White Queen

Jon the King of Hearts

Chester Cheshire Cat

Terrence Sparrowman

Jay the Red Dragon

Yoonji the Green Dragon

Jun the White Dragon

Jack the White Rabbit

Sage the Green Dragon

Home | Bio | Rules | Ask 18+ mdni / writer 30+

[xxj0kerxx]

finding that my blog needs a rather deep cleaning after such a long time of being absent, i would like to be here more often. i've decided to retire: haesu, minhyuk, yoonji, john, logan, richie. whether they don't have adequate resources for me to properly interact or use them or just outdated bios. there are other/certain muses that i intend to keep in hoping to revamp with better bios and to give them a new coat of paint.

[bang-tan-bitches]

to yoonji from the right time, how happy were you when the reader accepted your marriage proposal? like on a scale from "wow she said yes" to "HOLY FUCKING SHIT IM GONNA GET MARRIED JANSNSJ"

I was beyond ecstatic when she said yes.

And I would never keysmash.

[mirahuyooo]

Under The Sun | myg

Under the Sun | Elysian Tales — Greek Myth! AU

Min Yoongi as Apollo

— She loved everything under the sun. For she is a blissful warmth herself, it would be hard not to like her company. And so, eventually, the sun came to love her, too. 

Word Count: 25,155 words  Content/s: AnGsT, FluFf, pining, strangers to lovers ayEEE, switching POVs (mostly Yoongi’s), vaguely historical setting, BLONDE YOONGI, there’s a girl named Teresa here (sorry if it’s your name already lmao), there’s also a male rival (but not really?????), apollo!yoongi brooding a lot and having a crisis over his feelings, Hyacinthus is his ex btw so he’s mentioned a few times lol, Artemis!Yoonji (yes that yoonji with the bangs) being a good twin sis, brief (but a bit graphic??) mention of death & dead bodies (uhh… happy Halloween???? Lol couldn’t post it in time but oh well AJSDJASD), Yoongi and you kinda go sadistic for a moment (but its dESERVED anyway lol), Greek Mythology AU Pairing: Min Yoon Gi x Reader Inspired by Apollo and Hyacinthus (I think it’d be safe to say that? WHAHSHDAHSD)

[masterlist] | [Elysian Tales masterlist]

A/N: I've been gone for a L O N G TIME AHHAHAHAHA and this biTCH is THREE YEARS IN THE MAKING i dID NOT intend it to be SO LONG either (this is the LONGEST I've ever written a oneshot omfg) HWHAHSHSHSH I couldn’t decide if I want this to be a modern or a historical fantasy but I ended up with something somewhat historical WHAHSH I really did like the concept though so I hope you guys like it too! Enjoy!

In such a small town sitting on the far edge of a kingdom, the people there heavily relied on travellers and merchants coming in to tell them of the current entertainment and ongoings of the capital. And so, musicians were a marvel to come upon—a chance to listen to the possible latest of music. 

The song that filled the air lured people into a humble tavern, gathering around the cloaked young man in the corner playing the lute. His fingers fiddled with the strings and gave birth to music in a way that none of them had ever heard of. Others leaned closer to watch him play, while others reclined to the sound of his music. “What a wonderful tune, sir!” a woman from the crowd claims, sitting by his table, “you must be a blessed child of Apollo.”

She was a beauty with long curls of brown, framing such features that any man would find pleasing to look at. Her blue eyes held a certainty within them, as if she knew her beauty was her weapon above others, and though this may have been true for just about everyone in this town, it doesn’t save her from the disrespect of her actions. She leans towards the musician, a little too close and makes him miss a tune or two. 

Someone else, followed by others, protested against her move. “Let the man play in peace, Teresa!” 

Amidst the hollers, the young man nearly flinched—not that anyone would’ve noticed or cared. Whether the woman, herself, had noticed any discomfort or not, she only shamelessly  grinned, batting her eyelashes at him. Her flowery words did nothing to the man, however. 

He was scowling.

Still, his fingers deliver a smooth end to the tune, ignoring the cheers from the people around him. Having no need for them, the foreigner barely bothers to acknowledge such praises, and simply reaches for the pint he had left unattended before. 

The kind owner of the tavern approaches him with a grateful bow. “Thank you for the music, good sir,” he says to the quiet man, “Would you like another pint? I would gladly give one to you, free of charge.”

A shake of a head was the only reply the old man received, as the musician wordlessly gathered his bearings and slipped past any of those who attempted to approach him for recruitment of his talents and service. He knew better than to trust any mortal, and didn’t even bother to confirm it for himself.            

“Wait, sir!”

The woman, Teresa, from earlier comes chasing after him. “Leaving so soon?” she muses, clutching onto his arm. “Why not play more for us?”

The touch of this mortal on his skin made his blood boil. He glares at the hands that dared to hold him back, before raising a stern glare that takes the woman aback. Eyes glowing for a fraction of a moment, he sees in her eyes the flashes of her life in shambles—a woman so desperate to rile a reaction out of her absentee lover that she had resorted to seducing the rest of the town in petty vengeance.

“No,” he simply tells her, almost having to force himself out of her grasp. “Go back inside now, before your lover sees any of this.”

“I beg your pardon?” the woman stammers, a look of confusion casting onto her once daring features. “How did y—”

Rolling his eyes, the young man leaves the woman gawking outside the tavern, marching anywhere his feet would take him—which, apparently, was the large forest that surrounded the town. A sigh escapes the musician’s lips, as he sought refuge in a clearing. Sitting against a boulder, he looks at the lute on his lap, contemplating.   

The air becomes heavily downcast, in spite of the warm glow radiated by the sun. Those who merely proceed with their lives will barely sense the tinge of woebegone discomfort carried by the still ambiance. Then again, not everyone would notice the sun's lack of fervor in shining—no mortal would in this part of the world.

The golden years of the gods and goddesses have long passed and by the minute, a little bit of nostalgia couldn't be helped. To the great god of the Sun and Music, Apollo—as he was once called—yesterday was but a mirage that slipped past his fingertips. Often did his mind drift down the rich lane of memories, looking back at the ventures that were now merely dismissed as legends among the people.

Apollo. 

He nearly scoffs at the name mortals gave him millennia ago. There was barely anyone now who fully addressed him with all the true respect and worship a god must have. It was nothing but an expression now. There was no Apollo. It was Yoongi at the moment.

Min Yoongi, the stoic musician who travels from kingdom to kingdom. Min Yoongi who lives by his lonesome self, playing music or listening to tunes of others. Min Yoongi whose alluring yet enigmatic aura entices yet intimidates all of those he comes across. Min Yoongi—a name for the mere mortal disguise to mask the identity of a morose god.

Yoongi recalls a much better time when there were days of glorious worship as mankind trembled in respect and fear before the gods. He recalls everything—every delight, every sorrow, every defeat, and every victory.

Yoongi could handle change, this he thinks be certain. In fact, he was one of the gods that had managed to adapt well after the fall. However, the aggravation over the situation couldn't be helped. Though he may have outgrown hubris and no longer demand fear from mortals, he, at least, wanted respect. 

His mind returns to the words of the woman earlier. A child of Apollo? Such a claim so casually tossed—no respect, no nothing. 

Coming to this town was a farce, Yoongi decided. He had wasted his time, hoping to come across something entertaining, and yet this place had no significant affinity towards music, at all.

As nostalgia became the very reason for his own dysphoria, the sun god sat idly by the clearing in the heart of the barren forest. It was, at the very least, somewhat comforting to be surrounded by the warmth of nature that distinctively reminded him of his sister. The putrid stench of villages has always displeased him.

Still, his whirl of emotions was unwavering. Perhaps that is why the grip on his restraints loosened a little and the heat of the sun became alarmingly hotter. Perhaps that is also why the massive grey clouds suddenly rumbled and took over the horizon—Zeus, himself, had noticed the drastic change brought by the fuming deity and decided to intervene.

The pale man looks up, glaring at the sky before sighing. "Alright, alright, father," he scorns, saying the last word in a tone of disdain to defy the king of mankind and gods. The sun god's eyes nearly roll back a century as the sky remains dark with the thunderstorm still brewing. In the long run, he felt the droplets gently trickle down his face before it gradually rained cats and dogs upon Earth. Soon enough, he was soaked to the bone.

Yoongi continues his brooding, undoubtedly not so pleased with the fact that Zeus—or whatever his name is now—continues his efforts for the sake of subduing him. Resentment wouldn't suffice to label his demons. It was somewhere between misery and ire. Then again, there wasn't exactly anything else that he felt for a long time.

"Excuse me? Are you alright, mister?"

Suddenly, a shadow looms over him, causing the rain to divert in accordance to the shape of whatever had shielded him from it. Yoongi was, to say the very least, taken aback by the hush gentleness that filled his ears. He instantly looks up towards the voice, speechless for the fact that it was an actual person and not a mere figment of his imagination.

He looks at the woman before him suspiciously, almost forgetting that she was waiting for a response in the first place. Yoongi was occupied looking at her with his ability, seeing, to his surprise, no ill intent from her in either past, present, or future—at the very least, the current possible future. (Fate is fickle, after all.)

“Sir?”

It was then he decided to open his lips and use his words. "Yes, I'm fine," he delivers the words well, albeit there was an edge to them.

Such words did not deter her, however. "Why do you sit in the rain then?" The woman asks with her head tilted to the side in a slight frown. The curiosity besieging her face was almost childlike. 

Not knowing what else to do, he pushes himself up from the ground, standing up to his full height and awkwardly scratching a spot behind his ear—a force of habit, really. "I, uh," he pauses, "I hadn't really noticed."

How embarrassing. He hadn't felt this graceless since he confronted Hyacinthus about his feelings. Zeus knows how long that's been.

The young woman lightly laughs at his remark. "As much as the rain looks comfortable to you, sir, you'll get sick. Do you not have a place to stay?" she comes to ask as she adjusts a large woven tray over to properly protect the both of them from the harsh rain. Yoongi gives a sheepish shrug as he sends a hand to comb back his wet golden tresses. He hadn’t really fully settled in this town, and thus, have had no lodgings yet for his stay here. 

Still, he was rendered utterly suspicious of the events happening. This woman, this mortal, approaches him with intentions that meant no harm or greed he’s seen common amongst her kind. As a god, he could see through her, after all. She really had approached him with a kind heart and had wanted nothing in exchange. It's always a pleasure to come across genuinely good mortals, Yoongi thought. 

“Are you certain you’re alright?”

Yoongi lightly jolts out of his reveries and sees her staring at him still with curious concern. Perhaps it was his complete inability of taming himself, but the most peculiar thing happened—well, peculiar for her.

Like the blush that flames upon his cheeks, the atmosphere grew humid and it was a stark contrast to the previous cold brought by the thunderstorm. Yoongi sees her eyebrows knit together in confusion as she squirms in discomfort at the feel of both sweat and rain causing the bottom part of her dress to cling onto her legs like a leech. The both of them soon jump at a sound blast of lightning.

Deciding to not leave the woman waiting, the sun god stood on his feet to duck beneath the makeshift parasol. Yoongi couldn't help himself. His eyes spared a glance to gaze at the woman in a more personal manner. Her skin wasn't as flawless as Aphrodite's, but it had a light flush of life in them. Her hair was slightly unkempt, but it flowed freely beneath the protection of a (f/c) shawl. Her steps through the mud were a little bit clumsy, but that was a given with the current circumstances. She was certainly no goddess, but she was breath-taking nonetheless.

“My cottage isn’t far,” she then gestured vaguely to a direction behind her. “You could wait out the rain inside, if you’d like.”

Yoongi soon found himself walking alongside her, tucking his lute beneath his other arm. “Ah, yes,” he coughed, as he matched her hastening pace. “Wonderful idea.”

The sun god realized that the woven tray isn’t doing well to protect the both of them from the downpour, evident by the woman’s backside darkening from the raindrops that wetted it. Yoongi grabs the edges of his wool cloak and lifts it over both of their heads for additional coverage. This startles the woman for a moment, but she recovers with a smile. 

“This way,” she urges, looking onwards.

Yoongi curtly nods. Let’s see how long this charade will last.

Soon enough, the two of them made their way down a clearing and the god’s eyes landed on a small cottage with a few chicken coops and a garden. “Quickly,” she soon ushers him inside after opening the door as quickly as she could. “I know it’s not the best cottage in town, but please,” she smiles, gesturing him to sit down, “make yourself comfortable.”

Looking around, Yoongi takes note of the slight clutter and mismatched furniture. The kitchen and the dining table were a little cramped together, and there was a shelf filled with miscellaneous things. There were also only two other rooms—a bedroom and a bathroom, if he were to guess. It was a fixer upper. It wasn’t exactly a place befitting a god, but Yoongi voiced no complaints.  

What did spark his thinking, however, was how she was so open to offer him, a foreign stranger, shelter from the rain. “Are you usually one to let just any stranger in your home?” he retorts, shrugging his sodden cloak from his figure and setting it down with his lute onto one of the chairs, before taking a seat in another.   

The woman looks up from tending to the stove, staring at him over her shoulder for a moment, but she simply gives a chuckle before returning to whatever it was that she was doing in the kitchen. “Only ones that are in need of my assistance or company,” she tells him kindly, “Why do you ask?”

Yoongi shrugs, watching as she puts a few spoonfuls of some dark powder into two mugs before moving elsewhere. “Are you not worried they might be capable of harming you?” he frankly asks, mind wondering all the same about whatever meal she was conjuring in the kitchen before him.  

Though the question visibly raises her guard around him—her posture straightening, her warmth lessening—the woman dismissively waves at him, almost as if to assure him she could take care of herself. “No, not at all,” she beams, hand now brandishing a rather large knife. She takes a sourdough bread from a nearby basket, slicing through the bread with vigor. The knife was a bit worse for wear, but the blade could still do its job. “I can handle myself just fine, should anyone try to do me any ill will.” 

Though he doesn’t show it, the sun god was taken aback. Whether that dialogue was supposed to be a euphemism or not, for someone who had been so gentle to be vaguely threatening with a knife like that was a surprising twist of events. Did this woman just subtly threaten a god?

“Do you have plans to, sir?” she then asks him, looking at him with her head tilting to the side as she idly spreads some jam over the bread slices. 

Yoongi was knocked out of his stupor. “Of what?”

“Harming me?” the woman gestures to his previous statement just as the kettle started whistling. She tends to the stove, taking the kettle from the fire and pouring the boiling water onto the two mugs on the counter. 

The aroma was wonderful, nearly making the sun god forget about the conversation. “Of course not,” he then scoffs, nearly offended that she would think little of him like that. “I wouldn’t dare stoop so low. You helped me, after all.”

“That’s good for the both of us then,” she smiles, putting the two mugs onto the table along with the plate of jam-spreaded bread. Her eyes, he noticed, relaxed a little, holding onto his unspoken promise. 

It was amusing, Yoongi thinks, how this mortal had gone from being wary to handing him back her trust. This time, he knows, she now truly means for him not to break it, since she had made her point across.

The woman rummages through her small kitchen pantry. “Here,” she says as she places a final bowl of fruits onto the table. “I apologize,” she sheepishly grins as she sits down, “it’s all I can prepare in a short notice.”

The sun god dismissively waves her concerns away. “It’s alright,” Yoongi tells her. It isn’t something I need anyway.

Since the fall of the age of the gods and goddesses, Yoongi had managed to survive years without offerings, and if he had gotten any, he had learned to preserve his powers by simply not using them. A lot of them had learned that humans would only lose more faith if the gods lash out on them.

The light cluttering around him brought Yoongi back to reality, coming to see the woman reach up a shelf to get a jar. She comes back to the table with a triumphant smile, opening the jar—of honey, Yoongi realizes—and scooping a bit of the golden syrup into the clay mug. Only then did he notice the other steaming mug before him. “What is this?” he asks, taking a whiff of the aroma he had been so curious about earlier. 

“Coffee,” the woman smiled, stirring the spoon in her mug. “Haven’t you ever had a taste of it?”

Yoongi shakes his head, looking strangely still at the drink. 

The woman nods, understanding that his confusion and curiosity had made him wary of this new drink. “They were brought in by traders from the south,” she tells him, pointing to a small sack in the pantry. “I helped them camp nearby and gave them some food, so they gave me those roasted beans in return. If you grind them into powder, and add it to hot water with a little bit of honey, you’ll have something warm to drink in the mornings to wake yourself up.”

It was a wonder, Yoongi thinks, what mankind has done with what the gods had given them. He wonders what Demeter would think of this creation as well—if she would stop trying to pry on her daughter's life, that is. 

The sun god takes an idle sip, brown eyes soon widening at the taste of the warm liquid going  down his throat. He couldn't help but take another sip—this time, savoring the flavor more. 

She laughs at his amazement, almost endeared. “How is it?”

“It’s delectable,” he says, a light tug daring his lip to curve upwards.

The excitement in her eyes was apparent at his words. “It is, isn’t it?” she gleefully beams. “The merchants used sugar to sweeten their coffee, but honey is all we could have around here. It’s still good though. I’ve hardly been able to stop myself from having coffee every morning, else I’ll use up all of it in no time.”

Hardly any of the villagers welcomed the trade of the travellers from the south. She, herself, had been wary at first, but she, at the very least, had the decency to offer to find the travellers a clearing to camp in. The scent of the coffee being brewed had drawn her in, and the merchants gave her a small sack as a token of their gratitude. She had easily fallen in love with it.

It was then she shivers, as if her body had only now remembered that they were under the pouring rain earlier. She stops in the middle of biting onto her bread, clearing her throat as she glances at the dead fireplace. “I’ll get a fire going,” she stammers, shyly excusing herself.

As she goes to stand up and tend to the fireplace, however, Yoongi takes note of the fabric of her dress clinging onto her, bearing faint marks of her undergarments. Wordlessly, Yoongi helped the fire come to life much quicker, turning back towards the table so he could give her some semblance of privacy. “You should change your clothes, as well,” he then tells her, sipping on his coffee, “you’re soaked to the bone. You might catch a cold.”

She quickly turns, as if to hide her backside from him, but relaxes when she sees his back turned to her instead. “Right...” she hesitates, though seeing the reason in his logic. 

Clearly, the woman was worried about leaving a stranger unattended at her dining table. “There’s no need to worry, I won’t steal anything,” Yoongi assures her.

The woman stood by the fire for a moment, embarrassed that he had seen through her. “I...” she pondered about it more, but in the end, she admitted defeat. “Alright.”

As she disappears into one of the rooms, Yoongi takes the time to look around the humble little home once more. From what he had seen with his sight earlier, she had others living here with her before—a father, a mother, and a grandfather by the looks of it. The bunch of fabric by the desk on the other side of the room confirms the scene he had seen of her stitching something by hand. She must be one of the town’s dressmakers then. 

He was halfway through his coffee and munching on his second slice of bread by the time the young woman came back freshly dressed and clutching a pile of clothes. She gingerly hands him the pile. “Here,” she says, “You should change too.”

Yoongi looked at what she had given him, a pair of old trousers and a loose shirt, and looked down at his own clothes, suddenly so aware of the feeling of fabric sticking to his skin. Beneath his jacket, his under shirt was soaked and near see-through from the rain. His trousers were darker than their original color and marked with streaks of mud and dirt.  

“They were my father’s,” she adds an explanation when she saw him observing the clothes—not that she had to, really. “I think they’d fit you well enough.”

Yoongi nods, standing up from his seat after taking his boots off his feet. 

She takes his boots and sets them near the fireplace to have them dry quicker. “You can change there,” she gestures to the room she had gone to earlier. Without any further thoughts, Yoongi wordlessly goes to change.

It was much more pleasant than he thought to stay in the mortal’s cottage. 

It wasn’t as rowdy as some of the inns he’s been to, and it was certainly better than taking camp in a forest surrounded by wild beasts. Dare he say it, it was just a little better than his palace in Olympus. 

Perhaps it was the company—the feeling of having someone talk to you, not in fear, or any ulterior motives, or for the sake of politics, but to actually have an engaging conversation. It’s been so long since he has had the pleasure of this. The only people in Olympus he ever tolerated was his sister, Artemis, and his comrades, Hermes and Dionysus, and with the gods trying to keep their respective domains and believers alive, he has hardly ever seen them in decades. 

And yet, this mortal, who he had only met hours prior, had roped him into telling her stories of the world, playing her tunes, and even philosophical thoughts. The two of them sit before the fireplace, having taken the plate of bread and their coffee with them to get warmed up next to their wet clothes. 

“How come you travel so much, Yoongi?” the young woman, (Y/N), asked, watching his hands fiddle with the strings of the lute. 

The sun god froze for a moment. Surely, she won’t be able to comprehend it properly that he’s a god who has lived to see the world for millennia now. “I simply do,” he tells her with a shrug, which wasn’t necessarily a lie. As a god, he can go anywhere he wishes to.

(Y/N) tucks her legs closer to her, resting her chin on the arms that crossed over her knees. “Is that something you do so recklessly then?” she laughs, “Do you not worry about money, settlement, or danger?”

He shrugs again. A god needn’t worry about such things.  

(Y/N), on the other hand, looks at him with a smile that was amused by his careless attitude, but it was also laced with a sadness she carried in her heart. She had been a child once, so curious of the adventures of heroes she had heard from the stories of her grandfather. “I want to see the world, too,” she then quietly muses, “but I can’t bear to leave this place.”

The music falters for a moment, his fingers skidding to a stop to hear such despondence in her voice for the first time since he’s seen her.  “How come?”

(Y/N) looks around the walls of the cottage, eyes dripping with longing for years that have long passed—her mother’s kind caress and sweet smile, her father’s strong shoulders holding her up, her grandfather’s stories from his days at sea. “This cottage was everything to me and my family,” she tells him, “Leaving would mean leaving behind memories of them, too.”

Yoongi was confused for a moment. From the few moments he had seen of her life, her grandfather was a sailor from ship to ship and little (Y/N) always sat on the edge of her seat listening to his adventures. “Would your family prefer you to be held back from pursuing greater things?” he asked her. 

She thought about it for a minute, long and hard. “Yes.”

He watched as she bitterly laughed at her own forward answer. Something in him didn’t like it.  

(Y/N)’s grandfather, so hungry for adventure, didn’t return home from the sea he so loved and her father played hero with his strength, saving everyone but himself in a fire. “My mother told me about Icarus,” she tells him, “how he flew too close to the sun, and that all you should do is be content with what you have so as not to suffer the same fate he had.”

Mortals are fickle, Yoongi thinks. They can be so arrogant and reckless with their lives, but also so cowardly. “Then you will die not knowing the greater happiness you could have if you live with such a fear,” he simply puts it. To think she had been so lively and kind so as to even help and trust a man she barely knows, and yet have such a belief drilled into her head. “Greatness can’t be found if you don’t dare to seek it,” he says, “Take the coffee, for instance. You came upon it as a reward for an act of kindness after you took the chance to approach those merchants. Had it not been for that time, had you been content being by yourself, would you have been able to taste coffee on your own?”

If she keeps herself tied down, the sun god wonders, wouldn’t she lay at her deathbed with so much regret?

“It’s good not to be greedy and be content with what you have,” he hums, acknowledging her mother’s words, “but to clip your wings to stay on the ground when you can fly just fine? You’ll kill yourself far before death takes your soul to the underworld.”

This was the same way Icarus would’ve crashed to the sea if he had flown too low, the waves dampening his wings til they grow heavy. A little courage and crazy never hurt anyone, so long as it is kept in moderation. Then again, this is something he had to realize in centuries, so Yoongi supposed it would be difficult for some mortals to ease into the thought of it when their lives are so short compared to his. 

“You can be greedy for greatness, or defy the path carved for you, fly as high as you want,” he tells her, “so long as you have the reins over yourself, and know when enough is enough. The moment you do, you will have done what you wanted for your happiness, for a life entirely your own.”

It was then Yoongi took note of the deafening silence around him. Tearing his eyes away from the fire, he notices (Y/N) staring at him, deep in thought. Her (e/c) eyes were swimming with emotions too messy and entangled for Yoongi to unravel, but he knew she had needed to hear such words. 

The words that left her lips were barely above a whisper, head still reeling from the weight of his thoughts. “I never thought of it like that...” she confesses, a twinkling in her eyes.

To think of it, had she not have the courage to approach this stranger in the first place, she wouldn’t have heard those words at all. She almost laughs at how funny fate is. To think that she had been unconsciously doing what she had needlessly feared for all along. It was in the littlest of things, yes, but all (Y/N) had to do now was to take a big step. 

Her eyes move from his to the window behind them. The setting sun shone through the trees, and the previous scorn of the rain had come to a quiet hush. “The rain has let up,” she says, standing up to look out the window more clearly. “You may stay here for the night, if you would like to. You have nowhere else to stay, right?” 

Yoongi looks thoughtfully out the window. With the moon peeking at a distance, he scours his thoughts on what to do. It’s only a matter of time.

A look of surprise dawned on her face when he made a decision to shake his head, refusing her offer. “There’s no need,” he tells her, “I have something to tend to.” 

She only nods and doesn’t pry, which the sun god appreciates. Yoongi stands and gathers his clothes, which were unfortunately still a bit damp. His boots were alright, and he had no trouble sliding them on. “I’ll return your father’s clothes as soon as I am able to.”

“Yes, that’d be wonderful,” she tells him, voice faltering as she does so. A part of her is admittedly disheartened by his choice of departing, but who is she to stop him? He is but a temporary guest, after all.

The two of them made their way to the door and she opened it for him. “Alright,” she gives him a little grin, “Be safe then. Stay out of the rain.”

Yoongi’s lips form a smile at the little jest. “You, too,” he says, as he puts the hood of his cloak over his head. “Thank you for letting me stay for a while.”

“Thank you for lending me your thoughts and stories,” she smiles at him warmly, meaning each word. She offers a small wave to the sun god, and he could still feel the warmth of his time in the cottage even as he disappears well into the treeline ahead.  

He feels bad—really, he does—to have lied to such a kind woman.

It’s not that he had anything particularly important task at hand to deal with. It was simply because of the time—the night time. His decision to leave the cottage was not a matter of despise or fear of the night time either, but merely of what it represented. 

He is the day and the sun that nourishes the world as it wakes.

His sister is the night and the moon that watches over the world as it sleeps. 

He may not have seen her in decades, but a low possibility doesn't necessarily mean no chance at all. She may have been hunting, or doing duties nearby. Who knows? 

Yoongi steals a glance at the moon as he comes to a clearing somewhere deep enough in the forest to have no one there to witness him. He raised his hands and channeled an energy to deliver his command.

“Come to me,” he says, eyes glowing.

Waiting long enough, a familiar rumbling of a golden spark at a distance soon comes to him—a chariot of gold drawn by magnificent four white stallions. Yoongi steps on and firmly grips the reins, sending the chariot through the air. 

The moonlight shining upon him felt like a watchful gaze, reminding him an awful lot of his sister. Though he loved her dearly, Artemis was always a critic of his life—specifically in the matters of his relationships with others. His history with romance had made his sister all the more opposed to it, often scolding him for his reckless actions. 

Yoongi doesn’t necessarily see the mortal in any other light than a kind stranger—an acquaintance, perhaps. After all, he had been changed by the times, heart broken enough times to have him learn his lesson. His sister’s concern over him and his heart, however, was great enough for Yoongi to know she would keep (Y/N) on watch and perhaps even confront the poor girl. 

And so, Yoongi rides back to his palace, away from the forest, away from the serendipity that was that little town.

Time has aged relatively slowly for Yoongi. Almost two weeks have passed since (Y/N) gave him shelter from the pouring wrath of his father, and all he had done in the days in between was answer prayers and pace around his palace, deciding whether or not he should return the clothes he had been allowed to borrow during that time. 

Of course, the answer was an obvious yes, but it was the ‘what happens next’ part of the equation that has been occupying the sun god’s mind. Yoongi liked to think of himself as a generous god. (Y/N) is the first mortal he’s had the pleasure of forming a bond with in years, and so, of course, he wanted a better excuse to go back—something meaningful perhaps, something to return the favor and company she had given him.

“What gift would be fitting for someone like (Y/N)?”

It was most unbecoming, really. A god worrying about appeasing a mortal? 

If it would be anything, it would be a fantasy—and yet, here he was, another paragon for the bizarre case. 

“Just one last visit,” he says to himself, “Yes, just one.”

One and he’d never go to that town again.

And so, for a reason he so denies, Yoongi finds himself standing before the woman’s cottage. He tells himself that he was only here for one visit—for returning the clothes, and for coffee. His duties have worn him down, and so the liquid energy that the human called coffee was very much the surrogate ambrosia he needed down his throat. Olympus was, after all, so far away, and the ambrosia he had taken with him was long gone after he had crossed paths with Dionysus and his wife.

After a few knocks on the door, (Y/N) answers. “Yoongi?”

For a moment, she was shocked, but she quickly recuperates upon seeing the familiar face of Yoongi. “Pleasure seeing you here again,” the young woman greets, looking as radiant as ever. “Would you like to come in?”

Yoongi could only give a distracted nod. In reality, pride almost swells in him for being the god that governed the sun, for it was the very thing that had allowed him to see her under a much better light. 

This time, her dress was looser with the same (f/c) shawl from before now embracing her from behind and providing her more coverage. Her hair was more kept now, braided into one that draped over a shoulder. She looked much more casual and at ease than the first time he had seen her. 

Perhaps, she had no errands today. 

“Yoongi?”

Yoongi was brought back from his thoughts, having been embarrassingly caught staring at her. She was standing there, opening the door wider than before and waiting for him to come through. “Forgive me,” He coughs, “I was momentarily thinking of something.”

(Y/N) laughs. “You look tired, too,” she jests, “Come in. I still have some coffee left.”

The god enters the mortal’s humble abode once more, taking in the welcoming atmosphere he’s never able to find anywhere else. (Y/N) was then quick to go to the kitchen and fix him the promised mug of the hot drink he had taken a liking to. Fortunately, she had already been boiling some water. It was for her bath but she supposed it could wait for a while. She had a guest to take care of, after all.  

All the while Yoongi sits himself before the dining table, just as he had weeks ago. It almost feels nostalgic, seeing her go about the kitchen.

(Y/N) looks up from stirring the coffee. “Did you come back from another trip?” she mused, giving him a smile. “Where have you gone this time?”

Yoongi averts his gaze towards the oaken surface of the table, as (Y/N) gently slides the cup towards him. As he accepts the mug, their fingers momentarily brush against one another. The god clears his throat as he brings the mug to his lips. “Home,” he simply said, looking back down to sip at his mug—something he will likely choke on at this rate. “I haven’t been anywhere else really.”

Upon casting a fleeting glance, (Y/N), he noticed, was taken aback by his curt reply. “Oh,” she stammered, a sheepish chuckle escaping her lips. “What have you been up to then?”

The sun god doesn’t really know how to reply. How does one tell a mortal that he’s been answering prayers from loyal followers?

Yoongi begins bouncing his knee. “I’ve been occupied by…” he rummages for the right word, “responsibilities, you could say. I just finished one of them, and thought it would be better for me to pay you another visit now.”

(Y/N)’s gaze followed the gesture he made, hand pointing to the big mass he had brought with him. “You brought quite the bag with you this time,” she muses, walking around the table to take the closest seat next to him. “What have you done to my father’s shirt and trousers?” 

A chuckle flits past Yoongi, before he lifts the bag onto the table. (Y/N) finds herself standing alongside him, as he brings out the pile of clothes he was meant to return in the first place. “They’re just fine,” he tells her as he hands them back to her. “I had them washed. You needn’t worry about them.” 

She sets the pile down to peek over his shoulder, seeing burlap sacks within the bag. Yoongi readily takes one out, and encourages her to open it herself. “What’s this?” she asks, but soon gasps at the familiar aroma that engulfs her senses as she unties the strings. “Coffee?!” she gawks at the bag before her, a grin spreading so big that it started to hurt her cheeks. “Yoongi, where did you get this?”

Seeing such a grin on her lips and such spark in her eyes, Yoongi decides that this sort of happiness was most fitting for her. It was contagious—not even he could exempt himself from its clutches. “I came across some travellers from the south, too,” he then tells her, which was the truth—more or less. 

The prayers that had come in for him to answer were most fortuitous to his effort to keep his mind on something other than that little cottage and its kind owner from that barely memorable village. Alas, the Fates were funny.

It was past midday and he had been on his chariot, having finished his duty as a pastoral deity to an old man and his family who had prayed for the protection of their flock from the sudden surge of attacks going around their town. His quiver was an arrow or two short from hunting down the large wolf he had caught stalking the sheep.

What had stopped him in his tracks—and nearly had his horses trample over one another at the sudden stop—was the faint scent of something awfully familiar. Coffee.

A group of merchants trading coffee, spices and other things had given him the perfect excuse to visit her. “I traded some animal hide for coffee beans,” he tells her, before muttering under his breath, “among other things.”

Excitement whirring in her head, (Y/N) grinned at his story. “That’s wonderful!” she beams, but reminds herself that this wasn’t hers. Alas, it could never be. This was Yoongi’s hard work, after all. “You have your own coffee to brew now,” she muses, still happy to have introduced a person who eventually came to love the dark brew. 

“It’s not mine,” Yoongi instead says, “it’s yours to keep.”

Shock and confusion befell upon (Y/N)’s face. “Mine?” she asks, incredulous, “Why is that? You were the one who traded for these.”

A satisfaction settled within the sun god as he watched the mortal comprehend his words, idly staring down at the measly burlap sack of coffee. “Think of it as a gift from me,” Yoongi urges, “an extension of my gratitude.”

The sun god sees (Y/N) unconsciously pursed her lips in a bashful manner that never served to help Yoongi in his current conquest. “A gift?” she says, words shy as a blush reddened her cheeks. “You have no obligation to give me anything, Yoongi. I only did what I thought was good.”

The only reply she received was a nonchalant shrug. “I insist,” he chuckles at her flustered expression, taking out the small sack of coffee from the bag and bringing out another sack. “This one is yours, too.” 

(E/c) eyes gawked at the item. “What would be inside that then?” (Y/N) now then points to the other sack, curiosity condemning her hands to be itching to open it. She doesn’t know whether she should be terrified or excited. 

Yoongi simply gestures to her to open it, earning a louder gasp than before. The mortal’s mouth was left open as she could hardly believe what she was seeing. She takes a pinch from the sack’s contents, sprinkling the crystalline bits on her tongue. Sweetness erupted, shocking her more than ever. “Sugar?” she exclaimed in awe and in terror, “Yoongi, this is expensive! This is too much!”

Yoongi scoffed, head not at all bothered by such trivial, mortal aspects. He had gotten it now, there was no use taking it with him when he had no use for it. It didn't matter how much he had to spend, either. He only really traded for it anyway. “Nonsense,”  he huffs, “You said coffee can be sweetened with sugar. So, I brought you your sugar.” 

(Y/N) still could hardly process what her new friend had brought her as an extension of his gratitude. Sugar was only ever really for the rich, as they were imports from another far off land and required a lot of arduous work. She had gotten into great trouble once, curiously attempting a little taste of sugar at an old friend’s house as a child. They were farmers tasked to make sugar from the sugarcane brought to them by their lord, and they made it very clear that sugar was precious.   

Just what life has Yoongi led to not have this common knowledge? What drove him to even give her gifts to this extent? 

(Y/N) didn’t really feel worthy to receive such precious gifts. “How come you brought me such gifts?” she asks softly, “You didn’t really have to, Yoongi. Just returning the clothes was fine.”

The sun god was taken aback by the sense of discomfort and guilt in her voice. He hadn’t really thought of this sort of reaction. Mortals like to receive things in turn for their favors—this he has learned in the centuries he had been roaming around the world in his free time. “I...” he stammers, thinking of something to make her feel better. “I wanted to return for a better reason, other than simply giving what’s already yours back.”

That moment at the chariot, his only immediate thought had been not to get himself coffee, but her, recalling her absolute love for the drink. It was so easy to think of it as a fitting gift, but, in retrospect, Yoongi should’ve thought it through more clearly. He clears his throat, finding him looking down at the wooden surface of her little table once again. “I only wanted to give you a gift,” he says, “I never meant to cause you unease. I apologize.”

Upon noting the deflated state of Yoongi, (Y/N) half-heartedly nudged him by the shoulder. “You don’t need expensive gifts to earn yourself an invitation to my measly old cottage, silly,” she tells him, tying the burlap sacks closed before taking her seat beside him. “You are most welcome to come here any time you wish,” she says, but soon playfully glares, “Just not on ungodly hours. I will unleash the chickens upon you.”

A grin dares to erupt from the sun god’s lips. Not only had you so casually nudged him, but you also just called a god silly. “Oh, dear,” he says, most sarcastically, “not the chickens.”

Laughter escapes her lips—the same mellifluous melody as the day he had met her. She then leans on the table, cheek cupped by her palm as she grins at him once again. “But if you really want to pay for your visits…” she muses, “then, I would like to hear more of your adventures as currency, please.”

Yoongi finds himself laughing, the sunlight around him seemingly twinkling along. “More?” he asks, “Have you not had enough of last time?”

Her cheeks hurt from grinning, but it never leaves. “Never,” she says, merely shaking her head at him.

The sun god nods then, admitting easy defeat to her request. “Alright...” he hums, turning in his seat to face her. “There exists this little island called Naxos...”

The two of them continued on, even as the warm brew of coffee on the table grew cold. Such a wholesome moment and such heartfelt words had thrown his initial plan of leaving after one visit out of the window. Here he was welcomed, and where he was welcomed, he was free to stay. 

So, he does. 

It became a sort of tradition—one that only the two of them upheld—to have Yoongi come to the cottage once a week or so and spend their hours either by the table or by the hearth. The time was mostly spent with (Y/N) sitting in anticipation at the endless tales that spewed from the sun god’s lips. He, after all, lived for millennia—not that she was aware of this. 

Sometimes, he would be gone for weeks at a time, rendered busy by either doing orders or favors for other gods or answering his followers' prayers. Still, (Y/N) and her cottage were the ones he found himself going to, his horses now used to landing and waiting on that clearing in the forest. 

To make up for so much time loss, the sun god would bring her something from his travels. They were nothing expensive or overwhelming since he has now learned his lesson, but they were a marvel nonetheless. What he would bring her, aside from more tales, was music. 

The sun god had found himself more sociable with mortals in his pursuit to learn the music of their diverse cultures. He had done this before, of course—his massive collection of musical instruments gathered from thousands of years were in a room in his palace and easily could attest to this—but, he had never really thought to actively seek musicians and ask to learn songs from them just so he could come back to that little cottage with an instrument and play for her.   

For the sun god, it was an escape from the agony of his divinity. In that cottage, he was no god of a forgotten age. He was Yoongi—a man and a friend respected and welcomed. 

There was a warmth that bubbled within Yoongi in the scene of them by the fire, the golden red glow making her intent staring in awe all the more endearing. A peace he had never felt before was always with him. 

For the mortal, it was an escape from her mundane life to imagine the tales that Yoongi told with such vivid detail, her heart longing to someday be able to see for herself. With him, she was simply (Y/N), who was allowed to dream of things that others would’ve scorned her for wanting. This was the sense of freedom that came with the presence of Yoongi.

Her fascination with all his tales were unlike that of her time with her grandfather’s. It felt more alive, more invigorating. She had started saving some money, actually, hoping to one day ask him to let her tag along with him on a trip or two so she could learn to eventually do it herself. 

Alas, a peasant woman working as a humble dressmaker could only earn so much. (Y/N) resorted to working herself to the bone with other things—selling some of her chickens’ eggs, doing other commissions for other towns, and even doing laundry for others.

It was certainly a surprise then for the sun god when he came by on another visit.

“You should’ve been more careful,” the words instantly fell from Yoongi’s lips in a scold as he brought the soup over to the cocooned woman on the bed.

If Yoongi would’ve had it in his ability to turn back time and tell himself that months from his sworn sulking in the rain, he’d be in the cottage of the same young woman he had vowed to avoid like the plague after one visit, then he wouldn’t be that surprised at all, actually. His sister had always faulted him for this, for his awful tendency to care too much. 

Before him, (Y/N) sniffled, not from tears of grief but from the consequences of her carelessness. She messily blows into a spare piece of cloth, somehow still in a beautiful glow that quelled the sun god’s heart. “I know, I know,” she said, clogged nose and all, “I shouldn’t have overworked myself, should’ve looked out for my health. However, no one else would have taken care of the chickens, Yoongs. What else was I to do?”

In the manner she pouted at him, Yoongi’s breath hitched, mind racing and heart cursing the Fates for all of this. Yoongs—a name he never had thought he would allow himself to be addressed as—became his most favorite thing to hear from her. 

“Yoongs?”

There it was again.

“Yoongi?”

The sun god was knocked out of his stupor. Perhaps, he may have been getting too carried away with all of this.

Yoongi noticed (Y/N) staring at him, now sat up from her previous position on the bed. She was already halfway with her bowl, and already feeling progressively better thanks to the ancient remedy he secretly poured in with the soup for her. “Y-yes?” he finds himself stammering, unbecoming of a god of his calibre and status. Oh, if Zeus could see him right now.  

In spite of the confusion in (Y/N)’s head, she repeats what she had meant to say. “Thank you,” she said with a ghost of a smile lingering on her face, “you didn’t have to come all the way here to take care of me, but you did.”

Yoongi wasn’t quite sure where he got the sudden bout of courage from, but he lifted his hand and gently ruffled her (h/c) hair. “No one else would’ve taken care of you, (Y/N),” Yoongi said, “What else was I to do?” 

She glares, but a grin daring to break through her lips betrays her supposed anger. “Are you drawing parallels between me and my chickens?”

Yoongi barely exerts effort in holding back a grin. “I said no such thing,” he said. 

A fit of coughs rocks through the poor girl, ruining the light moment as she turns her head away from him to stifle it into the crook of her arm. Yoongi sighs at the sight of this, approaching her bed and channeling his power little by little through his fingers as he gathers her hair in his hands. To keep her from turning back to face him and see the light glow flowing from him to her, he decides to braid her tresses the same way he had learned to braid his sister’s hair when they were young. 

He finishes the braid in time to have his power simmer within her very being. It will take time, since he had elected against an immediate recovery to have her not be suspicious of anything. “Rest after this, alright?” he tells her, voice soft but firm. “I’ll watch over the chickens while you recover.”

(Y/N) weakly laughs, recalling the time Yoongi got chased around by one of her chickens. His shrill screams echoing throughout the yard as it pecked at his ankles for accidentally stepping too close. “Ebony is not quite fond of you though,” she tells him. “What then?”

An embarrassed blush conquered the stoic musician's face at the memory of that dark feathered bird.  “I will smite him if he ever dares to chase me through the garden again,” the sun god grumbles. It wasn’t his fault animals were more partial to his sister. 

Eyelids growing heavy thanks to his powers, (Y/N) lays herself back down with Yoongi quick to tuck her in. “Don’t smite my chickens, please,” she says with a yawn. “I need them.”

He only nods. “Sleep, (Y/N).”

And so, she does.

Yoongi sat there, at the edge of her bed, suddenly very much aware that his cold heart had, at some point, thawed  during his time with her, now leaving him there with a mess of a sentimental puddle. This, he was certain as he felt the rapid beating of his heart to an oh so familiar rhythm of impending chaos, similar to that of the ones he had felt upon his bygone lovers. 

‘Oh no’, he dreaded then and there, ‘not again.’

The sun god found himself glaring at her sleeping figure, though, in reality, he was scolding himself for letting this happen. ‘You, fool! Had you not gotten anything from the past thousands of years you’ve been alive?!’

Yoongi was certain he had known all sorts of love, at this point—unrequited or not, love has never lasted or has never been. His last taste of it was from a sweet prince loved by all—loved by him. Hyacinthus was one of the few he had the pleasure of calling an actual lover. 

He didn't run, nor did he reject. Instead, the prince chose him. Out of all the gods and mortals who admired him, Hyacinthus chose Apollo. It was bliss—one that had been taken away too quickly. 

Yoongi's heart clenched at the very memory of it—of the weakened prince in his arms, of the life fading from his eyes, of the one last whisper of love. No matter how much Yoongi had grovelled or how much he had drained himself from trying to heal him, Hyacinthus died because the Fates fated him to. 

Love is tragedy. This, he engraved in his mind. Yoongi had sworn love would never have a hold on him ever again, and yet here he was. 

His walls were weakening—already has. 

It dawned on him that Min Yoongi is still the Apollo infamously known for falling head over heels for people he cannot have after all—a brutally soft god beneath the cold layers he had convinced himself would protect him from the forces he had once been swayed under.

Who is to blame for all of this?

Was it the Fates who made their paths cross in the first place?

Was it Eros who reigned over matters of romantic love?

Or, was it himself who had failed and let himself be with her? 

The sun god's head hurt at the thoughts that were now at war in his head. There was no use pointing blame when the damage had already been done—when his heart already deemed that it would beat, ache, break for her and her alone. 

Yoongi looks down at the woman sleeping so soundly, unknowing of the fact that she had caught herself a god in her clutches and could easily tug by the heartstrings to do her bidding—unknowing of the fact that the Yoongi she knew was but a front for a god who had come to love her and the coffee she would brew.  

It wouldn’t be bad—says the part of him that dared to urge him further into the mess at hand, looking for hope amidst the chaos. (Y/N) was someone who was kind and welcoming about everything and anything, someone who would smile and look at him in awe. Wouldn’t it be nice to love and be loved by her?

Yoongi froze at the what-ifs blossoming from that one question. He takes a deep breath, easing himself—easing the heating of the sun outside the walls of this cottage. 

With a grunt, Yoongi stands himself up from the bed, feet leading him through the small spaces and out to the yard where the chickens idly pecked at the ground. A certain chicken looks up and stares him down, but the sun god did not let up either. This little bastard should be glad to be under the protection of a god. 

It was then that he had caught himself. 

This little bastard should be glad to be under the protection of a god.

Under what circumstances would he have expected this? To put up with such a menial task, to stay in the vicinity of a pesky little critter, to risk being pecked at like a fool instead of going back to his palace—all for the sake of a promise to a mortal. A promise, mind you, that wasn't even officially spoken into existence. 

He could leave. Nothing binds him here, after all. 

But he won't—not when she was still so unwell. He wouldn't dare to. 

"Ah!" Yoongi yelps out of his reverie, looking down to see Ebony circling him. He manages to wrangle the angry bird into his hold. "Stay put you little menace!” the sun god aggressively hushes, “She's sleeping!"

Another sigh left his lips as he put Ebony down with the others. So much thinking, so much annoyances. 

Ignore it, then—a third voice offers. Ignore it for now.

The sun god finds himself nodding. Yes, that’s a sound plan.

Yoongi tried—he really did—but what use was ignoring the situation overall when the very existence of her ignited the two warring sides in his head every time? 

It didn’t help either that this had been the longest he had ever stayed over at the cottage.

A day had passed since he had come across (Y/N)’s aching state, and had since stayed with her in order to ensure she had fully recovered. For the sake of his heart, Yoongi had insisted on sleeping on the old bench in front of the fireplace during the night—something the exhausted (Y/N) couldn't argue him out of—with only two fairly thick blankets and a measly spare pillow to have with him for sleep. 

“Are you certain you would want to stay the night here, Yoongs?”

The rasp in her voice only served to strengthen Yoongi’s resolve, making him nod as he took the warm bowl of soup over to the dinner table. “You’re sick, (Y/N),” he simply says, sitting down in front of her. “It would also be too late for me to travel now, anyways. There are wolves and all sorts of beasts out at night, and I hardly came prepared.”

That was a lie—obviously.

Still, a worried frown remains on the young woman’s face as she gingerly takes the spoon and begins eating the dinner he had made for the both of them. “I have no spare bed for you to take,” she tells him, knowing he couldn’t exactly share the bed with her either—else he would catch the cold she had. Her father had sold grandfather’s old bed so they could make end’s meet then, and she lives alone now, too. Where would Yoongi sleep then?

Yoongi takes her concern into consideration, looking around the cottage with eyes landing on the wooden bench by the fireplace—the one they often sit at to chat away. “There,” he gestures, “I could sleep there.”

(Y/N)’s eyes followed the direction of his nod, seeing the old furniture she had watched her grandfather and father build as a child. “Nonsense,” she tells him, head whipping back almost too quickly and making her hiss a little. She ignores the concerned frown that tugs at Yoongi’s lips. “You would barely be able to move in that thing,” she reasons, “you’d fall to the ground!”

The sun god shrugs. “I’ve slept in worse places before,” he tells her, “It wouldn’t be a problem, I assure you.”

“But—”

Yoongi leaves no room for any more arguments, nudging her bowl closer to her, “Eat,” he commands, firm but soft all the same. “It’s getting cold.”

(Y/N) was right, of course. It was uncomfortable with barely any space to move, yes, and he did fall off somewhere in the night, but he would have hardly been able to sleep if he had gone home and left her to herself.  

“Yoongi?”

The sun god awoke to a light nudging on his shoulder, something he couldn’t help but be annoyed about. The guttural groan that left his mouth in protest stops as the one eye that begrudgingly opens sees (Y/N) crouching beside him. He would’ve thought it to be a dream—what with the sunlight gracing her with a golden glow and all—but the constant ache at the back of his neck was the pinch making it known to him that this was reality.   

(Y/N) had woken up fully recovered early this morning, courtesy of him spending the time in between them yesterday secretly infusing his powers into her slowly but surely. She was still a bit sluggish, but she was well enough to get up on her own and check her guest. Seeing him instinctively rub at his neck in pain, however, made her feel guilty. “I told you that you would fall off this old thing,” she attempts to jest, but the sigh that follows her words betrays the light-hearted attempt. “Are you alright?”

Yoongi got up from the floor as best as he could while entangled in the blankets. “I’m alright,” he assures her, giving himself a second to ease his muscles. The pain, of course, easily subsided, thanks to his godly prowess. “What of you?”  

The young woman grabs one of the blankets, starting to fold it as he does the other. “A lot better, actually,” she then beams, “your soup works far better than any medicine it seems.”

A smile gingerly blooms on the god’s face, knowing it wasn’t just the soup. “Secret family recipe,” he shrugs, grabbing the other blanket from her and stacking it with the pillow on the wooden bench that made things difficult for him last night.  “I’m glad it has made things easier for you.”

“I’m glad you were here for me when you were,” she tells him, wrapping her (f/c) shawl around her sheepishly. “Else I would’ve been bedridden for days.”

The compliment takes the god aback. “There’s no need to thank me,” he softly hushes, “What sort of friend would I be if I left you on your own when you’re sick?”

Friend. 

That word left a bitter taste in his mouth to say.

Still, a warmth dusted on both of their cheeks—something they would’ve seen, had it not been for them being so flustered that they rushed to do separate things. Yoongi idly went to the kitchen and (Y/N) looked out the window to briefly check on her chickens in their coop.  

It was a beautiful day with the sun shining brightly on the world. There were just the right amount of clouds in the sky to make the heat of the sun bearable. Thankful for his efforts in taking care of her, (Y/N) had decided that they needed to do something to compensate for the lost time. 

“Yoongi?” she calls out to him, closing the windows. She sees him setting the table with some bread and fruits while some eggs fry on the pan. The sight of this pops an idea into her head. 

“What is it?” Yoongi asks, as (Y/N) hastily comes into the kitchen, going through one of the cupboards and taking out a basket. As she dusts it off, the sun god incredulously watches her lay out some cloth onto it. “What are you doing?” he chuckles at the evident delight in her steps. 

The young woman stops putting the bread in midway, looking up to grin at him. “We wasted a lot of time yesterday,” she tells him, “I thought we ought to make up for it.”

What exactly that was, Yoongi didn’t know, but how could he ever say no to that hopeful and excited smile on her face?    

As it turns out, it was a picnic. 

(Y/N) takes him to a field on the outskirts of the forest that has a nice breeze and a nice view of the distant neighbouring town. The two of them laid down a blanket on the grass, setting the basket there before sitting down themselves.

“This is a better view than that ol’ fireplace, is it not?” she muses, happily munching on one of the sandwiches Yoongi made for the two of them. “We should go here more often, actually.”

The sun god simply hums. In truth, he preferred that old fireplace—fire faintly crackling, huddling closer together, talking hushly amongst yourself because it was late. It was more intimate for him—more sentimental.   

This alternative, Yoongi thinks as the wind gently blew away at her hair and made her close her eyes to savor the breeze, was a good view, but it could never suffice to replace that place in his heart. Either way, what bliss it is to spend time with her—to be able to idly sit and share stories while the world goes on around them. 

(Y/N) begins telling him about the time her mother brought her out here for a picnic too, but the sun god could barely look at anything else other than her—the way her lips smile and form words, the way the wind fluttered her hair around, the way the backdrop of the sunny sky and flowery fields made the whole scene so beautiful his hands itched to capture the moment in a painting. 

It was hard for Yoongi to keep his feelings to himself, when he had been so used to easily declaring his affections to mortals before. Were these millennia ago, he would’ve been elated and unbothered. He is a god. Why would he have to worry about what a mere mortal thinks?

This was something he cannot do now, however—not that he would do so anyways, even if given the chance. He knows well that such arrogance would only lead (Y/N) away from him. Over and above that, if time and fate have ever taught him anything, it would’ve been that love isn’t meant for someone like him. Tragedy befell all of his lovers, and he surely wouldn’t want this young woman to turn into a plant or jump into the sea anytime soon. 

Yoongi wondered then, if he wouldn’t actively pursue (Y/N), would it guarantee less heartbreak?

“Yoongi?”

By the time the sun god’s mind returns to reality, he sees (Y/N) looking at him in confusion and concern. “Are you alright, Yoongs?” she asks him, head tilting to the side. “You’ve been awfully quiet.”

His face and ears redden from the state he was caught in. “I just have something in my mind...” he says, settling for a vague truth. “I apologize for getting preoccupied.”

Her expression softens, scooting closer and resting her cheek against her palm as she gives her full attention to the man next to her. “What are you so busy thinking about, hm?”

Yoongi was silent, certain he can’t exactly tell her what he was really thinking about at the moment. No. He needed time—time to think, to process, and to decide on his feelings.

“I’ll be leaving soon,” he opts to say, instead. Yes, some time to himself was what he needed. 

“Oh...” (Y/N) seems to falter at this news, but she recovers with some pep in her smile. “Where to?”

The sun god felt the awful guilt weighing his heart down. She must think it’s another simple trip. “I don’t know,” he says, playing along, “I’ll tell you when I return.”

A chuckle escaped her lips, as a part of her itched to ask him to bring her with him. Alas, seeing Yoongi’s current disposition told her that he’s facing something he’d want to deal with on his own.  “Alright,” she smiles, a bit forced but still well-meaning. “Stay safe and come back, alright?”

(Come back to me.)

Something in him says he will. He always will. “Always.”

This, the sun god definitively affirms, was a worse case than Hyacinthus.

It has been weeks since Yoongi left for somewhere with the last moment you saw him still engraved in your head. 

“Take care,” you told him, neck straining as you looked up at him perched atop a white horse.

The musician fiddled with the reins in his hands. “You too,” Yoongi softly smiles as you take out something from underneath your cloak. “What is it?” 

You sheepishly hand him a flask. It was warm. Yoongi seemed to notice this as he took it in his hands. “It’s coffee,” you explain, “I thought you could use something to keep you warm along the way.”

There was a moment of silence filled with Yoongi staring at you with an indecipherable expression. “Thank you,” he tells you, words weighing something more than they mean to, “I’ll be back before you know it.” 

Your eyes soften, heart warming at his words. “I know,” you smile, “See you soon.”

Yoongi nods. “See you soon.” 

A part of you hoped for a way to send letters to him immediately—to ask him how he’s going, where he is, what he’s seen—but it wasn’t possible. At best, it would take months, or not at all. All you could do was wait for your dear friend to return.

“(Y/N), dear!” 

You were knocked out of your reverie by a familiar voice, turning around to see an old friend coming towards you. “Teresa?” you ask incredulously, “What are you doing here?”

You were at Madame Louise’s shop, turning in the dresses you’ve just finished putting together last night. The brunette now came to link arms with you, startling you quite a bit. You let it be, knowing it’d be no use wrangling your arm back from her.

Again, what is she doing here?

“I saw you coming in!” the brunette beams, before showing you the fabric in her arms. “I have some dresses to turn in, as well.”   

It was a stretch calling Teresa a friend, when most of your interactions together were simply her making the first move to strike up a conversation with you. She wasn’t a friend the same way Yoongi was to you. You don’t particularly look forward to her arrival, and don’t necessarily think about spending time with her. The two of you simply used to be playmates as children, running around the field, making flower crowns, and whatnot. 

The two of you, as some of the town had put it, were opposites. You were timid. She was bold. You prefer being in a quiet environment. She was a frequent patron of the rowdy town tavern. The list could go on, really, but. in spite of her reputation as a vixen, you don’t actually mind the girl. She was nice and someone who knew what she wanted. What you do find irritating about her was her tendency to—

“So, is it true?”

—gossip.

You hold back the urge to sigh. “What is?” you ask, entertaining her excitement. 

Teresa giggles, nudging your side. “You and that foreign musician,” she muses, just as one of the employees came out from the back of the store. “He’s been coming back to town for months on end. Rumor has it he has asked for your hand in marriage—good morning, Marie!”

“Good morning,” the young lady greets, taking Teresa’s handiwork.

If you had a drink, you would’ve choked on it and spat it out, but you didn’t and so you simply just froze in place. Marie had to take the dresses from your hands herself. “I… I beg your pardon?” you squeaked, ears and face turning red. “Me and Yoongi? Married?”

As Marie leaves you two be, the brunette next to you hums, taking in your flustered reaction with a cheeky grin. “So, his name is Yoongi, huh?” she ponders, “I must admit, a peculiar handsomeness surrounds that man.”

Your head tilts in confusion at the manner she spoke of him, lips itching to voice your question. “How come you know him?” you ask, your head still reeling from what Teresa had just told you minutes prior. The whole town thinks Yoongi is courting you?

The both of you exit the shop, Teresa’s arms still linked with yours. “I saw him perform in Leonard's tavern on his first day here,” she tells you, “was a bit of a recluse, and he didn’t seem to like company. I don’t know how, but he brought up Thomas to get me to leave him be—as if that would’ve worked.” 

Yes, that sounds like Yoongi, alright. “He isn’t fond of company,” you nod, finding yourself giggling.  

Walking through town, people turn their heads and murmur at the sight of Teresa and you. Used to it, Teresa ignores everything else aside from your conversation. “He seems to like yours, however,” she teases, “What’s he like, dear?”  

Your mind drifts to the musician who’s been coming to your quiet side of the woods—his blond tresses, warm brown eyes, and catlike behavior. You think of how he easily gets lost in his element and effortlessly creates music, how he brings a new instrument every now and then to play you the new music he learned, and how he becomes flustered with a gummy smile on his face when you praise him.  

Catching yourself getting carried away, you return to the real world and  turn to your gossiping acquaintance, face still so red. “He’s a friend. Nothing more, Teresa,” you insist, though you don’t sound at all convincing. 

“Really?” Teresa muses, clearly not believing a lick of what you just said.  “Why does he come back so often then?”

For a moment, you find yourself thinking that as well. “He simply visits, because I asked him to,” you say, more to yourself than Teresa, really. “We make something to eat or drink, we spend the time talking, sometimes he plays music too, then by the end of the day, he leaves.”

Teresa laughs at the brisk flash of panic and confusion in your eyes. “If it’s simply just the talking between friends, then I doubt he would return much,” she tells you, as you two reach the outskirts of the small town. She lets your arm go and sits on a boulder, stopping your little walk. “Why does he still come back? Isn’t he a foreigner?” she poses a challenging thought, “How far must he live from here and yet still come visit you just because you asked him to.” 

(She doesn't go on to tell you the things he’s been seen doing around town. How he was almost always seen somewhere in the forest heading towards the direction of your cottage and how the second time he did come to town, he had rushed around the market for vegetables to make soup with.)

Her series of questions, however, were enough to shut you up for a good minute or two, sending you into another spiral of mulling things over. “Well...” you mumble, sitting next to her, “I don’t know. It’s not my place to say, but his.”

The woman takes pity in the crisis she started in your head, taking a gentler approach. “What about you, then?” she softly urges, “What do you think of the musician?”

Obediently—and against your better judgement—your mind comes back to the thoughts of that musician. “Yoongi is...” you pause, a smile slowly stretching across your face, “kind, gifted, and considerate. He doesn’t say it but he cares a lot, even for the chickens.” 

Teresa smiles at your words, looking at you in keen interest with her palm against her cheek. “Do you really not see yourself with that man then?” she asks, genuinely curious.

The question brings you back to the start of this whole ordeal with the rumor Teresa brought up. Up until this point, you haven’t really thought of Yoongi under that sort of light. Do you see yourself with him?

You and Yoongi’s union would be announced at the front door of the town church, to be attended by the townspeople and officiated by the bishop. You’d be wearing your best blue gown, and him in his best tunic. A feast would follow after, and maybe Yoongi would play some of his music for all. It would be nice.

—if it wouldn’t ruin your friendship with him.

“No,” you shake your head. “Yoongi is just… Yoongi.”

Teresa notes the despondence that soaks your expression, the way you deprive yourself of a mere fantasy. “And if he were to find himself other prospects? If he settles down somewhere else with someone else and doesn’t come back here anymore?” she challenges you again. “What then?”

The thought of Yoongi with someone else and not returning stirs an ache in you that you never quite expected. It would’ve been sad, obviously, but your heart clenched so much that it rendered you at a loss for words.

“I...”

Oh no… 

Do you like Yoongi that way after all?

 There lies a satisfaction on Teresa’s face as she sees the cogs turning in your brain. “So much hesitation, darling,” she muses, “is he really just Yoongi to you?”

You couldn't find it in yourself to shake your head anymore, or respond at all, actually. Still mulling over the prospect of your feelings towards that blond musician, you could hardly find the energy or effort to respond to Teresa.  

If you are as smitten as Teresa thinks you to be, then how could you bear facing Yoongi now? It'll take a great strength in you to manage looking into his eyes when he comes back from his voyage—what more talking and being so close to him. You have doomed yourself—No! Teresa has doomed you! 

Had she not come to gossip, had she not poked at you and Yoongi's dynamic, you wouldn't hav—

A gentle caress on your head makes you look up. Teresa smiles at you in assurance. “A good man is just as rare and precious as a love that’s real and sweet, dear,” she tells you, “Think long and hard about what your heart says and wants. Then, tell him, before you regret it—before you lose your chance.”

Your heart swells at the words, the chaos in your head subsiding. “Thank you, Teresa,” you smile, grateful, “I’ll keep those words in mind.”

Teresa looks at you for a moment, a storm brewing in the blues of her eyes. “I envy you, (Y/N),” she confesses, “I really do.”

Picking at her fingers, Teresa's words come out weary. “To find yourself in the company of a man who truly cares and takes care of you,” she muses, a bittersweet smile on her face. "You're truly blessed."

She looks out to the town bustling before the both of you, cheekiness and daredevil attitude damned. You are then reminded of the young woman who came to you crying once or twice. “Have you and Thomas still not come around?” you find yourself asking before you could stop yourself. Eyes widening at your reckless mouth, you cover it shut. "I'm sorry." 

Teresa dismissively waves, eyes hardening at the memory of her husband. “We will never come back to the way we used to be,” she says with such finality you'd think it was written in stone. “I’ve come to terms not to exhaust myself with matters so helpless,” she declared, sighing to herself before grinning, “I'm just having fun now.”

Your eyes furrowed in concern for her and her reckless behavior. She had sworn before you once—after you had seen her break down in tears for a full hour—that she would never again put her faith in men. She would use them the same way they used her. She had built her scandalous reputation on this. It was a rebellion and a vengeance against her husband who had forsaken her, but it was a coping mechanism as well—a way for her to feel something. 

Teresa chuckles at your troubled gaze. “Don’t worry about me, (Y/N),” she tells you, “you and Yoongi will do much better. I just know it.”

The two of you were opposites, but Teresa always meant well. You may not be as close as she makes it seem to be, but she is definitely a person in your life that you will never forget. This little moment with Teresa that brought your feelings into light, gave it hope, and flourished it, is a moment you will forever keep in your heart. 

—which made it all the more painful, when the news of her death came around the following week. 

No one knows the exact events that had transpired. 

Her body had been found downstream, all the way in the next town over—bloated, pale, and almost unrecognizable. Before the villagers had delivered the grave news, the town tavern owner, Leonard, had already taken note of the lack of her boisterous presence for three days in a row. No one really bothered to know or care, until Thomas, himself, came to check the body of the woman found. 

All of a sudden, the murmurs came plowing through the town. The town whore is dead. 

It was an accident. That's what the first round of gossip said. Teresa must've fallen into the river by accident, they suggested. She must've been carried away by the current and drowned!

It's suicide. That's what others sneered. She must've gotten pregnant from one of her escapades, they claimed. Or maybe all that shame finally latched onto her.

One of those is clearly more plausible than the other. The suicide theory was one largely based on malice, one that jealous men and women spread to rake her name through the mud more than it already is. 

You may not have known her on a personal level, but you found it unlikely that Teresa would ever resort to ending her own life. She had told you herself that she would rather go down fighting than to kill herself over the grief the betrayal her husband had caused. 

Then again, that cannot be fully ruled out in the list of possibilities. You don't know if anyone else had seen the side of Teresa you had seen, but the town whore that everyone scorned and envied was a broken girl that lost faith in love and the world, letting her name be sullied in the name of riling her husband up. 

Could she have really done it to herself?

You didn’t know—and it pains you.

Staring at the ground that held Teresa beneath, the prayers of the priest and the people around you faded away. You didn’t have the chance to see her before the burial—no one else in town has, either. They say the river turned her face terrifying, and so, her whole body was wrapped in the winding sheet with only her husband and family members to say their final goodbyes. 

Her last smile burns in your head, the same way tears stung your eyes. You tug your (f/c) shawl tighter around your frame. The day felt colder today, the sky rumbling in a murky gray that foretold the coming of a storm. 

It didn’t help the feeling of losing a friend.  

In the days that followed, you felt more alone than ever. Not only has Teresa’s passing left you mourning still, but Yoongi’s influence over your life has also gotten more and more apparent the more you had time to think about it. To add to that, every time you came to town, gossiping whispers and stares were drilling holes into your very being. What they talked about, you weren’t sure, but it was safe to say you were getting next to nothing when it came to sleep because of these things.  

Today you awake, still in your sleepwear with no real motivation to change and go out in the world. Alas, you did have a few duties in your home that you do have to do, and so, you were out of the bed with a little oil lamp in hand, navigating the slightly dim path out your room. 

You set the oil lamp down the dinner table and open up the windows to let in all the light. After idly braiding your hair, you started a fire in the stove and set the kettle over it, waiting for the water to boil. Outside, your chickens wake, too, the rooster also later crowing out its call. 

With this, you officially start your day. 

The sunlight peeks through the windows as if in some attempt to give you the warmth that you’ve been lacking in your life. The sunny day felt nice, if you must admit, taking a little of the weight off your shoulders. Pairing that with a nice cup of coffee in hand reminded you of your days with a certain someone. 

Min Yoongi. 

At the thought of Yoongi, you wonder again how he is doing—if his travels led him somewhere cold or hot, if he’s learning another song, or if he’s thinking of you as much as you were thinking of him. It’s a fantasy, you thought to yourself, but it’d be nice if he did—even if it were only as a friend.

Alas, hearing your chickens cluck a commotion outside, you were pulled out of your thoughts. You set your cup down, wrapping your (f/c) shawl over your chest tighter for some decency opening the door in your nightgown. The knob was a bit stubborn, but you managed to ease the door open.

“Thomas?”

You didn’t have the effort in you to hide the surprise on your face. There stood the lean man Teresa had often cried to you about, easily looming over you with his height. You haven't seen the man since the funeral, and you were quite unsure how to feel about his sudden visit. 

A pool of anger simmers within you from the image Teresa has painted in your head from all her stories—how he was unfaithful, how he acted like she never existed, how he couldn't care less about people harassing her even before she lost faith in the world and let her reputation swallow her whole. This was the man that led Teresa on a path to self-destruction.

But he was also an old "friend"—a playmate, really—and a man who hasn't done anything directly wrong to you just yet on this fine day (other than to ruin your reveries, that is).

And so, you settle for a small smile. "Good morning," you curtly quip, "May I help you with something?"

Thomas visibly perks up, as if he had been lost in thought, too. "Good morning, (Y/N)," he greets, a sheepish chuckle escaping his lips. "I'm truly sorry to bother you so early in the day, but I thought it would be good to bring you something that Teresa would've wanted you to have."

In his hands was something wrapped in an old fabric. "What is it?" You asked, head tilting as you hesitantly took it from his hands. 

"It's a dress," Thomas answered. "A wedding dress."

Confusion besets you. "A wedding dr…?" a soft gasp leaves your lips as you unfold the worn brown covering, revealing a simple but beautiful blue dress. Your fingers gently glide over the cotton, noticing that the delicate embroidery at the trims weren't finished—the answer is obvious as to why.

"Oh, it's beautiful," you coo, tears stinging your eyes even as the smile that blossoms on your face tries to stop it. Even in death, Teresa encourages you to pursue your heart.  

"May I come in?" 

You broke out of your trance, looking back up at him. "What?"

Thomas' green eyes squint as he looks at the sunny sky. "It's awfully hot out," he tells you, before gesturing to the dress. "I also want to see more of the dress."

"Oh…"

You look at him still—at the way the sunlight made the top of his light brown tresses a bit more golden, at the discomfort written partly on his face. You were tempted to keep him there, but you took too long mulling over his words that it would be rude to deny him now. 

Wordlessly, you opened the door wide and stepped aside. You focus your attention on the dress, admiring the embroidery one more time before holding it out, the fabric flowing down and stopping at a decent length for your height. 

"She said it's a wedding dress," Thomas hums, taking a seat at the bench by the fireplace. "Are you really getting married?"

There was a slight grit in his words that caught you off guard, breaking the ease of the smile you forced out of your lips. "Eventually," you awkwardly muse, "Every woman has to, yes?"

Thomas nodded, but with the way he stared off somewhere, his mind was clearly some place else. "To whom?"

A shyness suddenly sieges you. "Well, it's uncertain for now," you say before channeling an ounce of hope and confidence from the words Teresa had left you before. "But, I am hoping to get the affections of a certain someone."

The brunet's expression hardens, one that you hadn't really noticed until he spoke again. "Is it the foreign musician?" Thomas spat, causing the soft smile on your face to vanish. 

There was a fury in his eyes that you couldn’t quite understand, and frankly, it put you off. On instinct, you gently drape the dress over a chair and inch closer to the dining table—closer to your coffee, and away from the bench and Thomas. "You mean…” you idly drawled, “Yoon… gi?"

"So that's the bastard's name," Thomas sneers again, “Yoongi?”

A silent huff escapes your lips, one that you hoped he didn’t notice. "Is something wrong?" you asked him, a tight-lipped smile on your face as you take a sip of coffee to calm yourself.  

"He fucked my wife."

With the way Thomas said that matter-of-factly, you sputtered, nearly staining your shawl and nightgown with coffee. "I beg your pardon?" you gawked in disbelief at the hunter on your bench, his words ringing in your head.  

"He fucked her," he claims once more, "I'm sure of it."

You, however, weren’t so easily swayed. Yoongi and Teresa may have met in passing, but neither have mentioned the other at all, Yoongi having said nothing and Teresa having only brought him up for gossip. "And you're sure of this because?" you challenge, leaning against the table as you turn to face him with your arms crossing together. 

Thomas stands up from his seat as he begins laying out his ‘evidence’."She met him on his first day here, and he's been coming back a lot. Surely, something must've happened," he says, "He must've broken her heart and led her to kill herself."

A part of you wanted to laugh. This man is delirious. 

With a sigh, you unfurl your arms to reason with him. "I highly doubt it, Thomas," you say, "I would know because I'm the only one Yoongi only knows well in this town, and he stays here."

Your words, instead, seemed to be gasoline to fire—a catalyst worsening his rage. "How can you be sure what he's done when he's not here?" he scorns, nose flaring and fists clenching. 

That's true. You don’t really ask Yoongi what he does outside of your time together, the only look into his life being really just the adventures he chooses to share with you—but that still doesn't validate Thomas’ affair theory. 

You trust Yoongi. You trust Teresa. You trust them more than some bygone boy from your childhood years. You haven’t spoken to Thomas in years until this moment—clearly, Teresa is much closer to your good graces than he is. With the baseless slander he’s putting out of his mouth, he falls further and further down from the nothing he has. "You're pointing out needless accusations, Thomas," you grit through your teeth, "Yoongi and Teresa don't have an affair. They've hardly met more than once."

Thomas marches forth, pointing at you. "Stop siding with the foreigner, (Y/N)!" he bellows.

It really didn’t sit well with you right now, that this man, who had practically abandoned his wife and not even thought to fend her against other men, suddenly gets angry at the thought of a foreigner having an affair with his wife before her death. "Why are you so sure he's involved with any of this?!" you exclaim, frustration settling in very quickly.

“Because he's taken what should’ve been mine!” he screams, as if this was a matter of stolen objects. 

You were having enough of his tantrum. "For the last time, Thomas," you hissed, voice firm but shaking with rage. “Yoongi didn't have an affair with Teresa. He never did.”

Still, the hunter doesn’t relent. “I'm not talking about Teresa!”

That alone silences the both of you.

“What?”

The sunlight that filtered through the palace was abundant, what with its Grecian architecture having a lot of open spaces to let all the natural light in. This easily added more to the title of it being a golden palace. Yoongi is the god of the sun, after all. It made the most sense. 

But that didn’t mean he liked it—not all of the time, at least.

He didn’t want to be reminded of what he is and what his duties are supposed to be—especially, not now. The sun god was draped across a large bed, idly hovering between asleep and awake, and staring up at the ceiling. His curtains were drawn to a close, with only the wind lightly blowing at the curtains to let more light in the room.

His head pounded, having woken up from the consequences of his escapades with Dionysus the night before. The fact that he’s a god suffering from a hangover at the moment is telling of just how much he drank. It’s not easy to get a god drunk after all, but of course, this is something the wine god is good at.

In hindsight, he should’ve never gone with his old friend at all. He may have gotten what he had wanted, but it was only a temporary fix. Now, not only did he have a massive headache, but his original problem was back. 

(Y/N)—or rather, his mind constantly bringing her up. 

The drinking had been in the name of forgetting her, really—something that he hadn’t really told Hoseok when he had agreed to go out for a drink yesterday. Otherwise, Yoongi knew he would’ve been taken to sit down and talked into a sad and sorry drinking session instead of a fun one that would’ve distracted him, just as he had preferred.   

It's not that she had done anything wrong—she’s a good soul, after all—but the constant mulling over his feelings was a lot more difficult than he had anticipated. 

As of now, he is definitely more certain than ever that he really does love her—love her more than he had ever with Hyacinthus. It was a shock to admit it to himself out loud, but it was now the truth. The way he felt around her was different than what he had felt with everyone else. There were no butterflies that came to warn him, there was only peace and then a sudden chaos—one that swept him off his feet, and frankly, he had no plans to get up. It was futile, after all, to fight something so great and powerful.  

But it is this difference in this love that also concerns him. If he had loved Hyacinthus so greatly before that his death had broken Yoongi for centuries on end and have this love surpass it, then how could he ever learn to live without her when she dies?  

Mortals live so shortly—something that Yoongi himself has come to see in millennia and also something he has come to accept somewhat. Even as a friend then, Yoongi knew he would one day lose her to death, and it already saddened him enough—what more now when he has come to love her? 

Everything reminded him of her—the sunlight that often gave her that golden glow, the mornings when they would have coffee together, and even music, his literal symbol, has come to betray him in his endeavour. He now cannot pick up an instrument without having an urge to go down to Earth and play songs for her.

It doesn't help either that the excuse he had given her when he left was that he was travelling. Thinking of her waiting down there for him, made his heart clench.  

“Are you done moping around?”

A shock of his life came to Yoongi at the sudden voice of an outsider. He got up from his bed in haste, a sharp hiss leaving his lips after the motion made his head ache worse. It took a moment for him to collect himself, but when he did, he turned his eyes towards the direction of the voice with an immediate glare. 

By the hallway, was a familiar woman. Small and lean, like himself, and skin so milky white that one wouldn't at all think she was a huntress so used to being outside. Her eyes and hair were dark, but shone with a little bit of a blue hue when the light graces them every now and then. 

It was his sister. 

“Artemis?” he asked, incredulous. “What brings you here?”

The moon goddess rolled her eyes, walking further into the room with the ends of her dark blue dress fluttering around her. She stops a few feet away from his bed, crossing her arms. “To talk some sense into your foolish self,” she sneers, prying the curtains ahead open with her powers. “Get up.”

A yelp leaves Yoongi's lips, taken aback with eyes nearly burning at the sudden flooding of light into his room. “I beg your pardon?” he exclaims, returning to looking at his sister with a fierce glare.

Artemis ignores this and walks around the room, looking at the clutter he has made in the weeks since he's been here. The look of disgust and disdain is obvious on her face. “You and I both know I am not one for love, brother,” she sighs, saying it nonchalantly, “I found no sense in your romantic escapades. I thought you a fool.”

This was the most obvious difference between them. Where Yoongi had countless of lovers,  his sister had none. 

“However,” she then firmly interjects, “what I find more detestable are people who lie and run away from their problems.”

The sun god stared at her in confusion, but then in fear upon realizing that Artemis may have discovered his little secret on Earth. “W-what do you mean?” he stammered, but it would’ve been futile even if he hadn’t stammered. Like him, his sister had a keen eye for detecting emotions. 

This was now evident with the way Artemis' eyes narrowed at him. “You met a woman several months ago,” she says, “(Y/N) was it? You kept returning to that quaint little cottage of hers so much that this palace of yours could burn and you wouldn’t care for it.”

His head went blank. “You know about (Y/N),” he says, words leaving his lips in an almost inaudible manner.  

The moon goddess’ eyes rolled back a century. “You weren’t exactly being the most careful in the end, brother,” she tells him, matter-of-factly. “Did you really think I wouldn’t find out?”

“Don’t hurt her, Yoonji,” was his immediate thought to say. There was an edge in his voice—one that shocked both his sister and himself. He even used her mortal name.

The shock, however, was replaced with anger. “You dare assume I would do such a thing?” she spat, clearly offended. She may be a bit overprotective when it comes to the matters of her brother's heart but she was a protector of women and children. She wouldn't hurt the mortal so baselessly. 

“I don’t have to hurt her, Yoongi.” Yoonji then settled him with a sarcastic smile, “you alone can do enough damage.”

It was Yoongi's turn to be offended. “What are you talking about?” 

Yoonji points an accusatory finger at her younger brother. “You lied to her and ran away,” she said.

His heart skipped a beat in a bad way, more guilt settling in now that his sister has pointed it out. “I didn’t run away,” he sighs, not denying the lying part, “I’m thinking my feelings and decisions through.”

“Are you?” Yoonji drawled, challenging him, “Or are you simply stalling?”

The sun god sighs yet again. “I—AH!”

All of a sudden a bright light flashes and invades his entire vision. 

The expanse of a familiar forest appears before his eyes, the whole thing in a hazy glow. There was silence for a moment but a figure suddenly whirs past, sending the birds flying amok. 

The perspective suddenly changes into whatever or whoever it was that just went by. They kept running and running through bushes and branches that hit and hurt against the skin. He can't hear anything but he could feel the fear running through their veins. 

What are they running away from? 

What happened?

Before he could get an answer, the prospective changes once again. This time, a man loomed over the figure, blood running down and obscuring his face. Hands reached out and clawed at the man, trying to fight back.

Then, just as quickly as it came, it ends, Yoongi now returning back to the bright walls of his palace. The sun god crashes onto the floor, his breath labored as if he had done the running himself. 

Yoonji was left aback by her twin’s sudden collapse. “Brother?” she asks, running over to aid him, “What’s wrong? What happened?”

A vision. It was a vision.

Yoongi hadn’t had one himself in years. They would usually be something that would directly impact his life and future, and upon realizing that, the sun god could only think of one person. 

Exerting a sudden strength, Yoongi forces himself out of his sister's grasp, collecting his bow and arrow from the wall atop his bed and marching out onto the balcony. He calls forth his chariot, all the more confusing Yoonji. 

The moon goddess chases after her twin. “Yoongi!” she calls out to him, managing to grab him by the arm. “What’s going on? Tell me!”

Before her, Yoongi has never been more panicked—more desperate. “(Y/N),” he tells her, “she’s in danger.”

"What?"

The silence that clung in the air was astoundingly suffocating. It seemed as if even the chickens outside went silent, and the only thing you can hear was Thomas's words echoing in your head. 

Before you, the hunter sputters, clearly in panic. "I…"  

The anger that had been simmering within you started to boil as his words now sink in. “What do you mean you’re not talking about Teresa?”you drawled before your voice bellowed in rage. “She’s your wife!”

Thomas now was even more reckless, his defensive side making it all messier. “She’s nothing but a whore!” he screamed back.

His words were now a catalyst to your rage. “You neglected her in the first place!” you hissed, “She loved you, but all you did was cast her aside! Your actions were what led her to be the way she was!”

Face now red from all of the yelling, Thomas took a moment to breathe. “If she did love me then she would’ve stayed at home like a good wife,” he gritted his teeth, “Instead, she went around town to do things to embarrass me! To retaliate against me!”

While you also had worried about the petty way Teresa coped with her husband's awful shortcomings,  you certainly didn't like the way Thomas acted as if he didn't do anything wrong. “Yes, because of you,” you pointed out to him, emphasizing his critical role in the problem. Angry tears roll down your eyes. “You say that as if you had no fault in the matter—as if you’ve been so faithful!” you exclaim, almost wanting to laugh at his ridiculous mindset. “Who’s the one you’re referring to if not Teresa then, huh?”

“You.”

Another silence rips through the air, a gasp leaving your lips as you gawk in disbelief at the audacity of the man before you. “What?” You uttered breathless, “What do you mean ‘me’?”

Thomas takes a step forward, trying to plead his case. “The woman I love is you, (Y/N),” he tells you, “You.” 

Disgust seizes your face as you lean further away from the hunter. “Since when?” You ask, a scoff leaving your lips at his declaration of love. “We barely know each other.”

There was a flash of hurt in his green eyes—one that you couldn't care to think about when all you could think of was the utter bafflement of what had just transpired. “I realized it a few years ago,” he confessed, head lowering. 

It was amazing just how much this man has managed to surprise you in barely an hour of coming to you. “A few years ago?” you gasped, “You married her a few years ago!”

Thomas ran his hands through his light brown locks in frustration. “It was after I’ve already gotten married to her,” he tells you this as if he were simply trying to reason with you like you were the one being irrational. “She’s no longer here, we can—”

“What?!” You look at them in horror, scandalized by what had just tried to suggest. “Have you gone mad?!”

This man really thought that after the death of his wife and a confession out of nowhere, you would accept his hand in marriage—after you've also mentioned having someone else in your heart. What a ridiculous thought. “I have no feelings for you whatsoever!” You tell him this, giving him the brutal truth that sends him in another fit of rage.

The hunter marched towards you, hands gripping either side of your arms tightly. You trash around in his hold. “Does that bastard of a foreigner really hold your heart then? That good-for-nothing musician that keeps coming back to a place he doesn’t belong?” he questioned, face getting redder and redder. 

“Let me go, Thomas!” you scream, managing to slip away enough and hold yourself against a nearby wall. You back away more as he starts to loom over you again. 

“What do I have to do to make you forget him?” Thomas manically asks, throwing aside a chair that got in his way. “Do I have to kill him too?!”

Your eyes widened in horror. “Too?” you gasped, as the dots connect in your head immediately—Teresa’s funeral happening so quickly, his empty expression as the priest carried over the ceremony and his sudden visit here. 

“Did you… Did you kill Teresa?”

That stopped Thomas in his tracks, making him realize what he had just said. The absence of remorse in his eyes terrified you more. “She had it coming,” he growled.

Shivers ran down your spine at the memory of Teresa’s death. It wasn't an accident, or a suicide—it was murder.  

Thomas arrives home after selling a few of what he had gotten from a previous hunt, only to see no supper waiting at table. Teresa usually does this, as part of her ploy to aggravate him, but she would usually prepare supper for herself and so, Thomas would have something to take and eat. “What are you doing?” he growled, as he takes his boots off by the door, “Where’s supper?”

His wife nonchalantly shrugs. “I’m making a dress,” she simply tells him, showing him blue fabric and her hands. He had seen her work on that dress before, so it wasn't really that much of a surprise. 

He pulls a chair to take a seat across hers. “Is your customer more important than your husband?” he lowly asks, glaring at her.

Teresa, as per usual, could not give a single damn about what he thought. “Considering I earn money from it, then yes, Thomas,” She tells him, matter-of-factly, So focusing her attention on the handiwork in her hands. “Besides, it’s not a commission. It’s a gift.” 

Thomas sighs. If it were allowed, he would’ve long left this bitch.“What on Earth are you making a dress for?” he grits through his teeth.

“A wedding.”

That caught him off guard. There were no announcements posted on the church's door today. “Whose?” he asked, thinking of the hunt that would be needed to prepare for the feast after. If the couple were a little well of, then he coul— 

“(Y/N)’s” Teresa cut off his thoughts, a smile on her lips that wasn’t clearly just meant to be happy for the couple, but for herself as well. “Rumor has it she’ll be marrying the foreigner musician soon and I want to give them my best regards before they leave this godforsaken town.”

Thomas was obviously irked. He had heard of those rumors in passing, but he never really put much thought into it.“Why waste effort on rumors, Teresa?” he grunts, “Stop lollygagging now and fix us up some dinner.”

Teresa rolled her eyes and set the dress down to check on the pantry for food, knowing well that Thomas was at his limit and would throw a massive fit if he didn't get what he wanted sooner. It would be difficult to hide another bruise. 

Still, a part of her was satisfied to hear the obvious irritation in his voice and that part of her tempted her to poke at him more. “It’s not just a rumor,” she excitedly tells him in a gossiping manner.“I talked to (Y/N) myself, and they seem to be very much in love.”

Thomas clenched fist. “And why would she settle for a foreigner?”

In hindsight, this was a bad idea, but Teresa hasn't seen him react this much before. She becomes careless in her endeavors, the satisfaction of angering him—of hurting his pride—being such a delicious fruit to grasp. “He’s handsome, kind, caring, and seems to be well off too,” she said, listing some of the things she had heard from (Y/N), as she took out the pot of porridge she had made this morning. “Why wouldn’t she marry someone like that?”

“He’s a farce,” The hunter sneered. “She shouldn’t marry him.”

She sets down a bowl for the both of them with a little bit of force. “Why are you so against it, dear?” she fakely asks, lips twitching. “Is it because you know he’s better than all you could ever be?”

Thomas stands up to his full height, easily towering over Teresa. “What did you say to me?”

All sense of fear abandoning her, Teresa was beset by her fury. “You’re not fooling me, Thomas,” she spat,“I know why you’re so cross about anything that has to do with (Y/N).”

She walks towards him, a slightly crazed smile on her face that tells him she really does know the truth he’s been trying to hide—the grave sin he had committed. Lust. “The way you look at her, the way you perk up at the mention of her, the way you say her name in your sleep,” she growled. “I know it all, you bastard.”

“That’s enough, Teresa,” Thomas warns. 

Teresa only laughs at the evidence of guilt on his face. For someone scorned to be a whore and a vixen, the town will surely be scandalized to hear that the one who sinned first was the husband after all. “If I hadn’t known just how much of a sweetheart (Y/N) is, if I had been such a fool to blame her for your infidelity,” she hissed, “I would’ve hated her—cursed her even.”

“Enough!”

Teresa doesn’t stop, carried away by the heartache she had been keeping for years. “But you and I know, you will never be with her,” she tells him, cackling—only to be cut short by a slap.

Thomas’ hand stings from the impact. “Shut up, you wench,” he grits through his teeth.

Furious tears ran down Teresa’s cheeks. She doesn’t wipe them away. Instead, she turns back to him, glaring into the windows of his soul. “You don’t deserve her. She deserves better,” she declares, a grin spreading across her lips at the memory of her discussion with the young dressmaker. "And she has just that—the musician," she tells Thomas, “That alone is a satisfying vengeance for all you’ve done to me.”

It was then and there that Thomas’ rage truly exploded. It was quick, how he marched towards her and wrapped his hands around her neck. “Shut up!” he bellowed.

Teresa clawed at his wrists and kicked about. “Rot in hell!”

“Forget about her—about him,” Thomas coaxes you, as if the fact he had murdered his wife in cold blood was something so easy to forget. “Come with me.”

You nearly topple over the bench in your attempt to get away from him.  “You’ve gone mad, Thomas,” you tell him, shaking your head. "You need help."

The hunter growls at your words, stepping forwards, trying to catch you, but you warily dodge his hold. In avoiding him, you made it somehow to the dining table. "Don't come any closer, Thomas," you warn, keeping in mind what lay there behind you.  

Before you, the man breathes heavily. “I’m perfectly sane!” he insists, tearing at his hair in frustration. “I did what I had to do! Listen to me!”

Fully convinced he's about to break, you "Don't lie to yourself," you plead, now exhausted with this whole charade. "What you did was wrong and you know it."

It was so sudden that you barely saw it coming. Thomas lunges at you with a tight grip on the back of your head as the other hand painfully squishes your cheeks to have you look up at him. You whimper, trying to pry at his hands and free yourself from his hold. 

"I said listen to me," he growled, shaking you still, "now, shut up."

Thomas stared you down. "You will never see that musician again. You're com—AH! FUCK!"

He staggers back after a slightly hot splash of coffee hits his face—you being the culprit after reaching for the mug behind you. With his vision and guard down for a moment, you took no time smashing the mug in your hand onto his head. Yoongi's mug was now shattered, but it had effectively given Thomas a lot of damage—an awful gash now on the side of his head. 

Not all triumphs last long, after all. 

Thomas howls in pain as the wound trickles blood down the side of his face. "You bitch!" He then glowered, charging towards you like a bull. You dodge in time, sending him crashing into the table instead. 

His crash was followed by a pained grunt, then shatter of something hitting the floor. Much to your horror a reddish glow begins to spread beneath the trashed dining table. 

The oil lamp.

You step forward in an attempt to quell the fire, but Thomas groans, panicking you even more. The heavy clench of your heart at the thought of your cottage burning was outweighed by your crazed suitor catching you. You wrap your shawl around you tighter, bolting towards the door. 

You shock your chickens in your sudden exit of the house, sending them running amok too. In your haste, you don't bother to lock the small gate behind you and don't bother to look behind you either. 

You didn't have enough power in you to fully process the terror of the events that had transpired. All that suffering weaving all sorts of people together in an entangled mess. 

In another life, maybe Teresa and Thomas would have reconciled and worked through the problem. Maybe they would have had children—children that would have been your godchild even. Maybe she wouldn't have lived so miserably and died in such a tragic way. Maybe they would've been happy.

But not in this life. 

In this life, Thomas was cruel, discontented, and insane. If he is still any of these in his next life, then it is a guaranteed recipe for disaster. Would there be any hope for him? 

You didn’t know—or care, at the moment. All you could think of is run. 

Run as fast as you can.

In all honesty, you know nothing of where your feet were taking you, but you were hoping it was somewhere in the direction of the town. Your mind wandered into the fate that loomed over you. Will you manage to leave this alive and ever tell Yoongi how you felt? Will you die at the hands of Thomas and later be found at some place else, the same way Teresa was found in the downstream river? 

You don't know what fate will befall you, but you would at least like to try fighting your way to whatever end awaits you. Through bushes and branches that hit and hurt against the skin, you just kept on running with fear only fuelling you to go further. Your heart was beating so fast against your rib cages, your lungs aching for air, but you couldn’t stop.

—until the ground itself made you stop.

Feet caught by some stray log sticking out, you plummet down to the ground with an outcry. Your fall gives you scratches and bruises along the arm and leg of the side you fell on, tearing the ends of your nightgown and a sleeve. You stay right where you landed, tears stinging your eyes as you take a few seconds to redeem yourself. It hurts to breathe, to move, to even think.

You close your eyes allowing yourself a little bit of a break from all of this, muttering a prayer under your breath as you did. It'll be fine, you tell yourself this even with no assurance at all, trying to manifest that good grace of fate towards you. 

You're fine. 

Everything is fine. 

Everything will be fine.

In the distance, you start to hear howls and dog barks, breaking you out of your little rest. You did your best to push yourself up, whimpering along the way when jolts of pain shot through your body. Heartbeat speeding up at the sight of bushes moving in the distance, you think that they might be wolves—or bloodhounds.

Did Thomas bring his bloodhounds with him? 

Oh, no. 

You try to move, try to take a step forward in another direction but your knees buckled and every inch you moved was painful. Still, you start to limp towards a certain direction and eventually find yourself arriving at a clearing—one that you don't recognize to be near the town at all. 

Tears stream down your eyes then and there. You were far from salvation, far from anyone who could help. You were doomed.

Looking behind you, you hear the hounds grow louder and louder. With the limp making it difficult for you to run, you grab a hold of a large branch you find amongst the ground. It was somewhat sturdy and sharp. You could use it for defense. 

Propping yourself against the nearest tree, you do your best to hide from whatever it was that was behind you. Should it choose to attack, you have something to attack with. You ready yourself to fight—ready yourself to die fighting—and wait for death to come so you can look at it straight in the eyes and bare your teeth.

Much to your horror, two bloodhounds had indeed come after you, drool running down their chin as they growl at your weakened state like some prey for a hunt. Their fangs glistened with ferocity—a far cry from the way your tears beckoned desperation. “Stay away!” you snarl back, your hand shaking but you swing the branch at them anyways.

“There's no use fighting now, (Y/N).” 

You froze at the voice that reached your ears. You turn your head and see Thomas at a distance, the side of his head tainted red but the bleeding seems to have stopped that at some point. Behind him, you see a faint line of smoke trailing up into the sky. Your cottage was up in flames by now, no doubt. 

You know not how he managed to catch up with you so quickly, but he was here now and you had to worry about him. Clutching your makeshift weapon tighter, you gather the last of your strength in preparation of what’s to come. “Stay away, Thomas,” you grit, “please.”  

The dogs bark, the near thunderous sound making you jump. You can’t run from either side with the hounds ready to snap at you at any time. Their master approaches you in the middle. You immediately swing the branch, successfully hitting him once or twice. Thomas staggers back from your attack with a pained grunt that soon turns into a growl as he grips at the branch and yanks it out of your hands. Your shawl falls to the ground at the harsh movement, and you can’t even go to pick it up.

It was now officially three against one.

Thomas seizes your neck—not enough to choke you, but enough to trap you between him and the tree. “You’re really testing me, woman,” he sneers, before he sadistically grins. “Come with me now, and I’ll forgive you, hm?” 

You stomp and kick at his legs, slamming your fist against his chest. His pride disgusts you. “I never loved you,” you spat, “I never will.” 

Thomas kissed his teeth at your words in irritation and disappointment, shaking his head. “Wrong answer,” he says, throwing you to the ground and easily hovering over your fallen figure with his hands now having a firmer hold around your neck. 

“You leave me no choice,” Thomas says, “Die.”

Your eyes widened at the sensation of him making his hold on you tighter and tighter, making you thrash beneath him more in an attempt to free yourself. Instead, you were hauled up and slammed back down, the impact resulting in an outcry as it knocks the air out of you even more. 

“Come with me,” he asks again.

You answer with a weakened hit to his ribs. “Rot,” you wheeze, “in hell.” 

The words lit a flame in Thomas’ eyes, you notice, and he exerts more strength into strangling you than before. Clawing at him draws out redlines and scratches on his skin, but the hunter doesn’t yield. Tears flooded your eyes, but it doesn’t make a difference with your senses starting to black out. 

Was this it?

Your last sight being a madman choking you with a crazed look on his face, instead of being surrounded by a loved one? 

Your last hearing of the world being rabid dogs barking around you, instead of soft music?

Your last words being “rot in hell”, instead of something witty or wise?    

Your last breath being released in a life that ended so untimely and unknown, instead of a long life of adventures?

There were a lot of things you still didn’t do—things you still haven’t said. In your last moments, you choose to think of Yoongi. If he returns to the sight of a burned cottage and no sign of you, would he mourn? Would he miss you? 

He will in some way, you think. We had something after all.

Then, you suppose it’s a fortunate misfortune not being able to tell him the things your heart wanted to before you died. It would hurt and burden him more if you had. You haven’t seen Yoongi cry before, but you have no doubt it’ll break your heart. Yes, that would be bad. 

Suddenly, air floods into your lungs, the weight on your neck—on top of you—gone. You came to, seeing the vast expanse of the sky above you in beautiful white and blues. Alas, the sudden flurry of air that your lungs greedily take in sends you coughing, forcing your eyes close and your head pounding. Curling into yourself, you cradle your arms to your aching chest.  

“(Y/N)!”

Your name was called. It echoes in your head. A touch follows, but it wasn’t the rough and cruel one you had witnessed before. This one was soothing, warm, and familiar all together. The furrow between your brows eases as the hand brushes back your hair. Letting yourself sink into the darkness, you savor the last touch you were feeling. 

It feels nice. 

Stepping off the golden chariot, the moon goddess easily commands the two rabid dogs to stand down and flee from the clearing. “Is she alright, brother?” Yoonji asks, staring at the young mortal that has yet to get up still. 

Yoongi couldn’t answer his sister, head buzzing and heart pounding with worry at the lack of response he was getting. “(Y/N),” her name falls from his lips in a fragile grace, shaking from rage and fear for her. “Please wake up.”

She was pliant in his hold, no signs of coming back to her senses to react from his hold just yet. Little nicks of red littered her skin, her feet bearing most of the damage and dirt from running, and around her face and neck were bruises that will no doubt blossom into worse colors. 

Frustration bubbled within the sun god at his circumstances. When they had flown over the town, his heart immediately hammered at the sight of the cottage up in smoke. He thought it was fortunate not to see or hear anyone trapped inside, but it was hard enough as it is to try and search for her through the woods. 

Damn it all. 

Without any hesitation, the sun god channeled his powers towards her, skin glowing golden at this point. He presses a soft kiss onto her forehead as he waits for any sign of effect, still flowing the healing energy onto her. Please work. Please. 

Alas, minutes pass. It was still nothing. 

"Yoongi," the moon goddess softly scolds with a firm hold onto her twin's shoulder that was both a warning and a comfort. "That's enough. You'll drain yourself."

Thinking he may have been too late, the tears began to well up his eyes. The helplessness wracking his heart felt awfully familiar. Yoongi tightly shuts his eyes close as he buries his face into her hair, bringing her closer and cradling her onto his lap. “Please say something,” he whimpers, stubbornly trying to heal her still. “Please.”

I can’t lose you, too.

Yoongi's heart was shattering all over again. Another failed love—another tragedy—so it seems. It was most tragic too, that he hadn't come to see her smile, hear her voice, and feel her caress one more time. 

The moon goddess' own heart broke a little at the sound of her brother's sobs. The last time she had seen him like this was millennia ago. For him to love again after so long only to lose his love so early, she knew this must be a terrifying pain to behold. This was exactly why she didn't prefer to mingle around the concept of love. 

All that stalling and moping had indeed become regret. 

Yoongi mulled over what could have been. If he had been there, he would've easily gotten rid of the bastard. If he had been there, the cottage wouldn't have caught on fire. If he had been there, he would've gotten away with her in time. Worst of all;

I haven't even told her I love her. 

“Don’t cry…"

Yoongi froze at the weak but soft caress that brushed over the hand he had cupped the side of her head with. He pulls away in an instant, eyes glistening more at the sight of her (e/c) ones staring at him. Exhaustion was written all over her face, but the color was back on her now untainted skin. 

In relief, Yoongi almost collapses as he brings his forehead to rest against hers. The gesture caught the mortal off guard but the sun god could barely hold his emotions back for any longer. “I thought I lost you,” his words were a whimper delivered by a precious smile. 

He thought for a moment that, like Hyacinthus, she was destined to die then and there, and he wouldn't have been able to revive her. The Fates seem to be kind this time, for the love of his life was now in his arms, alive and well after his efforts to bring her back to the world of the living—to him.   

There were a lot of things in life you didn’t expect to happen but did. 

You didn’t expect for coffee to have such a big influence in your life. You didn’t expect to meet Yoongi, and fall for him. You didn’t expect to connect with Teresa but later mourn her death. You didn’t expect for Thomas to come in insane, chase you through the woods and kill you with his bare hands. 

What you certainly didn’t expect, however, was to feel a warmth enveloping you and bring you back from the abyss—to suddenly open your eyes again and feel arms around you. You hear sobs as you are held tighter. 

“Please say something. Please”

 It was then you realize just who the person cradling you was. Min Yoongi.

What you had thought about him crying turned out to be true. Your heart broke at the sound of Yoongi crying. “Don’t cry,” you find yourself saying, voice rough and weak. As you force your strength to your hand to touch his. 

The relief on Yoongi’s face was instant. “I thought I lost you,” he cried, resting his forehead against yours. It shocks you, but you savor the sensation, heart swelling to see someone worry so much over you.

It was then you remember the darkness you fell into, and the light that followed it. 

You were dead. How are you here now?  

Sitting up properly, you stare at your feet and arm, confused to see not a single bruise or cut in sight. In fact, you can stretch your limbs all you want and not feel any pain like earlier. “What happened?” you ask, “H-how am I...”

Yoongi froze before you, raising your suspicions.

There had always been something ethereal about Yoongi, you had always just simply associated it with his beauty and presence. The sunlight always seems to gravitate towards him, he always feels warm, and he brings with him some sort of luck.

But to stop you on your way to the afterlife is a far cry from just those little things. “Yoongi...” you began, words dripping with hesitance.  “What are you?”

The memory of that day flashes in your mind, Yoongi’s eyes glowing in the rain for a brief moment as you had asked him if he was alright. It felt peculiar then to feel a light flow of warmth wash over you,  

That day when you had gotten sick, was it his work too? That warmth you felt in that moment of darkness, you felt it while he played with your hair. In an instance you were caught in a trance, floating in water peacefully with all of your headache easing.   

“Have you not told her still, brother?”

A woman you don’t know suddenly makes her presence known to the both of you. She has the same ethereal aura as Yoongi, dark tresses glinting blue as it frames her delicate face. In her hands were a quiver and bow, while another pair was strapped to her back. 

She looks like Yoongi—which partly explains why she had called him brother. What it doesn’t explain, however, was the fact that Yoongi never told you of his sister. You never even knew he had one!

“... Who?”

The woman’s attention turned to you, hearing the faint question that unconsciously left your lips. “I am Artemis,” she tells you, a ghost of a smile resting on her face, “the goddess of the moon and hunt—among other things. You may call me Yoonji.”

You could hardly believe the words that reached your ears. The tales your grandfather would often tell you as a child mentioned old gods and goddesses in passing. If you recall, the moon goddess had a twin brother. That would mean Yoongi is...

“No,” you shake your head, a forced chuckle trying to mask your disbelief, “that can’t be… that would make....”

It was then you were reminded of what she had said before. 

Have you not told her still, brother?

You look at Yoongi expectantly. Is that what he hasn’t told you?

Before you, the musician you’ve known to love avoids your gaze. The longer silence prevails, the more your heart beats erratically. If he is who his sister implied he is, then he lied to you all this time. “Tell me the truth,” you plead with him, “Please.”

Yoongi looks pained at the look of confusion and hurt in your eyes. “I...” he began, struggling for words. In his hesitation, the answer became more obvious. “It’s true,” he sighs eventually, confirming your thoughts aloud. “I’m Apollo,” he confesses, “Yoongi is the name I use as a mortal.”

The world seems to still for you. 

Yoongi is a god. 

All this time you were befriending a god—you fell for a god. You felt betrayed, honored, and confused at the same time, the mess of emotions making tears well up your eyes. A part of you could understand why Yoongi may have chosen to hide it from you. He was a god of a bygone era, an eternal who may have found himself a solace in the simplicity your time together has given him, but a part of you also felt hurt by what he did. 

Could you still love a man you only know such a small part of—a god whose life is so grand and long compared to yours? Would your love even mean anything to him when you could so easily die?

"Was everything a lie too?" you find yourself asking aloud, deep in your heart hoping that wasn’t the case.   

Much to your heart’s delight, Yoongi panics, insistently shaking his head. “No, no, it would never be a lie,” he tells you, his hands almost reaching to intertwine with yours, but he seems to have stopped himself at the last second. “Every moment I spent with you was more genuine than anything else I've felt in centuries, (Y/N)," he confesses, “I...” 

Your eyes soften as you watch Yoongi struggle with his words yet again, this time doubting if he should continue with what he has to say. "You...?" You prompt, encouraging him further by gently squeezing on one of his hands in assurance. You want to hear everything he has to say for himself. 

Suddenly emboldened, the sun god raises his gaze to yours. “I love you,” he says in barely a whisper, holding his breath in anticipation of your reaction. "It's what I've been mulling over for the past weeks. I love you," he declares, "I love you and I want us to be together as lovers should."

His words sent you further into a flurry of emotions. 

He loves you. He loves you the way you love him. 

Wanting to hear those words is different from actually hearing them come to fruition. "I love you, too," you find yourself smiling, tears flowing down your cheeks from the emotions overwhelming you. It felt surreal—a dream come true—but dreams were different from reality. 

It seems that Yoongi notices the smile slipping from your face. His heart beating wildly against his rib cages. “But...?” he prompts, anticipating your response. 

You look down at your hands. “But…” you say, not sure of how you should tell him of your worry about the two of you being so different. “You're a god, Yoongi,” you tell him, a bitter smile on your face as you think of the future the two of you could have. You then catch yourself at the last minute. “Should I even call you by that name anymore?"

This was different from what you had imagined when it came to loving him. The most conflict you had expected to come along when it came to loving a man would be status, but to love a god would surely escalate the complications.  

Yoongi’s sudden caress on your face almost made you flinch when it reminded you of what happened before, but his touch was as gentle as it could be, gently urging you to raise your head and face him. “Be it Yoongi or Apollo,  I don't care,” he tells you, brushing back a stray strand of hair behind your ears. “So long as you call me yours.”

Your heart swells at his promise, but it doesn’t ease your ache at all. "You're a god," you reminded him again, “I'm a mortal. We can't love one another the way mortals do—the way I hoped we could."

We can’t grow old together.

The both of you understood what you meant, but Yoongi persisted. "If we can't love each other the way you had hoped, then we can, at the very least, love in a different way,” he says, wanting the two of you to have at least tried to make things work. “I had a vision of what happened, that’s how we got here, and even then, I was too late,” he tells you, tears blurring his eyes. “I realized then and there that even if you won’t choose to be with me for eternity, I want to still be with you—be there for you—for the rest of your life. I want to love you, to spoil you, to show you the world you’ve been wanting to see. I want to save myself from that regret of not being able to have loved you just because I was scared to lose you to death.”

Yoongi sheds the cloak on his shoulders, wrapping it over your figure. "It’s a blessing alone that I’ve managed to bring you back," he tells you, bringing a hand of yours to his lips. “It would be a great honor for me, if you would allow me the pleasure of loving you, (Y/N),” he implores with a voice so soft, “Be with me.”

Your breath hitches at the words he just proposed, your heart wildly protesting against your brain. You think of the future you could have with Yoongi, if you would choose to stay. You would die eventually, yes, but Yoongi had a point. If you let your fear drive you away from choosing the love you could have with the man you love, then would you be certain you wouldn’t sooner wish you had done otherwise? 

His argument had reason in it. Regret was a powerful thing that could haunt him for years—much more than it could ever do with you. Take the leap, your heart says. Take the leap and just love him. 

The distance between you both was so intimately close that you would think Yoongi would hear your quickly beating heart. Soon enough, you find yourself nodding as you shyly glance into his eyes, looking at the way they lit up at the sight of your silent answer.    

Yoongi smiles a little, standing to his feet and offering you a hand. “Really?” he asks, eyes so hopeful that it makes you smile. You take his hand, a small grunt leaving your lips as you stand. 

Another nod from you makes him smile more. “You’re right to say we should at least try,” you say, gently squeezing his hand back. 

Yoongi’s cheeks were hurting from the gummy grin encapsulating his face. Bringing his hands to your face, he presses a soft kiss onto your forehead. “Yes,” he hums against your skin, “let’s try.” 

Your eyes flutter close, savoring the feeling of his lips—until you realize something. 

His sister.   

With a soft gasp, you pull away, turning to the moon goddess all flustered and embarrassed. The remnants of a disgusted scowl were on her face, but she assures you a dismissive shrug. (Her brother has had lovers before. She’s walked into worse things.) 

Yoonji simply moves on, nodding her head towards something. “What do we do with this filth then?” she asks, gritting the words through her teeth. You didn’t need to ask who she meant by that, but you did, however, turn to look at what she’s glaring at.

There, just a few feet away, was Thomas pinned to a tree by two arrows—one gold, one silver—piercing him by the shoulders. His green eyes were blown wide open in shock, but he doesn’t move at all. 

"Tell me what happened," you hear Yoongi growl beside you, seething with rage. "Tell me what the bastard did."

You tear your eyes away from the bastard on the tree, feeling your chest tighten at the memories that Yoongi unknowingly uncovers, A hand gently lingers closer onto yours, knitting fingers with yours. You look into Yoongi’s worried eyes with a sad smile. "He murdered his wife because of me," you bitterly say, unsure of how to sum it all up. "Teresa, she…"

The mention of that name rings a bell in Yoongi’s head. "Teresa? The town wh—" he stops himself at the upset glance you threw his way. "—flirt? The town flirt?"

You sigh, tugging at the cloak around your shoulders. "She encouraged me to pursue my feelings for you," you tell him, smiling a little at the memory of Teresa advising her. "It angered him because he fancied me, so he killed her. Then, he got violent when I refused him…"

You hear the moon goddess scoff. “What a bastard...” she cursed under her breath.

Stealing a glance at the tree, you look at the twins with a curious glance. "Is he… dead?" you ask them, gesturing to the hunter.

The goddess shakes her head. "He's paralyzed," she tells you.

"Paralyzed?"

Yoongi gestures to the bows and quivers his sister has with her. "Our arrows have the ability to numb whoever we shoot with them," he informs you. The goddess nods, handing the golden set of quiver and bow to her brother. "He's still alive and aware of his surroundings,” Yoonji tells you, “but he cannot move."

Seeing your hard stare at the hunter, the sun god could tell the emotions simmering inside you, "Do you want me to make him suffer?" he tells you, eyes burning with rage enough to be angry for the both of you.   

The rational part of you told you it wouldn’t be right—that you wouldn’t be any different from Thomas—but you remembered Teresa and what you’ve both been through because of him. "Yes," you find yourself saying, an edge to your words. "Make him suffer as much—if not more—than what he put Teresa and I through."

The sun god presses a soft kiss on your forehead in comfort and assurance, before approaching the tree. He glares at the man, yanking at the arrow and sending Thomas to the ground with a thud. Still unable to move, Yoongi easily turns the body over and stares down at Thomas. 

You watch as his eyes glow golden, goosebumps littering your skin. "You will live,” he tells Thomas, voice growling deeper, “but you will live the rest of your life in a slow, torturous, incurable pain and only she can grant you death.” 

An ire of fury rises in your heart further. At that moment, you think to tell Yoongi an additional punishment. “Have everyone know what he did to Teresa and I...” you grit through your teeth, clenching your fists. If it’s a slow torture that’ll await him when the effects of the arrow wears off, a murderer’s execution will await him. Then, he’ll have to live in shame and in hiding for the rest of his life when the world sees he cannot die.   

Yoongi nods curtly. “You heard her.” he darkly chuckles at the unresponsive hunter at his feet. “Everyone will know the truth of your sins,” the god declares, eyes glowing yet again. “Whatever you saw or heard here, none will ever believe the words that come out of your filthy mouth either.”

Satisfied, the god leaves the hunter on the ground before calling out to the skies. “Come!” he commands. It confuses you for a moment, but a distant rumbling came as a response to his call. 

Soon, a golden chariot comes into the clearing, drawn by four horses that ease at the presence of Yoongi. The moon goddess hops onto it as Yoongi turns to offer you an inviting hand. “Shall we?” he asks, gesturing to the chariot where Yoonji waits.

Your heartbeat quickens. “Where?”

“To Olympus,” he tells you with a smile. “Won’t you come with us?”

You look up at the sky. Olympus was the land of the gods, how could you ever live there?

As if having read your mind, Yoongi walks towards you. He secures the cloak around your shoulders and gently caresses your cheeks. You look up, seeing tender eyes stare back at you. “You are under no obligation to come with me to Olympus,” he tells you, “but I want you to know that you are more than welcome to stay there with me. You deserve more, and I can give you more.”

A smile blossoms on your lips at his words, leaning into his touch as you mull over your thoughts. You don’t think you’d be comfortable living from a cottage to a whole palace all of a sudden, but you know for a fact that you’d at least like to see one of your grandfather’s stories come to life. “I think it’d make a nice visit,” you tell him, but then think of the state of your cottage now. “I… have nowhere else to go either.”

Yoongi presses a kiss on your forehead. “Alright,” he grins. “Come along, love.”

The sun god leads you into the chariot by the hand, where you stand by his sister. As the horses took it to the skies, a yelp left your lips, nearly making Yoongi stop the chariot then and there. He persisted, however, not wanting the whole thing to crash to the ground when the horses haven’t stabilized their flight yet. Yoonji, instead, gives you a comforting squeeze on the shoulder. “You’ll get used to it, dear,” she tells you.

She was right—somewhat. It was terrifying still, but you simply focused your attention on your lover holding the reins—it was a better view to look at anyways.

The three of you exit the chariot, the moon goddess walks ahead—not wanting to intrude anymore with her brother’s lovey dovey self. “How could you come by so much to my cottage when you have a whole palace waiting for you?” you smack Yoongi by the arm as soon as you see the golden palace before you. 

The sun god only laughs at your puny attempt to scold him. “I don't give a damn about this place,”  he tells you, leaning closer with a teasing smile, “my home now lies with you and wherever you will be.”

You smile for he was yours now, too.

“So is mine,” you tell him, feeling bold enough to lean closer.

With the distance so little between the both of you, Yoongi’s grin slowly slips away. “May I…” he murmurs, stealing a glance on your lips before boring his eyes onto yours. “...kiss you?”

A chuckle leaves your lips, before you steal a quick one on his. “You’ve been pressing kisses on my forehead ever since I said I’d give us a chance, silly,” you tease with a grin, laughing more at the sight of him blinking in shock at what you just did. 

The sun god half-heartedly rolls his eyes, before snaking an arm around your waist. “Alright then,” he muses, chuckling himself. Yoongi wastes time no further, seizing your lips for a proper kiss. 

You do nothing but close your eyes and savour it. 

Silly indeed.

You know not how you could ever manage to recover from what you had witnessed, how you could simply manage to move on from that chapter in your life, but the first step is clearly turning the page to start anew. It won't certainly be easy. You will be greatly haunted by what you had known and saw, but with Yoongi by your side, you knew well that you would do better to save yourself from ruination. 

And so, you turn that page and leave that chapter of your life behind as best as you could. You leave behind that dreadful town, that dreadful man, and all other dreadful things. You leave with only the fondest of memories of your time there—your family, the cottage, the merchants who gave you coffee, coffee, meeting Yoongi, Teresa, and more. 

You leave, stretching out your wings. With your love—your Yoongi—you are off to pursue greater things. 

WHY APOLLO? 

Another different depiction from the Greek Myth AUs would be Min Yoongi as Apollo. I understand that Yoongi broods a lot and that most would associate him with Hades, but I thought, why not Apollo? 

I mean, Apollo is the God of Music, Arts and the Sun. From that, we can see the parallels already. We all know of Yoongi’s capabilities of creating wonderful music and that he can put really deep poetic meanings in his works. He, himself, is ART (aLSO THAT VLIVE OF HIM PAINTING???) I also envisioned him as an Apollo whose heart may have hardened over the years from all the heartbreak and rejection, and that gave me a reason as to why he’d be a grumpy lil meow meow.

This also just feeds off of the stereotype of Apollo's love life btw (bc I wanted that ANGST) JSHSHSH Apollo had A LOT of boyfriends and girlfriends and not all of them ended in tragedy (good for u bud!) 

ALSO, jimin is zeus, yoongi is apollo which make jimin his DADDY but we have no time to unpack the complicated pool that is the Greek Myth family WHAHSHHS 

WHAT INSPIRED YOU?

I followed no specific lore of Apollo, but I did mention Hyacinthus a lot bc he was the only one I’ve heard of who actually liked Apollo back lmao but in the end I kind of got inspired by that story of them anyways??? 

In the myth of Hyacinthus, there’s this god called Zephyr/Zephryus who liked the Spartan prince but he went “if i can't have you no one will” and ended up killing Hyacinthus out of jealousy of him choosing Apollo AAAA 

IT’S SO SAD TOO BC APOLLO LOVED HIM SO MUCH HE TRIED TO HEAL HYACINTHUS BUT HE CAN’T BRING BACK SOMEONE WHO WAS DESTINED TO DIE AAAAAAAAAAAAA 

I didn’t want to kill y/n though HASDHASDH and I wanted to separate Apollo!Yoongi’s love for his Hyacinthus and his current love so there could be parallels drawn between them. I also wanted to give Yoongi a break from the angsty heartbreak he has gone through in this fictional life AHHAHAHSDJAS

Last note; I was also kinda a bit salty with this in the beginning, bc reading Lore Olympus in WebToon made me sO PISSED at Apollo (then again, i think its safe to say that ALL gods in greek mythology have dirt on their golden glories though lmAOOO) jsbgaihsbghf but I knew I can’t do my bb yoongs wrong and dirty like that so let’s just separate him from the original (this isn’t exactly meant to be a direct representation in the first place either LOL)

Thanks so much for reading this LONG ASS bitch AHDSHASHDHAS hope y’all enjoyed! <3

[ladyartemesia]

◐ The Alpha ◐

The mate of the Luna, the one true moon princess, is the Alpha and everyone knows it will be Kim Namjoon... Except it isn’t. When the ritual is complete, the moon princess kneels before Park Jimin and upends her pack’s predictable hierarchy.

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. MINORS PROHIBITED. I DO NOT CONSENT TO ANY INTERACTIONS WITH PERSONS UNDER THE AGE OF 18. NO EXCEPTIONS.

series ◐ masterlist

PART I: The Alpha

PART ll: The Challenge

PART lll: The Terms

Part lV: The Secret

Part V: The Champion

Part VI: The Praetor

Part VII: The Luna

Part VIII: The Kiss

Part IX: The King

Part X: The Revelations

Part XI: The Claiming

Part XII: The Legend

◐ notes ◐

These are little “notes” about the characters and the universe. Includes things like “ask my muse/ask my characters” and other interesting tidbits and perspectives on the world of The Alpha.

The Throne

How Wolves Age

About the Change

Clans in The Alpha

Shifting Mechanics

Bangtan Formation

About Lunas (Part 2)

The World of The Alpha

Kim Seokjin: Male Omega

Jimin’s “Prior Experience”

Namjoon and Yunli (Part 2)

Yoonji and Taehyung (Part 2)

How the Alpha Command Works

The Role of Omegas in Wolf Society

Titles and Roles in The Alpha (Part 2)

On Betas + Jimin/Joon Family History

Wanna Know Why Jimin is The Alpha?

How Jimin and the Luna Smell to Each Other

Why Did the Pack Underestimate a Silver Wolf?

Pack Social Structure and the Alpha Command

Mates, Customs, and Wolf Relationships (Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4) (Part 5) (Part 6)

How Jin’s Male Omega Pheromones Work (and Why TaeYoonKook Were Unaffected in That Scene)

What the Members Look Like (Human Form) in the Alpha Universe

Wolf Forms of Jimin and the Luna Wolf Forms of All Characters

Beautiful Drawing of the Characters in their Wolf Forms by Little Hummingbird Luna and Silver

Fabulous Alpha Inspired Nail Art by Bells

Gorgeous Moodboard by mikrokosm

Gorgeous Moodboard by eugeneflakey

Gorgeous Moodboards by claude-y

2nd Gorgeous Moodboard by mikrokosm

3rd Gorgeous Moodboard by mikrokosm based on Chapter VII: The Luna

Gorgeous Yunli and Namjoon Moodboard by thislilbabyisafreak

Sequel Preview (Jungkook) Masquerade (Teaser 2: Cherry Bomb) (Teaser 3: Careful Omega)

Sequel Preview (Yoongi) Season of the Witch. (Teaser 2: Yoongi’s Mate)

Listen to me talk about the story and writing process for The Alpha

[honeymoonjin]

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: ot7 x reader || ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 5.9k || ɢᴇɴʀᴇ: smut - rated 18+

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ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs: cursing, panic attack

A/N: apologies for my tgm crimes here but i gotta keep you on your toes since you have the old plan. also i'm not going to spoil anything but day 25 has one of my fav scenes in the show so far ;;-; so please enjoy this chapter and i will continue to work hard to finish the following one and get back into the posting routine!

DAY TWENTY-FOUR

You’re roused from sleep by the feathered sensation of fingertips on your jaw. Twitching slightly, you try and move away from it, burrowing deeper into the warm, gently rocking pillow your head is propped up on.

Before you can slip back under, however, the fingers give one last attack: a sudden flick to your cheek that echoes with a thwack. You flinch and furrow your brows, grumbling your displeasure since your words haven’t quite found you yet.

“Get up, sleepyhead, unless you’d rather I just piss in the bed.”

That’ll do it. You shoot up so quickly your vision swims, one side of your face feeling cold without the comfort of Yoongi’s chest. “Fuck you, go pee,” you slur, eyes still half-closed, the morning glare peeking through a gap in his curtains.

Yoongi happily but hurriedly trots off to the bathroom, giving you a moment of respite to collect yourself. It takes a few moments to recall the previous night, not just the way Yoongi’s voice had made you cum in your room, but also the way it later lulled you to sleep as he told you hushed stories of his childhood or anecdotes from his days as a sex education teacher.

You can even hear his voice now, just barely slipping under the crack of the door, humming and singing under his breath as he washes his hands.

When he finally exits, you’re propped up by pillows, duvet tucked over your knees and eyes crinkled fondly at his bedhead.

“Oh, no,” he starts with a frown, “you better get that look off of your face.”

Your smile drops. “What?”

Taming his hair with a few flat strokes, he shakes his head. “I need somebody sane in this house to talk to. You aren’t allowed to fall in love with me, it’s conflict of interest.”

Mouth dropping open, it takes you a few minutes to note the subtle curl to his lips. “You dick! I’m certainly not planning on it, don’t flatter yourself.”

“Hey,” he defends in a drawl, no attempt at modesty as he shucks his pyjamas before browsing his chest of drawers, “it’s been done before. You come for the massive dick and stay for the massive heart.” He pauses, shoulder muscles flexing as he reaches in to a drawer, pulling out a pair of dark wash jeans. “Stop looking at my ass, I’m trying to lecture you.”

On the contrary, you lower your gaze and narrow in on it. “You’re starting to develop a little bubble butt, Yoongi. It’s very cute.” Not leaving him time to protest, you barrel on. “Besides, your dick isn’t that big.”

“That’s only because you’re comparing mine to hyung’s. And Namjoon’s. And… And Jungkook’s, I guess. And-” Suddenly he cuts himself off, throwing himself back on the bed with his back hunched in despair. “Fuck, do I have a small dick?”

“Mm, not really,” you dismiss easily, deciding to finally get out of bed and pick out your own clothes - selecting them from Yoongi’s drawers, of course. He makes no protest, still staring blankly at the jeans in his hands. “You just have steep competition here. There’s nothing wrong with small dicks, either. They’re cute.”

Now visible from your angle, Yoongi’s face twists in a grimace. “But my dick isn’t small, right?”

You shrug, slipping on one of his FG shirts and a pair of sweatpants loose enough that you have to knot the drawstrings. “If it helps you sleep at night.”

He spares one somber glance down between his legs before he slips on a pair of underwear, finally stepping into the jeans. There’s a brief period of comfortable silence, before he lets out a small sigh. “Can I… Can I confess something to you?”

Although a quip would be easy enough to say, you sense the joking is over. “Of course, Yoongi,” you assure instead, sitting cross-legged on the unmade bed beside him. He doesn’t meet your eye, busying himself with slipping a shirt over his head. “What’s up?”

Once he’s fully dressed, he still keeps his eyes low. “When you- On Monday, when you voted out Jin-hyung. I was so glad.”

You pause for a moment. “Because you wanted him out of the competition?” you venture, but he shakes his head dully.

“Because I thought he might look at me again if he didn’t have you.”

Something sinks in your stomach, cold enough to make you shiver. The guilt in Yoongi’s voice doesn’t conceal the open vulnerability of his expression as he fiddles with his bitten fingernails. “What do you mean, Yoongi?”

“What him and I had earlier wasn’t healthy, I know that,” he defends to himself, “but… I still miss it. I miss him. But even when I spoke to him after the elimination, all he would talk about was you. And I can’t even be mad, because I get it. And I- If I’m honest,” he murmurs, feet scuffing restlessly on the carpet, “I don’t even know what I’m wanting to achieve by telling you this, but I couldn’t stand not having anybody know about it. I never wanted it to get this messy. I told myself I wouldn’t let my feelings get caught up. But I think a little heartbreak would be worth it, for him. Is that stupid?”

You feel so unanchored, like there’s nothing for you to grab onto to steady yourself. More so, you feel entirely incapable of helping your friend like you so desperately want to. “It’s not stupid,” you begin, reaching out to cup one of his hands snugly between the two of yours, head resting on his shoulder in solidarity, “and I’m so sorry. Does he- does he know you feel this way?”

“I don’t think so,” Yoongi admits in a low voice, leaning into your touch. “If he does, then he must not like me since he’s not acknowledging it. And if he doesn’t, then he must have never even considered me like that. I know I was a distraction at best.”

You knit your brows together, deep in thought to try and find the right words to say. “Or perhaps he knows and he’s respecting your boundaries by letting you initiate, especially since he was the one who took advantage of you last time. And perhaps he doesn’t know, and it’s only because he’s so caught up in his own feelings that he hasn’t considered that you may feel the same. You just don’t know these things, Yoongi. I didn’t know how you felt either until you told me.”

He nods slowly, jerkily. “Yeah,” he says weakly. “Jungkook said almost the exact same thing, actually.”

You pull back slowly, curiosity colouring your tone. “Jungkook?”

Yoongi manages a shy smile, cheeks colouring slightly. “He approached me. We- we talk a lot, way more than hyung and I ever did. I know Kookie has a crush on me, and we said we’d take things slow, but dammit, I can’t help but like the kid.”

You let a surprised laugh bubble up your throat. “That- I was not expecting that, but I’m so glad, Yoongi. Even if you don’t have Jin, I’m glad you’re letting yourself be happy with others.”

His smile falters. “Is it greedy that liking Jungkook doesn’t make me want Jin-hyung any less?”

You go still, thinking of your own blooming feelings for... Well, for most of the people in this house, if not - at least a little bit - all of them. “I don’t know,” you answer honestly. “I’d like to think not.”

Yoongi lifts his gaze to you, carefully studying your face. “Do you ever worry,” he begins, so softly that you have to strain to make the words out, “that our feelings have been set up. By the show, I mean.” His brows furrow deeper. “We’re living in a practical paradise - luxurious house with no real jobs, our food is paid for, we’re literally getting rewarded to have sex. It’s so artificial, you know? So who’s to say that our feelings are artificial, too? I- I’ve been thinking about that a lot,” he admits with a pensive stare.

You can’t lie. You nod. “I’d like to think not,” you repeat hollowly, “but… I mean, yeah, this feels like some alternate reality, and thinking of any of you in normal, mundane, real-life scenarios seems so strange. Like, can you picture Hoseok sitting down and doing his taxes?”

Yoongi snorts, shaking his head in bemusement as a line of tension eases from his shoulders. “I hope he hires an accountant. I certainly wouldn’t trust him with my money.”

You let out a deep sigh and fall backwards onto the duvet, air punched out of you on impact. “The thing is, Yoongi,” you declare in a matter-of-fact tone, “we have no way of knowing what life will be like once all this is wrapped up so why even bother worrying?”

He turns slightly, just enough to watch you warily over his shoulder. “Maybe because I could get my heart broken?”

You pout at him. “Tell me how that’s any different from developing a crush in real life?”

He opens his mouth, furrows his brows, and closes it again. “I- Ugh. Fuck you for being correct.”

Pleased with yourself, you hide your grin as you playfully knock his side with your foot, making him recoil with a groan. “Be as cautious or as impulsive as you want, but even if all this is fake, you could’ve just as easily developed those feelings outside of the show. Like come on, if you saw Jin in the grocery store don’t tell me you wouldn’t fall in love on sight!”

Yoongi shakes his head again, a wry smile playing at his lips. “I see your point… and now I’m picturing Jin getting groceries and looking hot doing it...wow.”

You cackle at the dazed look on Yoongi’s face, using his arm to pull yourself up off the bed, patting him on the shoulder. “Good talk, champ. I’m off to chow down on the leftover pork from last night. Care to join me?”

His eyes glitter, but the doctor declines. “Yoonji said she blackmailed one of the production team to bring her fried chicken from her favourite place. She’s hiding it in the bunk room, but you didn’t hear that from me. She’s selling some to me for a small fortune, the little devil.”

“Less than half a week here and she’s already set up a black market,” you muse, “I think I may be in love with her, Yoongi.”

“Don’t you dare.”

--

While the kitchen is empty when you first arrive, it only takes the sizzle of pork belly in a saucepan to draw your roommates down.

Jin is first, silently rummaging in the pantry and fridge for some side dishes to add to the mix. In return, you begin boiling some hot water, adding instant coffee mix to two mugs.

As the others join, the line of mugs and glasses on the kitchen island grows, until even the two Min twins are hovering in the kitchen, looking suspicously still hungry after their illicit breakfast.

There aren’t enough chairs at the table to seat you all, but luckily Taehyung and Jungkook are happy hunched over the bench in the kitchen, sharing a set of Airpods and snickering at a seemingly endless stream of TikToks.

At the table, Namjoon, Hoseok and Yoongi chow down on their meals, the latter with a considerably smaller portion made up mostly of meat. Yoonji and Jimin are on either side of you, with Jin on one end, chewing slow to savour each bite.

It’s the first time in a while that you’ve all shared breakfast at the same time, and you’re struck with a deep feeling of fondness at this little family-like group you’re living with.  Jimin sneaks extra strips of meat or spoonfuls of rice into your bowl when he thinks you’re not looking; Hoseok listens enthusiastically to Namjoon’s explanation of a summer school course he’s taking, even as he has to ask for clarification just about every second sentence; Yoongi splits his time between checking up on the two maknaes with a soft look, and scowling at his sister’s teasing comments.

“Any plans for the day?” Yoonji asks suddenly, tugging you out of your musings. She’s dressed sleekly in a black velvet mock neck shirt and high waisted denim shorts, her face as stark a resemblance to her brother as ever, with two sharp lines of black on her lids being the only visible makeup. “Except, I suppose, the mandatory fucking.”

You huff with pink cheeks, never growing used to hearing it so openly. “The days kinda blur together a little when you have no real responsibilities,” you admit, “I should probably find a hobby or something.”

Yoonji’s eyes crinkle in faux empathy. “Oh, honey, you’re gonna be so out of it when you return to the real world. You all will,” she adds, before shrugging, “except maybe Namjoon. Seems like academia doesn’t stop for anyone.”

You can’t help but agree. “He has more brain cells in his pinky finger than I do in my own body,” you swear, “he could break an arm and still type a thesis one-handed.”

Halfway through a mouthful of food, you’re rewarded to the ungraceful yet endlessly endearing sound of her snorting, a hand cupped over her mouth. After swallowing, she turns towards you to respond. “I haven’t known him for long, but that seems to check out. He’s quite the character, huh?”

You don’t miss the meaningful lilt to her voice, nor the quirk of a sharp brow. “He’s a good guy,” you reply under your breath, gaze darting down the table to where the man himself is engaged in an intensely enthusiastic discussion (okay, closer to a TedTalk) with Hoseok, now using pieces of meat to create an abstract diagram in his otherwise empty bowl. The latter looks bewildered, but is nonetheless paying deep attention to every word.

It’s impossible not to feel soft inside as you look at the pair of them, all complementary contrast. Hoseok with his slender nose and harsh facial structure and Namjoon with a round, gentle face. One of them dressed in sleek black and the other in oversized earth tones, the typically reserved one animated and the bubbly one focused in. It had taken you barely a month of shared living to become completely fond of these men, not just Namjoon and Hoseok but all of them, and as much as it was nice to have someone new in the Villa for a while, Yoonji’s presence makes you more aware of the fact that you and the seven guys had developed a certain equilibrium that seemed slightly off-balance with the change.

It makes you worry about what other disturbances this delicate system could hold, and if returning to the real world would be a shift large enough to permanently upend it.

Wishing to dispel the pessimistic narrative beginning to form, you focus in on Yoonji again. “Anyways,” you start, “how are you finding the Villa so far?”

“Certainly an interesting look behind the veil, though it’s really not ideal having to-” Yoonji’s cut off by the chirp of an incoming message on her phone. “Sorry, one sec,” she mumbles absentmindedly, but you don’t miss the way her face falls when she reads the message, immediately glancing directly across the table to where her brother sits.

To your growing concern, Yoongi is also reading a message on his phone, and he quietly excuses himself from the table, leaving his bowl half-eaten. He jerks his head towards the front door, and Yoonji manages a quick apology before they’re leaving the room.

All startled out of their separate conversations, the remaining members of the household sit in confused silence, enough that even Taehyung and Jungkook turn around from their phones.

“What’s going on?” Jungkook asks in a worried voice. “Where’s Yoongi-hyung?”

Nobody replies, Jin just shaking his head with a grim frown and leaving the table himself, going after them.

“Guys,” Taehyung says more insistently, eyes not leaving the empty seats at the table.

“They both got a text,” you say with furrowed brows, “Yoongi and Yoonji. Must’ve been bad news, judging by their faces.”

“Jin-hyung’ll find out what’s going on,” Namjoon assures, though it sounds more like he’s trying to convince himself, “let’s just clean up for them and wait for an update. Yeah?”

The two youngest nod solemnly, still with a single Airpod each bobbing in their opposite ears.

For a while, the group of you remaining sit in silence, as if caught up in some spell that would only be broken once Jin returned with some answers. The absence of Yoongi at the table is so much more pronounced, and you can’t help but feel the sickening worry swirl inside you when you look at his bowl, chopsticks strewn carelessly beside it.

Everyone is just waiting for bad news. You’ve felt this looming dread before, and it either came with a swoop of relief or a blow of despair. Your teeth find your thumbnail as you wait helplessly to see which one it’ll be.

It feels like an eternity before the door finally opens, making everyone jump, but only a few minutes have really passed. Jin is panting slightly, like he ran back from wherever Yoongi disappeared to.

“He’s-” he starts quickly, before a tremor passes over his face and he grimaces, jogging over and falling heavily into his chair at the table, face in his hands. “Their dad is in hospital. Heart attack.”

“Oh my god,” Namjoon breathes, brows knit together in sympathy. “Is he okay? Was it serious?”

Jin shrugs, looking up enough to run his hand over his face and take a shaky breath. “He’s alright for now, but apparently they need to make sure it doesn’t repeat anytime soon. If he settles, he’ll be fine, but there’s a chance that he might suffer another attack. Yoongi and Yoonji are going to the hospital now to stay with him until they’re more certain he’s stable. Just in case.”

“When is he coming back? Yoongi-hyung?” Jungkook’s eyes are wide, shiny. He can’t stop fiddling with his fingers, self-soothing.

“Not for a while, I don’t think,” Jin divulges with a pained expression. “He needs to be there for his family right now. That’s all I know, I’m sorry.”

The front door creaks, and all of you instinctively whip your heads towards it, as if Yoongi himself might be returning already, but you’re greeted with the weary face of Producer Sejin, joining you at the table, taking Yoongi’s old spot. Taehyung frowns deeply at the choice, turning his face away.

“What’s going on?” you ask quickly. “What happens to Yoongi? And us?”

“Yoongi is… He was in a rush to get going, understandably, so we didn’t speak in great depth. But he in short stated that he’d return when his father was in better health if the place was still open for him. I’ve got in contact with the higher-ups, and we’ve agreed to put the show on a temporary hold.”

“On hold?” Jungkook asks in a nervous voice. “What does that even mean?”

Sejin clears his throat stiffly and clicks his tongue. “Well. It means we’re putting a stop to the game for now, in short. If Yoongi is able to return by the end of the week, we’ll resume as usual. Otherwise, we’ll consider him to have permanently left the competition, and we’ll be forced to continue the game without him.”

You frown, fighting the urge to cry. This all feels so wrong, like he’s been taken from you with little hope of reunion, and discussing it like administration feels so clinical. “So we’re just sitting here, not knowing if he’s going to come back home, waiting around in limbo?” As soon as you finish, it feels like the word home lingers in the air longer than the rest of them. And perhaps this house doesn’t feel like home to you, but it certainly seems like six of the seven pieces of home are around you right now, and it’s not the same without him away. By the way the others are solemn and red-eyed, you probably aren’t the only one that’s begun feeling that way.

Sejin just shakes his head slowly, as subdued as you all are. “Listen, I know this isn’t ideal. The boss wanted to film it, make a big drama out of it, and then kick him off the show for views. I’m doing the best I can here to compromise and give him some dignity.”

Eyes widening, you stare at the round eyes of the cameras in the living room. “Are you- are you even allowed to say that?”

“I cut the camera feeds,” Sejin says in a defeated tone, “the show is officially off-air for technical difficulties. You can do what you want here while you wait - hell, you can leave if you want, just please be prepared to come back on the Sunday. We’ll have a discussion about whether Yoongi can return, and what we’ll do if he doesn’t. Understood?”

“Understood,” Namjoon offers up for the group, and the producer leaves with another sigh and an attempt at a comforting smile. You can’t help but feel bad for him, working such an emotionally draining job, especially when you’ve heard nothing but bad things about his employer.

Once the room falls into quiet again, Jin stands up, chair legs scraping against the floor. “Okay, I think we should decide as a group what we’re wanting to do. Stay or go?”

You open your mouth to give your two cents, but before you can, Jungkook suddenly chokes on a sob and covers his face with his hands, Jimin immediately scooting his chair closer to wrap an arm around his shaking shoulders.

“Hey, what is it?” Jimin asks quietly, but the room is so silent that you all catch it. “Talk to me, bun. What is it?”

Jungkook takes a few stuttering breaths to compose himself, sniffling. “I don’t want you all to leave too,” he confesses, Jimin’s thumb catching a tear dangling on the tip of his nose, “isn’t Yoongi-hyung enough?”

“I’m not going anywhere,” the elder promises, pressing a kiss into his hairline before looking up at the rest of you, eyes widening intentionally. “We’ll stick together through this until he comes back, yeah? It’s not all bad. The cameras are off, remember? We can have a break now, we don’t need to worry about the show. Isn’t that nice?”

After a moment’s considering, Jungkook nods slowly. “‘t is nice,” he admits begrudgingly. “But only if everyone stays.”

You can’t help but smile fondly, getting up yourself to come behind him, stroking his hair back. “We’ll stay, of course we’ll stay. Let’s spend some time together tonight, we can put on a movie and snuggle, how about that?”

He perks up at the thought of this, glancing around the table as the others nod in affirmation. “I’ll bring down the blankets,” he bargains, cracking a small smile, and the rest of the room relaxes, immediately bursting into sound as everyone arranges the necessary supplies for a good quality movie night, almost back to normal.

Jungkook, as the member of the Villa in most urgent need of a pick-me-up, is given movie choosing privileges, so the seven of you tuck in for a rewatch of his favourite Spiderman movies, perhaps the only thing that can keep him glued to the screen.

At first, the absence feels overwhelming to you. Try as you might through the opening sequence, you can’t shake it. Your mind counts heads without thinking, keeps looking at the space on the couch where Yoongi liked to put his feet up. Even though you know it’s his father who is unwell, not him, there’s the sick swelling in your stomach that makes you feel like his departure is final, and shortly after the title card plays out, you’re quietly excusing yourself and stumbling to the back door, in desperate need of fresh air.

It’s cold outside, a brisk wind cutting through you. You barely make it around the corner out of sight before your legs buckle, and you let yourself fall into a pathetic crouch, your weight propped up against the side of the house as you try to suck the chilled air into your lungs.

The panic creeps up on you in swells, the irrational fear that Yoongi would leave the show and you’d never see him again and everything would fall apart suddenly feeling like a whole tsunami crashing against you. Your fingers claw at the exterior wall as you fall back onto your behind, unable to even keep yourself in a crouch.

More so than the intrusive thoughts, it’s the image of Yoongi’s face falling, of him rushing out of the house in frantic distress that replays in your mind and leaves you suffocating. He looked so scared, your calm, reliable Yoongi. He was like a pillar, but that news was a fell swoop he couldn’t stay strong against. Your heart burns for him, cramping and aching in your chest.

For a moment, you picture yourself staying out here, gasping for breath until the sun goes down. You feel alone, more than ever since coming here, and even as the thought spooks you, there’s no energy in your body to do anything about it.

Just as your breaths start to sound more like death rattles and you curl your face towards the ground, a warmth envelopes your back, arms circling your middle and lifting you up.

“Hey, breathe, breathe with me, Y/n. I’m here.”

You recognise the voice. You recognise the built torso holding you steady, but your mind isn’t putting the pieces together, and so you simply squeeze your eyes shut and allow yourself to be maneuvered around there are hands on your face and a deep voice instructing you to look at me. I’m here; look at me.

You crack your eyes open, body heaving with the effort it takes to get any oxygen in your lungs, but you’re met with the soulful brown eyes of Kim Namjoon, narrowed in concern.

His hands are warm despite the frigid air outside, and you let yourself melt into him, eyes sinking to watch his lips mouth instructions, demonstrating exaggerated breathing for you to follow.

You feel distinctly like you might vomit, but you force yourself to match his breaths. The shuddering in and stilted out aren’t as fluid as his, but slowly your heart doesn’t thud in your ears and your body doesn’t shake as violently.

You feel damp, sweating all over, and your whole body aches, but your hearing begins to properly tune in again, coherence creeping back. “Na-Namjoon,” you gasp, wishing you had the energy to grab his arms or hug him or something other than lying limp against the wall of the house.

“Shh, hey, don’t strain yourself. Take it easy. I’m here.” He’s crouching in front of you, eyes locked onto you as he continues to hold you steady, jaw kept aloft by his hands. “Keep breathing, and it’ll go away. It’s a panic attack, I’ve had my fair share. You’ll come right.”

Trusting him despite the persisting burn in your chest, you let him coach your breathing for several more minutes, the heightened air influx making your head go light and floaty.

Once a counted breath turns into a yawn of exhaustion, you know the worst has passed. It leaves you boneless, not a single ounce of power left in your muscles, but you can breathe again, and it’s all thanks to the man across from you.

“I’ve never had one before,” you manage, voice cracking, “not like that.”

Namjoon’s lips press together in sympathy, and he turns to prop himself against the side of the house beside you, letting you continue breathing independently. “Is it Yoongi-hyung?”

You nod weakly, and the academic hums in confirmation. “I used to get panic attacks a lot in university. I used to hate them, thought they meant I was weak. Like I couldn’t handle the pressure as much as I thought I could. But, you know, these days I just figure I’m only panicking because it means so much to me. And I don’t think that makes me weak at all. It just means I care. Don’t feel ashamed about this, Y/n. All it means is that you care about hyung a lot.”

All the breath in your lungs leaves you in one rush as you prop your head in your hands, knees tucked towards your chest. “Yeah.” You wish you had something more appreciative to say, but your mind is waterlogged, weighed down and not functioning.

Namjoon doesn’t seem to mind the curt response. “I care about him a lot too. He’s like the glue for us, isn’t he? I’m worried to fall apart without him here keeping us in line. But we survived before we knew him and we’ll survive now. What’s better is supporting each other and waiting to see how we can support Yoongi-hyung, too.”

“You’re right,” you admit with a heavy breath, wiggling your toes to will energy back into them. “We’ll be okay.”

Namjoon bends sideways to bump your shoulder warmly. “That’s the spirit. Now; I’m happy to stay out here as long as you need, but Jungkook was the first one to notice you had been gone for a while, and I think he’s probably getting concerned by now. If you’re up to it, I can give you a hand to get inside and join the others again. What do you reckon?”

You lean your head back against the wall, taking a moment to consider. “What movie is he putting on next?”

“He mentioned wanting to check out Paw Patrol on Netflix.”

“Let me die out here,” you plead weakly.

Namjoon laughs, the sound like comfort itself, and stands up, offering you a hand. “Come on, kitten, up we get.”

In the end, the Netflix viewings manage to distract you for the rest of the night. When your limbs are tangled together and snacks are flowing, it’s easy to tune out of reality a bit and focus on the television screen in the comfort of shared company. Jungkook clears space on the couch for you the second you return, and clings to you for hours, his chin on your shoulder. You don’t complain, feeling soothed by the physical closeness. But the hours pass, and when the majority of you can no longer hold in your yawns, Seokjin gets up to turn the lights back on and clean up.

“Let’s get some rest,” he decides, and it’s that return to the real world that immediately dampens the atmosphere again, the group of you turning solemn. You pause to pull out your phone, sending Yoongi a quick message of support, and that you all missed him already, but no reply comes.

Without words being spoken, the seven of you remaining find yourselves flocking together as you make your way up to bed. Jin flanks the maknae as Namjoon and Hoseok lean heavily into each other, the four of them disappearing into Jin’s room. You naturally fall into step with the remaining two men, Taehyung linking his arm into yours and holding you close all the way to Jimin’s room.

Somehow, the house is too quiet. Even though Yoongi wasn’t a particularly noisy housemate, his absence cloaks the air.

You have no energy to shower. Washing your face is as much as you can manage, and Taehyung is even more despairing than you are, slumped on the toilet seat as Jimin cleans his face for him.

The uncertainty is what makes your heart flutter on edge, unable to wind down, and you know from the restrained looks of fear and distress in the guys’ eyes that they feel the same. The show would be undoubtably ruined if Yoongi couldn’t return. But more important than that, Yoongi would be ruined if he lost his father so suddenly.

Knowing Yoongi is hurting makes you ache, and you cling to your lovers like they’re your anchors in a churning sea, tucking your face firmly into Taehyung’s shoulder. It soothes you a little to be pinned between them, but the three of you still lie awake as the minutes blink by agonisingly slow.

At some point, you must fall into a fitful sleep, because when a sudden noise fills the room, it rouses you aggressively, and you almost kick Jimin’s shin in the process. Grunting, the half-asleep man rubs his face and twists around, fumbling on the nightstand for the offending noise.

It’s Taehyung’s phone, vibrating against the wooden table, and once Jimin blinks twice at the glaring screen he gasps and yanks the charger out, sitting up in bed. “It’s hyung,” he declares in a voice more vulnerable than you’d ever heard from him before. “Wake Tae.”

You force yourself to dispel those last few wisps of sleep from your brain, and gently shake Taehyung awake. According to the clock on the nightstand, it’s almost two in the morning, but your heart leaps as Yoongi’s face fills the phone screen, looking right at the three of you.

“I thought you would be together,” he states with a rueful smile, though you can see that it doesn’t quite reach his reddened eyes. ���Sorry for calling so late.”

“Don’t apologise, hyung,” Taehyung whines, half of his weight on you as he leans in close, “we were so worried about you. How’s your dad?”

Yoongi’s brows furrow beneath mussed hair. “Not great,” he admits. “A little more stable, at least, but he’s pretty confused right now. Nurses worry that it might have affected his brain.”

Your heart sinks, both at the thought of a relatively young man suffering such awful health complications, but also at how Yoongi was trying to hide his exhaustion and distress. “Oh my god.”

“Mm, we should know soon what the damage is,” Yoongi explains further, rubbing his eyes with the hand not holding his phone aloft, “and if he’s alright I can head back h- head back to the Villa. He’s just been sleeping a lot today so… We don’t really know how he’ll be until he’s conscious for enough time. Yoonji’s with him at the moment, I just wanted to duck out and give you guys an update. Where are the others?”

“Jin-hyung’s room,” Jimin answers, even as he’s throwing back the covers. “They’ll want to hear from you themselves, just hold on a minute.”

You hear Yoongi’s voice echoing from the phone and strain to make out his words as Jimin heads to the door. “No, no, don’t wake them. I actually wanted to ask if you’d like to come visit? Of course none of you know my dad, and he doesn’t know you, but- Well, Yoonji and I could do with some company.”

You jump up, rushing to Jimin’s side. As he naturally accommodates your presence and pulls you flush against him, you lift your face up to the phone. “We’ll be there,” you assure Yoongi, “just please get some rest tonight. It’s been a rough day.”

Yoongi’s pained smile breaks your heart, and Jimin leads the phone back to the bed so that Taehyung can say a final goodbye before the three of you hang up and crawl, exhausted but somewhat relieved, back into bed.

[here2bbtstrash]

You can’t do this to my horny ass AND PUT MIN YOONJI IN MY MIND

Also to all the fuckers telling the muse what “lines” to cross and all that shit, must you really be this shitty

Pls silently leave and fuck off

M I love you and pls always be this fierce and never let this comments affect you💜💜💜 I admire you babe!!

I CAN AND I WILL JAZ 😈😈😈 and i just might drop something on y'all when you least expect it...... 👀

and of course i love you to bits 🥺 thank you so much babe 💜 i will never stop delivering y'all that good gay content 😉 those who don't like it are welcome to head for the exit~

[tenderlove]

PLOTTING  CALL    ♡    i’m  in  desperate  need  of  more  plots,  so  under  the  read  more  you’ll  find  some  ideas  that  i  had.  feel  free  to  go  through  my  muses  and  ask  for  those  you  liked  specifically.  i’m  open  to  all  kinds  of  pairings  and  most  plots!  i’m  looking  for  plots  that  i  can  develop  on  the  long  run  that  will  hopefully  turn  my  muses  into  singleship,  so  keep  that  in  mind  please!     like  this  and  i’ll  go  to  you !

(   ♡   )  “ right  person,  wrong  time. ”  they’ve  tried  to  be  together  during  different  times  of  their  lives  and  i  would  love  to  develop  this!  childhood  bestfriends,  first  crushes,  first  love,  relationships...  for  some  reason,  it  never  seems  to  work  out.  now,  they  meet  again  in  their  late  20s  and  are  still  willing  to  try.    (  i  would  love  to  use  my  muse  nari  for  this  )

(   ♡   )  muses  could  be  best  friends  or  in  a  relationship  when  something  happens  that  completely  breaks  one  of  them.  they  change  into  a  completely  different  person  and  finds  itself  alone,  struggling  with  their  own  emotions  and  demons.  amidst  this  all,  the  other  muse  is  still  there,  trying  to  helo.  this  has  room  for  a  lot  of  angst!    (  i  would  love  to  use  my  muse  taemin  for  this  )

(   ♡   )  something  where  one  muse  knows  their  significant  other  isn’t  worth  of  her  love  and  affection,  but  how  she  still  wants  to  give  it  to  them.  just  pure  angst  and  a  little  disfunctional  with  lots  of  room  for  painful  development  :)

(   ♡   )   something  surrounding  a  couple  of  musicians!  it  could  from  rival  gangs,  that  were  in  the  same  band  but  distanced  themselves,  a  rock  musician  with  a  classical  player...  any  troupe  would  work!  maybe  they’ve  been  together  and  shared  big  dreams  surrounding  music,  but  only  one  of  them  succeeded  in  it,  or  the  paths  they  took  were  too  different  and  that  drifted  them  apart!

(   ♡   )   both  muses  never  really  thought  about  love  until  it  hit  them  like  a  truck.  after  one  hook  up  they’re  completely  drawn  to  each  other  and  it’s  intense  and  consuming.  the  thing  is,  a  world  stand  between  them.  both  are  not  ready  for  love,  they  barely  know  each  other  and  it’s  just  complicated!    (  i  would  love  to  use  my  muse  songyi  for  this  )

(   ♡   )   best  friends  to  lovers!  each  other’s  first  love!  to  add  a  twist,  they’re  best  friends  that  never  kissed  or  had  sex  so  they  decided  to  be  each  other’s  first  time  to  get  it  out  of  the  way,  but  they  end  up  liking  it  too  much.  now,  they  stuff  their  faces  with  alcohol  at  parties  for  an  excuse  to  get  together  cause  they’re  unaware  of  the  other’s  feelings  and  don’t  wanna  ruin  things.  bonus  if  they’re  only  pretending  to  be  drunk.

(   ♡   )   unrequired  love!  muse  a  is  actually  the  crush  of  muse  b’s  friend,  and  muse  b  is  only  aware  of  it  later.  now  he  have  to  endure  group  moments  where  they  know  nothing  will  ever  happen  because  of  their  friend.  either  way,  muse  b  is  more  in  love  as  the  time  passes.  thrown  at  each  other  by  chance  in  multiple  occasions  until  muse  a  starts  to  feel  the  same!    ( my  muse  yoonji  would  be  very  interesting  for  this )

(   ♡   )   can someone pls give me a plot w a super prissy city upper class girl who’s on vacation in a beach town somewhere and ugh it’s just the worst for her bc what the heck is that sand in my .. oh god, yes it is..i hate sand. and then hey here’s this beach bum kind of boy, who’s spend his life on the beach. basically could surf before he could walk and ay babe, ’s just a bit of sand u gotta relax and there’s so much more i could write to go into this, i have a whole idea but i’m going to stop before this gets way too long but yes pls give me something like this    ( i  would  love  to  use  my  muse  aejeong  for  this )

(   ♡   )   LONG  DISTANCE  RELATIONSHIP!  they  could’ve  met  online,  be  pen  pals,  friends  that  moved  away  from  each  other,  anything  would  work!  we  can  write  them  during  different  stages  of  life  dealing  with  the  challanges  of  dating  someone  that  lives  far  away!  the  initial  thrill,  the  fear,  insecuries,  doing  everything  to  see  them,  not  putting  much  effort  anymore,  getting  too  busy...

(   ♡   )   amnesia  plot!  c’mon,  this  is  a  classic.  they  could’ve  been  in  a  long  relationship  or  a  new  one.  either  way,  one  of  them  loses  their  memory  and  they  just  have  to  deal  with  it!

(   ♡   )   best  friends  that  are  just  painfully  unaware  of  their  love  for  each  other.  ithe  friendship  started  many  years  ago  and  they  went  through  a  lot  but  none  of  them  was  willing  to  recognize  the  feelings  they  had  for  each  other  until  it’s  too  much  to  deny!    ( i  wanna  use  yura  for  this! )

[lavishedinjimin]

Hello. Can I request a poly with Dom!yoonji ,Dom!Jim and sub!reader, please?

it was surprising that jimin was the one who initiated the poly relationship with you and yoongi, for he tends to be more possessive of you. but of course, jimin learned in the course of the relationship not to be selfish.

but a polyamorous connection between you and two dominants was sometimes exhausting. there was not a day when the three of you didn’t have sex. 

your back was pressed against jimin’s chest while he had an arm wrapped around your torso, his free hand down south as it plays with your clit. your moans have gotten louder when yoongi uses his cock to tease your dripping entrance. 

“look at her, hyung,” jimin groans, “she’s so fucking ready to take your dick.” 

“mhm, I know,” yoongi muses before he sends you a sultry wink, raising a brow, “you ready, angel?” 

why did he even bother to ask when he didn’t let you answer? your jaw drops when he shoves his cock almost halfway in. yoongi groans lowly, feeling your walls clench and unclench. “your pussy’s so warm,” he chuckles, “so fucking wet too.” 

jimin continues to roll and pinch your clit in between to fingers, adding to the overwhelming sensation. he connects his mouth on the underside of your ear, knowing exactly that it was your sweet spot. your hips carelessly buck up to meet more of yoongi’s thrust, crooning your head against jimin’s shoulder. 

“fuck,” your body trembles when yoongi fucks you harder and deeper, “f-feels so good.” 

“yeah? such a desperate little whore aren’t you?” yoongi murmurs, “greedy little girl you are. you need two men in your life to satisfy you, huh?”

jimin rubs your clit faster, making your mind dizzy in euphoria, “she needs two cocks, hyung. just one can’t provide her enough.” 

yoongi slows his pace before he pulls his dick out. he licks his lips from the way your cunt gushes out your arousal, having it drip down to the sheets below you. 

“on all fours, slut. take jimin’s dick in your mouth as I fuck you.” 

your stomach drops from the harsh tone he uses on you. immediately complying with his words, you flip yourself around until you were facing jimin who had a gruesome smirk plastered on his face. “what are you waiting for, sweet girl,” he says after pulling his boxers down, his cock springing up. “suck.” 

as soon as you took his length inside your mouth, yoongi resumes to fuck your pussy from behind. you mewl against jimin’s shaft, sending vibrations that caused him to groan. he holds onto your hair, guiding your head to bob up and down. 

yoongi firmly spanks your ass cheek before squeezing it right after. his big hands grab your hips to use them for leverage, fucking you rougher. loud moans and grunts fill the sultry air, getting wetter from how hot they sound. 

“how many times do you think y/n should cum tonight, jimin?” 

the younger smirks at you, laughing from the way you desperately looked up at him with big, teary eyes. “five? six?” he chuckles, “i’m not sure though, yesterday she couldn’t even handle three orgasms.” 

“oh don’t you fuckin’ worry about that,” yoongi growls, “we’ll make her get used to it.” 

[gukyi]

the wedding planners (post-script) | jjk

summary: you and jungkook stopped keeping secrets from each other a long while ago, but when you go out to dinner to celebrate a friend’s third wedding anniversary, they may all start to bubble up. 

{married!au, pregnancy!au}

pairing: jeon jungkook x female reader genre: fluff word count: 2k warnings: alcohol mention a/n: a big thank you to @moonb0yy​ for commissioning this from me and for contributing to the#blacklivesmatter movement!!! i had so much fun revisiting the most iconic couple this blog has ever produced, and this sneak peek into their lives was the cherry on top!!

Yoongi has never been big on fancy celebrations or over-the-top parties, even if his wedding was both of those things combined. Nor is he as hellbent as his husband, Hoseok, on commemorating each and every possible anniversary there is for them to commemorate, from first meetings, to first dates, to first kiss, and everything in between. 

Still, wedding anniversaries are special, and, if Yoongi’s being especially honest, he’s never one to turn down a nice dinner at a fancy restaurant, surrounded by his friends and his gorgeous, gorgeous husband. 

Which is exactly why you’re sat in a high-end Asian fusion restaurant in the center of the city, an old brick building renovated about a decade ago, a mix between contemporary and antique, celebrating both the success of your exhaustive wedding planning endeavor three years ago and the triumph of, above all, love. 

Hoseok and Yoongi like to keep their friend group small and their dinner bill reasonable, though, so you aren’t sitting at this gregariously long table where the people on each end have to scream to talk to each other, instead mingling at a round table with one of those Lazy Susan’s in the middle, everyone sharing dishes and laughing. 

“Our one-year is coming up soon,” Jungkook leans over and whispers in your ear, hands interlocked beneath the table. “Wanna do something like this?”

“Mmm,” you muse happily, tickled by the feeling of his breath along your skin, “maybe. Or we could just spend the whole day in.”

“I like the way you think,” Jungkook responds with a grin, giving your hand a squeeze. You don’t care what you do for your first wedding anniversary, whether it be an elaborate party (unlikely) or nothing at all (more likely), so long as it is spent with him. Not a day goes by where you don’t thank every higher power for blessing your life to be forever intertwined with his own. 

Hoseok says something outrageous and makes the rest of the table laugh, including the waiter, before ordering a healthy two bottles of rosé for the table with the promise that everybody will have a drink. 

But when it arrives, and the waiter comes to your side to reach out for your glass, you say, “Oh, none for me, thanks,” earning yourself plenty of bewildered stares from the table. 

“You alright?” Jungkook asks, brows furrowed in concern. 

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” you say, shrugging it off as the waiter moves to serve Suran. You meet Hoseok’s eyes, see his positively skeptical expression, almost as if he isn’t believing what he’s seeing. 

“Did I order the wrong thing?” Hoseok asks, an eyebrow raised. 

“No, no, I’m just not feeling it tonight,” you say, a pitiful excuse as to why you aren’t helping yourself to a harmless glass of rosé. “You know how I get with alcohol.”

“Okay…” Hoseok says, suspicious, even if the rest of the table has forgotten about your blip. Jungkook’s already gone back to chatting happily with Yoongi as you play footsie under the table, and you suppose that he’s the one you’re most worried about finding out. 

In hindsight, perhaps an Asian fusion restaurant wasn’t the best choice of dinner location after all. Hoseok and Yoongi are sushi fiends, frequently ordering takeout from the local Japanese place two blocks from their apartment complex, and while you are normally all for your California and spicy tuna rolls, tonight is most certainly not the night. Here, the dishes are meant to be shared, transported around the table courtesy of the Lazy Susan in the middle, and you find yourself unwilling to eat about half of them. 

Not that there’s any shortage of food, because there isn’t. You’re certain that Hoseok and Yoongi will instruct everyone to take home a hearty serving of leftovers—but that won’t do you very much good either. 

When Suran offers you a plate of sashimi, everyone passing it around as you help yourselves, you shake your head, immediately handing it off to Jungkook who doesn’t question it whatsoever and placing two on his plate. Out of the corner of your eye, you catch Hoseok staring at you again, eyes narrowed in disbelief. Perhaps it’s just the fact that you’ve known Hoseok longer than you’ve known anybody else at this table, but he always seems to be able to read you like a children’s book. 

Eventually, you excuse yourself to the bathroom, having downed two glasses of ice water out of pure nervousness, getting up from your seat and quickly shimmying to the restrooms. 

Inside, you dampen a towel with water and press it against your forehead and the nape of your neck, hoping it will somehow cool down the blood that is racing through your veins, burning up your skin. It’s not much, but it’s a little bit of relief. 

When you leave, you nearly wet yourself when you see Hoseok standing outside the door, hands on his hips as he glares at you. 

“Are you pregnant?” He asks, never one to beat around the bush. 

“What the hell, Hoseok?” You say in return, hand on your chest as you try to catch your breath. 

“You aren’t drinking any alcohol and you aren’t eating any of the sushi. Are you pregnant?” He repeats. 

You wince. Were you that noticeable? 

On the bright side, it doesn’t seem like Jungkook’s caught on. Not yet, at least. 

“I might be?” You respond awkwardly, not wanting to get neither Hoseok’s nor your hopes up. “I’m not sure, I have a test at home that I haven’t taken yet. But I just wanted to be safe.”

Hoseok’s face lights up, mouth opening into an unrestrained smile. “Oh my God, you totally are!” He cries out, making you lean down to shush him. “Oh my God, will Yoongi and I get to be their godfathers? Have you thought of names? I think Hoseok if it’s a boy and Yoonji if it’s a girl—”

“Hoseok, calm down,” you say, reaching out to grab onto his wrist before he jumps out of his shoes. “I don’t even know for sure yet.”

“You better know by tomorrow,” Hoseok says, and that’s a threat. “I expect results tomorrow morning, no later. You better take that damn test when you get home tonight.”

“I will, I will,” you say, voice trailing off as you feel your nerves come back, sending you into a tizzy. 

“Whoa, what’s wrong?” Hoseok asks, voice laced with worry. 

“It’s just—” You begin, but you don’t know what words to say. “Are we ready for this?”

Hoseok’s expression softens, lips curving up into a fond little smile. “Are you kidding me?” He asks. “I’ve never met two people more in love than the two of you. As long as you stay by each other’s sides, you’ll be ready for anything.”

Here’s hoping Hoseok’s right. 

Later that night when you return home, Jungkook heads straight for your kitchen to put away the plastic containers of leftovers in the fridge as you sneak into the bathroom, grabbing the pregnancy test from the undersink cupboard that Jungkook never checks and nervously opening the box, fingers shaking. 

Three minutes later, you have your answer. There’s no room for error, either, because the test you bought will either flat out say pregnant or not, no blurry lines or crosses. You nearly break down completely when you read the word. 

You are pregnant. 

“Princess?” You hear Jungkook’s voice call from outside, presumably sitting on the couch as he fishes through the late-night television, looking for something to put on in the background as he answers some emails. “You alright in there?”

“Fine!” You shout back, voice wobbly. You are clearly not fine. 

“You sure? You been in there a long time!” Jungkook checks again. 

“Yeah, coming out soon!” You say. Quickly, you clean off the test and open the door, palms so sweaty it takes you a couple of times to get a grip on the knob. 

Jungkook’s sitting on the couch, computer on his lap as he mindlessly scrolls through his email inbox, perhaps a little too hazy on rosé to feel like responding to any work-related requests. He looks golden in the warm yellow light of your apartment, at home. He belongs here, he does. He always has. And he always will. 

“Is everything alright, Princess?” He asks, eyes still trained on his laptop screen. 

“Yeah,” you say shakily, making him turn to you. Your eyes are already swimming and you haven’t even said anything yet, taking nervous steps towards him as your lip quivers. 

“Oh my God, what’s wrong?” He asks, dropping everything and standing up, wrapping his arms around you as he pulls you into a hug, letting you press your nose into his collarbone. 

“N-Nothing,” you tell him. “I just have something to,” —hiccup— “to show you.” Wordlessly, you hold out the test, watch as he furrows his brows in confusion before he realizes what exactly it is you’ve got in your hands. 

“No,” He says, letting you go so you can turn to face him. 

You sniffle, offering nothing but a weak smile. 

“Are you serious?” He asks, face lighting up like New Year’s Eve. “Like, really, really serious?”

You nod, tears beginning to stream down your cheeks. At the sight of you, Jungkook also starts to cry, pulling you in and planting a great big kiss on your lips, hands wrapped around your waist before eventually moving to hold your stomach, palms flat against your belly. 

“You’re pregnant,” he whispers into your ear, like he can’t even believe it himself, the two of you swaying in the middle of your living room. 

 “I’m pregnant,” you assure him. He presses another kiss to your cheek, your nose, and then your lips. 

“Do you know how much I love you?” He asks, filled with joy and fondness and love. It’s hard to believe that he’s yours. It’s even harder to believe that you get to spend the rest of your life with him. “I love you so, so much. You and our child. I love you both.”

Our child. You like the sound of that. You grin, smiling against his lips. “I love you, too.”

↳ links are broken, but don’t forget to message me with any thoughts or feedback!

[justimajin]

It’s a Reverse Basket ◍ Part 16

⇝ Pairing: Yoongi x Reader

⇝ Genre: Fluff, Comedy, Angst

↳ Basketball AU, Crossdressing AU

⇝ Words: 4.7k

⇝ Summary: Basketball is your everything; your passion for it running deep and wanting nothing more then to play the sport. Problem is, the sport isn’t offered competitively to girls and with that, all your hopes immediately fizzle away… …but who ever said that was going to stop you?

⇝ Warnings: pg13; *cranks up the fluff volume*

gif credit.

⇝ Previous Parts: Moodboard Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15

⇝ Next Update: Tuesday, June 30 

You’re surprised by how well things have been going these past couple of weeks.

From having a sudden run in with Min Yoonji during a game to celebrating Valentine’s Day in a frenzy, nothing short of huge doses of schoolwork and constant practice has followed you there after. That being said, you’re still pleasantly surprised by how much closer to Yoongi you’ve managed to grow through the span of these weeks. 

It all started off when he asked you to go to another basketball game with him. Your eyes instantly lighted up at the opportunity, head nodding in agreement and before you know it, you and Yoongi are sitting on the highest bleachers, watching the impending game with such intensity compared to the normal individuals just watching the game out of pure enjoyment. It leads into you asking him more and more questions during practice, to the point where Yoongi stays back a couple of minutes just to show you some move a player did that you were curious about. You have a hard time paying attention though, especially when he nonchalantly walks wearing your woven creation.  

Soon after, Yoongi starts to wander over to your dorm after hours. At first you were a little taken aback with the idea of roaming around at the cost of sleep, but you come to the realization that because of rigorous practice and different classes, you and Yoongi don’t get a chance to spend time together as frequently. However when you agreed to go watch a movie with him, you hadn’t picked up on the way his gaze looked heavy and his slumping form earlier enough, only to discover a heavy weight slumping onto your shoulder and soft snores echoing from his side mid-way.

You repress a smile when he clings onto you, watching the rest of the movie with a sigh until you eventually have to nudge him a little and he mumbles something incoherent. You end up dragging him back to his dorm all on your own, a task you still wonder how you managed to accomplish. The next time Yoongi finds you in the library, studying for an upcoming test and you stare up at him in confusion. His bag ends up on the ground beside your table as he plants down onto a seat, going through his own notes but occasionally giving you snacks that he rummages out of his bag. You begin to protest when Yoongi starts to feed you too many of them, but then he glares at you and says something along the lines of ‘a student and athlete should never be malnourished’ and the whole thought of saying no leaves from your mind entirely with a groan. You work the rest of the night in peace and quiet, though you admit it’s hard to ignore how comfortable Yoongi’s presence is around you, even if he’s sitting with you in silence and doing his own work.

From there, you find ways of spending time with one another, whether it was during the twilight hours of the day or times you would abruptly run into each other. You pick up little things about Yoongi, from his preference about doing the most mundane tasks in the form of spending time together, not keen on huge displays of affection as people would normally want them. You find that he doesn’t like to hold conversations for long, his mind growing exhausted too quickly and needing to just be somehow near you instead. You understand that he isn’t the best when it comes down to speaking about his troubles, so you try to cheer him up by doing small things for him that will uplift his spirits instead. Though when you’re troubled about something, you discover the red-haired man seems to drop everything that’s going on immediately and goes out of his way to make you tell him, giving you the most brutal but much needed advice.

These last couple of weeks have given you the opportunity to understand him better, but you can’t say it was able to prepare you when an unseen predicament looms over your heads. 

“Y-You want to w-what?” Your eyes are completely wide, breath being caught in your throat.

Yoongi instantly notices; the light dust of pink over his skin giving him away already as he mumbles, “Is it too much?”

“No!” You quickly take back, hand raised in front of him. You hurriedly chuck away the basketball in your other hand, moving to completely face him. “I-I was just surprised….but sure, I’d love to.”

Your answer doesn’t seem to convince him enough, his eyes narrowing, “What about Jungkook and Taehyung?”

Oh right. You didn’t even consider them.

“Uh….” Scrambling for anything they’ve told you, a light bulb suddenly lights up above your head, “They sometimes go over to Jimin and Hoseok’s place for movie nights!”

Yoongi ponders, “That could work….”

“It should, I’ll just tell them Hyerin’s coming over or something and we can figure things out from there.” You hastily reassure him, but Yoongi isn't budging.

“Are you sure? I could ask Namjoon if I can go to his apartment instead, I think it’s about 20 minutes away…” He pulls out his phone to double check, but you place your hands over it and shake your head.

“Don’t worry, It’ll work out.”

He stares back at your hopeful eyes, shoulders slumping as he sighs. “Alright.” You smile as he grabs his bag, giving you a small wave before heading out the gym doors. Once he’s out of sight, you instantly let out the breath that’s been stuck in the bottom of your throat.

Moving to get your own bag, you ponder over what he’s told you.

“Someone broke a waterpipe or something and the construction workers will be over for 3-4 hours on Thursday evening to fix it. We’ve been told to make any arrangements because it could take until morning if the building is being affected, so…” Yoongi explains, avoiding your curious gaze, “So I was wondering if I could stay over for a couple of hours? We can watch a movie together if you’d like.”

He stares at you once he finishes. You know it’s nothing out of the norm, from your already late library sessions to going out during the night, but the fact that Yoongi’s going to be in your dorm and wants to spend time with you in there, is causing you to freak out a bit.

“Y-You want to w-what?”

You sigh, mulling over how harmless the idea seemed now. Yoongi just needed somewhere to crash for a few hours and he thought that using the opportunity to spend time with you would be nice, so how could you say no to that?

After padding over to your dorm, you take your keys out and twist the knob, walking in to see Taehyung lounging on the couch and Jungkook rummaging through the fridge in the kitchen.

“Y/N!” Taehyung waves you over, “Back from practice?”

“Uh yeah,” You place your backpack on the ground, “I was just talking to the captain about–“

“Captain?” Taehyung muses, a mischievous grin on his features, “You don’t call him Yoongi?”

You frown, “Not during practice hours….”

“Ohh okay, I see, I see.” Taehyung continues to smirk and you inwardly sigh.

Ever since you told Taehyung and Jungkook about your feelings towards Yoongi, the two have gone out of their way to slyly tease you about it somehow. Although you just normally brush it off, sometimes they send you these types of looks implying something more and you know you can’t tell them that you’ve actually been with Yoongi for quite a while….just not in the form they see you in.

With a soft smile, you settle down on the couch and Jungkook strolls over with a container of food, sharing a similar smile with Taehyung and having clearly heard your conversation. You decide to take them away from the topic of Yoongi, straying to more impending matters.

“Oh, I forgot to tell you guys!” Taehyung suddenly blurts out, “Jimin and Hoseok were asking if we wanted to do another movie night.”

Jungkook hums, munching down on some greens. You freeze at the topic, eyes wide. 

“Why don’t you guys do it at their dorm this time?” You suggest, meekly giving out a quick excuse to be excluded, “I-I have a quiz I need to study for…”

Well that wasn’t entirely untrue, except this time a certain maroon-haired person will be joining you instead.

Taehyung pursues his lips in understanding, darting his eyes at Jungkook, “What do you say? Movie night but with four of us?”

Jungkook nods, “I’m in.”

Taehyung hums, failing to catch out the sigh of relief that passes by your lips. 

***

A soft knock resonates against the door to your dorm. You speedily rush over, hands twisting around the handle with a huge smile. 

Your smile drops and eyes widen once it’s open. 

Yoongi stands at the doorframe in a pair of brightly coloured blue flannel pajamas, highlighting the colour of his tousled hair. A pillow and blanket are tightly wrapped around one of his hands while the other carries a large bag, appearing like it was going to explode from being stuffed to the brim. A pair of reading glasses sit on the edge of his nose, his tired eyes enlarged and astounded through them.

Because it seems like you’re not the only one surprised by his attire.

Hyerin had decided to leave some of your old belongings with you, including the long wig she had especially bought in case you wanted to dress like yourself. You took it upon yourself to wear the old pink nightdress you used to sleep in, your long locks cascading down and a pair of fluffy slippers nestled in on your feet. You figured that since Taehyung and Jungkook weren’t going to be at the dorm, you can take the opportunity to take some comfort in your former clothes. 

However, his expression tells you he wasn’t expecting it, the stifled exhaustion in his form instantly disappearing.

Breaking out of his daze, he awkwardly coughs, eyes gesturing to your door.

“Can I come in?”

You snap out of it too, opening the door fully, “Y-Yeah, of course!”

Yoongi steps in and you hurriedly shut the door, swiveling around to see him surveying the area. At first you thought it was a bit strange from how he was so keenly observing everything, but then it occurs to you that this is the first time he’s even been in your dorm and that’s enough for you to be flustered.

Scrambling for some words, you choose to point instead. Yoongi begins walking in the direction of your room and pauses for a moment before entering, gaze moving over to you. It strikes you that he’s waiting for you to come over and open the door, finding it wrong in himself to simply barge in.

He enters and you linger at the door frame, eyes glancing around for any speck of dust you had forgotten to clean. Luckily Yoongi doesn’t even notice, more interested in taking pieces of your room in. He eyes the table at the edge of your bed, the appearance of a familiar frame arising a small smile from him as he plops his stuff onto the ground. 

“Are you hungry?”

You don’t realize he’s staring at you until he says something, the words catching you off guard. “O-Oh I haven’t had dinner yet, I can go to the kitchen and cook something for us…“

Yoongi shakes his head, leaving the premises of your room and padding over to the kitchen. You watch in bewilderment when he starts taking supplies out, as if being in there was second nature to him.

“Can you put a pot of water on the stove?” He requests, already in the midst of searching your fridge for ingredients. Nodding in surprise, you take out the biggest pot you have and turn up the heat on the stove, pouring water into it as the heat shimmers.

Yoongi suddenly whirls around, dumping a mix of vegetables into it. You simply watch as he starts chopping up a handful of onions, heavily blinking away the water that rushes to his eyes. Hastily grabbing onto a nearby towel, you dab at the sides and he softly smiles, adding the reminder to the boiling water. When you hand him a paddle to stir the mixture with, he gestures over to the couch. 

“Pick something, I can finish off the rest.”

With a nod, you leave him be and plop down, shuffling through the channels. Your mind ponders as you do, eyes unconsciously peering into your kitchen where you see Yoongi leaning over the stove and taste testing with a spoon.  The whole display spurs something in you, the act of him being in your dorm and cooking seeming so domestic and intimate, a whirlwind of emotions hitting you all at once. 

When a game appears on the screen, you’re immediately sucked in and decide to stop surfing, instead focusing on the way one of the players is shooting a hoop. A shiver runs down your back, suddenly realizing that you probably should have brought a sweater before you sat down.

However as soon as you get up, you’re planted right back onto the couch with something fluffy and heavy weighing down on your shoulders. You only catch a faint glimpse of Yoongi’s silhouette when you turn around, softly smiling as he’s managed to find Taehyung’s frilly apron somehow and laced it around his torso.

Watching Yoongi from the corner of your eye, you wonder if maybe he’s doing all this as a means of thanking you for letting him stay here with you. As if he already knew it was hard for you to immediately open your doors for him in such an abrupt way and he wanted to pay back the troubles with some gratitude of his own.

It’s confirmed once he saunters over to the couch, a filled hot pot brimming with steam placed right in front of you. He slumps down and tangles himself in the same blanket you’re currently secured in, wrapping his arm around you and tugging you closer to him.

Out of all the things that have so far happened in the evening, you would have to say this is the most familiar to you. Leaning your head against his shoulder, Yoongi reaches out to balance a bowl in front of you. You gratefully accept it from him, taking a spoonful and having a burst of flavours launch themselves into your taste buds. You widen your eyes and Yoongi seems to notice, a small yet smug smile resting on his lips.

You watch the game in silence as you take bites of the food, occasionally making remarks about the game. Yoongi hums alongside you, adding in his own comments and attempting to grab a spoon of the hot pot without bothering you somehow.

Although the peaceful atmosphere stays content for a while, eventually Yoongi stops answering you at one point and you have to dart a confused look over at him, only to realize he had unintentionally dozed off. You frown, recalling hearing from Namjoon that his building was having numerous issues and most of them were being fixed during late evenings, the result being a considerable amount of student complaints from the increased noise and their sleep constantly being disturbed.

Placing down the bowl resting on your lap, you tug on his shirt. 

“Yoongi.” You whisper, watching him stir as you tug again, “Yoongi, wake up.”

“Hm?” He weakly blinks, eyes fluttering until a flicker of light fills them and he realizes the ceiling above him doesn’t look like his own. However he relaxes when his eyes come into contact with your own, a smile weaving on your lips.

“Do you want to go to sleep?” You ask, gaze flickering over to your room, “I don’t mind, you look like you could use the rest.”

Yoongi opens his mouth as if to protest, but pouts when you sincerely look at him. Although you would have loved spending this time with Yoongi, you acknowledge that he’s been deprived of getting decent sleep and giving him an opportunity to be well rested isn’t something you’re going to take away.

 With a sigh, he untangles himself from you, arms stretching before glancing in your direction.

“Wake me up in an hour. I don’t want to oversleep.” You nod, watching him waddle over before disappearing into your room. Turning back to the game, you resume to contently eating in silence. 

The door slams open.

You jolt from the sound, a hand placed over your thudding heartbeat as an annoyed Taehyung suddenly emerges. Your eyes widen when Jungkook appears behind him, followed by Jimin and Hoseok.

Instantly you wrap the blanket around yourself in an attempt to cover your attire. Jimin catches the action, eyes sparking up.

“Y/N?” He smiles, but it drops into a frown when you’re sitting on the couch and watching a game, “I thought you had a quiz to study for?”

“I-I do, I was getting some dinner.” You point to your bowl, “Uh what about you guys, you’re back early…”

“Oh, our connection stopped working and we needed an extra cable.” Jimin starts searching around with Taehyung as Jungkook runs over to his room to check. Hoseok eyes what you’re eating, confusion masking over him.

He points down to it. “Woah Y/N, you made this?” 

You don’t know what to say so you just nod instead, but Hoseok frowns as he states the obvious.

“Hm, Yoongi likes to make hot pot often.”

“O-Oh really?” You nervously laugh. 

“Did you guys find it?” Jungkook shouts, earning a ‘that’s a negative’ from Taehyung. He emerges out of his room, a small wire in his hands.

“I have this….” He mumbles as Jimin walks over to look at it, “I don’t think it’s right one though.”

Taehyung sighs, gaze focused until it lands straight on you.

“Wait, Y/N!” He exclaims, “I think I saw one in your room the other day!”

Before Taehyung can twist the doorknob, you panic and shuffle over, still covered in a giant blanket.

“I can get it!” You nearly shout, everyone staring at you in confusion. Nervously smiling, you whip around and quickly enter your room, locking the door behind you within seconds. A drawn-out sigh leaves your lips as you back presses against the door, eyes widening even more at the display before you.

You’re a bit speechless when you see your window wide open, one of Yoongi’s legs and half of his torso already out the window. He glances up at you in surprise, like he hadn’t been expecting someone to open the door mid-way during his escape.

Hastily retrieving the cable your friends needed, you take one glance at Yoongi who has decided that hiding behind your bed was a better call, opening the door to face Taehyung.

“Here.” You let out a relieved sigh as Taehyung hands the cable to Jungkook and he hums, turning around to head back to the dorm across from you. However you’ve failed to consider that Jimin has disappeared in the meantime, suddenly rushing into the room with heaving breaths.

“Guys the signal’s completely gone out, it’s not even turning on anymore.”

“What, really?” A tick leaves Hoseok, shoulders slumping at the realization that their movie night was ruined.

“How about we just use the monitor we have here?” Jungkook turns to you, “We’ll keep the volume down.”

Before you can interject, Taehyung speaks up, “That’s a great idea!”

“But I–“

“Please Y/N!” Hoseok holds onto your protesting hands, “We never got to finish the end and I really want to know what happens.”

When the remaining set of eyes stare pleading at you, the words about to escape your mouth seem to vanish completely. You merely nod, all of them erupting in cheers as you can only helplessly glance at your room’s door.  

***

Yoongi sits on your bed confused when you slip into the room again, hurriedly spinning to lock the door handle. He raises an eyebrow at that, but it disappears once he catches a glimpse of your worried expression.

“They’ve decided to have their movie night here.” You say in dismay, Yoongi’s eyes widening for a split second before he’s humming. He clearly appears to be half conscious, probably frazzled from the abrupt intrusion just like you.

“We can just stay in here.” He mumbles, eyes darting over to you, “Did you get a chance to finish dinner at least?”

He exhales in relief when you nod, planting the heavy blanket that was covering you onto the ground and then sinking down. Grabbing your backpack, you decide it’ll be best if you got down to doing some schoolwork and Yoongi slides over to join you, snatching the bag he had brought with him.

The room dips into silence, the single faint echoes of your roommates coming through the walls as you attempt to concentrate on your notes. Yoongi seems to be studying for an assessment of his own, occasionally letting out a yawn as he does.

Yet he soon grows tired of the constant staring contest he’s been having with the notes, eyes sleepily blinking as he leans back on the side of your bed.

“You know,” He begins, your attention diverting over to him, “Yoonji wants to see you again.”

Your eyes widen and he smiles, “She’s been begging me to bring you over one day.”

“Bring me over where?” You ponder.

“To my house, where my parents live.” At that, you morph into a deer in headlights, stumbling on your words.

“I-I couldn’t just possibly show up out of the blue……”

“I know.” Yoongi whispers, “Which is why I want you to come with me instead.” 

You glance at him surprised but are even more taken aback at the tender gaze he gives you, flushing immediately. 

“A-Alright...” You mumble, catching the giant gummy grin on Yoongi’s features that just has your own heart doing flips.

A low sound buzzes in the midst of the feeling, Yoongi scrambling around to locate his phone.

“What is it?” You quickly ask, already noticing the crease forming in between his brows.

“My dorm manager just texted all of us.” Yoongi says, pursing his lips, “They said the repairs are done and we can return to the building.”

“Oh, that’s great.” You smile, but the look on Yoongi’s face tells you otherwise. It’s then you realize there’s no way for him to leave your dorm, the departure surely causing a multitude of questions to spark up from your roommates.

Yoongi seems to be lost in thought, eyes flickering as he ponders over the potential options he has. He could have quite easily left if Jimin and Hoseok’s connection wasn’t having issues, and he looked so tired because of their disruptions, time soaring by within hours.

It takes a shear load of courage from your part, but you don’t want him to go through any more hardship for the rest of the night.

“Y-You could always j-just stay here for the night….” You quietly offee, yet Yoongi’s ears pick up on it regardless.

Darting a quick glance up, he looks completely stunned. You’re alarmed when he suddenly covers his face, delicate pink rapidly dusting over his timid features at the suggestion.

***

The silence reigning in the room is nothing short of troubling, the blanket on your side slightly tugging away when Yoongi rustles next to you. You had been too persistent in not letting him sleep on the floor, even after he had informed you that it wasn't uncomfortable and he had been sleeping perfectly fine when he initially had gone to take a nap. The aftermath had led into you leaving half of your bed open for him, as he nonchalantly shuffled over and tucks himself into your blanket.

You stare at the ceiling for what seems like an eternity, too hyperaware of the person shoulders away from you to sleep.

“Y/N?” Yoongi mumbles, his voice thick with fatigue, “I think the window is still open.”

Your eyes perk up at that, poking your head out from your shared blanket to find that indeed, the source of the chilling breeze entering the room was the window in your room.

Deciding to close it, you push the blanket off of you and attempt to get off the bed, accidentally stumbling back as you do. Unaware that Yoongi had also gotten up to do the same thing, you end up knocking into him.

You hear a small ‘ow’ and panic. “Yoongi? Yoongi, are you okay?”

You can’t see anything in the dark, hands reaching out to pat down on his face as a way to gauge if he was alright or not. You receive an answer in the form of a small chuckle.

“I’m sorry!” You hurriedly whisper, still confused if you had unintentionally hurt him somehow, “Yoongi?”

He continues to laugh, an arm raising up high to pull you closer to him. When you stumble, he catches you in his arms and sinks back down on the pillow, a soft smile on his lips.

“Forget the window, I’m tired now.” He mumbles, inches away from your ear which only results in your face colouring into a shade of bright red. You have to admit that being in his embrace is incredibly cozy, the cool breeze entering the room getting long forgotten.

As the drowsiness hits you and you slowly begin lulling into the tiredness, Yoongi calls for you.

“Y/N.”

“Hmm.” Your lids open only a little, enough to see the small grin Yoongi holds.

“I think I forgot something else.”

His soft lips brush over yours for the slightest of moments, before he rests his head back on the pillow slyly. However, he doesn’t expect you to suddenly get up and reciprocate the action by abruptly pecking his lips again, quickly retracting and pulling the blanket over your head so he doesn’t catch the blush festering on your features.

Yoongi chuckles even as you desperately continue to hide your face from him, his teasing knowing no bounds until the two of you begin to settle down for the night. 

***

Taehyung stretches out his arms, a low yawn resonating through the dorm. His fluffy black hair is tousled and distorted, barely conscious eyes glancing around to see Jungkook sleeping on the couch. Jimin is near him, sitting on the foot of the sofa with his lips parted and soft snores echoing out. Hoseok is on the ground, spread out like a starfish with Jimin’s sweater tossed over him in the form of a blanket.

Getting up from the disarray of things, Taehyung pads over to the bathroom to splash water onto his face to draw out the exhaustion. He stifles back another yawn when he reaches it, a frown overtaking him at the appearance of a closed door.

A knock rattles against it, “Y/N, hurry up.” He tiredly mumbles, slumping his head against a nearby wall. When the door opens he perks up, rushing in immediately once it’s left unoccupied.

“Thanks.” He says, earning a silent nod of your head before you’re gone. He takes a bar of soap and begins to lather it between his hands, spreading it out evenly onto his face. Water pours out of the faucet and he splashes the water droplets against the soap, life slowly entering into his eyes again.

He pauses for a moment, drops of water still running down his face. He steals a glance at the door, narrowing his eyes for a split second. 

Times passes and he eventually shrugs it off, resuming back to washing his face. 

Perhaps if he were fully conscious, he would have noticed the way your hair was a completely different shade that morning.

[jimlingss]

The Colour of Our Voices [7]

Chapter 6 - Chapter 7 - Chapter 8

➜ Words: 3.8k

➜ Genres: 98% Fluff, 2% Angst, Slice of Life, Broadway!AU

➜ Summary: He wasn’t supposed to hear. He wasn't supposed to know. But the instant Jimin came into your life and pulled the curtains back, you couldn't hide backstage anymore. You were no longer merely a phantom of the opera.

cr.

The notes come deep from your stomach, drawing out between your lips. Tonight, tears prick at the corner of your eyes as you sing.    “Masquerade, paper faces on parade. Masquerade, hide your face, so the world will never find you….”   You don’t know why you feel so emotional. Why the Phantom’s heartbreak and misery feels like your own. But you put your heart and soul into each lyric, and the director isn’t furious at the different take of the song, of how your voice even warbles past the thick lump forming in your throat. After all, the performance tonight is one of the most important ones that’s happening in a long time.   “Did the critic say anything yet?!”   “I don’t know, but she’s talking with the director right now.”   “Oh my god. This could change everything,” she squeals, the two of them equally excited and peeking out of the curtains. Everyone is gathered together, supporting roles and backstage members watching the audience slowly trickling out. “Do you know what this means?!”   “Of course, I know what it means,” she snaps.    “Well, I’m just saying.” The other girl pouts. “If the critic gives a good review, we could be back in business. More people coming, more money, better production, more pay! This place will become less like a dump. I won’t have to be embarrassed when I say I’m part of the female ensemble for Phantom anymore.”   “Let’s just hope the director won’t screw it up.”   “He won’t….right?”   “Shut up, they’re coming!” Everyone quickly resumes their previous activities to appear nonchalant.    “—And this is just our backstage crew. It’s a very modest set, but we do our best and everyone is very hardworking. Every person here does their part—” Director Kang is with a black bob-haircut lady who’s four foot eleven with kitten heels. She reminds you of your fourth grade science teacher who would make the rowdy kids cry.   Her cat-like eyes are narrowed in, and she grips her bag strap slung over one shoulder as she views the place with an impassive expression. The director drones on and on and the critic sighs before someone catches her attention.   She approaches the godly man. “You must be Kim Seokjin.”   “Yes, I am. It’s nice to meet you…”   “Min Yoonji.” She shakes his hand, and you muse that she must be one of the rare people in the world that doesn’t seem affected by Jin’s handsomeness. Almost everyone is starstruck by him. “I must say, your performance is very spectacular. Especially your singing. The tone quality of your vocals is very outstanding for Broadway theater.”   All at once, your breath hitches. Your heart stutters. Tears form in your eyes again.   You’re standing in the shadow of the curtains, in the corner where others are walking past, but to hear praise from someone who makes a living scrutinizing...it’s a beacon of hope.   “Of course! You shouldn’t expect any less of me.” Seokjin laughs and almost brushes off the compliment in spite of how touched and grateful you feel.   Yoonji isn’t amused and deadpans, “Frankly, I didn’t expect anything.”   “Seokjin’s the star of our show!” The director puts his hand on the younger man’s shoulder, trying to uplift the mood. The critic was awfully difficult to read. “Without him, we wouldn’t be able to go on! Speaking of which, you should meet our other star. Where’s Taeyeo—”   “Can I look around for a second? You’re really invading my personal space here,” the woman states bluntly and the men are alarmed at once, stepping back.   “O-Of course. My apologies. How about I get you some water?”   “Sure.”   The director struts off with Seokjin — the both of them furiously murmuring to each other in panic and before he can bark at you to go get the best glass of chilled water, the girl gossiping from earlier shuffles to them. She’s more than enthusiastic about running this sort of errand — perhaps hoping that she’ll be noticed by the critic or something of the sort.   You commemorate her for taking every opportunity.    “Hey, you.”   Your thoughts are shattered at once and you tear your eyes away from them to the short female in front of you. Your pupils widen. “Can you scratch my back for me?”   “Pardon?”   “Here.” She turns slightly, never repeating herself twice. Your hand automatically lifts out to scratch and her neck lolls. “Higher. Lower. Right there. God. Feels good.” Once satisfied, the posh woman steps away. “It’s been driving me crazy for the past hour and I haven’t been able to reach it.”   “Uh...you’re welcome…”   “Min Yoonji,” she says lifelessly. “But you probably already know that. Seems like everyone’s excited to meet me here. Don’t even get this treatment when I go home.”   Yoonji sighs and steps away, but you stop her. “I’m Y/N.” The female turns around. “L/N Y/N.”   She nods and stares at you blankly as if wondering why she should care what your name is. But since you scratched her back, she entertains you. “What do you do here, Y/N?”   “Sweeping, mainly.”   “Sweeping?” The corner of her red-stained mouth curls and she scans the premise. “What’s there to sweep?”   “Beats me,” you laugh.   A small, modest smile comes across her features. It’s the most genuine conversation she’s had here so far. “So all you do is sweep?”   “Well, I’m actually the voice of Pha—”   “Y/N!”   You’re interrupted by an abrupt yell from the director, the sound bellowing deep from his stomach. He approaches with a stiff grin that nearly breaks his face, Taeyeon in tow. “What are you doing here? Slacking, are we?” He comes next to you and practically bumps you aside. “This is our shy intern. She’s part of the backstage crew. Get on now!”   He shoos you away like you’re a stray dog, and you open your mouth. But the director moves on to introduce the female star of the show and Yoonji shifts her attention away from you without qualms. “This is Taeyeon. She plays Christine.”   “Yes.” The lights behind her eyes dim like earlier. “I saw. I was in the audience.”   They shake hands, continuing to speak. You’re forgotten in the dark as they move away from you, walking towards the dressing room.   One of the girls walking past shoots you a dirty look and scoffs, “Did you really think you could tell her that you’re a ghost singer? You really want to sabotage us?”   That wasn’t your intention.    But it wouldn’t be a lie if you told her that you stand in place of Seokjin, that you deserved that praise she handed to him.   It’s not a lie.   Once the meeting is over and everyone escorts the critic out, the director passes by and discreetly mutters into your ear, “In my office.”   You drag your feet there, feeling the crew members stares, the looks from those with supporting roles. This time, no one smirks, murmurs, or makes snide comments. It’s serious enough that they don’t dare to do anything unnecessary for fear of being reprimanded by the director too.   Getting called into his office is never a good thing.   You walk in and two minutes later, he enters, sees you and sighs. The man rounds to his messy desk and sits himself down.   “I’m very disappointed in you, Y/N,” he starts off.    “I’m sorry.”   He hums, hands clasping together. “When you went behind my back to audition, I didn’t say anything. I get it. You want to try out, I won’t stop you. But to think you have the audacity to betray me right in front of my face is a kind of disrespect I won’t allow.”   “That—! That wasn’t what I was trying to do,” you weakly defend, hands crumpling into a tight fist. He obviously doesn’t believe you.    “Then what was your intention?” He shakes his head. It’s a question you can’t answer. It was reckless for you to let it slip, especially to someone who’s a critic. It’s supposed to be a secret, one you’ll have to die with. “I understand you’re not a loyal employee, but it hurts me. What have I ever done for you to go behind my back and be this sneaky?”   Another rhetorical question.   With a downcast head, you stare at the way your worn shoes are pulling apart at the seams. You swallow hard, past the thick lump in your throat. Your eyes begin to sting. You’re humiliated.    “I gave you this job because you were pitiful. You think we need an intern around here?” His mocking laugh rings. “No! But I, out of the goodness of my own heart, decided to help you! I even let you sing when you begged for it! Have I not bent over backwards for you?!”   You shut your eyes for a second. “Y-You did, sir.”   “How many years have you been stuck in New York?” It’s a sudden question, one where he expects an answer for.   Your teeth grit and you murmur, “One year, sir.”   “How many casting calls have you been to, Y/N?” At your silence, he asks you again. “Be honest with me. How many since you got here?”   “T-Ten.”   “How many roles have you gotten?”   “None,” you whisper quietly and your jaw clenches.   He asks again just so you can hear yourself, for you to repeat it. “None?”   “None.”   “None!” he exclaims loudly, enough for you to wince, and he sighs. “See?”   The man feigns sympathy. “There’s a point where it becomes more than just singing. It’s about if you have something special. You just don’t have it, Y/N. Yes, you can hold a steady note, but you can’t be on stage. No one would ever want to watch you!”   It’s grating to your ears. A muscle in your cheek twitches. You can’t hold it in — you start sniffling.   And the director sighs once more, spinning around slowly in his swivel chair while you’re still standing there, hugging your own frame. “Don’t make me into the bad guy, Y/N. I don’t want to be so blunt, but you give me no choice. Facts are facts. Why do you have to be tricky with me and ruin this production? Are you that upset with me? Angry with me?”   “N-No.”   “Then why can’t you just be happy with what you have? Is this job not more than enough for you? Why must you keep trying?”   You rub your eyes. He continues tantalizing you for another minute and then looks at your patheticness and dismisses you out of guilt. He tells you to think about what he said.   You leave sobbing. Not out of anguish from him belittling you but out of rage.    Not even your own mother talks down to you like that.   This job a privilege?! You can’t believe you hypnotized yourself into believing that. This job is the worst thing that’s ever happened to you. It’s sabotaged you. People like him are the reasons you’re afraid of going on stage.   Once you exit the studio in tears, you find the black bob-haircut woman texting on her phone across the street, standing on the sidewalk. You look both ways and cross the road with stern determination.   Spite — contempt — resentment makes you into an ugly monster without remorse or consideration of future consequences. You inhale a staggering breath. And the truth is spat out.   “I’m the ghost singer for Phantom.”    Your voice breaks. You exhale. “I’m the one who you heard.”   Min Yoonji is alert. Her eyes are wide, looking back into yours.   You brush past her after a second, walking away and down the street.   //   You don’t know where you’re going. Your feet merely stumble forward, down busy Times Square till it becomes quieter and the streets are only known by locals. Your strides slow at a cozy coffee shop in search of a place that’s warmer, but as you look through the front windows, you find a blonde standing in line.   Your brows furrow and you sniffle one last time before opening the door.    “Taehyung?”   The tall, lean man turns around and a boxy smile spreads into his face. “Y/N?”   He must notice your glossy eyes and how you’re sniveling not just from the cold weather because he buys you a hot chocolate and asks if you’re alright. You nod, not wanting to talk about your issues, and he understands enough to switch the conversation to himself.   Taehyung’s presence makes you warmer.    “I just didn’t understand. He said yes and agreed he would go to the animal shelter and walk the dogs every week, but then changed his mind and then threw the job to me.” He sighs with a smile, tugging on the sleeve of his blue dress shirt. “I don’t mind, I actually love dogs, but that’s not the point. I swear my director’s so nice he can’t say no to anything. And then I’m the one who suffers when he decides he doesn’t want to do it.”   “Is that how you wound up doing improv?”   “Yes.” He grins and sips his drink.   You hum, fingertips warm against the paper cup. “So you have to walk dogs every week at the animal shelter?”   “Yes, and I’m also volunteering at the homeless shelter every other day during lunch. I don’t mind, but again, it was because the director couldn’t say no to other people. God,” Taehyung laughs, “He’s such a pushover. But I’m the real pushover for saying yes to him too.”   “Your director sounds like a really nice person.” You smile to yourself, wishing you had met someone like that.   “Nice or stupidly kind, I don’t know.” He shrugs. “But he’s an alright guy. Though half the time I feel like I’m just a servant to his whims.”   A deep exhale draws out of your lungs. “I know how that feels.”   Taehyung’s gaze is perceptive and he puts down his drink. “It’s tough to make it in this industry. But it’s like that for everything, I think. There’s nothing really easy out there. Even sleeping gets hard. So….don’t be so tough on yourself.”   “Thanks, Taehyung…”   He might not know what your job entails, but he has a good enough idea — and his intuition isn’t wrong.   The pair of you chat a while more. Taehyung unknowingly comforts you the entire time. And an hour later, he bids farewell and you reluctantly part with him.   He was the only good part of your day.   //   You’re sure your situation has happened before. There’s almost seven and a half billion people in this world now. The chances aren’t unlikely that someone out there knows how you feel — maybe it’s someone who wants to desperately go to medical school and they helped tutor another student after they begged, and that person ended up becoming the doctor instead.   Jealousy and anger isn’t seldom in life. But you’ve thrown so many pity parties for yourself.   You’re tired of it when you’re the host and the only guest.    There’s bad music at these pity parties, and it’s not like you know how to dance either.    But you don’t know how to help your shitty situation. You thought you’ve long lost all your pride after being stepped on so many times. It’s only now that you’ve been shoved again that you realize you still have dignity left — that maybe it’s time to pack your bags and go home….   The doorbell rings not even five minutes after you get back to your apartment. You’re exhausted, emotionally and physically, but you drag your feet to open the door.   The person you want to see the least in the world shows up in front of you once again.   “Jimin…”   “Hey!” He gives a bright smile, so happy and radiant that it’s blinding. He’s excited and you’re not sure why. “Can I come in?”   “Um…” You hesitate, only parting the door enough for him to see both your eyes. “I...It’s kind of messy here.”   “Promise, it’ll be quick,” he insists while running a hand through his brunette hair, moving the strands back. He’s dressed in his black hoodie, pants ripped at the knees, dark bag slung over his shoulder. It’s new. Expensive. “It’s important.”   You reluctantly widen the door and Jimin enters with a grin, completely unaware of your inner turmoil. Completely disregarding your expression of distaste. Ignorant to your unwilling body language.   It’s always about him.   “It’s pretty late.” But one thing Jimin does notice is that you’re not in your usual pajamas. “Did you end up working overtime?”   “No. I met with Taehyung.”   Jimin stops and turns around, his eyes rounded. “You...met with Taehyung?”   You frown in annoyance. Who does he think he is coming into your home and asking so many questions?    “I ran into him.”   “Oh. Did you end up going anywhere?”   “A coffee shop.”   Jimin nods. “What did you guys talk about?”   Your eyes narrow into slits. “Why does it matter?”   He shrugs with a small pout, trying to play off his concerns casually. “He just doesn’t seem like...that great of a guy.”   “He’s really nice to me.”   “I’m nice to you,” Jimin mutters out of the corner of his mouth.    And you immediately scoff. Openly. Loudly.   You don’t even hold back from rolling your eyes.    “Why are you asking so many questions? It makes you sound like you’re jealous, Jimin,” you tell him, distraught, unable to comprehend why you were being interrogated. You hold your ground, strengthening yourself not to back down.    You won’t let yourself be strung along and stepped on. Not anymore.   “Well….” The boy in front of you inhales a deep breath and looks right at you. “Maybe I am jealous.”   “What? Why?”    You don’t understand — you’re the jealous one.    But his response and following silence only continues your bafflement and puzzlement.    The two of you are standing at the entrance way of your apartment, uncomfortable like strangers. That’s right...you are strangers.   You inhale a staggering breath, breaking the suffocating tension before he can answer your confused question. “Can’t you—…..” Your voice is timid and hesitant, but then you pause and speak louder to make sure he can hear you. “Can’t you stop bothering me, Jimin?”   “W-What?”   “Please, just leave me alone.” Your head drops. You can’t bear looking at him anymore. You don’t know why you have to beg to be left alone, why he’s invaded even the comfort of your own home. Why wasn’t there an escape from Park Jimin? “We’re not in a relationship. We’re not dating. I don’t even consider you a friend. You’re…..overbearing and every time I see you, it….pisses me off.”   He steps forward, undoubtedly bewildered at where this was coming from.   Jimin reaches out in distraught, but you move away from his possible grasps. As if his touch would sear your skin. He immediately curls his fingers into his palm, retracing his arm.   “I’m sorry. I never wanted to upset you. Just...W-what did I do, Y/N?”   “You never. once. had any consideration for me. You don’t think about me for a second, Jimin.”    It’s an out-of-body experience. You can see yourself having a meltdown but you can’t stop it. You can’t stop the truth from over boiling where you’ve kept it confined. You’re tired of trying so hard not to hurt people when you’ve been so hurt yourself.    “Do you want to know why I sing backstage? Do you want to know why I’m someone’s ghost singer? It’s because I have massive stage fright. It’s really, really bad.”   “Y/N….”   Jimin’s shocked.    He opens his mouth before closing it, rendered speechless. His brows are furrowed deep enough to look like it hurts, a permanent wrinkle creasing where the knot on his features are.    “I always feel like I’m getting a heart attack half the time and I can’t breathe and it started when I was in high school when my voice broke during a performance and everyone laughed at me. It’s horrible and I still think about it a lot — and I didn’t want to go to that improv class.”   You’re hyperventilating, chest constricting painfully. It aches. “I didn’t want to go. I didn’t want to perform in front of other people, but you made me do it. You pushed me.”   “I’m s-sorry…” Jimin murmurs, swallowing hard, not knowing what to do. “I didn’t know…”   “I didn’t want to help you either. And I shouldn’t have,” you mutter past the thick lump in your throat, pained, ignoring how your voice cracks under the pressure, “I shouldn’t have taught you how to sing in the first place, even when you begged me. I….didn’t want to.”   You sharply inhale, but it’s never enough to stop feeling that you’re drowning.    “And now that you succeeded, it pisses me off. I’m the one who’s been here longer. But I’m the one who’s left behind. Who’s still working that shit ass job! Every time you open your mouth to talk about how great it’s going, it’s really hard for me. But you keep doing it. And it’s not like I want to feel this. I don’t want to be jealous. I don’t want this feeling. I don’t want you here!”   There’s an extended silence.   You gasp for air while Jimin searches your expression, equally hurt. You tear your eyes away from him — diverting your vision — unable to bear looking at him. “Just leave, please.”   You walk forward and he stumbles back as you yank the door open.    “W-Wait!” Jimin holds the edge of the door before you can shut it. “Y/N, wait!”   “What?” You half-hiss, half-sob at him, at wits end. You want him gone. Gone so you can crawl underneath your covers. Gone so you won’t be able to compare yourself to anyone. Gone so you can forget how pathetic you feel. “What could you possibly want to say to me, Jimin?”   “I...I just came here because I wanted to tell you that I managed to buy you this ticket.” Jimin pulls the slip of paper from out of his pocket. It’s crinkled at the edges as if he’s been holding onto it tightly. He hands you the slip and you take it without thinking. “I-It was hard to get. I-I...I’m sorry.”   You look at it. It’s his show, Les Mis, a middle row seat.   This is why he wanted to talk to you today. This was what was so important.    It’s a gift.   You swallow hard and Jimin lowers his head in shame, murmuring, “You don’t have to go. I-I’m sorry.” He apologizes again. “I didn’t know that’s how you felt about me. I’ll go now. I won’t bother you anymore.”   He leaves before you can say anything, before he can say anything more.   Jimin’s door shuts and then yours follows suit.   Guilt eats you alive as you stand in the middle of your deafeningly silent apartment with the Broadway ticket in your hand.

[yourkeeperoftherunners]

6/6: Working From Home (Panther Hybrid!Yoonji)

Rating: G

Characters: Panther Hybrid!Yoonji x Reader (any gender)

Notes: Day 6 of my birthday surprise series. This is part of the Misunderstood Hybrid headcanons I wrote for BTS a while back. Please note that working from home can refer to anyone who does this and it does not specifically reference the current events. I got the idea to write short blurbs after seeing some comical pictures and moments in video conference calls of pets “helping” their owners work. All content is fictional. Please do not repost anywhere!

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“I thought your project was done,” Yoonji grumbled as she watched you get up and throw clothes on.

You fumbled while putting a sweater on and she resisted the urge to laugh as you tried to push your head through the narrow neck hole. Eventually you managed to get it on over your head and you slid your arms into the sleeves.

“It is over,” you confirmed. “But you remember the promotion I got a few weeks ago?”

She nodded as that day was clear in her mind. You came home in a cheery mood, half shouting once you closed the front door that you were promoted at work. Yoonji first came out into the front hall looking sleepy and a bit annoyed about being woken up. Then when you repeated your good news, she perked up and softened her irritated expression. She was so proud of you and that night you had gone out to eat at an upscale restaurant to celebrate.

While it was wonderful news, it did come with the downside of seeing you busier than ever and many times, Yoonji swore she only saw you on the weekends if she was lucky.

You unplugged your phone from the charger and carried it out to the kitchen as you went to grab something for breakfast. You unlocked your phone and saw you had a new text from your boss.

Boss

Good morning Y/N! You’ll be working from home today, unless you experience any difficulties with your set-up. Sent 7:15 AM

You paused from checking the cupboards for a quick breakfast option and re-read the text.

Work from home? you thought as you tried to jog your memory about last week. Did your boss even say anything to you about the possibility of working from home?

You tapped your boss’s number saved in your address book and decided to call her. You cradled the phone between your shoulder and ear as you checked a box with instant oatmeal packets to make sure they were still good.

“Hello?”

“Good morning,” you greeted your boss. “I got your message and I couldn’t recall if we discussed working from home. I’ll admit I was pretty focused on that proposal we had to deliver to that client in New Hampshire by Thursday.”

“Oh your girlfriend called the office,” your boss replied. “Seemed concerned about your wellbeing as you were getting home late and coming in early. She was unhappy and seemed worried that we were overworking you, but I told her that you’re just a workaholic. I forgot to tell you on Friday that I wanted you to try working from home a few days a week. Unless you prefer to come in.”

You paused and held the phone in your hand. Meanwhile, Yoonji shuffled into the kitchen, smiling quietly as she listened in. She leaned against the adjacent wall and crossed her arms over her chest.

“Oh...well thank you! I think I have everything I need to do my day-to-day tasks,” you replied as you glanced over in the direction of your office. “Do you need me to jump into any meetings via conference call?”

You heard your boss typing, then clicking away on her computer as she checked her calendar. There was a pause, then she confirmed that today was a quiet day.

“Thanks for checking in Y/N, I’ll let you get settled and if you need me, you can always call or text,” your boss replied.

You thanked her before hanging up and putting your phone on the counter. You heard Yoonji murmur a greeting and you looked over at her as she straightened up.

“My boss said “my girlfriend” called last week to complain about my hours,” you began as you turned to face her.

Yoonji shrugged as she walked over to you and closed the cupboard door. She made a beeline for the area where you stored the bread. She removed the twist tie and began sticking slices of toast in the toaster.

“I know last week was crazy, but it’s over,” you reassured her.

“Y/N, I did it out of love,” she sighed. “You didn’t complain, but I was worried about you. You came home late and sometimes I swear I saw you drink way too much coffee. More than any normal person should.”

You shook your head and tilted your head toward Yoonji, a fond smile starting to spread across your face.

“You wanna sit with me in the office today while I work?” you suggested.

Yoonji stared at the office for a few moments then back at you. “You’re going to be sitting in front of a screen all day, aren’t you?” she asked.

You made a face and nodded. She glanced at the office, then at you as she started to grab mugs to fill with coffee for the both of you.

“Maybe I’ll sit with you for a bit,” Yoonji replied. “Please let me handle lunch and for my sake, take a break every now and then. Sitting in front of a screen for hours straight isn’t good for you.”

You picked up the coffee pot and poured some into your mug and nodded as you carried it to the table, taking your seat in front of her. She followed suit, before she returned to the counter to check on the toast. Once it was toasted the correct amount that you liked, she pulled the slices from the toaster and spread some jam on them. She added jam to her pieces and carried the plates over to the table. One was placed in front of you and she took a seat across from you with hers.

You alternated between bites of toast and sips of coffee, checking the clock from time to time. This didn’t go unnoticed by the panther hybrid, who dryly remarked that maybe she needed to hide all clocks from you.

“Habit!” you protested. “I want to be able to start soon so I can finish, then hang with you sooner.”

Yoonji allowed a sweet gummy smile to spread across her lips at your comment and she raised her mug to her lips.

“Well, when you say it like that,” she mused, “you might want to get to work.”