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stonepicnicking_okapiTitle: Balloons [Chapter 1 of 5 of Lunar Blessing]
Fandom: BTS
Characters/Pairing: SUGA/j-hope, RM, j-hope's mother
Length: 1526
Rating: Explicit
Content/Warnings: Omegaverse. Alpha SUGA, omega j-hope, Private detective AU, oral sex, dream sex
For: Yahtzee Roll #5
Chapter Prompt:
Summary: A dying woman hires private detective Min Yoongi to find the son she gave up for adoption.
“To accept the case, I am going to need—”
“If it’s a question of money, I’m afraid, Mister Min—”
Min Yoongi pinched the bridge of his nose and said a prayer to any munificent deity listening to spare him any more beautiful, polite, impecunious, and—yes, terminally ill—older ladies who wished to set eyes on the sons they’d given up for adoption in their careless youths just once before they shuffled off this mortal coil.
What Yoongi really needed was a bevy of wealthy, stupid clients who paid their bills on time. Preferably ones with simple problems to solve.
No, Min Yoongi definitely didn’t need any more clients with the sad handsome eyes which had seen too much and pleaded too well. Nor did he need ones in dresses that had obviously been altered twice because the ladies inside them were shrinking.
“I’ll need a down payment,” said Yoongi. “Whatever you can manage, but more than that, I’ll need something that your son touched. I don’t suppose you have anything like that. It’s been twenty-six years.”
And then—blessed saints above—from her old-lady purse, she produced an honest-to-God baby blanket which looked so worn it might have been from the Joseon period but for the fact that the pattern was balloons, what must’ve been, once upon a time, a lively, rainbow-colored collection of balloons.
She held it out to him with trembling hands. “It’s all I have.”
“I’ll guard it with my life,” promised Yoongi. “And write you a receipt.”
---
“Suga, Suga, Suga!” greeted the bartender.
“Rap Monster,” answered Yoongi as he slid onto the barstool. He placed the blanket on the bar.
“What’s with the balloon rag?”
“Case. I’m looking for someone named Jung Hoseok.”
“Jung Hoseok,” repeated the bartender. He hummed thoughtfully as he poured Yoongi a finger of whiskey. “Don’t know him.”
“To your health, sir,” Yoongi toasted, then threw back the liquid in one gulp. “His father, his biological father, that is, was an albino.”
“Ah, interesting. The current scientific debate about albinism is—”
Yoongi raised a halting hand. “Save it, professor. Jung Hoseok. Ring any bells?”
“Nah. Is he in trouble?”
“Nah. His mama’s looking for him.”
“’Cause he’s in trouble?”
“’Cause she’s dying.”
“Jesus Christ, I hate those.” He poured Yoongi a second finger.
“So do I.” Yoongi sighed. Then he drained the glass in front of him. “And she wants it done by the next full moon.”
“That’s only eight days. She doesn’t want much, eh? Oh, that make sense.”
“Why? She said it was his birthday.”
“Really? That’s a nice coincidence.”
Yoongi frowned. “No, wait a minute. She said it was an important birthday. I assumed she meant her long-lost son’s. She said she wanted to spend it with him.”
“It’s the Buddha’s birthday, hyung. I can’t believe you don’t know that.”
“I don’t keep track of birthdays, not even my own,” Yoongi grumbled. Then he fished some crumpled notes out of his pocket and left them on the bar. “Well, I gotta go to work, and then I gotta go to work.”
“Sweet dreams.”
---
Shoveling noodles in his mouth without really tasting them, Yoongi poured over his notes. He’d made progress, and he had plenty of leads to follow up.
That afternoon he’d given Mama Hoseok, as he called her in his head, more than her money’s worth, and now he was about to give her even more. He got ready to sleep, allowing himself only one thimble-sized nightcap. Then he laid down on the futon and brought the baby blanket to his nose.
He breathed in very deep over and over. Eventually, he leaned back and closed his eyes.
---
First, there were balloons.
Red, yellow, green, blue, purple, orange balloons with ribbon tails. Yoongi was looking up, from underneath them. They filled his circles of vision, then grew smaller as they drew farther away. Up, up, up, they floated, leaving him behind.
When there was nothing but blue sky above, Yoongi sat up.
The world around him looked completely foreign. It was green, first of all. Grass, moss, lush vines. More green and more shades of green than he’d ever seen in his life.
He wasn’t in the city. There was green carpet under him and green canopies around him and green as far as his eye could see. And it was all natural.
He got to his feet and followed his instincts.
Walking, walking, walking.
Slowly, he came upon a ruin. Crumbling grey stone. An edifice abandoned long ago. The moss, the vines, the green was slowly, perniciously taking it over.
There was an enormous tree with sinewy grey bark and branches that extended like tentacles or arms. It looked so old and so strange, almost sentient. Yoongi thought it the kind of tree that might start talking or getting up and walking or casting spells or issuing curses. Rap Monster had mentioned that kind of tree a long time ago, something in a book he was reading, Yoongi made a mental note to ask him the name of the trees when he woke up.
Suddenly, there appeared a figure from a crumbling threshold.
He looked as mythical as his surroundings.
White hair but eyes and eyebrows as dark as coal. An oval face, a long nose, the kind of mouth that ought to smile a lot. He moved like a living sculpture.
Yoongi exhaled a breath he hadn’t known he was holding, and when he inhaled, well, he was hit with the full force of an Omega.
Yoongi had never seen an Omega who looked like that. He was like a unicorn.
“Jung Hoseok?”
One corner of a gentle mouth twitched. “Yes?” he answered, then he fell gracefully onto his hands and knees and began to crawl across the green carpet towards Yoongi.
“There’s no need…um…that is to say…uh…you don’t have to…”
And then Jung Hoseok was crouching directly in front of Yoongi, looking up at him with those obsidian eyes and that halo of hair.
And then Jung Hoseok slowly, very slowly, crawled up Yoongi’s trousers until his nose was at level with Yoongi’s crotch. He nuzzled, and Yoongi’s cock twitched in response.
“Listen…um…I know this is a dream and all…my dream…but…”
Jung Hoseok looked up and hummed.
He smelled of the sky just before snow and the kind of sugared flowers that were usually on the top of children’s birthday cakes.
Sweet and expectant.
Yoongi thought fleetingly of colored balloons.
And then he thought of something else entirely because Jung Hoseok was mouthing at his cock through the front of his trousers, and Yoongi’s cock was responding, and his brain was short-wiring, accordingly.
And then Yoongi’s hands were buried deep in that white hair, and it was as soft as flower petals. He rubbed the head, tousling and petting the hair, and silently encouraging the mouth.
And then, without Yoongi doing anything at all, his cock was in that mouth, and the Omega took it all into him, into his tight, wet orifice, without sputter or grimace or hesitation.
“Um…you…don’t…have…to…”
Yoongi’s last protest died at the application of Hoseok’s tongue. It swirled and licked and teased. Yoongi could feel it but not see it, as the whole pornographic scene was blocked by Hoseok’s head.
The incongruity drove Yoongi a bit mad.
Yoongi was an Alpha. He was big by design. That Hoseok had no problem stretching himself round it only meant this was a dream or that Hoseok was some kind of fellatio savant.
Either way, Yoongi was gone.
He wanted to bury his nose in that hair. He wanted to bury his cock in this Omega. He wanted to do so many things to Jung Hoseok, none of which he could remember the details of, but he felt, nonetheless, every single one of those desires collectively with force of a barreling freight train.
But then Yoongi was assaulted by the guilty pang of the selfish lover. He ought to do something.
He rubbed Hoseok’s head and mumbled,
“It’s good.”
Pathetic. Was that all he could say?
“It’s really good.”
Oh, so much better. Very eloquent, Yoongs.
Then the suction increased and increased, and it was almost too much. Almost. Yoongi felt lust pool in his groin. That curious fragrance, snow-scented cake or cake-scented snow, was all he breathed, and the tight heat round his sex was all he felt.
“I’m close, luv,” he muttered. “You absolutely don’t have to…”
Yoongi came with a lurch and undignified noise. He must’ve flooded Hoseok’s mouth, as it felt as if he were orgasming for hours, but the other merely swallowed and pulled off and sat back on his haunches. He wiped his mouth on his sleeve as his eyes met Yoongi’s, but he said nothing.
“That was…”
Hoseok nodded. “Yes…”
Well, they were an eloquent pair, weren’t they?
“I’m looking for you,” said Yoongi, finally getting to the point. “My name’s Min Yoongi.”
“You’d better be quick about it, Min Yoongi.”
“Why?”
“Because they’re going to kill me on the night of the full moon.”
“Why?!”
Jung Hoseok told him.
Fandom: BTS
Characters/Pairing: SUGA/j-hope, RM, j-hope's mother
Length: 1526
Rating: Explicit
Content/Warnings: Omegaverse. Alpha SUGA, omega j-hope, Private detective AU, oral sex, dream sex
For: Yahtzee Roll #5
Chapter Prompt:
Summary: A dying woman hires private detective Min Yoongi to find the son she gave up for adoption.
“To accept the case, I am going to need—”
“If it’s a question of money, I’m afraid, Mister Min—”
Min Yoongi pinched the bridge of his nose and said a prayer to any munificent deity listening to spare him any more beautiful, polite, impecunious, and—yes, terminally ill—older ladies who wished to set eyes on the sons they’d given up for adoption in their careless youths just once before they shuffled off this mortal coil.
What Yoongi really needed was a bevy of wealthy, stupid clients who paid their bills on time. Preferably ones with simple problems to solve.
No, Min Yoongi definitely didn’t need any more clients with the sad handsome eyes which had seen too much and pleaded too well. Nor did he need ones in dresses that had obviously been altered twice because the ladies inside them were shrinking.
“I’ll need a down payment,” said Yoongi. “Whatever you can manage, but more than that, I’ll need something that your son touched. I don’t suppose you have anything like that. It’s been twenty-six years.”
And then—blessed saints above—from her old-lady purse, she produced an honest-to-God baby blanket which looked so worn it might have been from the Joseon period but for the fact that the pattern was balloons, what must’ve been, once upon a time, a lively, rainbow-colored collection of balloons.
She held it out to him with trembling hands. “It’s all I have.”
“I’ll guard it with my life,” promised Yoongi. “And write you a receipt.”
---
“Suga, Suga, Suga!” greeted the bartender.
“Rap Monster,” answered Yoongi as he slid onto the barstool. He placed the blanket on the bar.
“What’s with the balloon rag?”
“Case. I’m looking for someone named Jung Hoseok.”
“Jung Hoseok,” repeated the bartender. He hummed thoughtfully as he poured Yoongi a finger of whiskey. “Don’t know him.”
“To your health, sir,” Yoongi toasted, then threw back the liquid in one gulp. “His father, his biological father, that is, was an albino.”
“Ah, interesting. The current scientific debate about albinism is—”
Yoongi raised a halting hand. “Save it, professor. Jung Hoseok. Ring any bells?”
“Nah. Is he in trouble?”
“Nah. His mama’s looking for him.”
“’Cause he’s in trouble?”
“’Cause she’s dying.”
“Jesus Christ, I hate those.” He poured Yoongi a second finger.
“So do I.” Yoongi sighed. Then he drained the glass in front of him. “And she wants it done by the next full moon.”
“That’s only eight days. She doesn’t want much, eh? Oh, that make sense.”
“Why? She said it was his birthday.”
“Really? That’s a nice coincidence.”
Yoongi frowned. “No, wait a minute. She said it was an important birthday. I assumed she meant her long-lost son’s. She said she wanted to spend it with him.”
“It’s the Buddha’s birthday, hyung. I can’t believe you don’t know that.”
“I don’t keep track of birthdays, not even my own,” Yoongi grumbled. Then he fished some crumpled notes out of his pocket and left them on the bar. “Well, I gotta go to work, and then I gotta go to work.”
“Sweet dreams.”
---
Shoveling noodles in his mouth without really tasting them, Yoongi poured over his notes. He’d made progress, and he had plenty of leads to follow up.
That afternoon he’d given Mama Hoseok, as he called her in his head, more than her money’s worth, and now he was about to give her even more. He got ready to sleep, allowing himself only one thimble-sized nightcap. Then he laid down on the futon and brought the baby blanket to his nose.
He breathed in very deep over and over. Eventually, he leaned back and closed his eyes.
---
First, there were balloons.
Red, yellow, green, blue, purple, orange balloons with ribbon tails. Yoongi was looking up, from underneath them. They filled his circles of vision, then grew smaller as they drew farther away. Up, up, up, they floated, leaving him behind.
When there was nothing but blue sky above, Yoongi sat up.
The world around him looked completely foreign. It was green, first of all. Grass, moss, lush vines. More green and more shades of green than he’d ever seen in his life.
He wasn’t in the city. There was green carpet under him and green canopies around him and green as far as his eye could see. And it was all natural.
He got to his feet and followed his instincts.
Walking, walking, walking.
Slowly, he came upon a ruin. Crumbling grey stone. An edifice abandoned long ago. The moss, the vines, the green was slowly, perniciously taking it over.
There was an enormous tree with sinewy grey bark and branches that extended like tentacles or arms. It looked so old and so strange, almost sentient. Yoongi thought it the kind of tree that might start talking or getting up and walking or casting spells or issuing curses. Rap Monster had mentioned that kind of tree a long time ago, something in a book he was reading, Yoongi made a mental note to ask him the name of the trees when he woke up.
Suddenly, there appeared a figure from a crumbling threshold.
He looked as mythical as his surroundings.
White hair but eyes and eyebrows as dark as coal. An oval face, a long nose, the kind of mouth that ought to smile a lot. He moved like a living sculpture.
Yoongi exhaled a breath he hadn’t known he was holding, and when he inhaled, well, he was hit with the full force of an Omega.
Yoongi had never seen an Omega who looked like that. He was like a unicorn.
“Jung Hoseok?”
One corner of a gentle mouth twitched. “Yes?” he answered, then he fell gracefully onto his hands and knees and began to crawl across the green carpet towards Yoongi.
“There’s no need…um…that is to say…uh…you don’t have to…”
And then Jung Hoseok was crouching directly in front of Yoongi, looking up at him with those obsidian eyes and that halo of hair.
And then Jung Hoseok slowly, very slowly, crawled up Yoongi’s trousers until his nose was at level with Yoongi’s crotch. He nuzzled, and Yoongi’s cock twitched in response.
“Listen…um…I know this is a dream and all…my dream…but…”
Jung Hoseok looked up and hummed.
He smelled of the sky just before snow and the kind of sugared flowers that were usually on the top of children’s birthday cakes.
Sweet and expectant.
Yoongi thought fleetingly of colored balloons.
And then he thought of something else entirely because Jung Hoseok was mouthing at his cock through the front of his trousers, and Yoongi’s cock was responding, and his brain was short-wiring, accordingly.
And then Yoongi’s hands were buried deep in that white hair, and it was as soft as flower petals. He rubbed the head, tousling and petting the hair, and silently encouraging the mouth.
And then, without Yoongi doing anything at all, his cock was in that mouth, and the Omega took it all into him, into his tight, wet orifice, without sputter or grimace or hesitation.
“Um…you…don’t…have…to…”
Yoongi’s last protest died at the application of Hoseok’s tongue. It swirled and licked and teased. Yoongi could feel it but not see it, as the whole pornographic scene was blocked by Hoseok’s head.
The incongruity drove Yoongi a bit mad.
Yoongi was an Alpha. He was big by design. That Hoseok had no problem stretching himself round it only meant this was a dream or that Hoseok was some kind of fellatio savant.
Either way, Yoongi was gone.
He wanted to bury his nose in that hair. He wanted to bury his cock in this Omega. He wanted to do so many things to Jung Hoseok, none of which he could remember the details of, but he felt, nonetheless, every single one of those desires collectively with force of a barreling freight train.
But then Yoongi was assaulted by the guilty pang of the selfish lover. He ought to do something.
He rubbed Hoseok’s head and mumbled,
“It’s good.”
Pathetic. Was that all he could say?
“It’s really good.”
Oh, so much better. Very eloquent, Yoongs.
Then the suction increased and increased, and it was almost too much. Almost. Yoongi felt lust pool in his groin. That curious fragrance, snow-scented cake or cake-scented snow, was all he breathed, and the tight heat round his sex was all he felt.
“I’m close, luv,” he muttered. “You absolutely don’t have to…”
Yoongi came with a lurch and undignified noise. He must’ve flooded Hoseok’s mouth, as it felt as if he were orgasming for hours, but the other merely swallowed and pulled off and sat back on his haunches. He wiped his mouth on his sleeve as his eyes met Yoongi’s, but he said nothing.
“That was…”
Hoseok nodded. “Yes…”
Well, they were an eloquent pair, weren’t they?
“I’m looking for you,” said Yoongi, finally getting to the point. “My name’s Min Yoongi.”
“You’d better be quick about it, Min Yoongi.”
“Why?”
“Because they’re going to kill me on the night of the full moon.”
“Why?!”
Jung Hoseok told him.