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i understand not everyone wants to pay to read stories and i fully respect that, it’s why i’ve written over a million words on ao3 over the past few years and continue to do so. unfortunately as a lot of you know, i’m a full-time carer to my disabled mum, so being able to make
pjmsgc⁷ retweeted
an income on writing from kofi and patreon as well means that i can take time off from my full-time job when she needs more care.
please never feel like i’m forcing anyone to buy my stories, i’ve tried to price them fairly because as well, but all of the support i’ve had and
pjmsgc⁷ retweeted
He turns to Jimin and pretends to whisper, “Chim, are you sure about this?”
“He has a big dick,” Jimin states simply.
Yoongi nearly chokes on his intake of air, but somehow, he manages to keep it together.
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“Money ain't the issue, I am.” Jimin arches an eyebrow. “I'm a succubus.”
Yoongi nods. “I'm aware.”
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He wonders whether anyone has told him about the way Myeongsuk used to sit on the porch in the evenings, watching the road as though he expected someone to appear around the bend.
He wonders whether Jimin knows how proud his grandfather was of him. Probably not.
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The photograph from that magazine article had been nice. Jimin had looked happy in it, his blond hair neatly styled and his smile wide enough to make his eyes disappear into little crescents.
Yoongi remembers Myeongsuk pointing at it. ‘Look at him. Handsome, isn’t he?’
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For all Yoongi knows, he’s dealing with an escaped criminal who has broken into Myeongsuk’s house and decided to defend his stolen property by attacking the first person unfortunate enough to possess a key.
A beautiful criminal. A beautiful, honey-scented criminal.
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The butterfly had gone, but the pattern of its wings remained, mirrored now in the two of them imperfect and miraculously alive.
“Jimin?” He breathed, hesitant and careful, as if afraid of breaking the moment.
“Yes?”
"I think, no, I know. I have... A name."
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His hands, resting open on his knees, showed the same unevenness, fingers that matched in number but not in the quiet uniformity of Jimin's.
Jimin followed the line of his looking.
“You still mirror me,” he said, soft. “Two arms. Two hands. A heart that beats beneath them...
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Jimin’s gown was old ivory in color, the hem was wet with dew from the path he had walked alone, the laces on his hands trembled like the gathered guests upon setting eyes on The Creature. Gasps of shock rippled through the benches, making fine silk, wool and velvet flutter.
pjmsgc⁷ retweeted
yoonmin crack au —
yoongi is pretty sure that the screaming from his neighbor's apartment after he posts a selca on instagram is pure coincidence. it has to be, right?
