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with the little cat.
for he finds welcome solace beside friendly camper Jimin.

can quite will themselves to engage in, their eyes hone in on what cup the other has; Yoongi holds a purple one in his grasp, eyes downcast as he fends off unwilling advances, and Jimin holds pink, his omega yearning for the alpha to call him his. He knows he perhaps shouldn’t +
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to hold him tight and press petal-soft kisses against his pounding head, sweet assurances when his skin burns, but Yoongi doesn’t.

as the most renowned mafia boss in the country, but as Namjoon's empire grew and Yoongi's only turned more sinister, he couldn't bear to see the one thing that he held that was untainted fall into what world he had handcrafted with blood-stained hands.

beautiful bouquets.

idol, nor had he thought that Jimin would come begging for the alpha to take him in, life simply too much to bear and all he wishes for is solace.

eyes sharp yet skin ivory-soft, and whilst Jimin could could the times he’s woken in beds that don’t quite feel right — polyester sheets scratching his skin and little more than sweat a fine film over his body — no one could quite believe such a sweet man could ever tame him.



Jimin wonders how he could ever deserve it. The tenderness, the care, Yoongi never pushing him into anything more than his own wants. It feels as if he is wrapped in cotton, shielded from life’s harshness each moment he spends with him.