#armyofwriters

[joonary]

maybe so (i.) | myg

↳ summary: when yoongi asks you on one fake date to save him from family embarrassment, he really isn’t expecting you to say yes. or to the next one. or to come with him on the goddamn trip back home for spring break. either you’re a really good liar, or maybe, just maybe this was growing to become more than what it was.

alternatively: how do you fake date someone you’re already in love with without being obvious about how you feel?

↳ genre: fluff; humor; fake dating au; min yoongi x reader

↳ rating: pg-13

↳ warnings: light alcohol consumption; mention of food poisoning; petty family drama (and resounding self-deprecation and spite); i’m pretty sure that’s it for this chapter

↳ word count: 13k

↳ a/n: this fic may have been giving me brain damage for three weeks straight, but it’s my baby so that’s okay. this is quite possibly the most self-indulgent thing that i’ve ever written but enjoy! if you’re looking for music to listen to accompanying this fic, i highly recommend the entirety of niki’s wanna take this downtown ep, as it inspired various aspects of this fic! stay safe and wash your hands!!!!

↳ PART ONE | PART TWO (finale)

If Yoongi’s current reality were categorized into a film genre on Netflix, it would most definitely be a drama. One of those overly-exaggerated, cheesy Korean dramas that his younger sister was terminally addicted to watching, sans the whirlwind romance that makes all of the tribulations worth it.

 For starters, Min Yoongi is running late to his own impromptu family birthday dinner, which definitely was not even his fault. He did not have control over the impulsivity of his headass of a roommate, Park Jimin, and he definitely didn’t anticipate that aforementioned headass would impulse dye his hair hot pink and subsequently clog the only bathroom sink in their shared apartment from further use. How he managed to do that was a mystery for another day.

 Yoongi did, however, have control over the accidental twenty-minutes-turned-

three-hour-long nap he took. It happened like this: he got back to the apartment after class around 10AM, then received a text from Jimin forewarning him that a plumber was coming at 11 to fix the sink. After that ordeal was finished, Yoongi flopped down on the couch and decided to take a quick nap under the warrant that he deserved it for having to deal with Park fucking Jimin every single day of the week. Also because he drank a little too much at dinner with Jungkook and Hoseok last night and was awarded with a headache in the morning as a shitty consolation trophy, but that detail wasn't important. 

 The only thing remotely important right now was Yoongi’s untied left shoe that was holding onto his foot for dear life as he sprints down the entrance stairway into the web of the metro system. He’s certain he looks downright comedical with the way he hurriedly scans his card and busts ass to get to the train platform. Perhaps if he were an anime character, he’d have those white dashes around him to denote that he was moving at a near-inhuman speed. 

 The train shouldn’t take more than twenty-five minutes to get to Koreatown despite it being on the other side of the city, but then again, Yoongi should know better than to think that luck was ever in his favor. There was a delay, for God knows what reason, that fills Yoongi with dread from where he stands with his hand hooked around the railing as the notification passes through the intercom.

 Was it straight two blocks then make a left? Or was it left two blocks then a right turn? God, he  really should have at least looked it up on Google Maps during the train ride—it would have at least lessened his rapidly increasing stupidity stats, albeit by a fractional amount. He stopped to ask a girl for directions, and even though she gave him the easiest route to the kbbq restaurant in question, she scanned his disheveled state with a look of mild confusion and maybe a hint of concern. Oh well. It’s not like he was going to be seeing her around any time soon.

 When Yoongi gets to the front of the restaurant, he knows he’s in the right place, not just because of the gigantic sign that says HOME KBBQ across it in fluorescent blue lighting, but because of the familiar head of brown hair that belonged to none other than his lanky dork of a younger brother. Namjoon hasn’t yet noticed his brother’s arrival, much less acknowledged it, far too occupied in the contents of his phone screen. 

 Yoongi’s manic wheezing seems to have finally caught the younger boy’s attention, causing his gaze to snap away from the screen and a wide dimpled grin to spread across his face. “Hyung! Happy late birthday!” 

 Yoongi’s still too busy trying to catch his breath, resting his hands on his knees like the heathen he is, no matter how many people tell him specifically not to do so when out of breath. “Thanks. Is Mom mad I’m late?”

 The grin on Namjoon’s face doesn’t falter. “Oh, everyone’s pissed. That’s why they made me wait out here for you haha. But it’s okay because you’re here now! Wipe the drool off the corner of your mouth though.” He slaps Yoongi’s shoulder in the annoying-younger-sibling-way before walking past him to hold open the door.

 “After you, birthday boy.”

 “Shut the hell up.”

“Look who decided to show up,” his mother says with an exaggerated sigh as Yoongi appears, Namjoon following immediately behind. He’s guilty, definitely, but getting called out immediately doesn’t exactly make him feel any better about it. 

 A “nice to see you” or “wow! I haven’t seen you since winter break nearly three months ago!” would have sufficed, perhaps even a belated birthday wish like Namjoon, he thinks to himself, but who was he kidding, this was his family he was dealing with. No such thing as civil salutations existed as far as the Mins were concerned. 

 “Sorry,” he mumbles, to which he gets no response. The rest of the table’s greetings all ring in that same tone of general disappointment and agitation, despite the “Happy Birthdays” that are said monotonously by each family member as he goes around the table to greet them. (Except for his cousin Seokjin, who actually stands up and gives him a pseudo-bro hug and a tacky Hallmark birthday card.)

 There’s a grand total of nine people at the table: from the seats on Yoongi’s left all the way around to his right sits Ryujin, Seokjin and his girlfriend, his father, Namjoon, his grandmother, his maternal aunt and uncle (otherwise known as Seokjin’s parents), and his mother. And with himself makes ten. The tables at this restaurant are homey to the point where it’s suffocating, everyone’s elbows practically touching one another’s.

 Regardless, everyone resumes eating, the conversation stirring up once again when Ryujin mentions how much she absolutely despises her AP Microeconomics teacher and everyone in the class. “That’s life,” their aunt speaks, warning tone in her voice. “You can’t expect to learn in an environment that you enjoy being in. That’s how you get lazy.” Yoongi disagrees silently.

 Here’s the thing: Yoongi was never very fond of his aunt Kim Eunjung, and quite frankly, the feeling was not one-sided. She thought that Yoongi was too stubborn and indecisive to ever amount to any form of success in his life. Yoongi thought she was sickeningly traditional to the point where she was practically breathing down the necks of the entire second generation of the family (there’s a reason why Seokjin is the way he is, unfortunately). It was like a symbiotic relationship of general disdain masked by familial politeness.

 Apparently she could fucking read minds too, because the second Yoongi’s disdainful thoughts formulate in his head, she’s already looking at him with a direct attack ready. Yoongi acts indifferent to what he knows is about to come, taking a sip of his water through the provided paper straw.

 “What about you? You’re so skinny, Yoongi,” she points out with a wrinkle of her nose, sounding more annoyed than genuinely concerned about his health. “Do you even eat anything?”

 “Yoongi, I’ve been telling you to stop skipping meals,” his mom points out, disappointment ringing through the way her metal chopsticks clang against her rice bowl. “We don’t pay for your dorm and meal plan for you to only eat one bowl of cereal every three days. That doesn’t count as eating.” Will his parents ever let him live down the fact that there’s an agreement between them and him for them to pay for his tuition? No. Never.

 “I eat,” he replies earnestly, but nobody’s fooled. He can’t say that either of them are wrong on this argument. The last thing he recalls eating was a granola bar that Jimin had tons of stashed in their shared room. And that was, like, at four in the morning yesterday.

 His dad lets out a heavy guffaw from across the table, patting Namjoon on the shoulder in a manner that makes the boy almost choke on his samgyeopsal. “Keep that up and you’ll never get a girlfriend. Isn’t that the new thing? Aren’t girls into the ‘swole’ guys these days, huh Ryujinnie?” he adds, turning to Yoongi’s sister.

 “Dad, please never say the word ‘swole’ ever again.”

 Eunjung looks amused as well, but if the quirk in her brow was any indication, it’s not because she thinks that her brother-in-law’s attempts to use millennial terminology is amusing. Oh no, this was much worse.

 “Our Yoongi? With a girlfriend? It’s hard to believe that’s even possible considering how he is. Especially with his hair dyed that horrible red color.” Eunjung’s words are just backhanded enough not to be rude—perhaps even enough so to be played off as a joke, yet the implication of them holds such malice that it hurts a Yoongi’s pride a little. 

 You see, there’s an uncanny valley that sits right between “Yoongi disagreeing with his family members because they’re wrong and their viewpoint is scalding and narrow-minded” and “Yoongi disagreeing with his family members because he’s young, dumb, and needs to be taught a life lesson out of this”.

 Yoongi doesn’t know where he is on that spectrum at all right now, but quite frankly he doesn’t care right now. As the saying goes: pride comes before the fall.

 “Actually, I do.” Wait, what?

 Yoongi has absolutely no idea where that came from. He was never a compulsive liar, save for when playing Uno with his friends, but still, he’s never told a lie of this caliber before. In front of half his family, no less. Even though it’s a solid lie, he can’t help but feel triumphed by the shock that falls across the table. It doesn’t last long, questions beginning to roll in.

 “What?”

 “Where’d you meet her?”

 “No way!” (That one comes from Ryujin, to absolutely nobody’s surprise.)

 But Eunjung’s question is the only one that Yoongi chooses to answer. “How long have you had this girlfriend of yours?”

 “Five months.” There’s no rhyme or reason to his answer—it was legitimately the first number to come to mind.

 Eunjung laughs exaggeratedly, head thrown back and eyes wiping away faux-tears, as if this new finding wasn’t believable in any way, shape, or form. The sheer condescension makes Yoongi’s blood boil, despite the fact that, you know, she was right. “So what you’re saying is that you’ve been in a serious relationship for almost half a year and you just decided not to tell anyone?”

 “Yes,” he answers, refusing to break eye contact.

 “And why is that, hm?” she pries, and Yoongi tells himself that she’s only being especially pretentious tonight because she’s beyond drunk. It’s the only thing conclusion he can conjure up to prevent himself from saying anything so disrespectful that he’d get disowned by the entirety of his family, cursed for the next four decades, and not to mention, dishonor on his cow.

 “I just… didn’t wanna jinx it. I didn’t want to bring her around everyone too soon in case things went south and it became awkward for all of us,” he explains, a little scared of how easily the lie comes out of his mouth. The grave he’s digging himself only gets deeper, but Yoongi feels like his hands are glued to the shovel at this point.

 Eunjung looks surprisingly satisfied with his answer, but there’s no way she wouldn’t be able to find something to interject, something else about him that she could nit-pick at. That’s just not her. Her mouth quirks up at the corner, as if Yoongi has just read her mind. “When are we going to meet her?”

 However, she doesn’t get the chance to hear the boy’s answer, as Yoongi’s mother finally deems it time to put an end to the interrogation she had just witnessed her eldest son go through. “Unnie, I haven’t even heard about this girl before. We need more time to just let this sink in. Besides, it’s getting late, and we both know we all have a long way home from here.” Despite just saving Yoongi’s ass from the impending trial, his mother shoots him a small glare in reference to his late attendance despite being geographically closest to the damn restaurant in the first place. That’s motherly love for you.

 After a ten minute debacle starting and ending with Seokjin insisting that he picks up the tab, everyone finally leaves the restaurant—and the conversation—behind.

 Waving off his relatives goodbye, the only ones left congregating outside the restaurant alongside Yoongi are his siblings and his parents.

 Yoongi walks them to their car, where the SUV sits parked aside a meter that’s already run past its two-hour time by forty minutes. Had the dinner really gone on for that long?

  “Hyung, don’t leave yet,” Namjoon says, holding up his hands as if he were a crossing guard as a preventative measure in case his brother decided to just take off. “I got you a birthday present.” He tugs at the door the instant his dad unlocks it with the telltale click and flash of lights inside. It’s not like Yoongi could just scram anyways, despite the fact that it seemed incredibly appealing with the way this evening went.

 So he watches as Namjoon fumbles and nearly hits him in the face with the door, pulling out a small and poorly-wrapped box that’s no bigger than the size of his palm. Yoongi can only imagine the laugh that the younger boy had with himself whilst wrapping such a small box as neatly as he could muster.

 Ryujin rounds the back of the car, plopping a significantly larger (and much, much better wrapped) box into his arms as well. “You don’t have to open them right now,” she declares, and Yoongi isn’t sure if it’s for his benefit or her’s. She probably has hours of AP homework waiting for her on top of the hour and a half car ride home.

 “Thank you,” he replies as he tugs them both into a stiff hug. Being genuinely affectionate towards his siblings will never not be awkward for him to do. Does he love them? Sure. But can he say it out loud, or express it in any way that wasn’t him just silently caring for them or downright insulting them? Absolutely not. And it wasn’t one of those I’m-edgy-and-hate-letting-people-know-I-care sort of things. That just wasn’t how having siblings worked.

 He hugs his parents goodbye before they too get into the car, with yet another thank you for dinner and a promise that he’ll make time to visit soon. And that’s the end of the wildest birthday dinner I’ve ever had in my twenty-two years of life, he thinks to himself, more in disbelief than with mirth as he begins to turn to leave in the direction of the metro station.

 “Yoongi.” He stops and turns back slowly, like the voice of his mother would stab straight through him if he made any sudden moves. “Yes?”

 Window rolled down, the head of black hair belonging to his mother juts out enough for her to lean forward and speak to him. “Your girlfriend. When were you planning on telling us?”

 “Oh,” he says with a swallow. It wasn’t over yet. 

 It takes him a little longer to think of a response, now that this is when his words will actually count and error will not get lost in the initial shock. He contemplates what his reasoning would be had this been real and not just a spite-fueled fabrication. 

 (He also contemplates coming clean, but decides against it simply because of how embarrassing and downright pathetic it would sound coming out of his mouth, not to mention the fact that he did so just to get everyone off his back about it. Yoongi’s pride > integrity—apparently that was the moral of tonight’s story.)

 “I swear, I was going to tell you guys soon. But we both agreed that winter break might’ve been a little bit too soon for her to meet you, and same with me for her family. And then the beginning of this semester has just been really rough on both of us; in fact, we’ve barely spent any time together at all. And I don’t know, I thought maybe we were starting to lose interest in each other or something.”

 It’s a very plausible sob story—despite Yoongi’s distaste for forcing sympathy—and although his mother generally hates it when he complains about how “difficult” his life is as the average middle-class student at a decent university, she accepts it. Thank every unknown deity out there that she does, because Yoongi doesn’t think he could pull any more false information out of his ass for the rest of his life.

 “But do you still want to be with her?”

 “Yeah,” he sighs, and if any of his friends were here right now, they’d probably burst out laughing at the fact that there literally is no “her” and this entire thing is just on-the-spot bullshit that he’s spouting out like a water fountain. The thought makes Yoongi kind of want to die of embarrassment. “I do.”

 Now that he thinks of it, this is actually perfect. You know, since all he had to do now was make up a break-up story in a couple weeks and the whole thing will blow over. Sure, he’ll have to face the scrutiny of fucking up his “relationship” for a while, but—

 “So we should meet her then.” What.

 “What?”

 His mom is unaware of the panic in his eyes, the flush in his face looking more like a side effect of the cold and the pure unadulterated fear in his eyes masked by the dim street lights above him. 

 “Meet her,” she replies, like it’s that simple. Well, it is, when you have an actual girlfriend to make these plans with. “Next Wednesday night your father and I don’t have anything planned. If you’re both trying to make things work, the only thing you can do is take the next step.”

 “I… guess you’re right. We’ll try to make it.” Oh God, what was he supposed to do now?

 “Trying isn’t enough, Yoongi,” his mother warns. It’s something that he already knows from years of her ingraining it into his brain—starting with when he missed a note during his first piano recital, to when he didn’t make the varsity basketball team as a freshman in high school, to when he didn’t get into the university his parents wanted him to, to now. He knows it, yet that damn barrier between doing his best and succeeding has always been nearly impossible for him to break through.

 “Relationships take work. All things do. You have to be there.” She’s undeniably correct, and Yoongi is positively screwed. Then she waves her hand at him the way that you would when an insect comes too close and you’d like it to go away. “Go home, Yoongi. It’s getting late.” It’s been getting late, he thinks to himself. You’re the one who prolonged this conversation.

 “Okay,” is what he says instead. “Drive safe. Text me when you get home.” It’s something he always tells her to do, but she never does.

 “Speaking of,” she adds. Yoongi fidgets, feet are starting to go numb from standing in the cold.  “Can you come home tomorrow to drop off your car? Ryujin finally got her permit and she needs to start practicing for her driver’s test. You don’t even drive that often anyways, and it’s not like Namjoon has any skills or even a car for her to borrow.” 

 (“Ouch,” Namjoon cries indignantly as ever from the back seat.)

 “Okay,” he agrees again, no ifs, buts, or whys to add to it. Yoongi takes really good care of his 2013 Honda Civic, and it’s really fucking hard for him to entrust his younger sister with it considering that she lacks experience and could very easily destroy its current near-perfect condition that he’s prided himself in maintaining. But Yoongi complies, because he’s already given his mother enough aneurysms this evening for a decade, and he didn’t need to add this to the list of reasons why he’s a pain in her ass.

 “Mhm,” she offers with a tight-lipped smile to accommodate it. “Go home.” Again, it wasn’t his fault he wasn’t already settled into the dinky and stiff leather seats of the red-line train back to his campus. She rolls up the window without a formal goodbye.

 His dad starts the engine back up again, the car finally pulling it out of its place on the curb. If Yoongi squints, he can see the vague outline of Namjoon giving him a wave from the tinted window of the back seat.

Min Yoongi is incomprehensibly, impetuously, and irrevocably stupid. And those were only the words starting with ‘i’.

 If he were writing a lab report, that would be his claim, and his data that follows would be taken directly from the events of tonight. Granted, you could probably pull half a million other moments of idiotic embarrassment from any period of time in his life, but this incident genuinely takes the cake.

 And so Yoongi does what anyone does at the first instance of trouble: he messages his best friend.

 (No, not Jimin. He’s already out cold by the time that Yoongi gets back to their apartment anyways, and even if he were awake, he would most definitely not be the first person he’d turn to for advice.)

 [12:54am] yoongi: wake up

[12:54am] yoongi: we have a problem

[read 12:55am]

 He’s in the middle of typing out another message—something blithe and bitter because it’s been well over eight minutes since she’s read his message and still hasn’t responded—when his screen is suddenly taken over by an abhorrent low-angle meme image of none other than Kang Seulgi herself, the message on the screen happily reading out, “seulgi 🥳 would like to FaceTime…”.

 Unfortunately for Yoongi, his heathen of a best friend preferred FaceTime over any other medium of digital communication. Sure, it was a good option for long-winded stories or for when he’s alone and face-to-face communication seems appealing. But at its worst, it was inconvenient when he was a) trying to be discreet about who he was talking to or the contents of the conversation, or b) when he was too damn tired to actually speak, leaving typing using only his thumbs to be the more appealing approach.

  (Not that either of those were an issue right now; he was definitely alone and was too adrenaline-induced to even get to his threshold of exhaustion.)

 When Yoongi begrudgingly accepts the FaceTime call, he is immediately greeted with the sight of Seulgi’s sheet mask-clad face, dark hair tucked back into a bun behind her Kakao Friends Ryan headband. There’s no greetings, no preface to the scolding that she’s already ready to deliver. “Don’t look at me like that,” she says, narrowing her eyes. “It’s Friday. That’s self care night.”

 Yoongi glances at the time glowing in the upper corner of his screen. “Technically it’s Saturday. And what happened to ‘Sundays are self-care nights’ and ‘Wednesdays are also self-care nights’?”

 “Fuck off. Not everybody can get perfect skin just by inhaling particles in the air the way that you do.”

 “It’s called drinking water, Seulgi.” She rolls her eyes.

 Yoongi sighs, feeling the need to fidget. He drags his hand through his maroon-tinted hair—a bad habit that he attributes to being roommates with Jimin for far too long and unintentionally picking up his shitty quirks.

 “So are you gonna tell me what happened, or is this just another self-wallowing party where I just sit here and watch? C’mon, I could be doing a hundred other things right now than seeing you sulk, à la Twitch streamer,” Seulgi comments annoyingly, leaning unsettlingly close to the camera until her eyes took up a vast majority of Yoongi’s phone screen. 

 Yoongi takes a breath. “Okay, so at dinner I accidentally told my parents that I have a girlfriend and have had one since November of last year because they kept clowning me over being undateable. Then they asked why I haven’t even mentioned her at all before, so now they wanna meet her next week. I’m so fucked, what do I do now?” Holy shit, that sounds a lot worse when you say it out loud.

 Knowing Seulgi for well over ten years of his life makes Yoongi damn-near telekinetic when it comes to gauging how she would react to any information presented to her. This notion is only reinforced by the way that she, as expected, lets out a painful-sounding wheeze and doubles over laughing (at least, to the best of her ability, as the sheet mask on her face is inhibiting the full range of emotion she has to show). “Stop! This isn’t supposed to be funny! I am your best friend in an embarrassingly real crisis!”

 “What I wanna know,” Seulgi lets out between fits of laughter. “Is how you even managed to convince anyone of that. We all know you’re a shitty liar, and your romantic history isn’t even existent enough for that story to be backed up. Plus your family can read people like their skulls are made of glass. They’re terrifying.”

 Yoongi ticks. “Fuck off, I’m a good actor. If I weren’t already majoring in architecture, I would probably have a lead role in a K-Drama by now.”

 Seulgi composes herself enough to roll her eyes. “Yeah, because your performance as the fifth dwarf in the fourth grade production of Snow White was absolutely phenomenal.”

 “Look,” Yoongi says, leaning closer. “You know how adament my family is when it comes to making plans with them—there’s no way I’m getting out of this. It’s only one date, but, I mean, it’s not like I have people lined up in my contact list for the spot of a believable date.”

 Seulgi fans at her face, the acidity of her face mask starting to sting. “That’s very true,” she muses. The confirmation doesn’t help whatsoever. “And it’s not like you can bring me, because they already know me and hate me on top of that. There has to be some girl that we’re close enough friends with to ask her, right? Hey—how about Soojin?”

 “Uh, you mean the one that asked for my number at the beginning of the semester, then proceeded to ghost me when I texted her to study for midterms together? Yeah, no.” 

 Seulgi opens her mouth again. “And don’t suggest Sihyeon next, because you know how bad that blind date went and I am not doing that again,” Yoongi warns. She closes her mouth. There’s a daft silence as both are left contemplating. 

 There’s still Y/N, Yoongi reminds himself, but it’s a thought he does not want to bring to light, especially to Seulgi.

 There were a plethora of different adjectives that Yoongi could use to describe you, but even using just that as a measure to describe you didn't seem to be able to do you any justice. You were witty and charming in all the best ways, and you were one of the only people Yoongi has ever met that was capable of making him tongue-tied. Sure, you were friends and you actually talked quite frequently, but that still didn’t stop his brain from turning into putty at every interaction. To put it shortly, Yoongi had a fat crush on you.

 And for that reason precisely, there was no way he could ask you to fake date him.

 Wait. It had grown oddly quiet, the sound of Seulgi’s voice no longer being white noise to Yoongi’s muddy thoughts. He directs his focus back to the FaceTime screen, only to be greeted by a cheshire cat-like grin decorating the girl’s face. He had no idea what she’d been rambling about while he was thinking, but after ten years of friendship, Yoongi has become classically conditioned enough to know that the smile plastered across her face was not a good sign. 

 “Easy solution. Ask Y/N,” she says, like it’s the easiest damn thing in the world. But she knows. While Yoongi refused to tell her anything directly, Seulgi could tell from the way he got nervous around you that the way he saw you was more than just platonic. The only downfall was that you were completely oblivious to how he felt, making every interaction between the two of you almost painful to watch. Seulgi really wonders most days if she was just born to be a magnet for dumbasses.

 “...which Y/N?” he asks, stalling for time, as if he meets someone named Y/N—as if he meets someone like you—every goddamn day. Seulgi doesn’t spare him much more than a few seconds. “You know exactly who I’m talking about.”

 “No,” Yoongi protests. “I can’t do that—”

 “Why not?” She doesn’t need the answer to know she’s won. Checkmate, bitch.

 “Dude, I swear these face masks never fit over my gigantic forehead, how do you do this all the time—oh! Hey Yoongi!”

 How could Yoongi possibly forget that you and Seulgi were roommates? You pad across the room towards Seulgi’s desk, leaning down with a wave, a face mask identical to Seulgi’s covering your own face (all due respect to Seulgi, but Yoongi thinks you look a hell of a lot cuter with it on than she does). 

 “Hey!” he responds, and immediately regrets it because he sounds a hell of a lot more enthusiastic than he does on a regular day. 

 “Perfect timing, because Yoongi was just about to ask you something!” Seulgi says as she clasps her hands together innocently, you know, like the shithead she is. Because if there was anyone who loved to exploit Yoongi for all of his weaknesses (especially when it came to you), it was his own goddamn best friend. 

 “Oh really?” you ask, attentively looking towards the camera with a slight tilt of your head. “What’s up?”

 Yoongi’s mouth runs dry. Now what?

 Your face softens as you catch onto the unexpectedness that flashes in his eyes. “Hey, it’s fine if you don’t wanna talk right now. You can tell me tomorrow at Jungkook’s, right? I’m gonna go make coffee, so you and Seulgi can go back to talking about whatever it is you were talking about. Hah.” The laugh you tack onto the end feels a little forced. 

 “See you tomorrow,” he mumbles, looking down.

 Seulgi watches as you leave, only turning back around once she’s certain that you’ve left the room. “You are so whipped.”

 “Am not!” Yoongi whines, despite the fact that she was very much right. “You put me on the spot! I didn’t even plan on what I was going to say!”

 “You and your plans my ass!” she exclaims. “You’re a total chicken!” Yoongi scrambles to turn down his phone’s volume to prevent waking up his roommate.

 “All I’m saying is that if you’re not ever planning on asking her out on a real date, then you might as well just play pretend, right?” Seulgi acknowledges. “Isn’t that easier and, like, not to mention, an opportunity for you guys to get closer? I mean, it’s not like I’m an expert on this kind of stuff. After all, I'm just a girl, who also happens to have experience with asking girls out.”

 Yoongi considers his options. Yes, pretending to date someone is probably a lot easier than actually asking someone out formally. Yes, this would be an opportunity for you and him to be closer as friends (emphasis on friends), and not to mention a horrible debacle for you two to look back on five or six years and think “Damn, remember that time when you and me fake dated because you lied to your parents! That was quite the time to be alive!”. Yes, he did like you, and he wanted to be closer to you, but this was probably not the best way to go about that.

 Plus there was one factor that was unavoidable and, up until this point, not considered: Yoongi is a shitty liar. It’s up for debate on whether that would be a good thing or a bad thing considering it was you, someone who he very much currently had feelings for, and the fact that the entire relationship would be fabricated, meaning more lies. And there’s the fact that doing so would require you to meet his parents. He’d have to have less than two-fifths of a brain cell to not know that that would be asking too much of you. Yoongi’s on the verge of flatlining. 

 “No,” Yoongi decides, sealing his fate. “It’s a stupid idea and we are definitely not going to go through with it.”

This was a stupid idea, yet here Yoongi was, decidedly going through with it.

 Here’s the thing: Yoongi genuinely did not believe there was an abundance of things that were even remotely dateable about himself—sure, he can build Ikea furniture decently, he’s an architecture major (great for impressing parents), and he has too many damn hoodies and t-shirts to let people borrow without even realizing if they ever give it back. But other than that, nothing. At least, not enough for him to be deemed Boyfriend Material or whatever.

 On top of that, he’s worried about what you’d say when he asks. Would you laugh at him? Outright reject him? No, that wasn’t you—you were more likely to say yes out of pity and hate every second of it without letting him know. Oh God, that was so much worse.

 You two are friends, he reminds himself. It can’t possibly be that embarrassing or outlandish to ask to fake a date as a friendly favor, not when you’ve probably seen each other at rock bottom at least nine times within the span of your friendship. Logistically speaking, that reasoning would make sense, had there not been the glaringly palpable fact that he already had feelings for you. If he hasn’t had the nerve to legitimately ask you out yet, what would make this any easier? Yoongi hates this plan more and more the longer he is left alone to think about it. 

 This wasn’t just a stupid idea. This was a Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad idea.

 It’s currently ten minutes past six, and he was supposed to be at Jungkook’s apartment nearly forty-five minutes ago. Instead, he’s still very much at his own dorm, waiting for Jimin to finish taking a damn shower, sitting at his desk and watching some cat compilation that showed up on his Instagram feed.

 If there was one thing that Min Yoongi was aware of, it was knowing exactly when his friends were planning something. All it took was a panicked look across the room, or a nervous laugh, or one too many reminders for Yoongi to be at A Very Specific Location at a Very Specific Time. 

 Added to the fact that his birthday had just passed, it doesn’t take Yoongi long to connect the dots.

 Even if he weren’t perceptive enough to catch any of those signals, he knows that Jimin is never late for an event. In fact, he was constantly on Yoongi’s ass about his punctuality—it was one of the few things that they regularly squabble over as roommates. So when Yoongi is actually ready to leave, but exits the bathroom only to be greeted with the sight of Jimin sprawled out on his bed, still in his raggedy pajamas and definitely not ready to leave, his eyes narrow with suspicion.

 “Weren’t we supposed to be there almost an hour ago?”

 Jimin shrugs with wide eyes, but it is for naught—the exaggeration of his nonchalance clearly shows that yes, they were definitely supposed to be at Jungkook’s place an hour ago, and yes, there was definitely a reason behind why he was stalling. He was never that great of an actor.

 But Yoongi plays along, because there’s something so strange yet so fucking endearing about the extent of effort that his friends put forth when it comes to things like this. He knows how much they genuinely care about him, since there've been far too many instances where he’s been on the delivering end of a surprise birthday party for someone else—they all get an adrenaline rush from planning and executing, and there’s never any feeling of obligation that comes with doing so. A total light switch from the way that his actual family celebrated his birthday with him. 

 So when they finally leave their room nearly an hour and a half later than they were supposed to, Yoongi doesn’t comment on the obviousness of his friends’ scheme. He teases Jimin for being a trainwreck of a person, even for a college student, but beyond that, he pretends he has no idea what awaits him at Jungkook’s flat. 

 Yoongi feels like he should be surprised by the chaos already unfolding the second he opens the door, but then again this was his friends that we’re talking about.

 “Jungkook, I swear to God you’re stupider than that huge ass moth that keeps hitting the window!”

 Irene stands in the kitchen with her hands on her hips as she looks down at Jungkook, stance a perfect mirror to every mother when scolding their child. Jungkook is on the floor, rubbing paper towels across the linoleum and staining them in a red substance that looks suspiciously like spicy ramen sauce. If Yoongi strains his neck a little, he can see that you and Hoseok are also helping with the damage control, although you’re both laughing far more than you are cleaning.

 “First the three cakes, now this,” Seulgi mutters. Her hair is tucked into a shittily thrown up bun and there’s frosting smudged on her cheek.

 “There goes my two dollars,” Taehyung wails, like it’s the end of the world. For a college kid like him, it practically was. He turns his head as he buries his face in his hands dramatically, but at the gesture, he notices Yoongi and Jimin’s arrival, and it’s like a light switch is flicked. He screams in that loud, booming, excited voice of his.

 In two seconds flat, Taehyung is already tackling them both in a bone crushing hug, while the rest of the group shouts out a chorus of “who’s here?” and even a “wait, we ordered pizza too?” from Hoseok. He gets a not-so-gentle smack on the shoulder in lieu of a response.

 There’s a hush that falls over the room, like they’re all waiting for someone to do something.

 “HAPPY BIRTHDAY YOONGI!” Hoseok is the first to shout it, but he’s soon joined in by the rest of the group halfway through the first word. Jimin and Taehyung each take hold of Yoongi’s arms and drag him forward towards the kitchen island where his friends are all gathered.

 There’s three cakes on the table: one that’s neatly frosted and has pretty red strawberries thrown in a pattern over the top (by the looks of it, it’s from the bakery inside H-Mart), a whole sheet cake from Costco that’s nothing but solid white frosting, and one that’s certainly… something. It’s significantly smaller than the other two, and it’s a mess of frosting and fruits on top of it. Suddenly Seulgi’s earlier words start to make sense (not to mention, the frosting on you and Seulgi’s cheeks matches the shade of the one that decorates the last cake).

 You pull up a chair for him to sit at. “Something tells me this wasn’t on purpose?” he asks with a grin, and you roll your eyes fondly.

 “Apparently none of us know what it means to stick to a plan. Also we’re all mad at Hobi and Jungkook for taking you out to dinner on your actual birthday, but failing to invite the rest of us.” 

 Yoongi pulls a smile as he watches you lean over and light the candles sitting on top of the cakes (yes, all three of them). He’s surprised that there aren’t over twenty candles on the cake, considering that it was something that his friends have done before.

 When they sing happy birthday to him, it’s comedically off-key—with the exception of Jungkook, because he’s, you know, Jungkook—and Yoongi can do nothing but watch with fond eyes at his friends. Don’t be mistaken though—that doesn’t mean he actually knows where to look when people are singing it to him, because who is good at that?

 And when Yoongi blows out the candles, he honestly isn’t sure what he’s even got to wish for. Perhaps enough money to clear his tuition debt. Or the ability to survive the accidental fake-dating mess he got himself into. 

 But Yoongi settles for the one thing that he wishes for every time he’s given the opportunity, from throwing pennies into fountains to stars in the sky that fall when he’s lucky enough to see them to the candles sitting on the cake(s) in front of him: Happiness—or at the very least, contentedness—with where he is in life. Tomorrow, ten years down the line, whenever it decides to come. And maybe, just maybe he wants to find his soulmate sometime soon. (It’s sappy, he knows it. Perhaps he spends a bit too much time with Jungkook these days. Sue him.)

 Yoongi doesn’t think about his wish afterwards though—he never does, because even he knows it’s better to focus on what’s in front of him than to dwell on an intangible wish he made over a strawberry-covered pastry. Especially when the thing that’s in front of him is an intense tag-team game of Scrabble, commentated by none other than Jung Hoseok himself.

 You’ve picked Yoongi as your partner, and he pretends that it doesn’t make his heart swell a little bit. He leans over your shoulder to look at the rack that sits in front of you both, but he can’t pick a single word that could come out of the seven letters present.

 Your face is twisted in deep concentration as you stare at your shared tiles. If Yoongi didn’t know any better, he’d think you were a finalist at the Scripps National Spelling Bee, and not in Jungkook’s living room in a shitty Scrabble game against equally illiterate college kids. 

 “Do you think ‘dipshit’ is an acceptable Scrabble word?”

 Hoseok’s already taking out his phone to google it before Yoongi stops him. “Jimin almost threw his chem textbook at me last week when I called him one. It definitely should count as a real word.”

 “You’re a fucking snitch, Yoongi,” Jimin hisses in response. Laughing, you put the seven-letter word down on the board. Jimin begrudgingly totals up the points.

It’s ten minutes to midnight when Yoongi finally drags himself to the kitchen and away from all the noise of the living room. His throat hurts, not only from the alcohol, but from all the screaming that inevitably came from doing anything remotely competitive with his friends (especially when Hoseok busted out his switch to play Mario Kart). 

 He prays that Jungkook even has water, and not just chocolate milk and soju filling his fridge to maximum capacity.

 “This party is boring, do you wanna leave together?” you ask smoothly as you appear beside him, delivering an entirely not-painful punch to his arm as you smile.

 “W-what?” Yoongi chokes on his water.

 Your cheeks suddenly flare up at his reaction (cutely, might he add). “Ah! I was talking about that one meme. Y’know, the one where you’re supposed to respond by saying ‘this is my birthday party…’. Yeah, that was it. Didn’t mean to, uh, imply anything.”

 Right. “Oh, haha. Don’t know why I didn’t think of that,” he replies with a laugh. Quite frankly, he has no idea what meme you’re even talking about (he doesn’t keep up with Twitter much these days). 

 “Also I came here to apologize.” Huh?

 “For what?” Yoongi asks, meeting your eyes. You avert them instantly, looking down at your socks. 

 “Last night—I really didn’t mean to interrupt your conversation like that. I mean, I’m guessing it was something serious? Since you didn’t wanna say what was happening and then neither did Seulgi once she hung up. So, uh, sorry if I came across as nosy.”

 “Oh,” Yoongi responds. “No—no, that’s definitely not what happened, don’t apologize. Actually, uh, I was gonna ask you something.” Now or never, he reminds himself. You look up at him, innocent expectancy in your eyes.

 Yoongi closes his eyes, short enough to be considered a blink, but also long enough for him to anticipate his impending death that he wishes for in order to rid himself of his own embarrassment. It never comes.

 “I… need your help with something.” It’s too cryptic of an answer, but it’s a start. He continues, despite the embarrassment that rises in his cheeks in the form of a pink flush. “I accidentally lied to half my family about having a girlfriend, and now they all want to meet her even though I’m literally single as fuck and now I don’t know what to do. Do you—do you want to cometodinnerwithmenextweek?” 

 You blink back up at him, like it’s taking a couple seconds for your brain to process this new information. Because wow, talk about a mouthful. Oh fuck. You don’t have an answer, and Min Yoongi is this close to saying “fuck it” and moving to Antartica where he’d die a slow and painless death, withering away in subzero temperatures until his skin turns blue instead of being right here right now.

 What he doesn’t expect is for you to start laughing.

 It’s not a mean laugh. It’s not one where it’s blatantly obvious that you think this is a prank on his part and you’re just laughing to fill space, or where you’re condescending him because you think he’s pathetic. It’s a laugh that shows that no matter how outlandish and horrible-sounding of a predicament this is, you believe him. “Please tell me you’re being serious. Please. I might cry if you aren’t.”

 Yoongi cracks a smile with you. “Trust me, I couldn’t make this shit up even if I wanted to.”

 “This is the kind of thing you only see in movies, y’know?” You muse, still laughing. “I can’t believe you actually did this to yourself. This is, like, real.”

 “Please don’t remind me of how much of an idiot I am,” Yoongi whines, before realizing that you’ve managed to avoid giving him a definitive answer still. “So… is that a yes? No? Maybe so?”

 You crease your brows slightly, still an endeared smile faint on your cheeks. “Maybe so? What would that even entail in this type of situation?”

 Yoongi grimaces. “I have no idea. Force of habit.”

 “You talk like a suburban dad,” you snort. “But to answer your question, yes. I’m all in.”

 Yoongi releases a breath he hadn’t known that he had been holding. He leans back against the kitchen counter, body turning lax now that the weight of his stress over the past twenty-four hours was now freed from his body.

 “Also it’s just one date,” Yoongi adds, rubbing at the back of his neck. “Or, like, a few weeks max. I have a whole plan and everything, so it should blow over soon and we can just move on from there. You don’t have to, like, blow my parents out of the water or anything.”

 “What if I want to though?” What the fuck.

 “Why?” Yoongi asks. It’s not meant to come out rude, and you don’t take it that way. It’s just such a brutal and difficult task, and it’s not particularly one that he would recommend to anyone to partake in. After all, it was something he had no choice but to succumb to, for the past twenty-two years of his life. 

 “I want them to like me,” you state simply. “Even if it’s just a fake date or whatever, we’re still friends so the circumstances aren’t that different. Your parents should still at least know me, right?”

 It is so much different. Because if you get his parents to like you, and they will, you’ll become a semi-permanent fixture in his life, and that sounds like a specific type of torture catered towards people who would rather keep their feelings under wraps instead of actually doing something about them. A very Yoongi-specific kind of torture.

 “That… makes sense,” Yoongi supposes. He’s not sure how applicable that sentiment is in your life, but it wasn’t exactly shared with his family, considering he doesn’t date and the only friends of Yoongi’s that his parents have ever met are Seulgi and Hoseok. “But I’m warning you, they aren’t exactly easy to impress.”

 “Are you saying you don’t think I’m capable of impressing them?”

 “No! Not at all,” he backtracks. “They’re just really high-strung—actually, it’s my mom who’s mostly like that. Not my dad so much. I just don’t want you to feel hurt if they’re… cold towards you. Especially since you’re supposed to be my girlfriend too.” He trails off at the end, and he swears that he sees your cheeks redden at the label.

 You shake it off with a smile. “Don’t worry, I can take a little criticism. Just text me when and where and I’ll be there. You still have my number, right?”

 “Yeah.” He pauses momentarily. “Wait, I don’t, actually. I got a new phone a couple months ago and I lost all my contacts.” Yoongi can’t believe that he forgot to ask for your number again. This is what he gets for having the group chat muted.

 You click your tongue. “Can’t believe it’s been months and you never once thought to text me.” There’s a smile playing on your face when you say it though. It’s not like you two even text at all outside of your group chat. “I’ll just call it right now so you can add my number faster.”

 He reads across his contact on your phone, as you press the call button.

 “Why does my name have the moon emoji next to it?” he questions with a tilt of his head. It’s cute, he thinks and it makes his chest feel funny knowing that there had to be some sort of conscious reasoning behind it. (For once, object permanence doesn’t feel so bad.)

 “Not sure, actually.” You offer a small shrug and a smile. “Just reminds me of you, ‘s all.”

 Yoongi blinks. There’s a slight pause before he swipes at his phone screen to create a new contact for your own phone number. “Well if that’s the case, I’m gonna have to put the sun emoji next to your name then,” he concedes. God, when did he get so cheesy?

 You smile, and it makes Yoongi’s chest warm with content. Something inside tells him that maybe, just maybe, this plan wouldn’t turn out so bad after all.

 Yoongi swears he sees Seulgi shoot up a thumbs-up gesture as she passes the kitchen, though he isn’t sure if it was directed towards himself or to you.

You and Yoongi are not best friends, but you’re not complete strangers. You’re in a weird state of limbo, where you see each other often enough to be close, but never together outside of a group setting enough for it to be anything more than that. At the very least, you’re beyond that stage where you aren’t sure whether to refer to one another as “someone I know” as opposed to “my friend” when each other’s names come up in conversation.

 But it is enough, Yoongi thinks—hopes, too. You’re smart, and sweet, and convincing, and a hundred other traits that Yoongi adores, and he thinks that it’d be a goddamn fluke of nature if his parents end up not liking you. But then that’s just another reason for Yoongi to fall for you, another reason that he’ll never be able to get over you, even once this single fake date is over.

 His phone buzzes from his pocket.

 [4:56pm] y/n ☀️: on a scale of 1-10 how formal am i supposed to dress

[4:56pm] y/n ☀️: like from typical cute first date outfit to daisy buchanan status what do i wear

[4:58pm] yoongi: you are putting so much effort into this date i admire your grit but quite frankly im intimidated

[4:58pm] yoongi: if it helps tho im wearing a button up shirt and black jeans so like…. maybe three on your scale

[4:58pm] yoongi: nothing too much, yk

[4:59pm] y/n ☀️: i’m meeting your parents of course i have to put effort in :(

[4:59pm] y/n ☀️: oh for fucks sake yoongi thats practically a TEN i need to go change

You’re cute, he thinks. It’s something he’s always thought—even that day that you two met, despite the fact that the details are hazy and you barely spoke more than ten words to each other—but the thought crosses his mind more and more frequently the more you’re around.

 He can feel the anticipation rising in his throat as he makes the walk from his dorm building to yours. It rises and rises the closer he gets, like a tidal wave that’s building up to its crescendo before it crashes down. It’s not a bad metaphor to match his whole situation, actually. Part of him is afraid he might sweat through his dress shirt, even with the winter air that nips at his exposed skin in the slightest.

 And when you finally step out, he feels like all the air in his lungs is knocked out of him again. 

 “Hey Yoongi,” you breathe out.

 “Hi. You look—really nice, Y/N. You’re beautiful.” Your eyes shine like the moon.

 “Look!” You say excitedly. “The dress has pockets, too!” You stick your hands into said pockets as proof of their existence.

 “Hey—are you okay?” you ask, reaching up to straighten out the collar of his button-up shirt. The proximity makes him nauseous—in the best way possible, of course. “You look like a ghost. A cute ghost, don’t worry,” you add, noticing his sharp inhale. The reassurance doesn’t help.

 “Just nervous,” he mumbles when you pull away. 

 “Same,” you hum in agreement, but you slip your hand into his. You stay like that the entire walk from your dorm to the bus stop.

 “So what got you in this kind of situation in the first place? I mean, I know you lied to your parents, but like, why?” You tilt your head, and Yoongi finds the gesture uncharacteristically cute considering you were psychoanalyzing him in the back of a bus full of other people.

 Yoongi wets his lips. Why was he doing this?

 “You know what’s funny?” You nod but don’t offer more commentary, and so he continues. “Even though I made this whole plan out of spite for them, a small and incredibly horrible part of me knows that subconsciously, I’m also doing this to impress them.” It’s not funny at all, actually—he backtracks as he realizes what he’s saying is literally contradicting himself. “That doesn’t make any sense, huh?”

 “No, I definitely get that,” you say however, the intonation of your words expressing just how much of these double-standards were likely a solidarity among you two. 

 “Also my parents think I spend too much time with Seulgi and that’s why I can’t get a girlfriend.” 

 You both laugh at that. While both of you knew and were fond of Seulgi at her best, you’ve both also seen her at her worst. As in, her boldy arguing back with that professor who had disregarded her by way of a two-sentence-long email, or her never being shy of expressing how much she hates men. She wasn’t a bad person for these traits, of course, but those impressions that were given don’t quite rub parents as “oh yeah, I love that my child is constantly spending time with you. Come to dinner soon, okay?”.

 “So basically you did all this just so they wouldn’t nag you about it anymore?”

 “Essentially, yeah.”

 “It’s a very Yoongi thing to do. I like it.”

 “And what is that supposed to mean?” Yoongi asks with a raise of his eyebrows.

 You smile again, and Yoongi can feel his insides liquify like honey. “I dunno. Convoluted. Stubborn. Endearing. Seems like you, but you’re an enigma, Yoongi, so who knows.”

 And somehow, that answer is more than enough.

 The moment you’re in the restaurant, you’re hit with a whoosh of warm air, a stark contrast to that of the wind that billows throughout the streets. Revolving sushi bars are a good date location, Yoongi had been certain of that, but he doesn’t anticipate how crowded the restaurant would be. Luckily for him though, his parents were early, and it’s impossible not to spot them from their table as soon as you enter.

 “Oh my God, I’m so nervous.”

 Punctuating your words, you reach out and grab his hand in yours. Well now he’s nervous too, just for a completely different reason.

 Yoongi waits with bated breath as his mother stares, like she’s looking for something in your face. Like there’s something about you that bleeds familiarity. She doesn’t say a word. 

 Then, you extend your hand. “Hi, I’m—”

 “Y/N,” she finishes for you, rejecting your handshake in favor of pulling you into a taut hug. “It’s been quite a while, no? I’m a little surprised that we haven’t done this sooner, considering we’ve met before.” Her statement is simple, polite, and delivered with a smile, yet was so goddamn nerve-wracking to be in conversation with, which honestly wasn’t anything out of the ordinary when it came to his mother. 

 Even you look stunned at her announcement. “W-we have?” You pass a side glance to Yoongi, barely lasting two-fifteenths of a second because you don’t want his mother to think that even you had forgotten something that she apparently kept stored in her memory after all this time. That doesn’t make for a very good first impression. “Oh, that’s right! The family weekend during freshman year!” 

 Yoongi has no idea what either of you are talking about. Again, asking him to reach back through four years of memory was like asking him to find an origami crane inside a ten-story building full of shredded paper.

 “Yep.” You look to Yoongi once you’ve shaken hands with his father. “When they were looking for your dorm, they ran into Seulgi and me and asked for directions.”

 “Doesn’t surprise me that you met through Seulgi,” his dad starts as he pulls out the chair to sit down. “She’s quite the social butterfly, that girl.” Understatement of the century.

 “We didn’t actually!” you say, and even Yoongi’s a little caught off guard. “We met at orientation, then we just kind of kept in contact after that. Seulgi being my roommate just meant that we saw each other more often, and we shared mostly the same friends. We’ve been friends for so long, ending up where we are today seemed like it was impossible all these years.”

 It’s ridiculous how everything that’s being said is made up on the fly, yet somehow rings truth in it. It’s ridiculous—especially the way that all of it is true, save for the actual dating part, and it seems entirely plausible. It makes Yoongi wonder if alternate universe him ends up in this exact place too, just under different circumstances. If this was meant to be, if his own stupidity actually led him to his fate.

 His mother nods. “Ah, friends first, relationship later. The best ones always start out that way.” You squeeze Yoongi’s hand under the table.

 The rest of dinner runs fairly smoothly. His parents ask the typical questions that are to be expected when meeting The New Girlfriend—your major, future goals, how you started dating, things about your family.—you and him make shitty jokes, you all eat. You answer all of their questions easily, and it’s a wonder that you’re not even dating anyone for real. You’re awfully good at this. Yoongi thinks that he’ll have to ask about that sometime.

 It’s all going surprisingly perfect. That is, until his mother throws a curveball into the conversation:

 “You should definitely come home with Yoongi to visit during break!” What.

 Either his mother really liked you, or the universe fucking hated his guts and wanted to prolong this fake dating thing as long as possible, just to see how much spicier that Yoongi’s life could get before he implodes. Maybe it was both.

 He really isn’t expecting you to agree—after all, you had family to visit too, and surely you’d rather spend your break doing anything other than spending it with him and his family, right? 

 “I’d love to.” Uh.

 Yoongi is a little concerned with your seeming enthusiasm to save his ass from family embarrassment. Maybe you were just really good at pretending (a better liar than Yoongi himself, not that there was much of a comparison there). Or maybe you’re playing up the excitement as a front, only for you to shut it down once you and him are alone, and he can give his parents some cheap excuse and it’ll be over. Yoongi doesn’t like that thought much either. 

 He manages to stop himself before he dwells on the unforeseen third possibility, the one where you like him just as much as he does you, and this whole thing was just an excuse to bring the two of you closer—you know, the most unrealistic of the three.

 “You have to meet our other kids too—they’re absolute angels, unlike Yoongi here.” Yoongi can’t even get offended because he knows that his mother uses a plethora of words to describe his siblings, but “angels” was nowhere near one of them. He tries and fails to suppress a laugh.

 “I wouldn’t doubt it,” you laugh along, and the adoring glance you pass to Yoongi beside you nearly makes his heart stop from how real it looks. “Yoongi’s a real pain in the butt.”

 His parents laugh, and it’s almost too much how well you seem to fit in with his family. In a perfect world, this would be his reality. Where you love him and he loves you, and his parents don’t hate you the way they seem to hate every decision that Yoongi makes for himself. 

 Yoongi picks up the tab at the end of the night. When his parents wave him and you goodbye at the bus stop when the bus arrives, Yoongi can’t help but feel like this entire night was a dream. 

 “Well,” you start with a laugh once you’ve taken your seats. “That was fun.”

 “Yeah.” He has to agree. He had almost forgotten why he’d been so nervous in the first place. It felt so natural, being there with you.

 You rest your head on his shoulder for the rest of the bus ride. Friends do that, right? 

“Hey Y/N?” he asks, stopping you in your tracks, just before you go into your building.

 “Hm?”

 “Were you serious? About the spring break thing?”

 “Of course I was.” Your reply is firm, but not in an offended or indignant manner. Like you’re simply stating a fact. “I wouldn’t have said so if I wasn’t, would I?”

 Yoongi releases a breath he hadn’t known that he had been holding. Relief washes over him. “Why? Was that not okay?” you question, now looking a little worried.

 “Of course it’s okay,” Yoongi reassures. “I just figured that you probably had family to visit too, or you already had plans. It’s really not too big of a deal if you can’t go. Makes it easier to pretend we ended the relationship too.”

 “Ah, I guess,” you reply, and there’s a detectable amount of reluctance in your voice. “I didn’t have plans for break anyways though, so that wasn’t an issue at all. It’s my parents’ anniversary that week too, so they’re probably gonna be vacationing somewhere without me. So yeah. Not a big deal.”

 It’s the exact opposite of not a big deal. “Dude, I owe you for this. So much.”

 “Nah,” you say. “Unless you’re willing to buy me the new Animal Crossing game, because if so, I won’t be opposed to that.”

 Yoongi laughs at that, but he makes a mental note. “Deal.”

 “So… see you in two weeks,” you say, a smile still prominent across your cheeks. You raise an eyebrow. “Or maybe sooner than that?”

 It’s not a rhetorical statement. It’s a question, like it’s something that you want, something that you hope is going to happen. Oh, how he wants to kiss you right now. But he doesn’t, and instead he watches as you swipe your keycard for entrance to your dorm, and turn back to offer him a small wave to bid him goodnight.

Two weeks can feel like no time at all, or eons and then some, depending on how you look at it. Like if you have two weeks left before a scholarship application is due, it feels like you’ve got until the end of time, whereas if you have two weeks on a vacation, it would feel more like it lasts longer than a single blink of your eyes.

 But this, this painful waiting between Yoongi’s next fake dating endeavor with you, feels like it belongs on an entirely different scale of its own.

 You haven’t replied to his text. In fact, you haven’t even looked at it, even though it's been well over two days since they were sent. And like the dwelling and self-destructive creature he is, Yoongi rereads his message again and again, like he has the power to rearrange the words he had sent simply by staring at them. 

 [10:03pm] yoongi: hey thanks for coming with me again tonight :) you’re the bee’s knees

[10:03pm] yoongi: pretty sure my parents love you more than they love me lmfao

 Really? Did he really call you the bee’s knees? No wonder you were ghosting him, goddamnit.

 But when two days go by without a single word from you, not just to Yoongi himself but to all of your mutual friends as well, Yoongi’s worry begins to kick in. What if you had some sort of family emergency? Or if you got kidnapped or something when you went for a walk?

 “Is Y/N doing okay?” Yoongi says, skipping over even saying hello as soon as Seulgi picks up the call. He’s already begun chewing on his nail as he speaks, a horrible nervous habit that he promises himself again and again that he’ll break every time the new year rolls around, but never lasts longer than a week or two before picking it back up again.

 “...Yeah, she’s fine,” Seulgi assures, albeit the pause she takes before speaking doesn’t offer much reassurance. “She’s just been a little sick with food poisoning the past couple days and been throwing up nonstop, but yeah! Totally fine in the Kang-slash-Y/L/N residence!” He can practically feel the grimace in Seulgi’s tone, implying that she was not, in fact, totally fine and she was undoubtedly the person who has had to deal with a sick Y/N for the past two days.

 “Oh shit,” he mutters. 

 “Oh here she comes!—Hey Y/N, honey, do you wanna talk to Yoongi? He’s on the phone right now.”

 “You don’t have to do that—” He begins. There’s a muffled screech of protest through the phone and static shuffling before you’re suddenly on the other end of the line. Then, there’s your voice. “Hi Yoongi.”

 “Hey.” It’s silent for what feels like forever. “You doing okay?”

 “Peachy,” you say. There’s another prolonged awkward silence. “Sorry about not responding to your messages.”

 “‘S fine. Texts aren’t as important as your health is,” he replies softly. “Do you need me to bring anything? I was thinking of coming over in a little bit in case you guys did.”

 “Oh my God, please don’t. We’re fine and thank you for offering, but I look like absolute shit. I’m gonna be embarrassed, even if you already know how bad it is. And I’m gross.” Yoongi laughs, and just like that, the tension in the room—or rather, through the landline—is gone. 

 “Got it,” he says, fondness coloring his voice as he moves to recline back onto his bed. He sinks into the duvet. He feels warm, both inside and out. “I’ll stay right here at home, I promise.” 

 Yoongi thinks he’d be willing to make you a thousand promises over and over if he gets to hear your laugh as soft and sweet as it is right now.

 “We shouldn’t have gone to that sushi restaurant,” you muse.

 “My fault for suggesting it,” Yoongi all but groans. “You should’ve picked the restaurant.”

 “Guess that means we’ll have to try that again, huh?” You ask, and there’s a hint in your voice that tells Yoongi that the that that you are implying was probably not having dinner with his parents again. But he doesn’t assume, because the last thing he wants is to cause a fracture in this thing—this developing friendship—that’s slowly but surely budding between you two.

 So instead, he takes the cynical route. “What, meeting my parents again? Hate to break it to you, but first impressions only happen once.”

 And you, being you, take the opportunity to spell it out for him, albeit there’s a huff in your voice at his sarcasm. “No. Dinner. You ‘n me.”

 “Yeah?” He asks, less for confirmation than it is out of surprise. “Where at?”

 “Not sure,” you contemplate. Yoongi can hear you shifting around on the other end of the line, and he wonders if you’re settling down into bed the same way he is. He wonders if you’re as comfortable as he is right now. “We’ll figure it out.” Those

 “On a scale of one to ten how formal am I supposed to dress?” Yoongi teases, the grin on his face so wide that his cheeks ache a little bit. He can’t help it though, not when it’s damn near impossible to be in your presence and not smile.

 “Oh my God, shut up.” 

 “Okay, okay,” Yoongi laughs. “How about we both just show up in pajamas instead?”

 “Not a bad idea,” you concede. Then, “Oh shit, Seulgi’s phone is about to die. See you soon.” Yoongi feels a pang of disappointment at your sudden need to depart. You also have a habit of saying that instead of a goodbye, Yoongi notices. “Promise?”

 “I promise,” he assures, and again, you could probably ask him for a piece of the sky and he’d promise you that he’d have it in an hour. He supposes that Seulgi and Jimin were right—he was whipped.

 There’s this adoring little grin playing out on his face that Yoongi knows you can’t see. Part of him wishes you could. “See you next time.”

Next time comes sooner than expected. It comes exactly four days later, in the form of dinner at some hole-in-the-wall Thai restaurant past midnight that you told him that you’ve always loved going to since you were younger. There’s no button-up shirts, no dresses with pockets, no parents. In fact, you both show up in pajamas, true to Yoongi’s snarky comment. 

 (He had been dressed in nice-but-standard datewear, but you promptly forced him to change when he was greeted with the sight of you wearing Apeach pajamas when he picked you up from your dorm. “Nobody’s gonna care,” you assured him with a roll of your eyes as you pushed him back into his room. “It’s half past midnight and I know the family that owns the restaurant.”)

 So there was that. As promised, there was good food, and Yoongi’s pretty sure he hasn’t laughed that hard with someone in an awfully long time. He likes spending time with you, he comes to realize, and in the back of his mind he wonders why you and him didn’t do this more often—just two friends and nothing more, just killing time together for the hell of it. You still give him butterflies like hell, but those nerves that prevented him from talking to you are now recycled into longing enthusiasm to be around you.

 There was a brief moment where the owner—an older woman who you had referred to as your auntie (re: a somewhat-familiar friend of your parents) for the entirety of the night—had asked if you two were dating when she came by to refill your water cups. You had both exchanged an uncertain glance with one another, but in the end, you had refuted her claim. It’s nothing if not the truth, but there’s a pang of disappointment that finds its way up Yoongi’s throat when you say it. Nope, just friends.

 She looks skeptical though, and she expresses as much with what she says next: “You kids nowadays don’t pay much attention to detail, do you?”

 And that was that. Neither of you mention it again.

 But here you are again, together, this time in the comfort of your dorm room.

 You insisted he come over to help you pack—after all you’re leaving tomorrow morning. And like the lovesick fool he is, he can’t ever say no to you. When he arrives, Seulgi leaves, but not before shooting him a wink and stating “Don’t do anything I would or wouldn’t do!”. You usher her out of the door faster, looking flustered.

 “Isn’t the weather supposed to be gloomy for all of next week?” You ask, hands on your hips as you look at the crammed wardrobe unit with a concentrated stare. There’s an awful lot of clothes in it, both yours and Seulgi’s, but Yoongi doesn’t comment on the mess.

 He pulls up the weather app on his own phone. “Nope, it’s supposed to clear up after Saturday.”

 At his okay, you pump your fist slightly in triumph. You lay out your outfits on the bed carefully, right next to where Yoongi sits. “What if your siblings hate me?” You wonder aloud, but there’s a hint of insecurity in your tone.

 Yoongi shuts it down. “I promise you they won’t. Namjoon’s too occupied playing Pokemon Go all the damn time, and Ryujin—she’s funny and she loves rom-com K-dramas a little too much, but she’s probably the only tolerable high schooler that you’ll ever meet.”

 You sit down beside him. “You’re close with them,” you conclude. “That’s cute.”

 “I guess you could say that.” Yoongi rubs at the back of his neck. “I mean, the last time I’ve talked to either of them was nearly a month ago on my birthday, except for Namjoon sending me TikTok videos he thinks are funny every other day.”

 “At least you have that,” you laugh, and yeah, Yoongi supposes that you’re right. “You’re the oldest, right?”

 “Only by a couple years.”

 “I bet they look up to you a lot though,” you muse. 

 “Probably not,” he snorts. “I’m, like, the antithesis of who they should be. But I’m glad that I have them around.” You nod in keen understanding.

 Yoongi’s also glad that he has you. At the very least, until next time.

#networkbangtan #hyunglinenetwork #armyofwriters #bangtanarmynet #btsghostie #btswritingcafe #minthlynet #btswriterscollective #btsprotectnet #magicshopnet #ficswithluv #yoongi x reader #yoongi x you #yoongi fluff #yoongi angst #bts x reader #bts x you #bts fluff #bts angst #bts fanfiction #bts fic #yoongi fanfiction #yoongi fic #yoongi au #bts au #fic: maybe so #i cant believe i thought i could finish this fic in less than 10k im a joke

[minlucent]

standard exploit (m)

➾ pairing: reader x kim taehyung

➾ word count: 2.7k

➾ genre:  smut, pwp but what’s new tbh, ceo’s son!au

➾ warnings: explicit sex, choking (breath play), degradation, fingering, overstimulation, unprotected sex, dirty talk, mild drinking of alcohol,

➾ summary: your plan to get info on the scandal surrounding a big company goes differently than planned when you meet the ceo’s son

➾ a/n: um this fic got deleted for some reason so im reposting!! pls don’t let this flop my dudes // side note: i in no way am trying to say that journalists sleep with who they are reporting on to get information,, I am sure they are all hard-working individuals who are respectful and considerate. This is just my mind being dirty and looking for anything to make even the slightest bit of a plotline

You pretty much had one goal in mind; get the information you came for and get out of there; as a journalist, you didn’t want anyone to know your approach and get the information before you. You didn’t want to come off as a scouter for information, because Mr. Kim, who was celebrating the 10th anniversary of his company tonight, would obviously not tell you anything.  If you acted innocent, like you were just at the grand ballroom of his mansion for a good time, he wouldn’t think twice about opening his mouth and spilling what you so desperately needed.  

Your editor was keen on you getting this information but wasn’t as excited about the methods you planned on using to get it. You had been working as partners for years, and he knew your ways, but although he knew that ethically, it wasn’t professional, it got the job done. He often just turns a blind eye at how you get the information from the source. After all, that’s why your organization is the most renowned in news; you break the stories that need to be told. With the flow of your words, you made empires and monopolies fall, just because you understood how men in power worked.  

The dress code was simple: formal, but professional. You put on a simple, pretty black dress that was short but long enough to leave some to the imagination, high black pumps and some pretty red lingerie.  To top off the sultry look you were going for, you painted on a deep, blood-red liquid lip, as you peered in your bathroom mirror, blotting your lips with a tissue, you decide to make things a little risky for the night.  Maybe you should forego the bra today.

You had a professional invite to the event, due to your position at the notable newspaper. You entered the elegant ballroom, lavishly decorated, and began to blend into the crowd. Men in charge of multi-billion dollar companies are easy to seduce, and you knew that you could easily get the information you needed with the bat of your eyes.

You spotted the CEO, Mr. Kim, talking a young man, who was looking rather bored you might add, that you’ve never seen before. He was stunning, with perfect facial features and a great build. Perhaps rather than getting what you need from a middle-aged man, you could get to know the handsome man better. Killing two birds with one stone.

Perhaps you were staring, because he suddenly turned away from the conversation with the CEO and locked eyes with you. You immediately looked away, cursing to yourself as you didn’t want to seem too obvious in your intentions.

You made your way to an empty standing table and looked back to see the same man walking towards you, two glasses of champagne in hand.

“No bra? Not very professional if you ask me.”

You looked down, shocked that he could tell so easily, but once you saw your nipples were hard and visible under the dark dress, you shook your head, laughing at yourself. “Formal dresses these days make it difficult to wear a bra with them,” was all you responded.  

“Fair enough. I’m not complaining.” He held one glass of champagne out for you as he began to sip on the other, but you took the one that was against his mouth for yourself. He raised an eyebrow at you, “The other one wasn’t drugged, I promise. I’m Taehyung by the way.”

“A woman can never be too safe,” you shrugged. “I’m Y/N; nice to meet you. So, I saw you talking to Mr. Kim, the man of the night.”

“Ugh, don’t praise him like that. My father is not half the man the media builds him up to me.”

His father is Mr. Kim? You knew he had a son your age but you didn’t expect him to be this handsome. However, thinking about it, they do have similar features.  There are many striking similarities.

You tried to hide your excitement; this is exactly what you wanted. “Not a very proud son, huh?”

“That’s one way to look at it,” he shook his head. “I should probably stay quiet about it though, or else I’ll get banned from coming to events like these. I can’t miss out on the drinks.” He downed half the glass. “No, but really, I’m only here for him to look like a wholesome family man, nothing else.”

You were slightly shocked how easily he was spilling his opinion on his father. Was he already drunk? You really didn’t expect things to go this easily.

You were pulled from your thoughts when he cleared his throat. “Don’t act so innocent. I know who you are and what you do.” You widened your eyes, slightly taken aback. You opened your mouth to defend yourself when he spoke again. “You’re Y/N Y/L/N. You flirt and seduce men to get them to spill information about their companies and end up destroying their career, but I seem to be the only person who knows that. Or, people don’t want to admit they so easily fell for your feminine wiles and told you everything you needed to know.” You felt your face get red and look away. You feel his hand on your jaw, making you look directly at him.

“Don’t worry. I’m not judging. In fact, I would love it if you would get your latest story about my father by working with me,” he raised his eyebrows and smirked at you, accentuating the word, giving it a double meaning.  

You grinned up at him. “Oh really? You know, once I publish the story, his career will be ruined. I’m able to do that easily. My name is very reputable. And I’m sure I can do more than just work with you,” you teased back.

“I know. I don’t approve of his methods. The way he profits off of others is despicable. He’s rude and inconsiderate towards anyone who he sees as below him; I’ve tried to get him to step down countless times.” His hand trailed up your arm, “And this way, I get to spend a night with a gorgeous woman and expose how he cheats all of his clients and workers without getting my hands dirty. As long as you don’t mention my name in the article, I’d say we have a pretty good deal; I saw the way you were staring at me. I’m sure you want me to have my way with you, don’t you?”

“You read my mind. But, I think we can save the business side of things for tomorrow, what do you say?”

His hand, firmly planted on the small of your back, led you up the stairs and through a long hallway. No words were spoken as he led you to the room at the end of the hall; you don’t wait more than a second before you turned on the lights and put your hands on his collar and are pulling him towards you. His large hands grope your ass and he backs you into the room until your legs hit the bed and you fall back. You grin up at his figure standing above you as his hands roam your body; slowly, his lips are lowered to yours as he wraps his arms around your waist. Taehyung has one hand grasping your waist while the other slowly moves up to your chest, to your throat.

He only touches the skin lightly, let you moan and reach for his wrist; covering his fingers with yours, you squeeze his hand over your throat as you gasp, “Choke me.”

He curses as he does as you ask, closing his fingers around your throat while he pushes up the skirt of your dress. “Tsk, tsk. You’ve soaked yourself, huh? You’re a little whore aren’t you?” He doesn’t expect an answer as he takes two fingers from his free hand and rubs the wet spot on your soiled panties. You whimper as he plunges his fingers basically inside of you while ruining your fine lace lingerie. You feel your hips rut up against his fingers, but he stands in between your legs and presses his thighs into yours, keeping you pinned to the bed.  

You feel the desperate need to have his fingers inside of you and without words, you are begging him to take off your panties and finger fuck you mercilessly. Your eyes meet with his and you just know he can see the desperation in your eyes; with you rutting your hips up, trying to get any sort of friction, he smirks down at you.

“Such a needy little slut. But don’t worry, I’ll give you what you want,” he leaned down to press his lips onto yours, sliding his tongue between his lips as his hand pulled the panties down your legs. You felt one finger probe at your core, swirling around to gather your wetness; he applied just enough pressure to get you going without any relief.

You whimpered into his mouth as he dipped the tip of his finger inside you. You tried to rut up into his hand to get more of his finger but he held you down. He broke the kiss, “Be patient baby… I don’t want to rush this. I want to have you under me for as long as possible.” You frowned up at him but you were obedient in his wishes, doing just what he wanted to please him. “That’s my good girl,” he smirked as his eyes bore into yours.

He pushed his finger into you completely and massaged your walls, making you groan in pleasure. “Such a good fucking girl,” he murmured as he slipped another finger in.

“Oh, fuck!” You gasped out and sat up straight on the bed from the sudden rush of pleasure as his fingers pounded into you. You felt yourself getting wetter and wetter with each flick of his wrist, your pussy getting warmer and more swollen by the second.

“You like that? You like when my fingers fill up your cunt?” All you could do was nod as you pulled his face to yours and kissed him. He grinned down at you as he pulled away, making you whine. “I wanna hear you say it.”

“I love it, I love it when you fuck my pussy with your fingers. Please, don’t stop.”

“That’s what I like to hear,” he smirked at you as he slowed down his pace, looking for your g spot. When your hips twitch up, he knows he found it. He focused on that one spot and kept thrusting into it.

You felt the heat build up in your stomach and you knew you were getting close. You felt the hand that was placed on your hip move down to your clit, which he began to rub in slow circles, making you cum immediately. Your legs began to shake as you arched your back, cumming on his fingers.  

“Mmm, Taehyung, fuck. You make me feel so good.” You pulled away from his fingers and sat up on the bed, scooting back to have your back against the headboard.  “I want my pussy to be overflowing with your cum.” You spread your legs wide for him, giving him the perfect view of your pussy.

“So needy,” Taehyung chuckled, undoing his dress pants and stripping naked in front of you. His hard cock was gigantic, up against his abs as you could visibly see two huge veins go along the length. You licked your licks and took the same opportunity to pull your dress over your head and toss it into the pile of clothes.

He crawled onto the bed and spit onto your sopping cunt, making your pussy even more wet.  He began to position himself in front of your entrance before slowly beginning to push into you.  You gasp as you feel his dick sink into you. The head of his cock stretched you deliciously, then the rest of his length sank into you slowly.  It was when he was halfway in that you began to feel the marvelous burn as his long and thick cock stretched your walls.

He feels you tense up as he gets deeper; you weren’t expecting him to be that big.  “Hmm, you’re doing so well baby girl, taking my cock perfectly. You’re so wet, I’m sliding right in. That’s it.”

Once he bottomed out your felt your muscles relax, as his hips pressed into yours, his cock buried deep into your womb. You don’t think you’ve felt anything so deep before. Taehyung let out a groan as your walls squeezed around him.  

Taehyung pulled back almost completely until just the head of his dick was still inside you. He slammed into you, his hips snapping roughly until he was balls deep. You whimpered at the sharpness of his thrust, but that didn’t stop him. He continued pounding into you, pulling out most of the way before ramming back in. You were glad that you were flat on your back because there was no way your arms or legs could support his harsh actions.  

“Mm, fuck, I’m so deep. You feel so good. My little cockslut,” his sentences were short and gruff as he didn’t let up on his pace. “Such a good whore,” he growls as his tightened his grip on your waist.

“Your sopping cunt is still so tight, fuck.” He places his hand on your stomach where he sees this cock bulging, “You can barely handle me. If I go any harder I might tear you in half.”

“I can take whatever you give me,” you mutter, but barely able to open your eyes due to the amount of pleasure you are receiving.

“I doubt that baby. You can barely breathe correctly,” Taehyung pants, ramming into you, “I’ll fuck you so, so good baby.  You’re gonna cum and soak my dick like a needy bitch.”

“Yes, please use me, oh my god,” your eyes are squeezed shut, your voice rising in volume as you feel your orgasm approaching.

“Hm, you like being used? Like a bitch in heat?”

“Yes, please fuck me, I’m so close. Please, don’t stop,” you beg, trying to focus on the way his cock feels inside of you, brushing against your g spot.  

Taehyung didn’t need to be told twice, as his hand moved down to your clit, rubbing in so perfectly that you were sobbing. “That’s right, cum all over my cock. Let everyone downstairs know who is fucking you, who’s cockslut you are,” he was commanding as his hips rammed into yours deliberately rough to match his words.

You felt the pleasure in your stomach boil over, as the most powerful orgasm you’ve ever felt washed over your whole body. You’re in complete bliss until you feel Taehyung going even harder, continuing to thrust into you and rub your clit.

You whine, feeling tears form, “I’m too sensitive. I can’t.”

“You can and you will.” His lips lowered to your ear, “You feel so good cumming on my cock, I want you to milk my dick until you’re sobbing like the cockslut you are. Can you cum again baby girl? For me?”

The only thing you can do is nod, letting him pound into you and rub your swollen clit until you let the overstimulation turn into another orgasm, cumming for him the third time of the night. You’re exhausted, just laying there and letting him use your body as a fuck toy to get off as he continues to slam into you.

“God, you’re such a good fucking girl, letting me use you how I want. You must love this cock,” he finally cums inside of your pussy, filling you to the brim. “What do you say we go back downstairs and let this cum drip out of you? Let everyone know who claimed you?”

The man barely gave you a minute to rest before he got dressed and put your panties in the back on his dress pants. “We should go down before my father realizes I’m missing. Let’s round two after the banquet.” You grinned at him as he helped you get dressed and led you downstairs, where someone will definitely see cum dripping down your leg.

#btssmutclub #armyofwriters #bangtanarmynet #ktaenet #ipurpleunet #bts #bts x reader #reader x bts #bts fanfic #bts smut #bts au #bts scenario #bts reactions #taehyung x reader #reader x taehyung #taehyung fanfic #taehyung smut #taehyung au #taehyung scenario #taehyung reactions #bts v #v x reader #reader x v #v fanfic #v smut #v au #v scenario #v reactions #masterlist

[hippo-euphoria]

“courant”

chapter 1: I

- #vmin (with a twist), #yoonkook

- 5.2k

- Jeongguk, a journalism student fresh out of university, drunkenly applies for his dream job.

- ao3: https:// archiveofourown .org/works/26059198/chapters/63376027

#bts #armyofwriters #bangtan #yoonkook #vmin #journalist au

[plumblackjeon]

Ares (Pt. 1)

boxer!Jungkook x Reader Genre: Smut/Angst Word Count: 5004 Warnings: 18+ Perverse sex, drug use, minor character death, stripping, prostitution (for now)

Jungkook is from a poor, working-class family. He is the best boxer in their little town. This story explores his life - hardships, love, hate, sex, death, and all the vices life has to offer. 

Just so there’s no confusion, this story is inspired by my own fic from ao3. Also, please let me know what you think - your feedback is really important to me!

A too familiar morning.

He is out before 6 AM and it’s too cold for his denim jacket to keep him warm. He frowns in the cold air, letting out a shaky breath, as his bag keeps sliding off of his shoulder. The sky is really dark today, completely covered by the huge black clouds, which will surely bring rain later during the day.

It’s so quiet, that the only thing he hears is the slight rustling of the leaves, being carried away by the autumn wind. As he nears the gymnasium, he sees a flock of birds flying over the old building. A couple of steps more and he’ll finally feel warm – after he pushes the hard entrance doors. As soon as they close behind him, the loud sounds of the birds disappear – and he doesn’t even know that this is the last time he’ll hear them.

He inhales the all too familiar smell – the smell of an early morning, the smell of rubber mats they train on, the smell of freshly greased training equipment.

 And this is what he lives for.

 His shoes are too tight and worn out, but his mother won’t afford a new pair any time soon.

He is here before the other guys, and his workout doesn’t stop until his entire body is covered in sweat. When he finishes, he still has 20 minutes before the training starts. The lights are still off and the color of the trees is accentuated by the gloomy weather, illuminating the entire hall with a greenish blue light.

 A muffled melody breaks the silence and he searches through his bag to find his phone. The corner of his lips turns upwards before he even opens the message. And there, on the broken display, is a “I wasn’t able to fall asleep when you left...” and a video.

 His footsteps are echoing through the hall as he walks towards the bathroom stalls, holding the phone in his hand and waiting for the video to download. He throws his bag onto the pale blue tiles and enters one of the stalls. The video finally downloads and he presses play.

Jungkook instantly recognizes his silver necklace, hitting him in the chest, as he thrusts at a fast pace – his forearms bulging in the video, as he focuses on holding himself up. Shy whimpers can be heard behind the camera, together with the squeaking bed and ragged breathing. “You like that? Like when I fuck you like that, huh?” He was barely able to finish the sentence, breathing hard in between each word – his voice always stern and rough when he fucks.

He replays the video one more time, precome oozing out of his tip, when he receives another message. He downloads the second video, and plays it after a couple of seconds.

He squeezes his cock over the thick material of his tracksuit, biting into his lip at the feeling and slightly groaning in frustration – he still has about 15 minutes before the training starts – but the smash of the heavy entrance doors closing brings him back to reality and he turns off his phone.

It’s the coach – he always comes here before the other guys, just to set up everything for the training. Jungkook exits the bathroom and walks towards the main hall.

“Did you have a good warm-up,” the coach asks Jungkook, throwing the heavy bags he was carrying onto the rubber mats.

Jungkook looks at him, still breathing hard from his workout and he replies, “not bad.”

That’s the only thing he says – he doesn’t even shrug. There’s no unnecessary body movement when he speaks. His answers are very concise – straight to the point. He doesn’t smile just to make the other person feel more comfortable. He doesn’t ask meaningless questions just for the sake of being polite, like “How have you been? How was your day? I heard you transferred to a new company, how do you like it there?” He doesn’t ask if he’s not genuinely interested – he doesn’t pretend. And he doesn’t understand why other people do that.

His short answer makes the coach feel a little bit uncomfortable, and so he asks another question under pressure, just to break the nerve-racking silence, “How’s everything at home?”

This time, Jungkook actually shrugs, because the situation at home has never been worse, and so he needs a little bit of time to come up with a lie, “fine,” he frowns a bit, his lips curving downwards and he shrugs again, “the usual.”

The coach looks at him, with some suspicion, but decides against prying any further, and so he starts talking about boxing, “so, we’re starting 1 on 1 training tomorrow, and I want you to be here at 5 am. We’re aiming for the finals now, because you’re the only one who can actually do it… But there is absolutely no room for error now.” He looks at Jungkook with a somewhat stern look on his face, hoping that his words affected Jungkook in some way.

Jungkook just nods.

“Jungkook, I hope you realize how serious this is. Not only for the club and your boxing ambitions, but…” he hesitates a bit, but decides to continue “you can finally get that money for your brother.”

“I know,” Jungkook says, nodding a few more times, with a reassuring look in his eyes.  

 Minutes pass by and the other guys start arriving one by one, and when their cheap plastic clock on the right wall shows 7 O’clock, the actual training starts. Sounds of bare feet tapping across the room can be heard throughout the hall, strong masculine bodies hitting the mats – competitive young men and excess testosterone.

Time goes by fast when he’s here and he feels dread when the training is over, because he has to go back home. After he exits the gymnasium, and the hard doors close behind him, another painful day starts.

He walks back home – the wind has started blowing harder than when he first got out of the house this morning – he rubs his hands over his arms, in hopes of heating them up a bit, but the worn out denim just hurts the blisters on the pads of his fingers. Luckily, he has less than ten minutes until he gets home.

He walks through the inner courtyard of the building complex he lives in, which looks more like a park – just a lot of greenery and benches with interlocked buildings creating a sort of concrete maze around it.

The entire neighborhood is old and most of the buildings are in bad condition. They’ve turned grey from all the smog, and almost all the glass on the front doors is broken and covered in graffiti. The buildings were built specifically for the working class, back in the 80s – some of them are square shaped, some L-shaped and there are also five solitaires in the middle, which everyone calls the white angels. Jungkook lives in one of them.

 When he gets home, Taehyung is there, waiting for him in his room – his dad must have let him in. “Why aren’t you answering your phone? I’ve been...” Taehyung motions with his hand, as he struggles to finish the sentence, and he looks almost angry because his mind isn’t working. “I’ve been…” his eyes are half-closed, and he probably doesn’t realize how slow his movements are and how much he is slurring his words.

Jugnkook can already tell what’s going on, so he doesn’t say a word, he just keeps looking at Taehyung, with a stern look on his face – because he’s fed up with this, he’s fed up with Taehyung’s shit. Mostly because he doesn’t know how to deal with this, he can’t get through to him, Taehyung dismisses everything he says and the frustration in Jungkook just keeps building up, because he feels so fucking helpless.

And so he almost yells at Taehyung, after too much time has passed, “you’ve been what?!”

“Calling you the entire morning!” Taehyung finally says, managing to raise up his voice a little – as if he has the right to be pissed – but he’s physically unable to yell.

“I had training,” Jungkook looks at him, anger starting to build up in him even more now, “I’ve had training every morning for the past three years.” His tone is painful for Taehyung. “Are you on heroin again, Taehyung?”

Taehyung frowns, his nose scrunching – his expression full of rage “Fuck you,” he spits out, “I told you I tried that shit once man, ok?!”

There’s an awkward silence, but Jungkook doesn’t give into it, he just keeps staring at Taehyung. So naturally, Taehyung gives in, breaking under the pressure – especially since he’s desperately trying to defend himself.

“I forgot man... I’m just drunk… I didn’t really go home since last night.” He tries to sit on Jungkook’s bed, moving across the room painfully slowly, “anyways, I wanna sell my leather jacket, so, like, I wonder if..” he makes another unnecessary pause, breathing heavily, as if it’s physically hard for him to speak, “if like,” he raises his voice all of a sudden, “any of your guys from the gym are interested.. Soo, that you can... you know…” He looks at Jungkook, thinking that Jungkook understood everything, not realizing how confusing his sentences are.  “So, can you ask them? If they are?”  

Jungkook is sitting on the couch, right across from Taehyung.

“You look like a fucking junkie,” Jungkook almost hisses, with disgust written all over his face, “you can’t even speak.” He waits for a reaction, but it doesn’t come.

“Are you that fucking dumb? Did you really decide to be a heroin addict, who shits and pukes all over himself, because he’s so out of it? Is that it?” He waits again. “Why did you stop boxing? What, you don’t like it anymore? All of a sudden? Taehyung?!”

Taehyung looks so insulted, but at the same time, he can’t do anything about it, because just trying to focus on Jungkook takes so much energy and concentration. He’s trying so hard to keep his body still and not fall down, but he doesn’t realize that his upper body is swaying from left to right, even though he’s sitting down. His breathing is so heavy and it is so painfully loud in the uncomfortable silence Jungkook has left them in.

“You wanna sell your favorite jacket?” Jungkook continues, “that’s your only jacket.” He waits for a response again. “Why do you need the money so bad?”

“Fuck you man.” Taehyung’s reply is filled with so much hate, that Jungkook was actually able to hear the sound of all the spit that has gathered in Taehyung’s mouth, as he was pronouncing that “F”.  Taehyung starts getting up, pulling up his pants, and slowly walking towards the door.

“Every time I come to you for a favor, you act like a fucking woman, nagging and talking shit all the time. When have you turned into this fucking savior, huh? Does it get you off? Huh?” He grabs the door handle, but looks at Jungkook, before he opens the door, “does this make you feel better, because you can’t help your brother?”

Jungkook just stares at him and Taehyung leaves.

The first few seconds, Jungkook actually feels the need to run after Taehyung and smash his skull. But then he suddenly comes to his senses, and he wonders – when has their friendship turned into this shit? Talking like they despise each other, frustration building up on both sides. He hates the way Taehyung talks to him, the way he’s treating him – who the fuck does he think he is?

Then, after he calms down a little, he actually starts thinking about this the right way. Jungkook is disgusted with himself for feeling impatient and inconvenienced – for feeling irritated by Taehyung – when instead, he should be helping Taehyung.

But he doesn’t know how.

 He has to take cold showers, because their electricity was turned off, for not paying the bills. His mom is out again, his dad is prostrated across the table – his brother long forgotten, as he continues to wither in his hospital bed.

******

 Jungkook skips over a puddle, it was raining hard tonight and it’s chilly outside. There’s no one on the street, he only hears his footsteps tapping across the wet concrete, as he heads towards the club. The air is fresh and the street lights are reflecting in the puddles – a scenario that he knows all too well. He’s already drunk, because alcohol is less expensive in the 7/11 than at the strip club, so he always drinks before he goes there.

He pays for sex – not because he has to, far from it, but because it excites him – it heightens the sexual experience

It’s also a subconscious thing – he feels “loved” here, he is every girl’s object of affection – he is everyone’s favorite. They care for him, nurture him, they heal his scars – both inside and out. He loves the delicate touches, how careful and tender girls are with him – after an entire day of being hit, he guesses that’s kind of normal.

But tonight’s a special night, because tonight he actually came here for someone.

 The bass is so loud that it almost hurts your ears, but you’ll get used to it soon. The music in the club is purposefully chosen in order to create a dark and exhilarating mood, which awakens all the beasts of the soul.

You’ve just exited the changing rooms, entering the main floor of the club, and after a minute of looking around the crowd, you recognize the guy from yesterday. At least you think it’s him, because you can only see his back.

But after a couple of seconds he turns around and now you’re sure it’s him, because of the nasty scar starting all the way from his mouth and spreading across his left cheek – in a way, distorting even the corner of his lips a little bit. You’ve heard of this before, supposedly, it’s caused by cutting the person from the corners of his lips, all the way to the ears, leaving a scar in the shape of a smile. But usually, it doesn’t look as severe as his, you’ve never seen a scar like that, and he only has it on one side of his face.

You’re so caught up in your thoughts that you don’t even realize he’s spotted you too, and now he’s walking towards you. You can’t help but smile a little when you see him, because you’re happy that he’s here for you.

He’s also smiling as he comes up to you, towering above you, because he’s so tall. You want to kiss him, but there’s no touching on the main floor, so you beckon him towards the back rooms – that’s what he’s here for, after all.

But his hand finds its way to your hair, his thumb caressing your cheek, as he smiles lovingly. But now dread is written across your face, because you know that your boss is there somewhere and that he’s gonna get so pissed off because Jungkook’s touching you in front of everyone. And sure enough, you can see him right behind Jungkook, walking towards you.

You try to prepare yourself, as you watch him come over, but as soon as he sees Jungkook, his eyes widen and he looks completely surprised – almost in awe. Jungkook looks at him once, but pays no further attention to him, and pulls you a bit closer.

“Jungkook, what a surprise! Would you, maybe, be interested in a private room?” You’ve never heard your boss be that polite to anyone, so you wonder – what is it about Jungkook that’s causing this special treatment?

Jungkook replies, but doesn’t even spare him a glance and just continues examining your face “yeah, we were just heading there.”

You enter the back rooms in silence – you’re already used to it. You both act like you know each other – as if you’re lovers, who have been separated against their will, and now you have reunited after a long time – you don’t say a word, but every move is filled with such intense emotions. You smile at each other, your kisses are desperate and passionate, but also intimate – he kisses your chest, your hands, your shoulders – and that’s unusual in a place like this.  

He pulls out his cellphone from his pocket and puts it on the small table.

He sits down onto the couch and god... his physical appearance is so divine – god-like. His shoulders are broad, but then his torso narrows down towards the waist, giving his silhouette a beautiful shape. The muscles on his arms are very prominent and are nicely accentuated by the black shirt he’s wearing. And then, your favorite part – his thighs are huge, the muscles large and sturdy, even more so because he’s sitting down. His legs are spread apart, inviting you to just sit in his lap.

You straddle him and decide to break the silence, “you came back,” you say.

His fingers are warming up on your thighs, the watch on his wrist ice-cold as it moves up your skirt. You put your hands around his neck and play with the ends of his tar-black hair there. He just nods as he starts breathing heavily.

“How was your day?” He says, cupping your cheek and you’re surprised at how gentle he is.

“Ok.. The usual.”

He pulls you in for a kiss and you start by kissing his bottom lip first – tasting the remaining alcohol – then you playfully lick his top lip a little bit, before he deepens the kiss. He starts squeezing you harder, encouraging you to grind your hips. He starts pushing his hips into you and can feel the outline of his hard cock.

His hand is in your hair again, guiding you in all the ways he wants, as he lowers down onto your neck, licking long stripes with the tip of his tongue. And you can’t believe that just kissing with him feels this good.  

He clashes your lips together, whimpering in frustration, as his thrusts become more desperate.

You press the palms of your hands down to his sturdy chest, touching him everywhere. Seeing the creases on his shirt blows your mind a little bit, because you didn’t realize you were pulling on it so hard. He takes his shirt off – which leaves him only with his silver necklace on – and you’re finally able to feel his beautiful skin.

You start licking into each other’s mouths again, but the sound of his phone ringing snaps you out of it. He stands up with you still in his lap – holding you by your thighs – he puts you down and walks over to the small table where his phone is.

And you realize that this is the first time you’ve seen his back, naked, because you had no idea that he has a tattoo. He has a traditional Japanese tiger, tattooed all over his back. “The tiger,” you think to yourself, “the sign that is feared – the one who represents strength and courage.”

You completely miss the conversation he was having on his phone, and before you know it, he’s back on the couch. He beckons you over and you sit next to him, with his arm wrapped around you.

It’s so weird, because you feel as if this is your living room and he is your husband – he doesn’t rush anything, he doesn’t want to fuck you straightaway – he’s fine with talking and kissing. But tonight you don’t want to talk, so you straddle him again.

He brings his hand to the nape of your neck, pulling you by the hair and tilting your head backwards. His other hand is on your back and so he’s basically pushing you down on his thighs – while you’re still straddling him – as he towers above you. He just looks at you for a couple of seconds and he kisses you hard, pushing his tongue deep into your mouth, letting out a loud exhale through his nose.

When he pulls you up again, you start grinding onto his hard cock, riling him up, his breathing becoming more ragged.

He pushes you off his lap and onto the floor – a loud thump breaking the silence – when your knees hit the wooden floor. His legs are spread apart, naked chest heaving, and you grabs his calves instantly, pulling yourself upwards, in between his legs.

His massive silver watch looks like a kind of restraint on him and you’re not sure why you like it so much – the fact that he’s naked and he’s only got these two pieces of jewelry on him.

He places his hand on the nape of your neck again, pulling you towards him, as he towers above you.  He pulls you towards his face – you flash him a smile and you open your mouth. He spits into your mouth, letting it dribble out slowly and pulls you in for a kiss.

You’re surprised when he pulls you into his lap again – you thought you were gonna suck him off first – but you learned yesterday that he can be a little bit impatient. He pulls out a condom from his pocket, unzips his jeans and takes out his cock without pulling his jeans down – not even a little bit – and you think to yourself that that’s pretty masochistic, because the metal zipper is pressed into his cock.

You hover above it and you slowly push it in. Your lips part as you do so, moaning when you completely sit down on his thighs, with his cock fully inside you.

You instinctively tighten around him and he groans, already feeling himself leaking into the condom. He starts slamming into you, your ass slapping against his thighs, as you hold onto his wide shoulders. You move your hands to the side of his face, caressing his cheeks, his jaw – just touching his face all over. Then down to his shoulders, his ribs, his abs – you can’t believe he’s real.

He slows down and just darts out his tongue, waiting for you to suck on it. You smile again, wrapping your lips around his tongue and pulling it into your mouth. You start kissing again, clenching every time he slams into you. He closes his eyes – can feel them rolling back into his head – as he nears his orgasm.

“Fuck me,” you barely manage to say, but he stops and pushes you down onto the leather couch, turning you around and pushing your face into it.

“Is this what you want?” That’s the only time he speaks, voice so deep from the alcohol and lack of sleep.

 He rubs the head of his cock over your clit, almost making you cum then and there. He pushes his head inside first and he’s balls-deep the next moment. He brings his hands down to your ass, parting your cheeks, as he looks down at his cock moving in and out. Jungkook places his hand on the back of your neck, holding you down, as he slams into you harder and harder.

You come in silence, your body completely paralyzed from how good it feels. And soon after, he comes, too.

After that, it’s like you’re in your room again. He lights up a cigarette, sitting on the couch with just his jeans on.

“I have this dream,” he starts speaking, “from time to time.” You’re right beside him, listening carefully. “Always the same dream,” he puts out his cigarette and pulls you into his lap. “I’m in a room with this woman and she’s feeding me butterfly wings.” He makes a pause. “I know it’s weird, but they taste nice – like the sweetest, most delicious candy you’ve ever tried.” You’re playing with his hair, as he tells you about his dream, and you listen to him carefully – you don’t know if you’re more mesmerized by him or by his dream.  

“But the wings are so thin and so delicate, that, as soon as she touches them, with the pad of her finger, they stick onto it. And I stick my tongue out,” you look him in the eyes, as he grabs your middle finger and brings it to his mouth, “and she puts them on my tongue.” And he sticks out his tongue, licking the pad of your finger. Shivers run down your spine and you think that you’re finally in love.

******

The crowd is so loud he feels like the entire arena is shaking from their chants. He’s never been in a match this big. They have about ten minutes before they go out, he’s jumping around a bit, warming up, before his coach comes up to him with boxing wraps that he has to put on his hands.

He’s not nervous, he was never the type to feel anxious before something so important and he doesn’t even know how lucky he is because of it. He was born like that and he never had to think about how other people struggle because of psychological pressure.

The coach is saying some words of encouragement as he’s wrapping his hands, even though there’s absolutely no need for that and he knows it. Everyone from his gym is there to support him and in a way he feels happy, because they’re starting to look like a proper team, ready to take on the world.

This is as big as it’ll ever get in their small hometown, but he’s already dreaming of the huge spotlights in the Las Vegas arena.

The clock is ticking and he can’t wait to exit the small white room they’re currently in. The coach went back to the locker room to put away the remaining fabric, but he’s taking too long and they’re supposed to exit in a few minutes. Jungkook hears some faint chatter – a female voice – she seems to be speaking with his coach and then the conversation starts getting louder and louder.

Everyone’s looking towards the locker rooms and finally Jungkook’s mother appears, babbling something seemingly inaudible, or maybe his brain is just unable to process it because he’s so surprised that she’s there. His coach is physically trying to stop her from entering the main room – she looks drunk, completely wasted, maybe that’s why – but then the coach continues speaking to her, raising his voice: “Please don’t tell him now! Now is not the time!”

But she doesn’t listen to him, violently trying to push him away. She searches for Jungkook in this little room filled with unfamiliar people, and when her eyes finally meet with his, she looks so angry at him, her look full of hate, “your brother has died!!!” The sound that leaves her mouth could only be described as a screech, it’s a sound he’s never heard coming from his mother.

And with that, he’s being pushed outside as his name is being announced to the hundreds of people. He’s in complete shock and he’s sure it shows, his black eyes are as wide as when he was a little baby, when his huge bambi eyes were so prominent on his small face. The reaction that he’s supposed to have is not coming out – he knows that he’s supposed to cry, that he’s supposed to scream, but he can’t, and he doesn’t understand why.

The loud cheering of the crowd is driving him into complete aggression, because his brain starts perceiving it as a threat. His body is overwhelmed with emotion and he feels as if he’s going into shock, but instead of fainting, he’s becoming aggressive because he feels attacked.

He doesn’t even remember how he got into the ring, the judge has already announced their names and the match has started. He remembers to hold his fists in front of his face, even though he’s not consciously thinking about it.

Receiving a couple of blows to his head kind of clears his mind and makes him focus on his opponent. Jungkook tries to hit him once, but misses badly. At the end of the first round, he manages to land a few punches.

He keeps reminding himself that he has to stay focused, because this is the fight of his life, this is what he’s been working for every morning for ten years – and then he suddenly remembers that his brother is dead and that this match doesn’t mean anything anymore. He’s been preparing three years for this competition specifically, just so that he can win the money for his brother’s treatment. But now what? Why is he in the ring now?

Somehow, the entire second round passes with him thinking about this, and what’s more surprising is that he lands some very successful punches – he’s pretty sure he’s gonna win this round.

He manages to calm down his mind and his performance improves greatly – he actually has a chance of winning this thing.

His opponent starts hitting him viciously, and Jungkook starts getting angry again – he has just realized that he let his brother die – if he doesn’t start acting differently, the same thing might happen to Taehyung too. And this guy keeps hitting him in the face – who the fuck does he think he is?!

Jungkook puts all his strength into the next two punches, sending the guy down onto the floor, but he just can’t stop himself now and so he kicks his opponent in the head as he’s lying on the floor.

The next thing he hears is the painful sound of the whistle and it finally brings him back to reality – he’s disqualified. Probably from participating in any championships or tournaments for a couple of years.

The burning lights of Las Vegas have turned off.

**************************

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[here4theheartbreak]

Three Times as Much (Vocal Line)

AO3 Link Here!

Relationships: Jimin x Jin x Jungkook x Taehyung Genre(s): smut, PWP Written for @btspolyshipbingo

Square Filled: Jimin x Jin x Jungkook Tags: smut, pwp, dirty talk, bareback, rough sex, foursome, ass to mouth, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, crying during sex, forced orgasms, light bondage, double penetration, triple penetration, multiple partners, switch!Taehyung, switch!Jimin, switch!Jin, switch!Jungkook, aftercare

Summary: Jin needs a little punishment. His boyfriends are happy to oblige. Word Count: ~2.9k

A/N: This fulfills two requests I got forever ago. One with some of the others punishing Jin, and one with the request for overstimulation until Jin cried. Hope this satisfies! Thank you so much for sending them in!

Jin’s eyes fluttered open when he felt the weight on his chest. He looked up, surprised to see Jimin straddling his middle, hands splayed on his chest and nude as the day he was born. He was pinning Jin’s arms down with his knees.

“Jimin— Oh!” Jin shifted as well as he could, just able to spot Jungkook behind Jimin, lips wrapped around the tip of Jin’s cock as he stroked the shaft.

“Why?” Jin groaned, looking up at Jimin.

“You have been so mean to us lately, hyung.” Taehyung’s voice was barely above a whisper. Jin looked over, his heart skipping a beat at the sight of his third lover, just as bare as the others, leaning against the wall. He slid a hand down his stomach and gave his cock a gentle tug.

“We’re tired of being the center of your jokes for the fans. It’s our turn to push you around.”

Jin swallowed hard at the threat in Taehyung’s voice.

“Well, waking me up with sex isn’t much of a punishment,” he said simply. He hissed when Jungkook’s teeth grazed his sensitive tip. “And you know I like it rough.”

“We know. But we also know you’re such a sensitive lover...” Jimin ran his short nails down Jin’s chest, purposely catching on his nipples. Jin shuddered, looking up at him. “We know you inside and out, hyung... And we’re gonna make sure you’re sorry.”

With that, Taehyung stepped forward. Jimin and Jungkook both moved, helping Taehyung grab Jin’s arms and tie them to the headboard with smooth ropes.

Jin struggled weakly, his heart pounding and cock hardening further. He looked around once his arms were secured. “What? Going to just stare at me all day? Now that would be cruel punishment.”

“We wouldn’t do that to you,” Jungkook agreed. He crawled back onto the bed and pushed Jin’s legs open. He took the tube of lube that Taehyung offered before beginning to work Jin open.

At the same time, Jimin began to stroke Jin’s cock, leaning down and sucking gently on the tip of it. Taehyung crawled into the bed next to Jin, kissing him deeply for a few moments.

When Jin was hard enough, Taehyung added lube to himself and settled onto his lap, groaning happily as Jin filled him. Behind him, Jungkook pushed himself in, surprising Jin into a sharp moan.

“Warn a guy,” he complained.

“I’m gonna use your mouth. There’s your warning,” Jimin teased, grabbing Jin’s hair. He opened his mouth despite glaring up at Jimin, letting him slide his cock home.

Jungkook picked up a quick pace, already moaning and shuddering.

“Don’t come too fast, Jungkookie,” Taehyung panted, bouncing on Jin’s lap.

“I can’t help it. His ass is so tight...”

Jin moaned uselessly around Jimin’s cock, spreading his legs wider.

“He should come,” Jimin disagreed. “He can always fuck Jin-hyung again. Plus, I know our hyungie loves being filled with Jungkookie’s come, huh?” He taunted. He pulled his cock free from Jin’s mouth and patted his cheek. “Isn’t that right, hyung?”

Jin groaned helplessly, his eyes rolling back. He struggled against the ropes binding his hands to the bed.

“Please—“

“Already begging? But the day’s just started,” Taehyung teased. He pulled off Jin’s cock and moved over, letting Jimin take his place. Jimin moaned softly, letting his head fall back as he settled onto Jin’s lap.

“God, that’s perfect.”

“You always look like you’ve died and gone to heaven when you ride Jin-hyung,” Taehyung teased, stroking himself gently.

“Because his cock is heaven.”

“Excuse me, I’m right here,” Jungkook pouted, slamming pointedly into Jin.

Jin shouted, arching his back and driving himself deeper into Jimin.

Jimin groaned, biting his bottom lip. “I didn’t say yours wasn’t heaven too, baby... But please do that again.”

“This?” Jungkook slammed in, earning another buck and about from Jin. Jimin grinned.

“God yeah. Keep going.” He began to ride Jin, matching his thrusts to Jungkook’s.

Jin thrashed his head, his toes curling against the mattress.

“I’m gonna come too soon,” he pleaded when Jimin began to clench around his aching cock.

“Come whenever you want to, hyung. Suck my cock.” Taehyung slid up and pushed his tip into Jin’s open mouth, beginning to thrust lazily as he watched the other two.

Jimin leaned back against Jungkook, his eyes half closed. Jungkook kissed along his neck, making sure he kept eye contact with Jin, not breaking his speed. Jin gagged on Taehyung’s cock, his own balls drawing up as he struggled to fend off his orgasm. He began to writhe against his lovers, drawing even more excited moans from them. Taehyung pulled his cock free and moved down, kissing Jin’s cheek.

“That’s it. Gonna fill up Jimin? Hm? Gonna make him nice and wet for us to play with? Come on Jungkookie’s cock?”

“Please— Not yet—“ Jin whined.

“Oh yeah, I think now is perfect. Look at how ready Jimin is for your come, hm? Not gonna disappoint our sweet boy, are you?” Taehyung slid his hand down under Jimin’s ass and grabbed Jin’s balls, gently kneading and pressing them as he spoke.

Jin hissed, screwing his eyes shut. His entire body went rigid and Jungkook shouted in surprise.

Jimin laughed lightly, settling deep onto Jin’s lap.

“Feel it, Jimin?” Taehyung asked. Jimin nodded.

“He’s coming so hard.... Feels so good.”

Jungkook adjusted his grip on Jin’s hips, beginning to thrust again. Jin whined in response, his thighs shaking.

“Aw, someone is getting soft,” Jimin teased, grinding down on Jin’s lap. “Did we fuck the come out of you, hyung?”

“Yes,” Jin panted, relaxing when Jungkook pulled out. Jimin pulled off as well, and took the spot Jungkook vacated. He pushed Jin’s legs open further and braced a pillow under his hips.

“What—“

“Well, we told you this was punishment. You didn’t think it would be one orgasm and that’s it, did you?” Jungkook asked. Jin swallowed hard.

“But, I—“

“You’ve got three boyfriends. And not one of us has come even once. You’re not done.” Taehyung grinned as he spoke.

Jimin slid home, gasping softly. “Fuck, Jungkookie, you sure you didn’t come?”

Jungkook chuckled. “I just made sure he was nice and wet. Like it?”

“I love it.”

Jimin began to thrust, holding Jin’s hips. Taehyung leaned down, grabbing Jin’s softened cock. He stroked it, ignoring Jin’s cry.

“Wanna share?” He offered. Jungkook immediately moved down, leaning down and running his tongue over the tip. Taehyung joined in, and the two took their time kissing and sucking every inch of Jin’s hypersensitive cock and balls.

He screamed their names, writhing under the constant touches. Though it felt good, each touch was fire to his nerves. He felt his body responding, cock stiffening in Jungkook’s mouth, a bit more in Taehyung’s, and his cries turned to moans.

“That’s what we wanted,” Taehyung praised. “Can I?” Jungkook asked. Taehyung nodded, scooting back.

“Watch, hyung.”

Jungkook climbed onto Jin’s lap backwards, jutting his ass out and holding himself open. His lips met Jimin’s in a messy kiss.

Taehyung line’s Jin’s spit slicked cock up and helped lower Jungkook onto it, making sure Jin could see each inch stretching him open.

Jin whined low in his throat, his hips trying to arch against Jimin’s firm grip.

When Jungkook reached the base of Jin’s cock he pulled off just as slow, moaning into Jimin’s mouth. He sank back onto Jin’s cock once more, before picking up a steady pace.

“You want him to fill you up too, baby?” Jimin asked, reaching down to stroke Jungkook’s cock as they fucked their lover. Jungkook shook his head.

“No. He’ll be in so much trouble if he comes in me. I wanted to feel his cock... Make him stretch me out. But I want him to come in Taehyungie-hyung.”

“That so?” Taehyung asked, smirking at Jin, who’s eyes rolled back in pleasure.

“Mhm. So I can fuck it out of you later.”

“So dirty, Jungkook,” Taehyung mock scolded. “Well, get him close then we’ll switch.”

Jungkook nodded.

“I’m close,” Jimin warned, picking up his pace. Jin moaned, spreading his legs further. He bucked against Jungkook and Jimin, pleading softly.

“Fuck, I’m so close, I just need—“

“I got it,” Taehyung said. He slid behind Jimin and spread him open. He used the tip of his own cock to gather some of the come that had leaked down Jimin’s thigh. He slid home, beginning to fuck into Jimin’s ass without hesitation.

Jimin shouted happily, bucking into Jin. “That’s it, yes! Come on, harder,” he demanded.

“Jin-hyung sure made a mess out of your ass,” Taehyung teased. Jimin nodded, his fingers biting bruises into Jin’s hips.

He drove in three more times before going still save for the shudder of his thighs as he came. Taehyung pulled out gently, taking Jungkook’s place wordlessly. He met Jin’s gaze as he settled onto his cock.

“You’re going to come in me.”

Jin nodded.

“I wanna be wrecked, hyung.”

Jin nodded again, blinking away tears. Taehyung began to ride him with long, exaggerated thrusts. He pulled almost all the way out before driving back in. Jin’s arms jerked, his muscles bulging. Behind Taehyung, Jimin pulled out and Jungkook to his place, driving home as Jimin stretched out next to Jin to recover.

Taehyung leaned against Jungkook, turning to share a messy kiss. “How’s he feel?” Taehyung asked.

“So wet... Jimin-ssi made such a mess,” Jungkook chuckled, driving in hard. “I love it.”

Taehyung moaned when Jin’s cock twitched deep inside him.

“God, you fill me up just right, hyung.”

Jimin laughed tiredly. He reached out, pinching Jin’s nipple. “Admit it, Tae — the second Jin-hyung took our virginities we were addicted to his cock.”

Jin moaned loudly, shuddering. “Please, I’m sensitive—“ he whined.

“Aw, need to come again?” Taehyung teased.

Jin nodded.

“Please— Gently—“ he hissed when Taehyung slammed down.

“Hear that, Jungkookie? Gentle.”

“Nope.”

Jungkook shifted Jin’s hips up as much as he could and began to fuck into him hard and fast. Taehyung took the hint as well, picking up the speed of his thrusts.

Jin screamed helplessly, his cock throbbing almost painfully as the two forced him nearer to orgasm.

Jimin slid over, sucking a bruise onto Jin’s shoulder. He thrust his hips lazily against Jin’s side, his cock slowly beginning to harden.

“Taehyung—Jungkook!” Jin bucked against his lovers as he came, a pained scream ripping from his throat. Taehyung moaned happily, holding tight to Jin as he clenched around him.

“Thank you, hyung,” he cooed playfully.

Jin half smiled, hissing when Taehyung slowly pulled off his cock. He settled next to Jimin, sharing a kiss with him.

“He’s all yours for now, Jungkook.”

Jin’s eyes snapped open. “Please— I can’t—“

“You’re gonna,” Jungkook said simply. He scooped Jin’s hips up with ease and began to fuck into him, the wet sounds of the the lube and Jimin’s come audible even over Jin’s broken cries. His softened cock twitched on his belly every time Jungkook slammed against his prostate.

“Hm, Jimin made a small noise. “He looks like he needs more.”

“Wanna?” Jungkook asked, his shaggy hair hanging over his eyes.

“Is there room?”

Jungkook smirked, slowing his thrusts. “Always.”

He pulled out and stood, scooping Jin’s hips.

“What’re you doing?” Jin asked, panic in his voice.

“Letting Jimin-hyung slide under you.”

“Why?”

“Because we both want your ass.”

Jin’s eyes widened. He looked from Jimin to Jungkook. They remained still, waiting for him to say no. He swallowed hard and nodded. “Use more lube,” he whispered, his heart pounding loud in his ears.

Jimin slid so his hips were under Jin’s, his upper body resting on Taehyung’s legs. Jungkook slicked his cock and settled Jin onto it before climbing back onto the bed. Adding extra lube, he began to press in next to Jimin.

Jin shouted in surprise, his cock twitching and stomach knotting. Taehyung reached up, grabbing one of his hands. He pressed a gentle kiss to Jin’s jaw.

“You can take it. Take his cock, hyung. Relax,” he coaxed, alternating kissing Jin’s cheek and jaw and squeezing his hand as Jungkook worked his cock into the already full space. Each centimeter had Jin gasping, his eyes brimming with tears of pleasure, pain, and general surprise.

Jungkook slumped over Jin’s body, his shoulders heaving as he gasped. “It’s in... Fuck, it’s so tight— I’ve never had something so tight,” he whined.

“Fuck him,” Taehyung demanded. “Loosen him up for us.”

Jimin and Jungkook obeyed, taking turns thrusting into Jin. His thighs quivered and his cheeks burned red as he screamed their names.

“How’s it feel?” Taehyung asked when the two picked up an even pace, Jin finally loosening enough for their comfort.

“I can’t come again,” Jin whined, hissing when Jungkook nudged his prostate.

“No. But I bet you have a little come left in you. I want it on your belly.” Taehyung looked down at the two. “I’m almost jealous.”

“There’s room,” Jungkook panted.

“There is not!” Jin cried. Jungkook smirked.

“We’ll make room. Come on Taehyungie-hyung... Come fuck him with us.”

Taehyung looked at Jin, giving him a chance to back out. Jin said nothing. He threw his head back and moaned when both Jimin and Jungkook slammed in, stretching him wide around their cocks.

Taehyung rose, adding lube to his cock as he did. He stood for a moment, admiring the way Jin was stretched around their cocks, the tiny flash of pink when they’d force him open, the wet squelch of come and lube inside him.

He climbed onto the bed and kissed Jungkook’s shoulder.

“Slow down. I’m gonna slide in right along you two. Shallow thrusts to help me fit.”

Taehyung added as much extra lube as he could to their cocks and Jin’s hole before pushing his tip against the small opening between the sides of their cocks.

Jin shouted, his thighs shaking in Jungkook’s grip as Taehyung stretched him impossibly wide. The three remained silent, all working to slide Taehyung home. When his cock tip slipped past Jin’s rim, they all cried out.

Jin jerked, his cock throbbing and twitching on his stomach as a weak dribble of come oozed out.

“Keep going,” Taehyung panted. He held Jungkook’s hips, thrusting along with him as they began to speed up, varying depths each time.

Jin’s soft cock continued to dribble weak spurts of come, his voice scratchy as he moaned and screamed.

“Fucking the come right out of him,” Jimin panted. “Come on, hyung, that’s it. Let it all go.”

“Please,” Jin panted.

“You’ve got some more to give us,” Taehyung demanded. It was his turn to nudge at Jin’s prostate, milking another spurt of come from him.

“Fuck, I’m coming—“ Jungkook cried. He went still, buried deep. Taehyung and Jimin picked up the pace, helping stimulate his cock even as it throbbed and spilled inside Jin.

He remained where he was even as he softened, shuddering as the others took the lead. His come coated their cocks on each withdrawal, adding to the dirty, wet sounds of their sex.

“Fuck, fuck—“ Taehyung whimpered, his own orgasm drawing close. Jin sobbed brokenly, looking down at the three. Junkook reached back, sliding two fingers into Taehyung’s come slick ass. He found his prostate with a practiced ease and rubbed.

“Yes!” Taehyung’s hips stuttered. He drove against Jin’s prostate once more, earning another sob and plea, before his orgasm hit.

Jimin’s came unexpectedly, the overwhelming heat of the come and their cocks, the tightness of Jin’s ass. He dug his fingers into Jin’s side as he spilled inside him for the second time, mouth open in a silent scream.

The three took their time pulling out, not wanting to hurt Jin. He was crying freely, his entire body shaking with overexertion and oversensitivity. Jungkook took a few photos, knowing Jin would want to see how perfectly they’d wrecked and gaped his ass, and howa beautiful his tear stained, mottled cheeks looked. Afterward they cleaned him up, whispering apologies when their touches stung his oversensitive ass and cock. Jungkook untied his wrists and rubbed each to get feeling back into them. They curled up around him, holding him as he sobbed in their arms.

It wasn’t about punishment, or even pain. Even the overstimulation was an afterthought. It was a flood of emotions, overwhelming in every way even to their eldest, who did all he could to keep not only them, but all of the group, safe and healthy.

Jin needed this, sometimes. The permission to cry, to feel, even if he had to blame it on sex or something else. His lovers didn’t mind helping him do that. Sometimes they knew better than Jin when he needed it.

They shared quiet kisses, wiping Jin’s tears and holding his hands. His tears dried to sniffles, and his body began to fully relax.

“Get some sleep,” Jungkook whispered.

“Stay with me,” Jin mumbled.

“We won’t go anywhere,” Jimin promised.

“We love you,” Taehyung added. Jin smiled sleepily.

“I certainly hope so... I just let you stick your dicks in my ass all at once,” he grumbled. The others laughed gently.

The smile faded from Jin’s lips, replaced with a soft pout as he drifted to a much needed sleep in the arms of the men that loved him so deeply.

#bangtanarmynet #thekimlinenet #jinsnetwork #kpopwonderlandtag #kwritersworldnet #networkbangtan #armyofwriters #armiesnet #95line.net #btsguild #thebtstown #jinseoknet #btspolyshipbingo #smut #jimin x jin x jungkook x taehyung #bts vocal line smut #bts polyamory #bts shipping #bts smut #jimin x jin x jungkook x v #jimin x seokjin x jungkook x taehyung #jeongguk x jimin x jin x taehyung #mywriting

[fresh-outta-jams]

Plastic Heart - Prologue

Namjoon x Reader Author: Mo Summary: When you get the highly-anticipated BTS dolls for Christmas, your life takes a turn in a way you never could have expected. Note: So, uh, this is that Toy Story AU I was talking about… Yeah. I’ve already got like four chapters written, so I guess we’re in for another Namjoon series lmao I have no regrets. Let me know if u wanna be tagged! Warnings: None? I’m Namjoon trash but we all knew that lmao. Word Count: 1k

Prologue, 1, 2, 3, 4

Christmas evening had arrived, and as you had every year for your whole childhood, you and your family were gathered at your grandparents’ house to celebrate the holiday. You were in college now, so you didn’t scout the gigantic present pile quite as closely as your younger cousins did, but you spared it a passing glance while helping your mother and aunts cook the Christmas cookies.

You were wrapped up in your favorite BTS hoodie, a memento from their most recent tour, the Speak Yourself Tour. It had been the first time you’d seen them in concert after what felt like eons of stanning them, and it was so bizarre and awe-inspiring to see them in person. Even though your seats hadn’t been very close to them, you’d still gotten to see them all with your own two eyes, and that was enough for you. They were actually really real human people. Wild.

When she spotted what you were wearing, your favorite and most eccentric aunt grinned to herself, giving your hip a little pinch that made you yelp. “Still into your boys?”

“Who, these boys?” You motioned to your shirt. “Of course I am!”

“Good, good…” She nodded to herself with a pleased and mischievous grin on her face. “You’ll like your present then, I’m sure.”

“Ooh, no spoilers Aunt Matilda!” You laughed, blushing bright red. Despite your half-hearted protests, you were definitely excited now, and could hardly wait for present time. It was like being nine years old all over again.

Eventually, the cookies were all baked, the family was all gathered, and the presents were all distributed. Your pile was much bigger this year than you were used to, but that was all because of the seven rectangular boxes from your Aunt Matilda. The rest of your presents this year, as they had been since you were around eighteen, came in an envelope, usually in the form of money or a gift card. This present, however, was mysterious, but maybe not as mysterious as it should have been.

Waiting behind the shiny purple wrapping paper of the first box you picked up was a plastic replica of none other than President Dimple Dork himself. “OMG YOU DIDN’T!!!” You squealed excitedly, looking him over and stroking the plastic that was standing between you and the little plastic Namjoon. “Aunt Matilda, you are literally the best!”

“I thought you might like those.” She smiled, watching you kick your legs with childlike glee. This was quite possibly the best thing she could have ever gotten for you, considering, somehow, miraculously, you didn’t have them already. You knew there was a perfect spot for them in your apartment.

You didn’t waste any more time before getting the rest out of their wrapping paper so you could look all of them over individually. Sure, what the Twitter ARMYs had said was true: they weren’t PERFECT recreations of your seven favorite Korean pop stars...but they were still cute, and you couldn’t wait to take them home and get them out of their boxes.

If only you’d known then just what waited inside them…

***

Once Christmas break was over and you were finally back to your apartment, you took the seven plastic boxes back to your bedroom to finally, finally open. It had taken all of your willpower to not to open them while you were home, but you didn’t want to lose one of their shoes or something. Plus, they were easier to transport when they were all in similarly shaped boxes than they were loose. Easier to count, too.

So, as soon as you stepped inside the door to your room, you set them all on your desk, letting them tumble from your arms. After apologizing to the ones you had dropped--Jungkook and Yoongi--you dug around in your drawer for a pair of scissors sturdy enough to cut into the boxes. You had years of Barbie experience under your belt, you knew these didn’t come open easy.

You picked up Jimin’s box first, cutting through the plastic and being very careful not to cut yourself on the sharp edge. Once you had the box open, you pulled out the piece of cardboard he was strapped to. There was a wire around his waist, one around each of his wrists and ankles, and one around his neck. You gently twisted them until they came apart and then set him on the shelf.

It took some time, but eventually, you got down to the very last box, the one holding Namjoon. You grinned to yourself, admiring the details of his little plastic face. They’d even added his famous dimple. How cute.

“Let’s get you out of there, huh buddy?” You chuckled to yourself, cutting open the last box and pulling the leader free from his plastic prison. Working with tender care, you undid the binds holding him and then set him on the shelf next to the rest of the others. There. All done. You slapped your hands against one another and started to pick up all of the little pieces of wire and whatnot, tossing them into the garbage before you gathered up the larger pieces, the boxes, namely, and took them to the kitchen, where you kept your recycling bin.

As soon as the door was securely closed, Namjoon looked both ways at the other dolls. You’d situated him right in the middle, organizing them in order of age.

“Well she’s…” He started, unsure of exactly what to say now that they were finally all alone.

“Older than I thought she would be.” Yoongi provided. The others nodded. When they’d been scooped up from the toy store for the holiday rush, all seven of them, they’d been expecting some thirteen-year-old fangirl to place them on her shelf, maybe force them into romances with her Barbie dolls that she couldn’t help but pretend was her. They certainly were not expecting this...college student. It was a pleasant surprise, to say the least.

“Yeah,” Hoseok agreed. “Thank God for that, huh?”

“I like her.” Tae decided, smiling that boxy smile of his. Even as a plastic replica, he still retained some of his namesake’s charm. Maybe not his perfect hair, but at least he’d gotten to keep Taehyung’s adorable boxy smile.

Namjoon nodded, his painted-on eyes wistful. “Yeah, I do too…”

Tagged: @iie-wakarimasen, @demonic-meatball, @backtonormalthings

#armyofwriters #kpopwonderlandtag #btsprotectnet #plastic heart #namjoon #namjoon x reader #namjoon imagine #kim namjoon #rm #rm x reader #rm imagine #bts imagine #bts fluff #toy story au #lmao me typing that in like it's a normal au #here we go kiddos

[honeyyvee]

One kiss: Chapter 3

Rating: Mature (+18)

Genre: Romance

Summary: When your best friend Min Yoonji offers herself to teach you how to kiss, the only approapriate reaction is (gay) panic.

Pairing: Min Yoonji(Genderbend! Yoongi)/ female reader

Words: 2.5k

Warnings: Consumption of alcohol. Sexual content. Coarse language.

Notes: I edited one of the dialogues in the second conversation of Ch. 2, it’s an important bit of info. So I reccomend to re-read it <3. Anyways, enjoy!

← Prev (Ch 2) 

You quite literally plunged in. Your mouth crashed with Jeon Jungkook's lips as your body toppled onto him, sending both of you to the carpeted floor amidst hooting and hollering. It all happened too quickly; your teeth clashed, and you were pretty sure you busted his upper lip open. The kiss was more like the crash of two mouths who had no idea what to do.

The contact was nice though, initially. Jungkook's lips tasted and smelled like strawberries. After the initial shock, the softer, firmer pressing of his lips became kind of pleasant. If you ignored the metallic aftertaste of blood, that is. Which you couldn't, really, as beads of blood pooled between your lips, both of you parted with a wince. When you opened your eyes your gaze tried to focus on anything and everything. Through the haze of your spinning mind you saw jungkook's wide eyes, his fingers stained in blood, blurry faces of friends and spectators… and her among them.

There was an indescifrable expression on Yoonji's face as your unfocused eyes landed on hers. Tried as you might you couldn't pinpoint it. There seemed to be a slight frown to her pouty mouth, a crease on her brow… a darkness to her eyes. Was she disgusted with your shameless behaviour? Was she mad you had gotten yourself drunk and now she had to deal with your shenanigans? Was she—? You couldn't follow your train of thought to its disastrous next suggestion, as Yoonji stormed off the room without a word.

Confused and slightly overwhelmed, your limbs stopped reacting as you became paralyzed by a wave of anxiety. Your unfocused eyes glued to the irregular patch of carpeted floor before you. Voices and music blurred around the edges, everything was too much, and the overwhelming sensation of shame/guilt made you sick to your stomach. But why, why did it feel wrong? Why did you feel like this?

Jungkook tried reaching out to you, calling out your name, brushing the skin of your arm. You flinched at his touch. The sensation felt foreign, an out of body experience.

Hoseok approached you both, trying in vain to suppress a face-splitting grin. "Yo, Y/N!"

Your stomach turned over itself in anxiety, you couldn't look at anyone in the eye, you wanted to get out of there asap. In a last desperate attempt to save face, your body doubled over itself trying to stop the convulsions of your stomach from emptying its contents on Namjoon's carpet.

"Hey, hey, are you alright?" Hoseok was making an effort to keep himself from giggling, you had to give him that.

You shook your head no.

"Alright, let's get you outta here." Hoseok helped you to stand. A relief. But Jung Hoseok was the antonym of subtlety. "Ok, there's nothing to see here everybody! Keep on with what you're doing. MOVE."

If people had been looking at you with curiosity before, they were now staring . You silently took back your feelings of gratitude towards the boy. Jungkook insisted on accompanying you to the bathroom, and even driving you back to your apartment, but you refused. Being around him was too much for you right now, it only worsened the nauseous feeling in your stomach. The least you needed was to add barfing all over a pretty boy to your list of achievements for the night. After giving you a glass of water that tasted like shit, Hoseok took you to the second floor barely avoiding getting barfed on by you.

"And here we are," Hoseok ushered you into the first door on the left. A bathroom. "What are you waiting for? Go, go!"

"I'm not puking here, that's gross."

"Oh yes you are, I gave you water with salt to help you with that."

"¿Wha—?" Your eyes opened in alarm. Just as you were about to protest, an uncontainable wave of nausea overpowered you.

Not even a second later, you were spilling all the contents of your stomach on the toilet. Hoseok rushed to your side to hold your hair back, rubbing soothing circles on your back.

"Find Yoonji, I wanna go home," you croaked.

“You sure you’ll be okay if I leave to go look for her?” He brushed a strand of hair behind your ear.

You nodded, Hoseok gave you a last glance before disappearing behind the door. You were left in silence, but it still took you a moment to recollect yourself on the cold tile floor. Your mind was a blank, anxious mess. You'd be facing Yoonji… you had to say something. You felt you had to say something to her, about the kiss. What exactly though, you weren't sure. Maybe it was the reeling of your mind coming down from the events that had transpired, the high of adrenaline and alcohol.

Your legs were wobbly and your vision hazy as you got up to wash your face. Vertigo swayed your body, and you clutched onto the faucet. The coolness of the water was a welcomed sensation. You washed away with ernst the taste of bitter alcohol and bile, and Jungkook. Nothing personal, but that first kiss wasn't short of traumatic. The image of your disheveled appearance caught your eye in the reflection of the small mirror before you. Smeared lipstick and smudged mascara have you looking like a hot mess. You tried fixing it as much as possible, until three knocks interrupted.

“Hey…”

Your heart stopped in your chest.

“I’ll be waiting for you on the driveway.” It was Yoonji.

“Wait!” You rushed to the door, lest she left again before you could catch her.

Yoonji was still there, just about to turn on her feet to leave. A slightly startled expression on her face by the suddenness of your actions. Hands in her pockets, she turned her eyes away as soon as they landed on yours.

“Ready?”

There was a knot of mixed feelings growing in your chest as you gazed at her in the dimly lit hallway. A feeling of uneasiness creeping in the air as you made up your mind about something you weren’t even fully aware yet. Words just fell out of your mouth without second-thinking about it.

“No,” you confessed “can we talk?”

Yoonji turned to look at you with an annoyed expression. “Right now? Can’t it wait until we get home?”

You floundered under her deflection.

Yoonji made a show of being tired by releasing a deep sigh. “Or maybe tomorrow? We can talk anytime about whatever this is, you know?”

Her words echoed inside your mind, and you took your sweet time contemplating them. Could you, really? Will there be any other chance in the near future, for you to clear this air of unresolved, lingering, something? You scanned Yoonji’s neutral features for answers. She avoided your gaze. Ha. That was a damn slim chance.

“We can’t.” Your hand shot to take her wrist in your grasp. “It has to be now,” you stumbled upon your words. Without waiting for her answer, you rode the wave of newly found courage and led Yoonji into the unoccupied room to your right.

She didn’t get enough time to actually fight or protest against it, before you opened the door and ushered her inside with you. The light was off, but you didn’t bother turning it on. There’s a big window on the opposite side, that let in just enough moonlight into the room for you to know your surroundings. You sat Yoonji on the edge of the bed.

“What are we doing here?” she groaned.

“Listen, I shouldn’t have kissed Jungkook.”

You weren't going to beat around the bush. Yoonji seemed only partially bewildered by the bluntness which you approached the topic of your talk. Her eyes went the tiniest bit wide in surprise. There was some interest written in her features, but she quickly hid it away.

“Why, because you nearly chopped off his lips?” Yoonji diverted with small chuckle.

“No, I’m being serious,” you took her hand in yours. “It’s just—." You sighed, shut your eyes closed to gather up courage for what you were about to do. "I don’t think I actually like Jungkook. I think… I think I might like you.”

The silence that fell over the room after your confession, grew heavy with expectation with each passing heartbeat. The muffled sound of the music downstairs and the cicadas outside, rang in your ears as you opened your eyes to gauge at Yoonji's expression. There was a deep frown on her brow.

“Me… ?" She echoed. A dead beat of cold silence stretched in the air of your lungs before she spoke again. "Why are you telling me this?” Yoonji breathed, barely a whisper.

There was something in her eyes, something you had seen before but didn't get to decypher before her expression changed again.

“Wait, you're drunk," she muttered bluntly. "You're still drunk."

Yoonji made a move to leave, so you held tighter onto her hand. "Am not! I'm being honest with you I—."

"I'm sorry, but this makes no sense to me," Yoonji yanked her hand away. "You don't like Jungkook now? You think you like me ?" She chuckled humorlessly as she stood up. "What are you even talking about? Kissing Jungkook is all you’ve been going on about for weeks . You asked me for tips on how to kiss him .”

“I liked you long before that."

"When? I don't believe you." Her gaze hardened.

You sighed in exasperation at her stubbornness, but proceeded to explain nonetheless because you understood where she was coming from.

"When Namjoon first introduced us. I thought you were attractive, but I never really made a move because I thought you and him were a thing. Since you two spent so much time together, producing and composing and all of that." You fell onto the bed. "Me and Namjoon? Yeah, fat chance," Yoonji snorted, sitting beside you on the mattress with a creak. A good sign.

"I just ruled you out completely off the market. And then we started sharing apartment and I never really thought about it again," you continued. "Until a few weeks ago…" You tried to meet her gaze.

"Why didn't you make a move then?" Yoonji's eyes pierced through you.

"I did. Multiple times."

Yoonji sighed, averted her gaze to the ceiling.

"You asking me for tips on how to kiss someone else was your big idea of a move?" She gave you a sceptical look.

You cringed. "When you put it like that it sounds terrible... but yeah, it was. So what, sue me. I'm a dumb bitch and I'm fucking shy!" You hit her with a pillow.

The action was reciprocated by a hit to the face with a cushion. Which then escalated into a full blown pillow fight and burst of mischievous giggles... which ended in a tickle fight. And you below Yoonji’s body, her knee between your thighs. Her body hovered over you, her piercing eyes scanning for your reaction as her knee pushed higher, and your breath got caught in your throat. Her hands snaked around your wrists, pinned you with hesitant gentleness to the bed.

"Why did you went through with kissing Jungkook in that spin the bottle game?" Yoonji murmured.

"Please Yoons, it's just a drunk party kiss, it means nothing,” you dismissed, with a forced chuckle.

Yoonji’s gaze wavered, her brow pulled together. And there it was. That thing, in her eyes. It was her walls coming down, opening up the slightest bit for a sliver of you to come in.

"And this?" she threaded her slender fingers around yours, her voice barely above a whisper. "Would this mean something to you?"

"That depends on if you want it to," your voice came out hoarse.

You were having difficulty with breathing, the air was charged with anticipation of what was about to come next. Yoonji leaned on you, your bodies now pressed closely together, her lips a breath apart. You closed your eyes, and welcomed the fluttering sensation of her soft cherry mouth. Her kiss was a starking contrast to your recent,previous experience. Calmer, softer, sober . In more ways than one. But at the same time ardent, passionate, ignating. Your chest filled to the brim with consuming fire. Your senses lit up alive.

Yoonji's lips moved slowly at first, one of her hands cupping your face, guiding you towards her. The motions grew impatient soon enough, and your bodies were tightly pressed chest to chest. It felt right, complete .

You broke the kiss with a gasp for air. Yoonji’s knee was pressed more intently against your needy core. All the blood rushed downwards in arousal as Yoonji pressed your clit through your skirt with mischievous intent.

“Mmn… you’re wet already,” she purred, with a smirk. She kissed a trail of kisses all over the sensitive spots of your neck.

You whined in response as your cheeks blushed red. Things were escalating fast, but you didn’t have any plans to back down. If you were gonna crash, might as well accelerate .  You wanted her hands all over you, not holding you down.

“Yoonji…” you whined, as you lifted your hips against her knee. “My hands.”

Yoonji released them like they burned, with a rumbling sound at the back of her throat that resembled a complaint. You got what you wanted and now her hands were palming at your waist, and then your thighs as she brought you to sit with her. Her knee still between your legs, pressing against your swelling bundle of nerves.

You gawked at her disheveled appearance, never in your life had you seen Min Yoonji like this. Dark, hooded eyes, full of lust and pouty lips swollen from kissing. It was the hottest thing you had ever seen. It was hard to catch your breath when the sight knocked the air out of your lungs again.

“You’re beautiful,” you murmured, staring meaningfully into her eyes. She had to know… “And I don’t mean just your face. I’m talking about you, and the art you carry inside.”

Yoonji’s eyes softened, glossed even, for a moment.

“Shut up, you’re such a cheese,” she rolled her eyes, but leant in to press a firm, gentle kiss to your lips. Her mouth tasted like cherry chapstick, and you tucked the memory to the back of your mind.

Yoonji’s walls were still there, you felt it in the way she stiffened at times at your attempts of intimate touch. But you remained patient, you would take your sweet time to bring each of them down, little by little. So you kissed, and touched, and sighed with pleasure into your embrace in the faint moonlight. And you knew things were going to be alright between you two.

#armyofwriters #btsguild #min yoongi fanfiction #min yoongi smut #bts smut #vee writes #mine

[joonary]

the way to your heart | myg

↳ summary: when your office christmas party’s secret santa gives you absolutely no context on what kind of gift he wants, you have no choice but to get to know him better. 

↳ genre: fluff; humor; office au; min yoongi x reader

↳ word count: 9k

↳ warnings: this is a fluff only fic as per usual

↳ a/n: this fic is dedicated to my secret santa, mari @maptoyoongi​! i had a great time being your snowflake anon! happy holidays everyone! also sorry for the delayed upload!!! please note that i am still on a bit of a semi-hiatus, but feedback as always is much appreciated!

Most people would claim Mondays as their least favorite day of the week (for good reason, of course), but if you had to choose, you’d say that Thursdays heavily outweigh Mondays on the Terrible Days of the Week scale. Thursdays are like the surprise trick candle of days, but instead of reigniting flames on pieces of wax on a birthday cake, you just forget that Thursdays exist on Wednesday nights, then spend the entirety of the following day thinking it’s Friday, only to find out it’s not.

Okay, maybe you’re being a tad bit dramatic. Thursdays were okay in moderation, and only on occasions where your eyes weren’t in pain from straining to stare at a computer screen for six plus hours. Like today. You don’t recall even going on lunch break today, instead settling for quickly eating your packed bowl of congee (heated courtesy of the break room microwave) in the comfort of your cubicle in favor of finishing a project while doing so.

Another glance at the clock ticking on the corner of your screen drags you deeper into despair upon finding out that it was, in fact, not almost five and time for you to leave like you had initially thought (and hoped) it’d be, but instead barely past three. 3:09pm, to be exact. You groan, planting your face into your hands.

You contemplate what your coworkers would do if you were to hypothetically just yell right now. Like, loud, disturbing the silent peace settled over the office kind of yell. Too caught up with your contemplative breakdown, you miss hearing the approach of one of your fellow coworkers.

“Hey Y/N, are you signing up for the Christmas party Secret Santa?”

You look up and are immediately greeted with the sight of Kim Seokjin standing in the doorway of your cubicle partition, leaning against it haphazardly, with a thick stack of memo papers in one hand and an upside down fedora in the other. He’s got on an obnoxiously cerulean-colored tie with a pattern of rubber ducks on it. (To make a long story very short, upon finding out that there’s no real regulation on the formality of the ties specifically that employees are allowed to wear, he’s made it his goal to wear the most unsightly and attention-grabbing ties every single day he attends work. This has been going on for two years.)

You click your tongue. “I’m not sure. I’ve been getting a bit of a cold lately and I feel like that’s just another thing to add onto my plate, ya know?”

“Let me rephrase that,” Seokjin starts, tone transforming into the assertive best friend voice that you know and have a strong love-hate relationship with. “Here’s a slip of paper for your Secret Santa drawing for the company Christmas party, which, if you’ve forgotten, is in two weeks, on Christmas Eve at my house at 7PM sharp. Put your name, and a couple things that you want, but keep it under thirty dollars, of course.”

You give him a defeated glare. Seokjin offers a freeze frame-worthy passive aggressive smile in return, arm still extended towards you with a blank and waiting slip of paper for you to sign away your freedom to yet another company-produced bonding activity.

Here’s the thing: you don’t particularly hate the holiday season, nor do you hate actively interacting with your coworkers. Usually. But you weren’t lying about getting sick, and you were hoping to maybe get your family Christmas gift shopping done early this year, as opposed to your typical, two days before Christmas binge shop at the mall where you leave with an empty wallet and enough bags to cause shoulder pain. One more person to shop for doesn’t seem like it’d be a big deal, but emotionally, yeah, the toll was pretty damn high.

Plus there’s the whole purpose of the game you didn’t quite feel like dealing with. When it comes to gift shopping, you loved to put thought and effort into every present you buy for anyone. Including Secret Santa gifts, which, not that you were actively waiting to receive a good present, was still disheartening to put time and effort into getting a nice gift only to get something hastily picked up from Target on the way to the party in return.

But you digress. Perhaps your stuffy left nostril and your hatred for Thursdays were messing with your ability to be a decent and functional member of society. You scratch out your name and functionally short list onto the slip of paper Jin hands you with the shitty blue ballpoint pen on your desk that you’ve been meaning to throw out for weeks.

Y/N L/N (tech communications) — a jewelry box, preferably in white or pale yellow! if that happens to be too expensive, i like fuzzy socks :)

You drop your twice folded note into the hat, effectively sealing your fate.

“Thank you for your service ma’am,” Seokjin says, tipping his head to you exaggeratedly and almost spilling the contents of his upside-down fedora full of paper in the process. He walks away without another word, most likely to the next cubicle over to pester your block neighbor into participation as well.

Sinuses still blocked and eyes aching, you turn back to your screen. 3:18pm. You heave out another sigh. 

Despite your generally low opinion of Thursdays, you thought Fridays were a bit overrated. (Once again, you suspect your cold paired with hours of sitting in your cubicle is making you jaded to feeling any kind of enthusiasm, despite your love for the holiday season. You swear you’re far more enthusiastic outside the office setting.)

Sure, Namjoon, the HR representative, once tried to make Pizza Fridays a thing, but it lasted exactly three weeks before he started feeling awkward about seeing the exact same people working at the pizza place every time he went to the damn place. But for the most part, Fridays were just like any other work day, and the promise of a relaxing weekend was just a light at the end of a long ass tunnel.

You need coffee. That’s what you need right now.

You take your typical route to the break room, which passes both Jimin and Jungkook on the way. The former being the branch’s best web developer and one of the only employees you’d consider yourself emotionally attached to besides Seokjin, while the latter was the intern who followed the former around and sat in the adjacent desk on the other side of the half-height cubicle across which they could see each other.

“Good morning,” Jimin hums as you pass, sipping coffee from his stupid custom mug made by his colleagues in his department to say World’s Best Jimin in comic sans, all of the disasterous text condensed inside an ugly and misshapen yellow star symbol.

“Good morning!” Jungkook echoes with far more enthusiasm, and you don’t know enough about the college intern to know if he’s doing it intentionally to piss off Jimin (he hates when people repeat after him or talk over him), or he just acts like this because That’s Just How He Is.

“Good morning to both of you,” you respond with a small wave, hurrying past them rather than making conversation in favor of getting to the break room before Taehyung does and uses all the machine’s hot water supply to fill his 32oz Thermos with hot chocolate.

As you reach the doorway one crucial detail of your trip down the hall dawns on you: you left your mug back at your desk. “Ah shit!” you say, rushing back down the path where you came from and passing the water stealer himself along the way. “Save me some water too, Taehyung!” 

He nods, and even though the guy doesn’t have a track record of breaking promises, you still book it back to your desk regardless.

When you make it back to your cubicle—unfortunately very out of breath despite the sprint there being less than a minute long—Seokjin is waiting for you there.

“It’s time,” he says ominously, like he’s a wise old NPC who has arrived to send you on a side quest and not your twenty-seven year old manager come to bear you with a damn fedora full of Secret Santas.

“You already got everyone in on it?” you ask, waiting to catch your breath. “Didn’t you start asking around, like, yesterday afternoon?”

“Nah,” Seokjin replies nonchalantly. “I started four days ago. I just figured you’d be the hardest to persuade since you’ve been grouchy and sick all week, so you were one of the last people I asked. And Jimin too, but only because I knew he was going to write the longest damn list a three-by-five index card can hold.”

“I don’t appreciate getting directly attacked like this by my own best friend.” You reach into the fedora, digging through the jumble of folded and balled-up papers and pulling out one that was neatly folded with a single crease.

You unfold the slip of paper. In all honesty, you had no preconception of what you thought you’d find (although hopefully not a list even half as long as the one Seokjin described Jimin to have written), but you were expecting at least more than the four words in front of you.

min yoongi — surprise me :)

Okay scratch that. You got four words and a cryptic happy face. Perfect. This was fine.

You see, your job would have been made eons easier if you at least knew who Min Yoongi was. If however, say, Seokjin—ignoring the fact that the bastard was already your best friend, of course—were to pull this kind of shit (realistically speaking, he would), you at least knew enough about the overabundance of Mario memorabilia sitting on his desk to provide him a thoughtful enough gift.

“Jin… who’s Yoongi?”

“Hm?”

“I didn’t know we had a Min Yoongi that worked here,” you say, flipping the paper over to show Seokjin, like seeing the name written in shitty handwriting and blue ink will make him suddenly remember exactly who you’re asking him about. The man gasps in offence. “You’re not supposed to show me your Secret Santa, Y/N! You’re breaking the game’s unspoken rule of secrecy!”

“What am I supposed to do, Seokjin? Look! He didn’t list a single thing that he wants as a gift, and since you—gee I don’t know—talked to him about it, I could use a bit of your help here.”

“Fair point, fair point.” He rubs across his forehead with the back of his palm. “I should have been more clear about the directions,” he mumbles belatedly.

“So do you know anything about Yoongi or not?” You don’t mean to sound annoyed, but you kind of are. You suppose it’s a byproduct of you caring far too much about the effort you put in to this damn Secret Santa game, and your job being made infinitely more difficult by the unhelpfulness of everyone around you (re: Seokjin plus whoever the hell Yoongi is). Or you just get stressed far too easily during the holiday season. Either one works.

“One time he fixed my desktop because I almost got a virus from illegally downloading The Sims 4.”

Wait. That gives you an idea. “So he’s one of the software engineers?”

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure. Why?”

You grin. “Just wondering. That’s actually really helpful. Thanks!”

“No… problem?” Seokjin says, understandably confused by your sudden change in attitude. “I have to go finish distributing these. Uh, get back to work!” he adds cheekily, a reminder to you that he was technically still your superior. You don’t mind his leaving—in fact, now that he’s out of your sight you have the freedom to go look for Yoongi.

You suppose that around here, you really did have to do everything yourself.

You’ve got a plan. You’ve gone over it at least six times on your way to the section of the office floor where you’re pretty sure you’ll find Min Yoongi’s desk. You’ll introduce yourself, ask him what his favorite animal is, then make conversation to not seem weird or suspiciously alluding towards your gift-buying intent. Then you’ll buy him one of those giant plushies of said animal—functionally useless, yet an atypical and personal enough present that would exemplify that you really did put thought into buying it. Simple.

“Hi.”

Yoongi turns his swivel chair to face you, eyes widening in surprise. Like he hadn’t expected you to approach him in the comfort of his own desk. You wonder if this is what everyone looks like (yourself included) when Seokjin suddenly appears at your desks to check up on work or to rally everyone for some team-building activity, i.e. the Christmas Party Secret Santa that got you here in the first place. “Hi to you too,” he replies, voice soft and polite.

Okay here’s the thing: Min Yoongi is definitely attractive. Objectively speaking. He’s got a rounded face and sharp eyes and a button nose and what the fuck he’s literally the biggest enigma in terms of appearance that you’ve ever met. Okay. He was also very attractive subjectively speaking. You’d rather die than let that become public information among your coworkers, especially Seokjin. You’d also rather die than for him to continue staring at you any longer than he already is.

You two are unfortunately amidst a moment of just staring at each other, not filling the gaps with anything either of you have or want to say. And not in the romance movie way. This was more like the I-have-never-once-been-in-as-much-pain-as-I’m-in-right-now kind of staring. Your brain buffers for a second, then you remember you’re here to ask him a question.

“So do you prefer Python or C++ as a programming language?”

The fuck was that?

He pauses for a moment, then gives a short chuckle that indicates that either 1) he thought what you said was funny, for lack of better term or 2) he was in utter disbelief that anyone would ask him that.

“I suppose I like C++ better, even though it’s a bit more difficult to read than Python is. It feels more rewarding when you get stuff done with it though, so I guess that factors into it.”

“Oh, I see. Understandable,” you say. Hey, if you can’t take back the embarrassing shit you say, you might as well just go with it. “I’m Y/N, by the way. I don’t think we’ve met.”

“Yoongi,” he says, reaching out to shake your hand. He stands up, taking your hand into his. His hands are cold. “And no offense, but that has got to be the most interesting icebreaker that anyone has ever approached me with.”

Not that it was intentional, you think to yourself, still a little flustered from, well, Yoongi, and reeling from your own idiocracy. “I only ask the real questions, what more can I say.”

He laughs again, and it makes your heart race. His laughter sounds like chopping celery on a cutting board, but you can tell that it’s genuine. You find it incredibly endearing.

“Was there something else you needed?”

Yes, there definitely was. “Nope! Just thought I’d introduce myself, since we haven’t formally crossed paths.” Goddamnit. 

“Cool. See you around, Y/N,” Yoongi replies, face turning into a perfect ‘:]’ smile, and giving you a small wave. You return the sentiment.

You’re now no closer to having an inkling of an idea about what to get your Secret Santa, but hey, look on the bright side: now you knew what programming language he preferred to use. Perfect. Mission fucking accomplished.

Last weekend was essentially the dictionary definition of unproductive. You had been planning on taking the time to do all of your family Christmas shopping—in fact, you even had it penciled into your bullet journal in big pink calligraphy letters. (Having a nice bullet journal aesthetic made you feel like you had some semblance of control over your life.)

However, what ended up happening was your cold getting worse on Friday night, subsequently draining your motivation to do anything. Your neighbor Hoseok stopped by to bring you some kimchi stew he made, and you did some of your Christmas shopping online, but that’s essentially the only contact you’ve had with the outside world for the past two days. 

On the bright side, today you feel like your cold is on its last leg, and unless you have any projects that would require you to work overtime, you could probably stop by the mall sometime this evening. 

“Hey Y/N!” Yoongi says with a small wave from where he sits in one the break room’s bar stools at the counter. He’s got a napkin beside him, slices of a tangerine and its peel laid across it.

“Hi Yoongi!” you respond, wondering if you sound stupidly overenthusiastic in an attempt to match his own tone. If so, nobody notices. 

“It seems like we’re running into each other all the time now that we’ve introduced ourselves.” You could point out that this is only the second time you’ve run into each other since last Friday, but you don’t. 

Yoongi scoots one seat down the line at the table, a subtle gesture that you take as an invite to sit next to him. After you make your coffee. You hold up your mug (you made sure you didn’t forget it this time) to signify as much.

“How was your weekend?” he asks as you sit down, popping another orange slice into his mouth with a grin.

“It was kind of bleh. I was sick for most of it, but I did some online gift shopping and my neighbor brought me soup! Oh yeah, sorry but I’m actually still a little sick—I can sit somewhere further if you’d like. I’m a germaphobe myself and I’d hate to get you sick too so close to the holidays.” Now you feel bad for sitting down right next to him in the first place. He’s probably grossed out.

“Don’t worry about it,” he says, and to be honest you have doubts that he’s serious about that. Who willingly sits near someone who has a cold? Sensing your skepticism, he holds up his orange. “Vitamin C is good for the immune system right? Besides, if anything I’m more concerned that you’re drinking coffee while you’re still fighting a cold. Not that I’m trying to dictate your life choices or anything.”

“This is a direct attack.” 

“Good.”

“Hey, you know what’s weird?” you ask, side glancing at him over your coffee mug. He hums. “Before last week, I literally knew nothing about you—in fact, none of my friends did either. Haven’t you been working here, like, years? How have we gone that long without crossing paths?”

“Good question,” he contemplates. “I mean, I’ve seen you during meetings and I’ve seen you here in the break room, but I just never initiated conversation. But I’m like that with everyone here. I’m like the office NPC.”

You tilt your head a little, waiting for him to elaborate. “Only speaks when spoken too, no sense of object permanence in other people’s mind.” You both laugh, and you’re pretty sure you let out an embarrassing snort too somewhere in the mix.

As you look at him, you realize that Yoongi deserves so much more than just some generic stuffed animal he’d have no use for. He seems like the kind of person you want to get to know more personally, because his personality is a total switch flip from how you’re used to interacting with Seokjin or Jimin, no offense to either of them. He’s kind of like you, and for that reason talking to him is such a breath of fresh air.

It seems like the more you talk to Yoongi, the less you want to mess this up. Whether ‘this’ means the Secret Santa gift, or something far more.

You’ll hold off on buying him anything, at least until you know him a little bit better. 

“What are you up to after work today?” you ask. You could use some company while you spend your evening waiting in long ass lines at Macy’s.

“I’m working overtime,” he says, and the sigh he lets out tells you he is not looking forward to it. “How about you?”

“I’m probably going to the mall to buy presents,” you reply, sounding a little less dreading because in comparison to Yoongi’s evening, gift shopping at a crowded mall probably sounds like the lesser evil.

“Ah,” he tuts, making you confused. “A last minute gift shopper, I see.”

“What?” you exclaim, mock-offended. “There’s still ten days until Christmas! This isn’t last minute!”

He shrugs. “You could’ve gotten all your shopping done on Black Friday and Cyber Monday like I did. This is pretty late.”

“That’s early gift shopping, if you want to get technical. I am not late.”

You check your watch. Have you really been sitting here with Yoongi for forty minutes? “Ugh, I should probably get back to work, before Seokjin kicks my ass. If you need me at all later today, I’ll be at the Yankee Candle store, sniffing scented candles like a crackhead until I find one that my sister will like.”

“Good luck to you,” he deadpans, cleaning up his trash and tossing it into the wastebasket. Such a simple statement, but it makes your heart beat a little faster.

It’s nearly four in the afternoon, and you’re at least ninety-five percent sure that you’ve already checked everything you needed to get done today off your list. Finish that app-launch project you were working on with Jimin? Check (although writing the terms and conditions page kind of made you want to die). Reorganize and dust off the contents of your desk? Check. Have coffee with Yoongi in the break room? Check (not technically part of your checklist, but it was part of your regular routine at this point).

Wait. Something was still missing. Something that had to do with your best friend, and your apartment. What was it?

You lean back in your chair, eyeing the entirety of your newly cleaned desk in thought. Even though you’ve just reorganized, you think that some things could be rearranged, only to restore the feng shui of the space. Namely, the custom 2019-2020 two year calendar that Seokjin bought you last year that was big and did nothing but announce “we’re best friends!” to anyone who peeks into your cubicle. You stare at the picture he chose for December—one of you two in matching patch knit sweaters standing on your apartment’s balcony, cheeks pink from the cold.

That’s it! You still needed to put up Christmas lights on your apartment! You scoop up your purse and leave your desk in search of Seokjin.

“Jin!” you say, catching the man’s attention as he’s rounding the corner from the conference room. Yoongi’s with him. “Can you come by today to help me put up Christmas lights?”

He groans in a distressed manner, looking up from his clipboard like you’re a mild inconvenience to him and not, you know, his best friend. “Tonight? You should’ve called me beforehand if you wanted to make plans.”

“I did. I called four times last night. What, do you have a date tonight or something?”

Yoongi snickers. Seokjin averts the question with his own. “Why do you need my help anyways?”

“Uh, because we always put up lights together every year? Plus you’re tall and you have big shoulders.”

Seokjin tches. “Yes, I am aware that my wide shoulders and large stature are beneficial to you and your decorating needs, but I’ll have you know I’m a busy man. I can come by on Saturday though.”

“Saturday?” you exclaim. “That’s like, four days away! That’s nearly Christmas already—there’d be absolutely no point.”

“Not to encroach on this very personal best friend moment that is happening here,” Yoongi starts. For a second you forgot he was here, too caught up in chewing out Seokjin. “But I’m actually not busy at all after work today. Maybe… I could come help put up your lights instead, Y/N? I mean, I’m not nearly as tall as Seokjin, and my shoulders definitely cannot compete with his, but—”

“That sounds like a great idea Yoongi!” Seokjin says excitedly in your stead, nudging you two towards each other. You’re not sure if it’s because he’s actively trying to get out of helping you for whatever reason, or if it has something to do with the fact that you accidentally spilled to him the other day that you may or may not have a half-crush on Yoongi. At this point, you’re too afraid to ask. “Now that that’s sorted, I should get going.” He checks his watch. “Holy shit, it’s already 4:30!”

No context given, he dashes off without another word, leaving you and Yoongi still standing in the middle of the damn hallway.

“Were you serious about helping me? Because if so, I’ll send you my address—if not, then I apologize for the eccentricity of Kim Seokjin for putting you through that.”

“Of course I was serious,” Yoongi says, hand over his heart like he was offended that you even thought otherwise. “I don’t know what alternative universe you’ve been living in, but I’m always willing to help you. I’m also always willing to cover for Seokjin, I guess.”

“Thanks,” you reply, adjusting your scarf to distract from the blush creeping across your cheeks. Yoongi just… exists? you think, not quite comprehending where this man came from, or why he’s got a heart of gold that makes yours squeeze in your chest. “So maybe come around, like, seven-ish?”

“Sounds good,” he smiles, turning to walk back to his desk. It’s not until right now that the last bit of his statement sinks in.

“Wait, do you know why Jin was acting so weird? Was I right about him going on a date?” Hey, you were his best friend—four years of friendship earned you the right to be a little nosy. Especially when he was acting as weird as he had been not even five minutes ago.

“...Something like that,” Yoongi replies cryptically. “See you later!”

You’re not sure whether you’re feeling suspicious at your best friend’s odd behavior, or you’re happy at the promise of seeing Yoongi later outside of the office setting, or some heathenish mix of the two.

Yoongi doesn’t seem like he’s the kind of person particularly known for being on time, but apparently he is.

It’s seven o’ clock on the dot, and here he is, standing at your door and ringing the doorbell. You spent the last two hours since you got home frantically cleaning the place up and getting all your string lights set up and ready to be put outside, but that didn’t need to be made public information.

You answer the door, and the first thing you notice is that Yoongi looks good. Honestly, you don’t know what you had been expecting (for him to still be in work clothes? who knows.), but it definitely wasn’t for him to be wearing black ripped jeans and a thick black turtleneck because what the fuck. You feel like that meme of Chris Fleming saying “could you excuse me?” then proceeding to go outside and scream.

It takes you a moment before you realize that you’re supposed to actually invite him in. You feel vastly underdressed in your own goddamn household, wearing a sweater dress that walks the borderline between being comfy pajamas and being a cute winter outfit. “Do you, uh, want hot chocolate or something? Or coffee?”

“Hot cocoa sounds good. And you don’t have to act so formal, you know. I’m still just Yoongi from work, except not exactly at work anymore,” he adds with a small laugh. Funny how he thinks that in any setting that he’s just Yoongi. 

“Right, right. My bad, Yoongi-from-work,” you reply with a joking raise of your eyebrows. “It’s so cold outside, I almost don’t even want to put up the Christmas lights and just stay inside.”

“That doesn’t sound like a bad idea,” he hums, and you try not to think too hard about the insinuation of his statement that this is possibly more of a Spending Time With Yoongi night rather than him coming over just to help you put up Christmas lights. “But as much as I’d rather watch holiday baking shows with you or something, I made a promise to be helpful, and I intend on fulfilling that.”

“We love a man who’s dedicated,” you say as you point at him with finger guns (looking back on this exact moment in a couple hours once he leaves, you cringe) before pouring the pot of hot chocolate into two matching mugs.

Yoongi looks around your kitchen and living room while he waits. It makes you feel a little self-conscious, but you push it aside. “Looks like you got all your Christmas shopping done—that’s good,” he says, nodding his chin towards where all of your presents for your family members sit neatly wrapped underneath your artificial Christmas tree when you sit down on the couch beside him.

“Yeah! I knocked out everyone on my list when I went to the mall on Monday, so I don’t have to worry about that anymore. Well, almost everyone. Just not my Secret Santa yet,” you tell, taking a sip of your cocoa.

“Ah, I still have to buy something for mine too. Did they at least write something they want that’d be easy to find?” Yoongi asks, and you can’t help but chuckle at the irony that this is the very problem that got you here with him in your living room in the first place. You realize that now you’re playing a game of How Vague Can You Be Without Him Knowing He’s Your Secret Santa. “Nothing too specific,” you reply. “Which complicates things, but I’ll figure it out. What’d you put on your list, anyways?”

You mentally pat yourself on the back for your slyness.

“Pfft,” he starts. “I think I put something stupid… I’m pretty sure I wrote ‘surprise me’, which admittedly is a bit of a shithead move but I just didn’t put too much thought into it when I signed up. Besides, the one thing that I did want was out of the price range anyways.”

You’re getting somewhere! This is good! “Oh? And what’s that?”

He scratches the back of his neck, like he feels sheepish about mentioning it to you. “I actually really wanted one of those ergonomic keyboards. You know, the ones that are curved and all the keys are placed differently? If anyone manages to get me one of those, I swear that’s like, the direct route to my heart.”

“I took anatomy in high school and I’m pretty sure the fastest way to the heart is the fourth and fifth ribs,” you tease, but you make a mental note of it. “But yeah, those things are pretty cool! If you don’t mind me asking, why do you want one of those for?”

He half smiles. “I’m trying to prevent getting carpal tunnel before I even turn thirty. Working on my computer every day and playing the piano throughout the entirety of my teen years hasn’t exactly been helping me with that. Enough about me though, what’s something that you’re hoping to get as a gift?”

“I actually really want a nice jewelry box—I haven’t had one since I was like, seven, but I lost it when I moved out for college. I wonder if it’s still somewhere at my parents’ house,” you ramble. Yoongi doesn’t mind though, all of his attention still fixated on you and everything you have to say.

You don’t realize how late it’s getting until you go back to your kitchen and see the clock on your oven flash back to you that it was nearly eight. Yoongi seems to notice this too, standing like he’s bracing himself to go outside and face the cold while he hangs up the string of lights around your balcony. “Ugh, I forgot that we’re not just hanging out and we actually have things to do. It’s like being at the office all over again,” you complain.

“I came here to see you though, didn’t I?” Once again, your heart beats erratically at the implication that him coming to help you put up Christmas lights meant far more than that. “I guess so.”

He stretches dramatically, cracking his knuckles like they’re damn glowsticks—which you have to admit was fairly impressive. “Alright. Let’s get decorating!”

You’re just about ready to clock out for the day when you get a ping of a Google Hangout notification on the left side of your desktop screen.

yoongi: on a scale of 1-10 how good would you say you are at ice skating?

yoongi: also are you free after work

yoongi: ^ those questions are not in any way, shape, or form related btw

“Dork,” you smile to yourself, picturing all of these messages being told in Yoongi’s dry-humor-slash-deadpan voice, before typing out a response.

y/n: 0 but only because i haven’t gone ice skating since i was like 13

y/n: say what u want min but i hope you know: i don’t believe in coincidences

y/n: and yes, for your informative needs, i am in fact free after work today

yoongi: cool 8)

yoongi: in that case, would you maybe want to go ice skating with me later?

y/n: “not in any way, shape, or form related” my ass

y/n: i am utterly shocked and offended that you would propose such a thing even after i told you how bad i am at it

The approaching footsteps go unnoticed as you get back to work, not quite ready to log out of your desktop for the day in case you get another message. You refresh the page a couple of times in search of a reply, since Yoongi isn’t particularly known for taking longer than a minute or two to respond to messages. At least, to your messages that was the case.

“So is that a yes or a no?”

To your surprise (nobody else’s, for your sense of spatial awareness is absolute shit), Yoongi’s suddenly in the doorway of your cubicle, leaning against the half-wall divider. It’s the same way that Seokjin always leans on your shit, but it’s a nice change to see him instead.

“Did you not hear the bit about me being absolutely horrendous at ice skating, or are you just doing this to spite me?” you question, narrowing your eyes in a manner that is in no way accusatory.

“Why can’t it be both?” he asks, lips spreading into an idiotic grin. “Please let me know if you’re accepting my invite within the next five minutes, because I don’t want to show up to the ice skating at the mall alone like a fucking loser if you decide to dip because you got cold feet. No pun intended.”

You laugh, and you’re pretty sure you’ve done an awful lot of laughing at Yoongi’s stupid jokes in the past two weeks since you’ve started talking to him. Not that it was at all forced. “Yes. I, Y/N, agree to subject myself to ice skating with you today. There, you happy?”

“Yes. Very,” he smiles, and his gaze is full of fondness that makes you blush. “So what time should we go?”

Yoongi taps his chin, like he hadn't been planning this outing since, well, this morning. “How about… right now? You’re leaving right now too, right?”

“Yes,” you say apprehensively. “But like, we’re still in our work clothes. Am I supposed to skate in a pencil skirt or…?”

“I don’t see the issue here.”

“I hate you Min Yoongi, I really do.” You don’t.

“It’s freezing out here,” Yoongi states, like it wasn’t already obvious by the visible puffs of air he releases with every word he speaks. His teeth chatter slightly, and his cheeks are reddened from the frosty air.

“Yeah,” you agree, your hands glued to your sides. Curse the coat that you wore today for not having sufficient pockets for you to bury your hands into for warmth. Yoongi seems to sense as much, reaching for your own hands to take into his.

It catches you off guard—not because you didn’t want to hold hands with Yoongi, because you did, but because you weren’t expecting him to initiate contact. His hands aren’t that warm, but it’s enough to keep you from feeling like your fingers will fall off as he drags you into the mall’s skating rink set up for the winter.

It’s not any warmer inside, but it’s a fucking ice rink, so there’s really no surprise.

Yoongi lets go of your hand, much to your dismay, but only briefly as he goes to buy both of your skate rentals and session wristbands. You insisted on paying for your own ticket, but after squabbling through the entirety of the ten minute car ride to the mall, convincing Yoongi otherwise was impossible.

He laces up his skates excitedly, acting similar to the kids sitting on the bench across from the two of you. “What about you?” you ask, poking at his cheek. “How good are you at skating?”

He hesitates to respond for a moment, contemplating his answer. “I’m okay at it.”

“Okay good,” you smile, struggling to get to your feet once your skates are on. “‘Cause I’m gonna need your help out there. Just a warning, if I fall on my ass, I’m taking you down with me.”

“I feel so threatened,” he snickers. “But that won’t happen, because I’d catch you first.” You have a really, really strong love-hate relationship with Yoongi’s self-confidence that makes sudden appearances and makes you so damn flustered all the time. “If you say so,” you respond, tugging Yoongi upward when he extends his fingers towards you for help getting to his feet.

Okay. You have been on the ice for approximately three minutes, and you’re already slipping. You grip onto the wall for support, searching the area around you for Yoongi. You scoot along the edge of the rink, then lo and behold, there’s Mr. Min himself, gliding across the ice towards you effortlessly like he’s some sort of olympiad. “What’s up?”

“You bastard,” you hiss, legs shaky in your skates like a newborn fawn. “When you said you’re okay at skating, I thought you meant that you could like, stand. Not fly around on the ice like you’re fucking Yuzuru Hanyu. Now I’m embarrassed.”

Yoongi laughs, leaning against the wall in front of you, just watching you struggle to keep standing on two feet. “Don’t be embarrassed, Y/N. It’s cute, anyways. Here.” He extends his hand to you. “I’ll help you. It’s not too hard if we do it together.”

You grab the inside of his wrist shakily, then loosen your grip to instead take his hand into yours. “Why are your hands so cold?”

“Well, for starters, I can’t feel any of my fingers.”

And as you’re standing here, heavy skates on your feet, letting go of the wall in favor of lacing your fingers with Yoongi’s, you know that this is a moment that you want to keep tucked away in the corners of your memories and never forget. And more importantly (in terms of immediate priorities, not emotionally speaking) you know exactly what you want to get for Yoongi.

You’re already running late. The party wasn’t supposed to start until seven, but like the good best friend you are, you promised Jin you’ll be at his house by 6:30 to help him set up. Well, you’re half a good best friend, because even though you’re early as promised, it’s fifteen minutes later than anticipated. You check your phone as you wait for someone to answer the door. (You did have a key, but you lost it a while back and still haven’t told Seokjin. You’re pretty sure it’s somewhere in your apartment though.)

[6:39pm] jin(gle bells): bruh i don’t know what happened to the eggs i bought from costco can u bring some

[6:44pm] jin(gle bells): nvm i caught taehyung eating them :-)

[6:44pm] yoongi: hey do u want me to pick you up so we can go to the party together ? its probably gonna end late and i know u hate driving at night 

You ignore Jin’s ominous sounding message in favor of replying to Yoongi. Not that it was that big of a deal anyways—you weren’t quite sure what to even say in response to the mess of whatever was currently happening in Jin’s residence. All you can do is brace yourself for the impending chaos inside.

[6:46pm] y/n: actually i’m already here!!! jin asked me to come early to set up lol

[6:46pm] y/n: thanks for the offer though 8) driving at night Sucks but i’ll survive

[6:47pm] y/n: see you in a lil bit !

“Help.” It’s all that Seokjin says upon opening the door, hair a fluffled mess and his penguin-print tie askew around his neck. You can vaguely hear someone (Taehyung? Jungkook?) already inside and belting out Santa Tell Me by Ariana Grande, voice a daunting mix between being really good and too loud for you to hear yourself think. At least the karaoke machine is working fine.

“Oh boy,” you mutter, stepping beside the man into his abode. “Trust me, you’re gonna need apple cider for this. Maybe even some alcohol,” he assures you. “Did you bring any more eggs?”

“Y/N!” Jungkook shouts, taking your attention away from your conversation with Yoongi and Namjoon, the three of you sitting on the couch together. There’s a marginally large amount of space between where you and Yoongi sit, a gap that you’ve been debating for the past forty minutes on whether you wanted to close or not.

There’s the intern in all his ugly-sweater-wearing glory, holding up a large box decked out with wrapping paper printed with a pattern of cookies on it. It looks about the size of the convection oven that you bought for your mom, but Jungkook lifts it like it weighs no more than a feather.

“Surprise! I’m your Secret Santa!” he announces, plopping down onto the couch in the conveniently wide space between you and Yoongi. Dammit. He thrusts the box into your hands, which to your surprise is a hell of a lot lighter than it looked to be. Interesting.

Unfolding the tape-sealed mess of paper and opening the box, there’s two things that you find: 1) an awful lot of tissue paper—like, it takes you a solid three minutes just to dig through it to even find your gift, and 2) two pairs of fluffy yellow socks. They’re the polyester and really soft ones, but other than that, they’re rather simple with no other patterns on them. 

“Look Y/N,” Jungkook starts. “I’m not usually the kind of person to buy socks as a gift and call it a day, I swear. I would’ve bought you something nicer, but Yoon—“ He stops talking when Yoongi elbows him in the ribs. 

“It’s okay Jungkook,” you laugh. “I put socks on my list, didn’t I? These are really good quality too. I love it.” The younger boy grins sheepishly, standing up. He scoots past you both towards the kitchen. “Well, I promised to bring Jimin some eggnog, so… I’ll see you two around!”

“Oh, I guess it’s gift time now,” you say, nerves fluttering in your stomach. You fumble for the slim box residing in your coat pocket, heart racing in your ears. Yoongi stands up. “I should go find my Secret Santa. Have you seen Irene anywhere?”

“Wait!” you say at a volume probably too loud to be appropriate. “Sit back down first. I, uh, have your gift.”

He cocks an eyebrow. “You do?”

You nod, lips pulled in to a sheepish smile, holding up the neatly wrapped box as confirmation. He takes it from you delicately, thumbing at the wrapping paper carefully as if it were made of gold. It feels like this two-minute long moment has been going on for eons as you wait with bated breath while he opens the box.

You scratch at the back of your neck, looking down in a ditch effort to avert his gaze. Not that he was even looking at you—no, his gaze was still transfixed on the knit black pair of gloves that sat on a cloud of tissue paper inside. “Your hands are always cold, so if you think about it… this is more of a gift for myself than it is for you.”

“Oh? How so?” The faux-innocence in his tone and the exaggerated raise of his eyebrow tells you he knows exactly why, but he wants to hear your answer aloud.

“Because,” you huff, now looking directly at him. He’s got a stupid grin plastered across his face. Like he knew the universe would align to this very moment to make you have to be the first one to admit to the feelings that everyone in the whole damn office knew were blooming between the two of you. “Holding your hands when they’re ice cold really fucking sucks, and unfortunately it’s something that I rather enjoy doing.”

“Oh? Are you sure it’s not because you hate when I do this?” As he speaks, his mouth turns up into a shit-eating grin and he leans forward and plants his hands on both sides of your face—freezing cold, as per usual. You yelp, grabbing at his wrists in a ditch effort to get his cold hands off your cheeks. He holds you tighter, and oh fuck is he getting closer?

“Yoongi!” you squirm, and part of you wants to just lean forward and kiss him but you’re not sure if that would be warranted or not. Not that you even have the option to—not when Seokjin’s obnoxious ass reminds you that you are, in fact, still sitting on his couch in the middle of his goddamn living room full of your coworkers.

“Ooh snap!” he hollers, catching everyone’s attention and too drunk off his ass to care about his volume, or having a functioning filter. He might as well just shout “Hey! Y/N has a fat crush on Min Yoongi, in case none of you were aware!”. You’re surprised that he even has the coherency (and decency) not to, but you’re not about to jinx it and speak that into existence.

Regardless, his call-outage is enough to pull you and Yoongi out of whatever moment was happening right now. He lets go, cheeks going red and you’re pretty sure you’ve done the same. You shoot Seokjin an exasperated look, to which he responds with guilt-free wide eyes.

Everyone’s attention is no longer on you and Yoongi, now back to watching Taehyung and Jungkook singing a duet of Last Christmas on the karaoke machine.

Yoongi clears his throat. “Thank you for the gloves, Y/N. I really love them.”

“Wait, Yoongi!” 

He turns around, not more than twenty steps ahead of you on the sidewalk towards his car. The red scarf around his neck bunches up around his cheeks, making him look like especially round. You run up to him, the midnight air sending chills up your spine.

“Hi,” you say, bouncing on your heels and hiding the bag in your hands behind your back. “It’s cold out here.”

“Y/N, are you ok—” He doesn’t get the chance to finish his question before you’re shoving the bag into his now glove-covered hands. “I got this for you too. I just didn’t want to give it to you in front of everyone because, well, I didn’t get gifts for anyone but you and Seokjin. Didn’t wanna hurt any of their feelings.”

Just like before with the gloves, he gently takes out each sheet of tissue paper from the bag until none of it is left. “Oh yeah, I didn’t have time to wrap it up nicely last night, since, you know, we kinda got home late from skating. Sorry.”

He pulls the keyboard’s box from the bag, looking at you with wide eyes. He doesn’t say anything, instead just watching you fondly as you begin to speak again.

“You said that finding this keyboard was the way to your heart, so I just figured—“

You don’t get the chance to finish your passive statement, as he tugs you forward by the shoulders and crashes his lips onto yours. You melt into the kiss, slanting his lips against your own. He tastes like apple cider and mint chapstick, and you want more. When he pulls away, you pout, admiring the flush in his cheeks.

“I got you something too. Hang on,” he says, gesturing his head towards his car as he exhales. When he returns, he’s got a small box in his hands, and part of you doesn’t want to open it at all, just admire how prettily it was wrapped in silver paper and topped with a turquoise ribbon. “Open it,” he tells you, looking away from you nervously and shuffling his feet.

When you do finally unwrap it, you’re greeted with the sight of a jewelry box no larger than both of your palms put together. Jungkook’s cut-off statement finally makes sense, but this is far more than you would’ve ever expected from the $25 budget for the Secret Santa game. There’s a pretty little pattern of yellow jasmine flowers engraved into the border, while the rest of the box is made of white wood. “Yoongi…”

“Do you like it?” 

“I do,” you say genuinely. “Thank you Yoongi. You really didn’t have to—I love it. And I really, really like you.” Oh shit, did you just say that out loud? “That felt nice to say.”

He smiles again, the grin you’ve grown so fond of a sight that you want to see for the rest of your life. “Good, because I really, really like you too.”

You want to kiss him again just because, but you don’t think that Seokjin or any of his neighbors would appreciate you and Yoongi making out on the sidewalk underneath the lamppost outside their houses at this late of an hour. “I should really get going,” you say, not really wanting to move. “See you sometime soon, Yoongi.”

“Goodnight, Y/N. Happy holidays.”

#secretsanta2019 #btswriterscollective #networkbangtan #hyunglinenetwork #bangtanhq #armyofwriters #magicshopnet #ficswithluv #minthlynet #btswritingcafe #yoongi fluff #yoongi fanfic #yoongi fic #yoongi au #bts au #bts fluff #bts x reader #yoongi x reader #bts fanfiction #bts fic #yoongi scenario #bts scenario #suga x reader #yoongi imagine #fic: the way to your heart #this fic was supposed to only be like 5k but it appears that i can never shut up abt yoongi #is this ending rushed because i feel like it 110% is but OKAY

[jinterlude]

Chipotlaid - Teaser

➟This lovely banner was created by @dee-ehn​​​​​​ from the BHQ”s Banner Request Board!

➟ Pairing: Seokjin x Reader (Female OC)

➟ Genre(s): Angst, SMUT, & Slight-Humor

➟ AUs/Tropes: Fast Food Worker!Seokjin, Enemies/Rivals!AU, Business Major!Seokjin, Business Major!Reader, Company Intern!Reader, College!AU, E2L (well more like friends working on discovering their odd yet new relationship now), One Time Fling  

➟ Warning(s) & Rating: suggestive themes | PG-15 (oh this is definitely 18+ on the full release lol)

➟ Word Count: 209 (teaser) 

➟ Summary: With a hurt and confusing past, seeing Seokjin behind the counter of your favorite fast food place was the last thing you could have imagined. 10 years of emotion still run rampant between you two, and it seems a do-over is the only way to truly figure out why you’re both so hung up on the past

↬ A/N: This is part of the Fast F*cking Food Collaboration hosted/created by the wonderful @jinned​! Let me know what you guys think of the teaser! I will be working and editing this beefy oneshot over the course of this weekend!

☞ Chipotlaid coming soon on 27 September 2020  ☜

The man chuckles deeply, closing the gap between your bodies as he presses his full lips against yours, emitting a small, hungry moan as he does so. God, he can never tire of kissing you because, with just a short peck, you become putty into his hands.

Slowly, he rests his hand against the back of your head as he lowers your bodies onto the mattress again.

Without realizing, you lock your fingers behind his nape as you pull him closer to you, wanting to feel all of him against your bare body.

You can’t quite wrap your mind around the fact that you crave his touch, but you happily surrender yourself when he touches you with his slender fingers.

With him, there’s no such thing as boundaries.

You belong to him—and he knows that too.

“This can’t happen again, Seokjin…” You say in a drawn-out whisper, fluttering your eyes shut as you become lost in the pleasure once again.

But unexpectedly, it stops, and you no longer feel his weight on top of you.

What the Hell?

You instantly sit up and notice a blank expression on Seokjin’s princely face.

“Seokjin?”

“You’re right. This can’t happen again because it’s time to wake up and face reality.”

“What?”

Chipotlaid is copyright 2020 by jinterlude, all rights reserved.

#bangtanarmynet #bangtanhq #kwritersworldnet #hyunglinenetwork #btswritersguild #btswriterscollective #armyofwriters #bangtanfairygarden #/mystories #bts #bts jin #bts seokjin #bts fanfic #bts smut #bts x reader #bts x you #bangtan jin #bangtan seokjin #bangtan fanfic #bangtan smut #bangtan x reader #bangtan x you #seokjin #seokjin x you #seokjin x reader #seokjin smut #seokjin fanfic #jin smut #fast f*cking collab

[juleswolverton-hyde]

A Valediction: Forbidden Mourning | 03

Genre: Smut, Romance, Angst, Stepbrother AU

Pairing: Stepbrother!Namjoon x English student!Reader

Warning: Possessive/Toxic behaviour & relationships, degrading, dirty talk, rough (non-?)consensual blowjob, allusion to rape, impregnation kink

Summary: Love comes in many shapes, but does not always have a prosperous fate. However, whereas parents might have found it, all the children can do is live in kalopsia.

Forbidden yet denying the mourning of the path chosen for them by Fate.

Previous part / Masterlist / Next part

Insanity comes in as many varieties as Devotion does, gradually flowing into existence in the form of odd physical and mental sensations. Some of those are formed by a simple touch, just a little trigger, or a single event with a bigger impact.

Or via confessions.

A single word.

One shouted syllable with the power to topple a carefully preserved world, crumble the truth repeated oft in the privacy of the Self or quiet mumblings. Withal, all the beguiling fantasies loudly rejoice in the fierce statement while Sense despairs in confusion for surely this cannot be.

All there is, is Madness.

Nothing else.

‘Me!’ Breathless as if having run a marathon, the ashen wolf keeps his blazing feverish gaze locked with that of the powerless prey he has cleverly caught by surprise filled with honesty. ‘I am your man! I’ve always been there when you needed a shoulder to cry on in frustration or wanted someone to talk to about a topic you feared nobody would even dare speak of.’

When Consciousness is dazed, it can lead to difficulties and uncalled for, rash actions. And it already begins to show in the slightly snarling speech of the koala with a rarely prominent spine. ‘That means nothing because it’s exactly what a brother is supposed to do for his younger sister.’

The comment, regardless of being nothing but a factual statement, causes the irritated expression of the listener to soften with hurt as well as the tone of speech upon replying. ‘Don’t call me that.’

‘Call you what?’ Though taking note of the change, the heart being torn just enough to be pained at the undeniably honest injustice for the sight of a wronged beloved is one of the hardest things to witness, a mean sour streak begins to colour attitude.

Not because of anger.

But out of fear.

Frightened by the prospect of being shattered into a million unrepairable glass shards, reverted to the fragile anxious girl lacking courage and henceforth turning into stone.

Anything to protect herself from the man that has been wanted the most.

The one that cannot be.

‘Your brother.’ In a flash, the movement unable to be registered and thus avoided before it is too late, the iron grip on the wrist briefly reappears to pull a small figure towards a cunning predator once more before warm trusted hands envelop the cheeks in a paradoxical gentle manner. The sharp albeit familiar comforting scent in the narrow space between synced bodies - amber and musk mixed with espresso - brings back the memories of the normal mornings during which a small bear and her five-years-older protector leaned into each other as awareness of the world gradually seeped in. A simply perfect daily moment before setting off to heed the call of obligation, receiving the last pat on the hair or quick meaningless kiss on the forehead. ‘Don’t tell me I mean nothing. That what just happened didn’t mean shit to you.’

‘You’re mad, raving mad.’ The accusation made to fervent eyes is double-edged for the lunatic judge speaks as if entirely innocent while being guilty all the same. The taking in of the thumb while fantasizing about another part of the body was an accident, Instinct idiotically triggered by the perverse touch and thus forming an aftermath that is now endeavoured to be cloaked by harrowing guarding denial. ‘Besides, what of Heungji, your girlfriend?’

The slightest shift in behaviour is noticeable, but the expression that flashes by is not conveying the emotions it should have concerning the matter words spell out loud for a mislead soul. It retains the sensuality of the remorseless demon risen recently though the genuine nature of the bear shimmers beneath its surface just enough to be remarked upon underneath the darkness, nonchalance tinted with an icy thin layer of a broken man. ‘We broke up yesterday but it doesn’t matter. It wasn’t working out for a while anyway. Maybe because of the distance.’ A head shake accompanied by a cruel shrug infuriates the mirrored wolf to a level that is entirely novel, knees trembling with the urge to surge upwards and kick where it truly hurts despite the fancies about the spot. ‘Maybe it was meant to end this way from the beginning, meaning essentially nothing.’

I don’t know this person. Namjoon, where is the lovely caring man I’ve come to know? Where are you?

‘How can you be so casual about it? You two had a relationship for close on three years! Your Skype calls seemed pleasant enough when I walked by your room, sometimes a bit too amiable...’ Heated crimson immediately paints the canvas of a vehement predator vocally battling another in the religious plaza of separation. Withal, she shies away into retreat as the memory of the first time accidentally hearing the call of what gives a person power over another, though the victim was too far gone already at that point, uttered by a mouth that should never have done so in such a manner.

A hideous triumphant smug smirk shapes itself on plush roseate lips, dark cinnamon irises acquiring a terrible crafty glint which signifies the explanation of past affairs has finally become obvious. ‘Ah, I see. So that’s why you ran away. All this time, playing innocent pretend and making me fall for it, tricking me into thinking I made you embarrassed.’

Close, incredibly close come the despicable bodies of step-siblings treading on holy ground. The caramel hand falls away from the cheek towards the behind, tracing every curve from the neck to its destination and pushing it flush against a tempting yet aggravating stranger. The hold on the lower flesh coaxes out a surprised gasp when it becomes firmer and induces that odd sensation that was also given by means of the possessive text leading up to this situation.

The baritone voice grown husky lowers further to a sonorous whisper containing an intimate tone never even heard during the nights filled with stressed frustrated tears. ‘You should’ve told me, baby. I would’ve fucked you on the counter since you were practically begging me, wearing what I bought you and enjoying the humping. Shit, that’s what you want, isn’t it? Being fucked by only me, have me inside you. Throbbing, bare, filling you up.’ The lips of the devilish wolf brush against those of an astounded conflicted statue, on one hand, wanting to live the realization of the blatant words while also having the pressing desire to put some sense and moral into a beloved who was thought higher of. The barely audible request almost dooms the battle for restraint, ensuring a complete surrender to the corrupted force of a relentless poet. ‘I changed for you, Y/N. I quit smoking for you, have shown you more than once via books and clothes I can provide for you and what is good for you. Let me be your man.’

‘People are staring.’ For a split second, there is a sudden trivial concern about how to come across to the public, wondering if they know what is going on and how the judgement of the display rings. A quick unsure glance sideways tells of the passing eyes throwing looks in random disinterest to what the winter sun is not allowed by Time to shroud in night, obscuring the scene from the distant public.

‘Let them. None of them has a chance with you nor me, so this is all they can do. You’re mine, only mine.’

No resistance meet the lips fully pressing against those of an immoral  being rendered speechless by the inability to fight back. Soft musky amber moans answer the breathless whimpers of the uncomprehending mouth unable to stop, goosebumps rising on every surface slender poetic fingers trace, going from the cheek over the chest clad in the loose onyx turtleneck belonging to a two-faced bear and ends at the hip where it mirrors the strength of its twin further below. Every last bit of Reason is destroyed by realized fantasy, the Self melting into the one holding it as close as possible without souls fully merging.

A short repose is taken for praise that makes scarlet spread all over a dazed expression, vision grown hazy and Thought grown intoxicated beyond redemption with the sweet poison of fully being owned by Namjoon. ‘You look so beautiful in my clothes, baby. Smell so nicely of me, showing all men just whose you are.’

What am I doing? This is wrong. I should step away, end this. While it’s still not too late.

Although delayed in arrival by a very long shot into the abyss of Madness, Logic heroically sprints in to make an attempt at preserving the heart from imminent disappointment as it has been doing since separated parents found a peer and an unexpected stepbrother turned the whole world upside down and inside out. Awake hands high on adrenaline make use of the opportunity to push the tall grey-haired man away distracted by the sight of a forbidden idol fashioned to match personal taste, unaware that doing so goes against Nature and the morals the curiously sensually venerated maid inherently stands for: individuality and liberty. In fact, boldness fueled by confused anger results in a firm smack on a tanned cheek that has been kissed quickly, meaninglessly, many times in thanks for a present.

A gift solely meant to buy affection, apparently.

Simple monetary favours functioning as a means to an end.

Probably the Fox’s heart was won the same despicable way, seduced by the very words now turned towards a reawakened fighter with a vision rimmed with scarlet.

The impact of the hit is great enough to make Namjoon face the female monument commemorating the resistance during The Second World War, the sound of skin on skin loud enough to make a few individuals turn around in wonder and find a scene frozen by time.

Notwithstanding, when the initial shock of the uncharacteristic action fades and sets the rage free once more, Reality resumes. ‘You fucking bastard! What’s wrong with you?’

Hands fall away from the figure to carefully brush over the irritated bright ruby spot in the form of a small palm, mapping out the damage and smiling curiously satisfied at the discovery it is more severe than expected. Yet, what is more worrisome than the predatory grin, is the calculated tone which is picked up to strike back lexically. ‘What’s wrong with me? I’m in love with you and you are with me. It’s a clear observation from the way you enjoyed that kiss, Y/N. You need me just as I need you.’

‘I’m my own person, Joon. You don’t need nor love me because my affection isn’t for sale.’ A barely visible shake of the head accompanied by a step backwards on the mustard cobblestones, away from the possessive poet, introduce a retreat while not knowing how far feet can run before being halted by the cunning wolf in front of them.

If they shall make it at all to the safety of seclusion, a sanctum of tranquillity in which thoughts can be gathered and a solution to safely get out of the situation can be contemplated. To build up the walls guarding the heart from the rubble caused by Intimacy, aided by the forces of Fantasy and foolish dreams.

Out of respect for Heungji, who is replaced too casually and easily.

To take the sensible righteous path.

Walk away.

Again.

Nonetheless, whereas fleeing to the invisible shadows had been effortless before, the very touch of the jailor captures the renegade anew with a grasp that will bruise the weak wrists giving in immediately for the worst of physical hurt instinctively wants to be evaded. The emotional equivalent is already a burdened cross to bear. ‘Not so fast, we’re not done. You’re not even going to apologize for slapping me?’

‘Apologize?’ Eyes widen in astonishment when turning obediently around in awareness of not being able to get anywhere thanks to a failed plan. ‘You’re fresh out of a breakup with a girl who clearly deserved better than the bloody bastard that left her. And as a reminder,’ with effort, the volume of speech is turned down to keep random ears deaf to the scandalous accusation of which the secret enjoyment shall never be admitted explicitly despite being revealed anyway, ‘you jerked off to your stepsister. It’s sick. Especially because you-’

A sarcastic huff followed by a similar-sounding comment disputes the judgement. ‘Because I am your stepbrother? We’re not related by blood and our parents aren’t married. Baby, listen-’

No, because you’re toying with me.

‘I’m not your baby nor bear. Think for a second, will you? Do you have any fucking idea how much this hurts, seeing this side of you? How can you be so cruel?’ Justice is demanded for two souls miles apart, unconnected in any way other than both being a woman attacked by the charms of a man who is truly an incarnated demon devoid of a sense of respect and honour.

Where are you, Namjoon? Who is this stranger?

‘Me? Cruel? I told you Heungji and I hadn’t been going well for a while, simply stretching time as friends until we both recognized that didn’t work either. We might as well have broken up a year ago. I simply didn’t tell you about it because adding my problems to the heap of your own would have made you break down completely. But I love you, hence is why I kept silent and tried to figure it out on my own, changing because of you. For you.’ It comes out in a waterfall, sentences flowing over a silver tongue that cannot be trusted for, surely, a worthless student could never have been the reason for a powerful composed man to change.

Lies, all of them.

All of this.

Us.

Stop playing with my heart.

Thwarted ears turn deaf to the beautiful imaginary truth, muting Fancy in favour of listening to the sensible being within crying out the advice to not give up since there is no such alternate universe as the one seemingly build in the inner cave wherein the flames reflect it on its walls. ‘No, it wasn’t because of me. You’re just upset and need comfort, which is fine but don’t talk as if I mean anything other to you than a sister or of your ex as if she meant nothing. She’s a person as well. So stop sweet talking because I’ve heard enough bullshit.’

‘I’m not making this up, Y/N.’ Instead of incomprehension, full lips that are tempting with the allure of being kissed again retort into a snarl given earlier to Changkyun. Then the aggression was pointed at another target, but now it is at an individual who is supposedly cherished. ‘I do love you. I do want to be your man. I know I can’t buy love with money, but the reason for all those gifts is that it pleases me to do something, anything, for you and show you a bit of myself as well. That’s all there is to it, baby. Just me leaving silent clues of myself behind while trying to make you happy.’

Through the vigorously blazing menace in familiar espresso irises, faintly shines the unmistakable light of honesty and repressed fragility, both dimmed by the desperate attitude with a rigid edge that cut off a former mistress. ‘Yeah, right. I’m pretty damn sure this is how you seduced Heungji as well, playing the role of the handsome and nice dandy sugar daddy while also manipulating her to fit your tastes. Only to push her aside when a better, more nauseating, alternative comes along. Despicable. Good luck finding another unwarned girl because I’m not buying this crap.’

Please just shut up. I don’t want to hear any more sweet nothings nor have this awful lingering wish to be with you.

‘Y/N, I mean it. I don’t want anybody but you. Why is that so hard to understand?’ A vicious tug at the wrist that had almost succeeded in slipping away from its prison immediately pulls back a wise soul about to make a futile attempt at walking away in spite of being unbreakably chained to the lovely hell it has tried so hard to escape.

Glaring to where white knuckles hold on painfully tight, ignoring the unpleasantness to the best ability allows, the words come out almost in a growl with the hint of a pathetic dishonest plead of being set free. ‘Why can’t you just let me go? Stop with the mind games, saying the same empty things over and over again.’

‘Baby-’ Trembling digits, accelerated panicked breath.

At last eyes finally dare to brave the shaking wolf, have the courage to face the too dearly loved disguise it wears and able to berate it confidently without needing to oppress any disrupting stutters. ‘Stop fucking lying to me!’

‘No, you’re going to listen to me, you brat. Or I’ll have to show you your mistake.’ A curious lust distorts the tornado thought to be solely filled with hateful aggression, composure telling of the fact of being driven to dire straits and thus at the point of picking up weapons formerly unused.

A foolish mocking huff cuts the rope of the unspoken decision about obedience, leading down a road which might end in regret. Just not in the form it was anticipated to be. ‘Oh, you’ll show me? By all means, do your worst, you selfish lying bastard.’

‘Force it is, then.’

The tracks over the irregular mustard and reddish plum tiles leading from the plaza to the university edifice on the pope’s dyke are retraced with impatient haste, but not entirely as a sharp left turn is taken at the ironically placed statue of a medieval French poetic criminal to the tranquility of secluded gardens in a place of spiritual elevation. Golden lights filters in through the gothic intricate decorations of the weathered stone passageway, illuminating the dull tiles alternating between a lighter and darker shade of grey, all of them inherently different from the varying tones of the material used to build the sanctum. Lush green bushes form neat flower beds which also form a path to walk along, functioning as a guide when wandering around the garden.

At the end of the hallway, nearby heavy wooden doors remaining from the oldest days, rapidly striding onyx leather shoes and the Scottish mud-stained boots following them come to a halt behind a pillar at an angle that conceals them from sight. Quite a clever spot to conduct private affairs since not many souls come to the cloister during winter, even when the weather turns into its rare gorgeous shape, and there is no echo unintentionally carrying on a conversation.

Although familiar with the place, it still remains a curious location for the supposed showing of the mistake that has nothing to do with religion. ‘What are we doing here?’

The personified shackle around the wrist loosens a bit to adjust the hold and guide it down to where free fingers skillfully have undone the zipper and button to the black office slacks, forcing it down the fabric of the same-toned cotton of Calvin Klein boxers. A soft whimper rolls out on a breath when the palm makes contact with the same source of heat that was sinfully pressed against the behind this very morning, the hardened skin incredibly warm and seemingly reacting to the touch. ‘Here. Feel how much I want you. No man is good enough for you so you really upset me by trying it with Changkyun, giving him more hope to make you his.’ A low grunt resounds in the silence when hips roll softly into the independent exploring of the nether region, perversely fascinated by this new type of touch. ‘That’s right, baby. I’m what you need. At last, you’re listening.’

Invisible marbling veins sketch a mental picture of the landscape that makes thighs clench together in as inconspicuous a manner as is possible under the controlling gaze, a vague satisfied grin appearing on the edge of vision while continuing with making discoveries. Teeth bite down on the bottom lip, happy to please the wolf while also hopefully wondering how it would affect the mind and body further if the gesture goes far beyond the point it is now. A barely audible whine begs for it to happen, failing in properly formulating a coherent wording of the wish. ‘Namjoon, you- it’s-’

‘You want it, don’t you? Have my big cock inside, filling that tight pussy up so nicely as I’m fucking you into the mattress.’ Low dangerous chuckling occurs at the sight of the eager instinctive nodding of a soul pulled further into the tempting Hell that has been tried to get away from many times over. However, this time, it is glad to stay. Craving the rule of its ruthless poet and serving in name of his pleasure, wrong as it is. A delighted gasp escapes at feeling another twitch, a sign of rightfully serving Immorality despite a lack of experience. ‘Here I was, about to go home and breed you until cum is leaking out of you, every thought going immediately to me afterwards and yet needing another good pounding despite not being able to walk.’

Two fingers push the chin upwards, the flash of direct sunlight blinding and thus making eyes tear when gazes compellingly meet. ‘I’d make you scream my name, cry out like a slut craving to be bred over and over again. But since you like it so much to go against me, I’ll first have to teach you how to talk properly.’ The same thoughtful gentle thumb traces over the trembling lower lip of the insensible prey, knowing exactly how to pull its strings, before forcefully grabbing the jaw. ‘Get on your knees, brat.’

Quick and as invisible as the wind blowing through the historic stone framework, two firm caramel amber-scented hands move position to narrow shoulders and push them down with a strength that cannot be resisted, thus having no other choice but to give in. Not that the command would have been disregarded since the surrender is with content till a certain degree, finding mischievous amusement in driving Namjoon to savagery by resisting.

Henceforth, the limits are pushed a little more even though it is hard to persist when seeing the actual manifestation of the physical fantasy constructed by nimble fingertips and the shiny obviously agitated with wanting sensitive skin makes contact with the lips.

‘Open your mouth.’ Calmly, the sonorously spoken mandate comes out as a request instead of the command it truly is, clearly anticipating obedience.

Withal, stubbornly holding on in determination, a challenging glint dares the mighty poet to try the means formerly left untouched, hoping to feel those slender fingers grab the chin again like just a second ago. Be utterly under the influence of an awe-inspiring force once more, listening to the sole love that has been craved all this time and can now finally be had.

It does not matter if there shall only be roughness because Joon ultimately means well, knows what is best for the chaotic English student who has been taken care of all this time without her awareness of it. Henceforth, there is one thing now that cannot be denied any longer, clear as day floating around in the Conscious and endlessly annoying Sense with its charming truth.

I belong to him.

I am his.

The artificial kindness has vanished, baritone voice lowered to as threatening a tone as Gretel took on the moment the creature of the night had to face Beowulf. ‘Open. Your. Mouth.’

At once more blatantly ignoring the order, digits do indeed, precisely as expected, mould around the jawbone in a brutal hurtful grip. The exertion of control brings a perverse devilish grin to a restricted mouth, which is obviously not appreciated as the pain towards the cheeks lightens with the focus of the grip shifting towards the chin. ‘Fine, have it your way.’

With a motion depleted of the characteristic gentleness of the disguise of the wise bear, lips are wrenched apart and wrongly judged - too confident in the personal capabilities of being able to handle it - wanton longing mercilessly shoved in. In an instant the comfortable rhythm of breathing is cut off, lungs fighting for oxygen yet denied it by the pushing hand cloaked in silky dirty blonde locks on the back of the head. A blind panic starts inside, fingers searching for a grip on the onyx trousers to make the distress known but finding no answer when they do.

What formerly seemed a sensually amusing idea has now turned into a grave mistake.

Instead of paying attention to the desperate ministrations on the expensive fabric below, the harsh oppression turns in a deceivingly sweet version of itself as Namjoon holds the face against the soft warm surface of the stomach, the scent of amber musk both a comforting intoxication while also a means of suffocation. Even the coarse baritone timbre in speech transforms, gaining an absurdly cordial tone while cooing praises that do nothing in the way of affecting the regret about not having thought of an escape instead of following a pied piper up to this point. ‘That’s a good girl. Fuck, look at you, all tearful and my throbbing cock in your mouth. So beautiful.’

The head is kept in place after slightly moving it away from the heat radiating underneath the crimson shirt, thus establishing enough distance to be able to look each other in the eye, the puppet master in full control of the ragdoll’s strings. A sharp snap of the hips forwards triggers a strong gag reflex, distressed whimpers begging for mercy. Unfortunately, like the former signs of discomfort, they are brushed off in favour of pleasure in control. ‘I don’t care if I’m too rough. You upset me, baby, and you know very well why. So quit whining because this is nothing but your own doing.’ A trail of saliva already dribbles down the side of the face, the see-through liquid glistening in the bright rays of light intricately filtered by the historical setting as it also slightly drips onto the ink-black turtleneck from the chin. Namjoon picks up on it, a sliver of a smug grin distorting the ugly snarl formed by gritted teeth. ‘Drooling, are we? Do you want more, Y/N?’

Rendered utterly helpless with the ability to speak impaired, high pitched squeaks directed upwards resembling the statement “please, stop” vaguely reply to the wrong assumption. Undeniably, there is Love for this man accompanied by the desire to be owned by the two-faced bear, continuously be in the dark poet’s company whenever possible. Yet, the realization of what effects poor judgement might have on estimation comes too late because this is what Sense has been internally rampaging about.

The type of treatment is as wrong as the formerly present willingness, the lingering craving to be with a stepbrother.

More than that even.

It is sickening.

This is rape. But, what if this is the only way, in this animalistic manner, that he can show he loves me? What if I’m indeed mistaken?

The thought goes paired with the nagging reminder that the current situation is precisely what has been wanted, been dreamt about so many times. Furthermore, the meaningful gifts containing tiny hints of Personality and care taken of an unaware girl in the relationship all this time are forms which signify knowledge about holding an individual dear.

Taking the evidence into account alongside the lonesome past, the countless travels during which it had been solely Joon that could have filled up the desperately ignored gap, I know nothing.

But what forms not yet a part of Wisdom can be learned by books.

Or a teacher.

With tears streaming down the cheeks and after trying to swallow, to no avail, a weak nod agrees to the presumption earlier thought of as incorrect.

As if having read the underlying motive for the change in attitude, the asked question is truly a confirmation in nature. ‘You’re gonna stop struggling?’

Inducing self-made blindness to focus on making the ruthless lover proud by obeying substitutes as a sufficient answer. Though not able to see it, the overtaking satisfied attitude must undoubtedly be visible in expression which, in turn, lifts the spirits of the newly discovered persona on the cold stone floor a wee bit upwards into a better atmosphere. Especially at hearing the secretly coveted compliment that indicates behaving in a manner which is liked, the sickest part within willing to dance to the puppet master’s strings. Anything to not lose him and have a chance at exploring a novel sort of bond. ‘Good girl.’

There is no chance to exert any type of independent movement nor power while serving in a manner that goes against every moral the Self stood for, the sole ones being leaning into the firm hurtful grip on ashen locks while trying not to suffocate or give into the gagging likely to end in actually throwing up. The discomfort is lessened a bit by the commendations uttered under delighted muffled grunts and insults which strangely cause a pleasurable tightening knot in the stomach, the affirmations of doing it right.

Be the privileged venerated maid adapted to personal taste who makes the grey-haired wolf proud.

Be his.

Only his.

‘You- You don’t have su- such a big mouth now, do you? Shit,’ for the duration of a few fast advances there is no continuation of the sentence, merely teeth worrying a macaroon-toned full bottom lip, ‘I bet your pussy feels even better. Warm, slick, tight, so fu- fucking tight. Needing cum, wanting me to- to put my child inside you.’ Like before, the face is pulled into the velvet material of the scarlet shirt, resting against the cushiony part of the stomach, as the speeds accelerates to an almost inhuman pace while thrusts grow shorter and more erratic. ‘Have your belly swell up, tits full and round just like when you’re on your period. Fuck, they look so good then. Probably so sensitive. I jerked off so many times to you when you look like that, wanting to fuck you right as it’s over, making you pregnant.’

A strong pull on blonde-silver hair compels a locking of gazes, allowing to see the fever burning bright above labouring crimson. A mirror of the roiling heat currently discombobulating every thought with the notion of being wanted to a degree which exceeds the expectation, serving the will to endure the roughhousing. ‘Wou- Would you like that, me breeding you? Shit, I won’t even give you a choice. No condom- yeah, that’s it, brat, keep sucking- no birth control.’ The last thing before being reintroduced to the former scarlet forced resting place, is the smile imagined to be unerasable when indeed becoming a father. However, the chosen partner, in spite of the mutual affection, is not ready to partake in that altering of independent life, too young to have considered it let alone prepared to leave behind the perks of being unbound. Moreover, it is a foreign future existing in a dream.

Not for us to reach towards.

There is a prospect which is likelier to be achieved if parents cut the knot and tie it again with rings.

Separation.

Until then, there is merely kalopsia.

Our opium.

‘No lube- ngh, keep licking the tip. Yeah, that’s a good slut. Oh God, you’d love being bred like that. Fucked open by this thi- thick bare cock from behind, small fragile form shivering. Maybe even wear a- a cute tail plug. Oh, fuck, yes, you’d look perfect.’ Fingers cloaked in ash tangibly cramp up, breaths sharper now that Sanity literally hangs on by a thread. A second one grown corrupted due to its influence joins it, trembling with the vivid images painted by blunt words, wishing it could be real - aside from the risk of accidentally giving life to a bairn - and expressing this through approving sounds. ‘Yeah, you want that? Want me to pump my kids in- into you- like... that!’

Sticky saltiness covers the roof of the mouth, flowing partially down the throat while some of it is drifting off on strings of saliva when the physical binding in made almost entirely undone and completely so after the last spurt.

Namjoon is the first to return fully to Reality, regaining the grave seriousness after restoring composure during a brief repose to come down from floating in a realm somewhere between worlds as the other party is mostly recovering from the lack of air. ‘Show me you can talk properly now.’

All of the sinful fluid is collected in a small pool in the front of the oral cavity to display it to the breathless yet demanding poet, happy to see a proud grin appear at the sight of the evidence of stormy pleasure, tongue running suggestively in an imprecise promise of sensuality in the nearby future if this attitude is kept up. It makes the effect of the unplanned, or mayhaps planned, punishment of being left undone not minded as much as it should have. Regardless, it remains a fair repayment for the opposing behaviour displayed earlier.

Low chuckling, genuinely entertained in a sort of innocent fashion, resonates in the empty hallway at pulling a sour face when swallowing the incredibly briny liquid. The pleasant sound - that is heard almost on a daily basis yet shall never be boring - is quick to fade when lips meet to taste the aftermath of the desecration of the holy grounds of the sanctum, mine making sure the traces are noticeable to an even bigger delight of the man reverted to the bear who has been come to know the past two years, the heartless demon inside retreating for the moment.

A chaste kiss on the forehead and a loveable radiant white smile puts an end to the committing of sins, preceding the proposal stolen from another whose name has been temporarily forgotten, but which has turned into a reward for a splendid deed instead of a careless mistake. ‘You did well, baby. I’ll treat you to coffee.’

#BTS #BTS smut #BTS x Reader #btssmutclub #kpopwonderlandtag #btsguild #armyofwriters #Namjoon #RM #Kim Namjoon #Joon #Stepbrother!Namjoon #AV:FM

[hippo-euphoria]

"i feel my fate in you"

- vmin; minor yoonkook

- 20.9k

- Four days before Christmas, Jimin wakes up alone in a stranger's bed.

ao3: archiveofourown.org/works/22264114

spotify playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/7ecpgC8uTB7SljP7xWBqaz?si=wTBjkK8ESFeU_T5qbaiGVA

#bts #armyofwriters #bangtan #jeongguk #jungkook #yoongi #suga #jin #namjoon #rm #seokjin #vmin #bts fanfic #vmin au #christmas au

[minstrivia]

; lovesick 02 | m.

— title: meet me

— pairing: kim taehyung x reader, ft. kim namjoon

— genre: angst, smut, college au, fuckboy au

— word count: 7k+

i’m thinking back to when i was young. back to the day when i was falling in love

— warnings: breathplay, creampie, degradation, dirty talk, praise!kink, rough sex, voyeurism (mission get a room = failed), unprotected sex, wow this was meant to be soft smut?? with a condom!!! what even am i??

— disclaimer: y/n making bad choices even i don’t agree with.

It had been one of those halcyon rural nightfalls, those culminating mesmeric sundown's she'd known he had an all too aberrant penchant for. A benign tranquillity mediating amongst them as the moonlight barely brought life to the terrain surrounding, everything yonder a picture of secrecy to the caricature naked eye and near complete reticence besides the genial rustling of the bosky grass beneath them. Y/N remembers thinking she could never forget a time like that, a claudicant moment when he'd sat before her, fracturable as ever, a corpulent stretch of arms lengths keeping them— much to her chagrin— alienated from the other, his tall legs bent taut to his chest, arms clasped around the span of his calves and his forehead stuck to the hard callous bones of his knees. At the time it'd been such a mystifying sight, so implausibly strange she'd had no idea what to say to him, no collated words seemed explicitly helpful nor fitting then. So, she'd watched him instead, figure bent like his own, cheek to knees whilst she observed him meticulously, eyes centralised on the rhythmic heaved breaths curling at the rounds of his spine, the fractious shake seizing his tightly clasped fingers and rendering him— weak? Y/N had scrunched her nose at the word. Taehyung wasn't weak, not her best friend, not the charismatic libidinous brazen Apollo that emanated with a cocksure aura she'd always envied. Weak had been the last thing she'd ever describe him as. Yet, there he'd presented himself before her, emphatic harrowing sobs racking through the frame of his body, cursing the easeful night with a wretched cry for help and making her wonder. What had it taken to fully shatter a boy so complete? He'd yet to tell her why he'd called, not that she'd asked either, the hoarse skittish tone in his voice had choked the stemming question in her throat, superseding it with a curt mutter of agreement; settling to meet him at such a time despite the few hours left before start of school. Howbeit, she'd never regret it, even with the fact he'd caused her stellar attendance to be barred with her first ever uncharted truancy. She could never bring herself to second guess her decision to meet him, not when he'd finally looked at her the way he did— talked to her the way he did— or even touched her the way he did. Y/N had found herself admiring him then, admiring the way he'd composed himself somewhat, cries lapsing into here and there subdued gasps and whispers as he'd gripped onto his clothing with an iron fist. Building his cinder block walls back as steep as ever, as if all he'd really needed was just to let it all out, for that fugitive moment, he'd just needed to be boundless, completely sedate with an inspirited freedom. And all he'd wanted was her there, an understanding of silence as she'd waited on the grounds that he'd just needed her presence— nothing more, nothing less. "Sorry," he'd murmured, the taper whites of his eyes delineated a wounded scarlet when he chanced a fleeting glance at her, an almost pitiable sniffle crinkling at his nose and his desiccant lips parting ever so effortlessly when he spoke, a blithe whisper being all that was made of the words. "I'm sorry, Y/N." "Hmm?" Y/N's lips had stooped into an addled grimace. For what reason did he have to be sorry? She hadn't been the one with stale streaks of tears lining her ruddy cheeks, neither had she been the one to sound so damaged, so obscured. And still, the sincerity of the utterance hadn't been lost in transit, leaving her as dumbstruck as ever, back straightening as she narrowed her eyes. "For what?" "Dragging you here—" He scuffed his shoes on the rocky mud beneath him, pretending the display had become of sudden concern to him as he refused to look at her. He'd know what she'd been thinking if he had, Y/N had always been so transparent to him, a facile gander being all it took to fathom the thoughts she'd assumed her face had hidden. And he hadn't needed— wanted it, not then, definitely not then. "You shouldn't have come out here for me. Should have told me to fuck off or something." Y/N had nodded mindlessly, she wasn't completely oblivious, she'd known he was a lot more partial in venturing to divert the conversation from what she'd just witnessed, than feigning he hadn't really needed her. But she'd went along with it, she'd replied, "Maybe." A heedless lift of her shoulders followed by a genteel laugh as she ran her clammy palms up her thigh. "It's too late now though, isn't it?" She asked, rhetorically, of course, clapping her hands together with a simper. "Anyway, who are you kidding? I would have come regardless." Taehyung scoffed, his head rising to finally look at her properly, finally bask in her fixed gaze, curiosity drawing at her brows and questioning at her lips. Of course, that had been her answer, he hadn't really expected anything less, not from Y/N, her heart had been too warm for that, too impulsively caring and big to leave him by himself at a time like that. And he'd known that. "Y/N, you ever wonder if erm—" He sighed, a hefty breath clearing his thoughts momentarily, head sloping upwards as the incandescent stars began to illuminate the twilight sky, one by one, enlightening it with a picturesque artistry of love, hope, and new beginnings. All of which he'd found he wanted, craved even. "You ever wonder if you'll ever find that someone, you know? That someone that makes you, for the first time in your life want to care— really really care, for them and them for you. Someone you know you'd do anything for." Y/N imagines her face must have been a picture of curiosity when he'd looked at her, a chary smile and an airy shrug thrown her way to ease the weighty burden of his thoughts. As if he'd known she felt out of her depth but continued anyway. "You ever just sit and wonder if that perfect person actually exists, or— or if you're just never meant to feel that kind of happiness. If that person may be someone else's first, never to be yours, no matter how much you want them because that's just the way the world works." He'd chuckled despite his copious tone, outstretching his lengthy legs forward, balls of his palms pressed to the ground behind him whilst he'd looked at her, regarding her with such scrutiny, as if she'd never fully understood but he'd said it anyway. And Y/N hadn't understood, not then, not really. She'd cleared her throat, tugging at the frayed ends of her woolly jumper nervously, eyes veering away from his as the sudden overwhelming feeling of being under his pointed gaze seeped below her skin, shuddering down her spine and making her feel as if she were the reason they'd been cooped at the top of the mountain and not him, as if she'd been the one that needed to let go. Taehyung always had a way of doing that, like an art he'd defined, his undeviating attention compelling one to feel under examination, no matter the circumstance. And it'd always worked on her, his stare heating her body with an analeptic warmth she could never explain despite her tries. She'd swallowed, throat dry and hoarse, the question she'd been waiting to ask right at the tip of her tongue. "What makes you say that?" He'd snorted jovially. "Y/N, my mother's been cheating on my father for as long as I can remember, hell, for as long as we can remember—," he'd said, a spiteful jeer in his voice as he'd spat out the term 'mother' like it had left an astringent taste of repulsion in his mouth and she could do nothing but wince. "— and he lets her. He just fucking lets her, no matter what I say. He lets her fucking prance around with her other fucking family as if she's fucking proud of it. God, she's such a bitch, such a fucking gold-digging bitch, embarrassing him like she does, making him seem like he's a fucking stupid idiot, because of what? Huh? Why Y/N? Why?" He'd looked at her, glassy eyes wide and crazed as he'd searched for the answers in her face, pupils flicking from side to side as if he'd really believed that if he'd looked hard enough, he'd find it. But he wouldn't, she hadn't had those answers for him. She'd ran her tongue across the surface of her dry lips, answering with the only thing she'd known was true. "Love is blind." Taehyung shook his head, a sheer protest to her reply. "No. Love is bullshit." He'd countered, an unnerving finality strong within his tone. "It's him that's fucking blind. God, I hate her so much, you know. She's such a fucking parasite, worming her way into his money without a care in the world and he just doesn't deserve that. I wish he'd never met her." He heaved a sigh burying his face into his hands and dragging them down as he sloped his head back. "She uh— She wants to send Namjoon into one of these private prestigious universities, and she asked my own father to pay for it. She asked my father to pay to send a child, that is not his own, to a beyond fucking expensive school. And he'd just said yes. I tried— I fucking tried to speak some sense into him, but erm my mother didn't really like that, did she." He'd twisted his head to the side, giving her a proper view of the other half of his face, a sweltering claret hand mark pressed angrily into his cheek and Y/N's heart had clenched at the sight. Next moves done with little to no hesitation, clambering onto her knees, stationing herself beside him as she took his cheek into the tenderness of her palm, thumb stroking away the stray tears whilst he melted into her touch, lids fluttering to a steady close. She'd smiled dolefully. "Your father is just— he's just a victim to unjust love, I guess. He's already in too deep and to get out from that place must be so hard for him you know. It won't be like that for you. I promise." "Y/N, I think—" His eyes opened with a smile almost as forlorn as her own, as he moved away from her feathery caress. "I think I've found that person that I think of 24/7, the person that I want to see smiling, that I want to be the reason for it," He'd divulged before pausing, blinking ever so languidly and sinking his teeth into his bottom lip. "But I don't want to be my father. I can't be my father. And that scares me because I really do think I've found her." He'd sounded like it, sorrow thick and corpulent in his speech, tongue bandaging 'round the words so fluently she'd almost believed he'd practised it beforehand. But he'd shaken his head, fingers combing through the legion umber tussocks of his hair and roughing it up ever so slightly. "Promise me something." "What?" "Here." He'd opened his arms wide, enveloping her within his hold, her head rested on the slope of his shoulder as his arm pulled her skin-tight by her waist. It had been warmer like that, the wind hardly noticeable with the makeshift barricade they'd created, it was one of the first things she'd noticed, that and the way his heart had beaten, at a pace faster than normal yet just as steady. "Promise me you'll never leave—" "Tae—" "No, just— just listen." He'd insisted, gripping her just that bit tighter like he'd been scared she'd make a run for it if he didn't. "Promise that no matter what I do, no matter how much I fuck up, you'll never leave me. You're the only one I trust Y/N. I— Promise that if we never find true love, or if somewhere along the lines it gets lost, or whatever bullshit, that we'll be each other's perfect someone's because you're the only one I know won't hurt me Y/N. Not like my mother." Y/N had stilled briefly, he couldn't be serious? In a few seconds, she'd hear the first tell-tale bubbles of laughter falling from his lips and giving him away like it always did. But the longer she'd waited, the more it felt like such a thing would never come and when she'd finally decided to peer up at him, he'd already been looking down at her, a bold sobriety in his features that stood its ground. She'd tutted, digging her elbow into his side with a mischievous nudge. "As if you could deal with me every single day," she'd stated, a splitting grin plastered on her face as she'd found it a lot more amusing than she probably should've. "Have you even thought about this? I would positively drive you up the wall and I know you would too." Taehyung shrugged indifferently, though, in reality, he'd already given it much more thought than he'd like to admit; he'd even weighed out the pros and cons like it were some thesis he'd have to give in. So yes, he'd done more than just thought about it. "Y/N, I could deal with you for eternity and more. You know why?" He'd stuck out his pinkie finger tentatively and Y/N knew she couldn't say no, not to him— never to Taehyung. She'd curled her smaller finger around his, fusing the aphonic promise amongst them as he daintily pressed his lips to her temple, murmuring lightly against the skin, just loud enough for her to catch it. "Because you're my best friend Y/N." And it'd been somewhere along those lines, somewhere amidst him baring all for her to see, before coating back his layers thicker, somewhere amongst the raw words he'd uttered and promises they'd made that she'd fallen in love with Taehyung for the first time, properly fell in love that is, heart beating out of its confinement's as she breathed him in for what felt like the first time ever. "And you're mine Tae."

"You didn't do it, did you?" "What?" Y/N's body lurches forward instantly, the book she'd been firmly clutching in her hands subdued onto the table gaudily, her rib jarring roughly on the whetted outskirt of the timber as she curses to herself.  "Jesus Christ, Min Yoongi," she hisses, resting a nervy palm over her chest to even the hasty cumbrous beats of her heart, turning her head to scowl at the boy standing behind her, his inklike hair vitric and glossy as his eyes bore flatly into hers. "Why are you like this?" He nods a scant tut of his teeth following his hum of confirmation. "So, you didn't." "Is it really that obvious?" She huffs, her cheeks swelling out marginally when she blows at the hair that briefly obscures her face and slumps down further into her seat. Yoongi lifts his shoulders apathetically, tucking his hands into his trousers and lounging amply in the seat beside her. "Well let me see, you're sitting in the library, reading—" He veers forward, flipping the hardcover book to a close, brows puckered and his lips screwing up in distaste when he inwardly reads the title of the astronomy book she'd picked up on a whim. "—whatever this fucking is when we were meant to be going to that pharmacy to get me more aspirin. I'd say it's a little more than pretty obvious, wouldn't you?" Y/N cries out, figure sagging as she plants her forehead to the table. "God, I'm sorry Yoongs. I completely forgot. I was just—" "Apology not accepted," He declares, cutting her off and overlapping his arms together. And Y/N can't help sneaking a cursory peep at him through the corner of her eye. He's looking straight at her, lashes flitting sluggishly, not even a trace of a smile picking at his lips and his brows raised expectantly. She knows he's irritated— well really, more than anything completely fed up of her, and she knows it's not because of some stupid aspirin. But she's got some pride, pride that won't let her admit to her wrongdoings. "What?" Yoongi scoffs, his head swaying almost humanely. "You're pathetic." That she is. Y/N would have to be categorically fucking pathetic to be hiding from her own boyfriend as if she's the one that's done wrong. As if she's the cheater. But she just can't face him, she can't bear the judging side-eyes she's been getting all day, the fleeting ganders of rapport, and the continuous indistinct murmurs about that silly, stupid rumour, which— leave it up to Taehyung— Y/N knows is plausibly true. It's as good as loathsome when she really thinks about it, she can't defend his honour if she tried, she can't pretend for even a second that such rumours may not be true. And yet, she continues to call herself his girlfriend. She laments, rooting her elbows to the table and capturing her face in the grasp of her palms. "I know. I know." Yoongi grimaces. "You wanna know who it was this time?"

Y/N shakes her head. She knows Yoongi doesn't intend to be purposefully callous all the time— nor does he really want to. It's just that she refuses to listen to him, he's told her time and time again that Taehyung doesn't care as she does, Yoongi's told her that Taehyung will continue to maltreat her, that even though he'll say he loves her; he doesn't. And still somehow, someway she contrives to persuade herself that he does. Taehyung does care. Taehyung won't hurt her. Taehyung loves her. "I'd rather not,” she replies. Acknowledging it would only make it worse— comprehending that tiny detail would only make it laborious to assure herself that she's not doubtlessly dense when she says that she loves him. And Yoongi knows that. "Well, it's Jennie," he blurts out. "Kim Jennie. The pretty girl that sits next to you in Chem, Jennie—" "Yoongi!" "No Y/N, look at me—" He clinches her wrist stiffly in his grip, yanking her arm forcibly enough that her torso swivels towards him till she's meeting him properly. Face hardly centimetres apart from his when he finally vocalises his intention. "—you need to get a fucking grip. The boy is cheating on you, whether you like it or not, he is," He jeers, a compact hitch in his lecture, his eyes wavering over her features as if to check he hasn't gone farther than he meant to. "Now, I don't know whatever fucking excuse you've conjured up for him in your head but Y/N this— this isn't normal, and it's not healthy." And she doesn't want to hear any more of it. She rips her arm away from him abruptly, wringing her palm around the wrist to soothe the biting sensation of his fingers. "Ouch, you're an asshole." "And you need to break up with him," He concludes, not a slither of a debate held in his emphasis or his rigid stare. "Oh, there you are Y/N." Fuck. Y/N curses under her breath, pegging in her spot and instantly preferring to be met with the drubbing defeat of Yoongi's self-satisfied smirk than to take notice of the boy she'd been trying to evade all day. Presence almost tyrannical as his confusion at her and Yoongi's current state lapses off him in fluctuations, an emotion that flushes warm under her skin against her will. "Do it now," Yoongi rasps, his voice hushed and ominous enough, a temporary mumble, that's meant for her ears only, before he rises to his feet, dusting nonexistent lint off the tops of his legs and beaming for the first time since he'd come. A smile that Y/N knows is all too phoney. "Anyway, we'll just go to the pharmacy after class. See you Y/N. Tae."

Y/N swallows thickly, eyes following the way Yoongi leaves in a quickstepped dash, gloomily coveting she could do the same. Or, better yet, just disappear. "What erm— What are you doing here?" She asks, glimpsing at the way Taehyung topples on the globes of his feet, grooming his hair by his fingers, shifting it backwards and allowing it to flounder down in place.

He grins, settling himself in the chair Yoongi had just departed from but hobbling it that tad bit closer to her so that their knees knock together when he leans in. "I couldn't find you this morning," he begins, allotting the plastic bag he'd had in his hold on the table. "But Jimin said he'd definitely seen you. So I thought, it's getting nearer to exams, of course, you'll be in the library and of course, you'll forget to eat. Aren't I great?" "Hmm." Y/N looks carefully between the bag and him, hands shoved in the centre of her pressed thighs, despairingly hoping to not seem too agitated. It's always harder when Taehyung's entirely sober. When he's like this, she can almost recognise the sparse remnants of her best friend, the one that knows all her favoured foods, an esoteric draw of a smile deep-rooted on his lips when he shreds the sandwich packet open, prompting the white breaded ham and cheese sandwich towards her. She reels her bottom lip into her mouth dubiously. It's a nice thing he's done, it really is. But it's not nice enough, it's not cordial enough to stop the claimant question— even though she knows— tumbling from her lips. "Who's Jennie?" Taehyung doesn't flinch, he propels his legs in front of him, arms spreading to retire behind her chair leisurely. "Who?" There's an almost cocky squint in his orbs, an audacious trace vivid in his pupils as if he thinks she'll give up now. Like she normally does. She won't though. She grates her teeth together, breathing in to compose herself— at least partially— before rephrasing her interrogation. "Who were you with the other night?" "Hmm?" He recoils this time, subtly, hauling his shoes upon the floor, eyes drawing to a wary squint and frowning. "What d'you mean?" Taehyung knows what she means, Y/N knows he does, he clicks his teeth and wheels his shoulders back as if he does and her fingers curve into fists. "After you left," she emphasises, an astringent exhalation coating the stressed words. "After you left, who were you with?" "I don't—" He huffs defeatedly, he's trying to remember— he really is. His forehead folds up in thought, brows neighbouring closely, ivories clamped onto his gums as he rummages through his whereabouts yesterday, but he's coming up muddled every time. There's nothing following Y/N as far as his memory goes. So he settles for what he hopes to be, an apologetic shrug. He just can't remember. "I don't know Y/N." Y/N snorts. "Yeah, okay," she drags, scoffing when she nudges his arm off her chair. She doesn't know why she's still entertaining him— actually she knows. She just doesn't know why she won't fucking listen to Yoongi, she can't fathom why whenever Taehyung looks at her with those brownish eyes of his all she can remember is the day he'd fretted being alone. The day she'd witnessed him crying and prayed she'd never see it again. "Y/N look, I don't remember what happened last night. But I know for sure I wasn't with anyone else," He insists, dragging at her chair easily, the wood irritating tawdrily against the floor and she has to jam her feet on the floor to get him to stop. She's full-on scowling now, temper flaring deep in her eyes when she stabs her forefinger to his chest. "You are such a fucking liar Taehyung!" "Be quiet," he scolds, eyes darting around the room, seizing hold of her finger and forcing it away promptly. “Don’t make a scene.”

“Don’t make a—” Y/N can’t believe him. He has the guts to tell her not to make a ‘scene’ because he can’t bear being called out. She pulls at the collar of her blazer, sheathing the clothing to suit her correctly as she arises to her feet. “You think I’m making a scene?” She snaps. She plucks up the neglected book with two hands, elevating it beyond her head and slamming it back down onto the desk forcibly, the turbulent thud echoing off the walls ‘round them and she smirks. “That’s making a scene.”

"For fuck's sake, Y/N." Taehyung hooks the pads of his finger into the flesh of her thigh in a bruising grapple, his other hand bunching her hair together and yanking her head back when he stands. "What the fuck is wrong with you?" He snarls, wrenching at her hair again so that her scalp starts to throb at the pain. And in a way, it’s a relief he’d found Y/N in one of the more screened sections of the library because it means he can drive her, ass first onto the table, legs separating her thighs and his palms established by them as he confines her in. “I said, I wasn’t with anyone.”

“And I said, Jennie, begs to fucking differ.”

Taehyung paves the pads of his central finger and thumb into her chin, moving her downcast face towards him, outlining his teeth on the bony seams of her jaw. “Y/N, I promise I wasn’t with anyone,” he states, brushing a fluffy feathery kiss on the pill of her cheek, her eyelids involuntarily rippling to a close at the impromptu act. “Promise.”

Y/N shouldn’t be pondering this, she shouldn’t be relishing in how intimate he is to her right now, she unquestionably shouldn’t be craving more than just the kiss that he’s given her and she can nearly visualise the unimpressed stern scowl Yoongi would be bestowing her if he could see her now. However she’s stirring it aft, there’s something in the way Taehyung speaks to her, a deep velvety baritone that rattles within her body, coercing her to adhere to his every abhorrent will, and making everything seem alright. Her chest drops when she expires despondently, “You promise?” He nods, resting his forehead considerately against hers. “I promise. I would never do that to you. Now, can I kiss my favourite girl?”

Y/N abstains from declaring he has, that he’s done it to her so many time's shes even lost count, so she acknowledges him mutely instead, a moderately embracing smile displayed on her features when he skims his lips against hers, ambiguously at first, as if he’s stalling for her to rouse to her reasoning and shove him away. She doesn’t, her palms tarry securely adhered to the wooden surface and it’s all he needs. He deepens the kiss instantly, slanting her head up slightly when he does, his soft lips eager and completely him. Y/N can’t taste a drop of liquor on the depths of his tongue, she savours the richness of milk chocolate, the divine creaminess of peanut butter and the explicit freshness of mint. And the combination is so uniquely him, she can’t help but moan in bliss. His name befalling from her parted lips as his hand massages the skin of her thighs beneath her skirt, peppering sloppy moist kisses down her throat.

Taehyung smirks against the surface. “Love the way you say my name,” he mutters. “Gets me so fucking hard, you wouldn’t believe it.” He ruts his hips into hers, the rockhard bulge tightening in his trousers grazing against the cotton material of her panties solicitously and eliciting a sensual mewl that sings like a melody to his ears. “Fuck, so beautiful.”

Y/N burrows her nails far into his forearms, breath slipping out of regular paced rhythm as he continues to rut against her. She’s enjoying this, if she were to go by the possible state of her— by far— damp panties, she’d say she’s enjoying this a bit too much. And the risks are impossibly high, if someone, be it a teacher were to walk past the long dwindled passage she’s sure she’ll struggle to attain a fitting explanation for such a compromising position they’re in. But it doesn’t faze her in the slightest. She sucks his lower lip into her mouth when he lifts his head, scraping her teeth across the flesh libidinously before releasing it. “Want you to fuck me Tae,” she whispers, bucking her hips to meet him halfway. “Please fuck me.”

“Shit—” Taehyung coasts her skirt up her thighs when he grips at her hip to hold her down in place. Sincerely, he hadn’t come here with a purpose to fuck her at all, he’d truly just needed to make sure she’d eaten because he knows how forgetful she can get this time of year when exams are looming around the corner and she’s striving to juggle everything all at once in the most Y/N fashion, so, detrimentally struggling. But, who is he to pass up an opportunity like this. “—you have to be real quiet for me.”

“I will.” Or more accurately said, she’ll give it her best shot.

“Fuck,” he growls, shifting her panties out the way and parting her lips with two long digits. She’s already so so wet for him, her dewy juices glazing and warming the surface of his skin within seconds as he rubs her deliberately, flicking and pressing onto her clit in a swift manner that has Y/N gasping with tottering tremors. Taehyung adores her reactions the most, the way bantam things he does derives such pleasant sounds from her mouth in a way he knows only he’s heard. “God, you’re pretty.”

Y/N clamps a palm over her gaping mouth a strident gasp hushed and her eyes rolling back when he sinks his broad finger into her slit, curling the digit up inside her and grinding his thumb up against her clit. She nods nimbly. “Just like that, please.”

“Uh huh, you like that?” He draws his finger out just to his knuckle before thrusting it back into her, a hastened repetitive pattern, fucking her with his fingers and rubbing vigorously at her clit. And it’s more than enough to have Y/N casting her head back, chest arching towards him and her arms flung loosely around his neck. But he wants more— she wants more. He wants to see her writhing beneath him, total power granted to him as she dissolves in his arms. So he adds another finger, quickening his pace and brushing at her g-spot with every thrust. “Bet you like that better, huh?”

“Yes— fuck, yes.”

“God, you’re such a fucking slut,” he husks, popping the buttons to her cream blouse apart with just a meagre run of his forefinger, her white bra hardly covering the plump mounds of her breast and he doesn’t waste any time, nipping at the supple flesh and marking her as his. “You’ll let me play with you wherever I fucking want, won’t you?”

Y/N whines in response, speech impaired by the way his long fingers abuse her cunt. Taehyung’s not taking it easy on her at all, he’s pumping in and out of her so rapidly that the entire table jolts marginally with the movement and she can’t help but imagine what damage his cock will do. The slushy sounds coming from her his fingers in her cunt are crass and lewd, embarrassing even, but she has no time to be bothered at all. Not when he’s speaking so erotically to her.

“You’re so fucking good like this—” He licks his lips at the sight of her, she’s definitely a work of art. One he thinks no-one could ever recreate, not his girl, definitely not Y/N. “—wish everyone could see how fucking nasty you can get. Tarnish that innocent persona of yours.”

“God Tae, I’m so fucking close.”

“Yeah? You think you can take three fingers?” He presses another digit amongst the mix, her walls clamping tight against the intrusion and he groans, he can’t fucking wait to be inside her. “Gotta stretch that tight cunt nice and ready for my cock.”

Y/N can’t even hush the stagnated moan that puffs at her lips, the pushy stretch is almost a replica of his cock, and it’s all too much for her. He’s biting at her skin, rubbing at her clit and fucking her cunt with no respite and she’s overcome her heart stuttering, mind blank with a hazy fog and her toes curling in her shoes as she lets her orgasm take over. The shockwaves quivering through her figure, ousting uncontrollably at her hips whilst Taehyung susurrates praise of ‘that’s my girl’, ‘doing so fucking well’ and ‘god, you’re hot’ in her ears. And when she comes back down, lids finally flapping to an open, he’s grinning widely at her.

“You’re so fucking beautiful, you know that?”

There’s a transparent sincerity in his words, that even in her blissed-out post-orgasm state, Y/N can identify the apprehensive tic in his eye when he says it as if he thinks he’s said a little too much. She chews at her lip. “Thanks.”

Taehyung clears his throat, pressing a peck to her forehead, one that she wishes he’d take back because it’s all too cosy, all to loving and misleading. So before he can say anything, she jumps the gun, stroking slowly at the bulge in his plants and peering up at him between her lashes. “You can fuck me now… please.”

He blinks, lulling for a moment in confusion before finding his bearings. “Yeah, yes, fuck sure.” He pulls his zip down instantly, only hauling his trousers and boxers down enough that he can get his cock out freely, a relieved sigh deflating his lungs when he frees his throbbing length from its confinement. “Fuck baby, like it better when you’re bent over for me.”

Y/N shifts off the table, twirling around and hiking her skirt up with a provoking wiggle of her ass. And it’s not until she’s properly doubled over, hands clutching the table edge fixedly that she notices the sheer black string of Yoongi’s basketball bag and she internally— well she hopes internally— panics. She knows Yoongi and she knows he’s done this on purpose to use as an excuse to come back when really all he’d be doing is checking to see if she’s broken up with Taehyung yet and she’s not even close. Y/N peers back, observing the way Taehyung strokes his cock with his palm, the tip already an indignant tint of red and she knows she’s gone too far to turn back now. She huffs. “Fuck, Tae you gotta hurry it up a bit.”

“What? Why?”

“Well, one I don’t really want to get caught by a teacher with your cock inside me,” she lies, partially lies, a teacher would definitely be worse than Yoongi catching them.

“Hmm, I don’t know,” He says, raising his brow at her. “I don’t think I really mind.”

Y/N rolls her eyes. Of course, he doesn't. “Tae!”

“Alright, alright.” Taehyung smooths his tip within her lips, wetting his cock before he drives his cock into her gradually, groaning gutturally, his brows bumped together and his teeth sunk into his bottom lip at the way her clammy walls absorb him in fast. "Fuck baby," he murmurs, levelling his palm onto her ass cheek to steady himself. She’s always so fucking beautifully tight for him.

“God,” Y/N mewls, knuckles blanching when she tightens her grip. Taehyung fills her up so fully, his cock skintight against her walls, mundane crests and veins slotting perfectly and his length stretching to tickle her cervix when he’s bottomed out. “Christ, you’re so fucking thick.”

Taehyung curves his hand underneath to grasp her throat, crooking at her spine when he does. “You’re gonna have to be quieter now Y/N,” he remarks, stiffening his grip in early warning. “Know you can be a real fucking loud whore, but I need you to be my quiet little slut now. Okay?”

Y/N nods, whimpering softly as he begins to rock into her, lazy thrusts that don’t give her a fair chance to start out. He’s drawing himself out of her completely before ramming back into her, jostling her body flimsily forward and she fights to keep quiet, high pitched whines shaking at her lips that has Taehyung holding onto her throat that bit tighter everytime until she’s suppressed to pitiful cries and a buzzing lightheadedness.

She can’t do it. “Fuck, Tae, want it— need it faster.” Not only can she barely handle the intense lethargy in his strokes, but also, she really does need him to be faster, the knowledge that Yoongi could walk in at any time lingering weighted at the back of her mind and not at all sitting comfortably with her. “Need it now.”

Taehyung gives her what she wants without any fuss, he abides his secure hold on her throat, clasping at the smalls of her waist as he begins to pound into her, fast stubborn thrusts striking his hips against the cheeks of her ass way too raucously for the confines of a library, but they’re deaf to it. Both too caught up with the pleasurable feeling their surroundings become insignificant. Especially to Y/N, when he’s fucking her the way he does, impelling her insides with such carnal velocity, she can’t help but get caught up in the thought that he’s absolutely perfect for her. He knows her through and through, he knows she loves it when he pulls her taut against him, his chest against her back as he rams his cock in her at an angle that has her legs trembling. He knows she loves it when he makes it practically impossible to breathe his fingers digging so far into her throat he threatens to cut off her air supply. And he knows she loves it when he calls her his, his good girl.

Taehyung tugs on her earlobes with his teeth. “Shit, you’re such a fucking good girl for me, aren't you?” Her dewy walls clasp firmly around him, attempting to clamp him down still and he grits his teeth together, brutally fucking her swollen cunt deeper than he’d been before. “Should come right inside you, make you walk around with it running down your legs.”

“Oh fuck, please, fill me up.”

“Shit.” Taehyung’s thrusts stutter as she proceeds to clamp down on his pulsating cock, and he’s grunting, chest heaving as he twitches inside her. This is invariably his favourite part when he can pull her snug upon him, retaining her there, hands on her body when he releases himself inside her, spurting hot cords of his cum deep in her cunt and watching the way it leaks out of her when he pulls himself out. He glimpses up at her amusedly, her hair loose and wild, her lips bloodied and her cheeks flushed with sweat. She looks how he loves her, beautifully fucked out.

“How ‘bout you come to my house after, and I’ll make you feel really good later. Hmm?” He offers, trapping his cum from escaping with her panties.

Y/N sighs. Fuck, Yoongi’s really going to kill her. “Okay.”

In hindsight, Y/N shouldn’t have answered the door.

It’s not even her own house and yet she’d answered as if it were. And now she’s duly regretting it. There's a blustering ornate moment of replete stillness, a corralling overwrought minute that imperceptibly prolongs far beyond its time, unsettling her thoughts, muddling letters into indistinguishable words and relaying them in an all too manic frenzy. At least, that's what it feels like; the world seemingly to have jarred in its circular axis, inhabitants muted and dispersed into fickle nothings and all that's left is something— someone, Y/N can only describe as a memory sorely forgotten.

A memory who somehow looks mostly the same— it's been a long time, too long, she knows that. But somehow— somehow, his fulgent coral hair still tousles high with that hardly noticeable parting that impels it smoothly to the sides of his face, familiar dainty dimples indenting the skin either side of his cheek when he smiles at her briefly, causing those ticks, those zealous shakes and quivers that never fail to take her by surprise. Now, even more-so. She's stuck. Her curled fingers have gone numb against the silvered knob, feet involuntarily seeded to the timber beneath her feet, pithy breaths baited with an anxious pause as she double— triple takes. He still looks like the man she'd dreamed of a thousand dreams, he's just that bit more clean-cut, that bit more defined, that little bit more of everything she's ever wanted. "Namjoon," she says, the name leaving her lips like a whisper would, fickle and dainty, floating meaninglessly in the morning breeze. His head cleaves a paltry probing tilt, even brows drawing together in a helix and eyes squinting with definite curiosity when he finally speaks, seeming to have shaken off his own initial shock. "Y/N? Is that you?" He chances a meagre step forward, feet barely lifting from the ground. It's daring, he knows it— she shows it, her knuckles strain at the way she tightens her grip considerably, a sharp intake of breath and a responding shuffle backwards. "What am I talking about? Of course, it's you." Namjoon scoffs, more to himself than anything, an almost disbelieving chuckle falling from his lips as he shakes his head. "It's just— it's been so long, hasn't it? I haven't seen you in—" "Two years." Namjoon nods barely, scuffing his shoes on the ground beneath him as he watches her closely. Y/N recognises that look— those pretty brown eyes, orbs visibly shining amongst the light of fresh dawn, the whites ostensibly to have enlarged as his pupils ask several questions of new and old, questions she's sure she's not at all ready to answer. Not now. Not yet. Not when she can't even wrap her head around him being here. Not when she can't understand what he's doing back here— what he's doing in front of her. So she's stilted, she's wary, watching him with close guarded eyes, cutting his stuttered speech off all too harshly. "It's been two years, Namjoon," she reiterates, crossing her arms over and slacking against the outer edge of the door. 

"What are you doing here?"

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#kpopwonderlandtag #armyofwriters #btssmutclub #bangtanbookclub #bangtanarmynet #taehyung smut #smut #bts smut #kpop smut #bts v #bts fanfic #kpop scenarios #bts scenarios #kpop fanfiction #bangtan #bangtan sonyeondan #bts angst #angst #kpop angst #taehyung angst #taehyung x reader #taehyung x oc #taehyung x you #v x reader #v x you #taehyung fanfic #taehyung

[here4theheartbreak]

Naked Yoga

AO3 Link Here! Relationships: Jimin x Jungkook x Taehyung Genre(s): smut, PWP Written for @btspolyshipbingo Square Filled: Spitroasting Tags: smut, PWP, bottom!Jungkook, top!Jimin, top!Taehyung, spitroasting, bareback, coming untouched, ass to mouth, dirty talk, threesome, established relationship, polyamory, rough sex, face fucking Summary: Jungkook is just trying to do his yoga and relax a little. But it’s his birthday and Jimin and Taehyung have other ideas.

Word Count: ~1.7k A/N: Written in celebration of our Jungkook’s birthday!

Jungkook took a breath as he bent his body upward. Closing his eyes he counted to sixty, breathing deep and steady. He shifted slowly into another position, beginning his count over. And again, slow and even. He heard the bedroom door open to his left, but remained in position, not losing count.

“You really look too sexy doing that,” Jimin said. Jungkook opened his eyes, looking over. Jimin and Taehyung had entered the room, their arms crossed as they watched him shift his yoga positions.

“It’s not meant to be erotic,” he chided them, shifting into another position. This one was on his knees, his back angled downward and forehead touching the ground. His arms were stuck out in front of him.

“Now you’re just teasing us,” Taehyung whined.

“You’re just a pervert. Did you two need something or did you just come in to throw me off my counts?” Jungkook asked.

“Well, we were going to come in and offer you help, but since you’re being such a bully…” Jimin hurried to Jungkook’s side, grabbed his hips and tugging at his sweats. Jungkook groaned.

“Come on, what are you doing?”

“It’s your birthday tomorrow, Jungkookie. We also wanted to come give you your present,” Taehyung said, squatting down in front of Jungkook.

“Well lemme finish this at least.” Jungkook wiggled his hips out of Jimin’s grip and shifted himself up slowly, bending his body into an inverted V shape with his feet and elbows. He knew he was pushing his ass directly into Jimin’s face, and admittedly, the little groan it earned him from Jimin was well worth losing breath count once again.

Taehyung crouched down, resting his chin on Jungkook’s fists. When Jungkook glanced up, he grinned brightly. “I’m gonna fuck you so hard you scream, Jungkook.”

Jungkook’s eyes widened. His knees shook when he shivered, breaking his position. Jimin took advantage and grabbed his ass, forcing his hips down. He laid over Jungkook’s back and kissed along his neck.

“We’re tired of waiting.”

Jungkook whined. “I can tell…” He shifted his hips, bumping against Jimin’s erection. Jimin grunted. “Are you done with your exercises?”

“Kinda have to be, hm?” Jungkook turned his head as well as he could to look up at Jimin, who grinned. “Nope… you could keep going. Just… Do it naked for us.”

“Did you two mention something about my birthday present?” Jungkook complained. Despite the complaint, he allowed Jimin and Taehyung to pull him up and begin ridding him of his clothing.

“It will be,” Taehyung assured him.

“We’ll make you feel so good, baby,” Jimin added.

“More relaxed than any silly yoga could.”

Jungkook chuckled. The two stepped away and crouched on the floor nearby, waiting for him to start his poses again. He rolled his eyes, surprised at how self-conscious he actually felt. He’d been naked in front of Taehyung and Jimin a thousand times over the years – he’d lost his virginity to them for god’s sake. But this felt different, in some way. He was putting on a show for them, sort of. He closed his eyes, trying to block out the nerves and settle back into a rhythm.

It worked, after a while, and Jungkook was able to fall back into his pattern of poses, focusing on the stretch of his body and the depth of his breaths. He could hear Taehyung and Jimin in the room, quietly shifting and breathing. His own cock had hardened despite his focus, the awareness of being watched by his two lovers not disappearing completely.

He opened his eyes, settling into a sitting pose. His heart skipped a beat when he saw Jimin and Taehyung. They’d stripped out of their clothing, and Jimin’s head was bobbing gently as he sucked Taehyung’s cock. Taehyung smirked at Jungkook, twisting his fingers in Jimin’s hair.

“Envious?” He teased.

Jungkook swallowed hard. He nodded. Jimin pulled off Taehyung’s cock, wiping his mouth.

“Lay down. I’ll suck you.”

“I’m not jealous of him,” Jungkook admitted.

“Oh...” Taehyung smirked. He stroked his spit slicked cock. “You wanna suck it.”

Jungkook nodded. He shifted positions. Bracing his arms and using them to lift his torso up, he let his legs stretch behind him. He opened his thighs wide, cock rubbing against the mat on the floor.

“Now’s when you two can give me my birthday present.”

Jimin scrambled up, taking the lube Taehyung handed him and settling between Jungkook’s open legs. He immediately began to finger him open, palming himself with his other hand.

Taehyung stood in front of Jungkook, chuckling when he realized the pose put Jungkook at the perfect height.

“Can you hold this pose for long, baby?” Jungkook nodded, leaning forward just a little to nuzzled his cheek against Taehyung’s cock.

“When you two are busy this is the pose I use to come. I can hold this pose for at least thirty minutes.”

“To come?” Jimin asked. Jungkook nodded.

“Mhm. I put a plug up my ass... And I just kinda...” He began to lazily grind his hips, using the mat and his own body to stimulate his cock.

“Oh fuck... We need to watch that one of these days,” Taehyung said.

Jungkook grinned broadly. “Lemme suck it now?” He asked politely, pushing his hips back a little against Jimin’s fingers.

Taehyung slid his cock into Jungkook’s open mouth, groaning softly. Jungkook bobbed his head. His muscles shifting and moving under his skin as he did. Both of his lovers could see the obvious tension in his body, and how much he loved it.

“I can’t... I gotta fuck you,” Jimin admitted. He slicked his cock and slid home, working his way past the just loosened rim of Jungkook’s hole.

Jungkook squeaked, gagging hard on Taehyung’s cock.

“Fuck, do that again,” Taehyung panted. He fisted Jungkook’s hair, beginning to twist his hips. Jungkook relaxed between the two, whimpering and groaning as Jimin fucked him open. He let himself gag and cough on Taehyung’s cock, knowing his throat spasming and fluttering had to feel amazing.

Jimin whined, his hips striking Jungkook’s sass hard as he fucked into him. “You’re so goddamn tight, baby boy. Does yoga do this?”

Jungkook tried to pull back to answer but Taehyung held tight to his hair, driving his cock in and holding it there.

Jungkook began to gag, holding up a thumbs up in hopes Jimin would understand that was a yes.

His own cock ached between the mat and his body, twitching and throbbing, desperate for attention. Jungkook ignored it, trusting his lovers to get him there.

Jimin pulled out and slapped Jungkook’s ass.

“I can’t. I’m gonna come way too fast if I keep fucking you like that.”

Taehyung pulled out, shifting to hold Jungkook’s shoulder as he coughed hard.

“Fuck his face for a bit. I want his ass anyway.”

“Isn’t it time for you to shift positions anyway, Jungkookie?” Jimin suggested.

Jungkook obeyed, rising into the position he’d originally teased Jimin in, his ass in the air on his knees, head low to the ground. He spread his arms enough that Jimin could wiggle between them, cock lined up to his face. Taehyung knelt behind him, adding more lube before slamming into him.

Jimin fisted his hair, dragging him down until he’d swallowed the entirety of his cock. Jungkook gagged dangerously, his own cock twitching and dribbling onto the mat. He could taste himself on Jimin’s cock as Jimin fucked his mouth, making the entire situation somehow dirtier and sexier.

The room was filled with the sounds of their sex, Taehyung’s soft grunts and Jimin’s moans, the wet sound of the lube in Jungkook’s ass and his throat as he struggled to breathe around Jimin’s cock.

“Where do you want us to come, Jungkook?” Taehyung panted. He pulled out and held Jungkook open as he spoke. Jimin yanked his head back, letting him catch his breath to speak.

“My ass. B— both up my ass, please.”

“Anything for birthday boy,” Jimin cooed. He crawled out from under Jungkook and pulled him up so he was on all fours. He kissed him deeply.

“Jiminie... Come finish off in his ass. I want his mouth again,” Taehyung said. Jimin nodded. The two switched spots.

Taehyung kisses Jungkook gently. “I can taste Jimin’s cock on your tongue... Let’s add mine, hm?” Jungkook nodded.

“Take a breath, I won’t go easy.”

Jungkook nodded again. He opened his mouth, hanging his tongue out to show he was ready. Taehyung slipped just his tip past Jungkook’s lips. Behind him, Jimin pressed his tip into Jungkook’s ass.

“One,” Taehyung said.

“Two.” Jimin said. Jungkook’s heart began to pound faster.

“Three.”

The two slammed in at the same time, burying their cocks in Jungkook’s respective holes. He jerked between them, his back arching. His cock twitched as he came, spilling ropes of come onto the mat under him.

They both fucked him hard and fast, chasing their orgasms as Jungkook writhed on their cocks.

Jimin whined, his fingers digging into Jungkook’s hips. “Clench up again, come on.”

Jungkook did his best to obey, helped along each time Taehyung’s cock gagged him.

“That’s it - Oh God!” Jimin slammed in twice and went still, shuddering as he came.

Taehyung pulled out, pressing a quick kiss to Jungkook’s mouth. He moved to where Jimin was, stroking and squeezing his spit slicked cock. As soon as Jimin slid out, Taehyung slammed in, dragging Jungkook’s exhausted body back to meet his thrusts. He snarled as he came as well, adding to the mess Jimin had left.

Jungkook shivered hard, sobbing brokenly. Taehyung’s cock had bumped perfectly against his oversensitive prostate, milking another few ropes of come from his softening cock.

Jimin and Taehyung both rushed to help him clean up, praising him softly. Jungkook remained still, smiling tiredly and lavishing in the attention. Taehyung tugged his sweats back on and helped him up, walking him over to the bed.

“Happy birthday, Jungkookie,” Jimin whispered as they laid down on either side of him.

“Thank you for the present,” Jungkook mumbled.

“That wasn’t really your present,” Taehyung admitted. “Once you nap and we get up and shower, we’ve got a nice dinner planned to take you out to.”

Jungkook’s smile widened further. He snuggled closer to Taehyung, reaching out to pull Jimin closer to his other side. “My boyfriends are the best,” he murmured, his words blending together in his exhausted state.

Both Jimin and Taehyung grinned. “Get some rest, birthday boy. We love you.”

#networkbangtan #btsguild #kwritersworldnet #95line.net #armyofwriters #kpopwonderlandtag #bangtanarmynet #armiesnet #thebtstown #btspolyshipbingo #jimin x jungkook x taehyung #maknae line ship #jimin x jungkook x v #vminkook #smut #mywriting

[fresh-outta-jams]

Tattoos and Tutus: Part 1

Tattoos and Tutus

Jungkook x Reader

Author: Admin MoRo

Summary/Prompt: You get a call in the dead of night, “Y/N-ah....I need you...please...It’s Ji Ran...” And you thought you were just his daycare provider who’s day ended when the last child left but you were sorely wrong.  Single Dad! Jungkook x reader

Warnings: Fluff with some slight scare?

Word Count: 4kish

Parts: 1, 2

Burrrrrooom!

You hear the familiar sound of a motorcycle pulling up to your daycare. Then the sudden quiet of it shutting off and the click of the stand being put down so the vehicle doesn't fall over.

"Ji Ran! Your father is here!"  You yell out to the little three year old. Grabbing her coat for her, you squat down and wait for her to make her way to you through the other children. Her little round sweet face comes into view, black pigtails bouncing.

You hold out her coat and help her into it. "Do you have your bag?" You ask while buttoning her up. She shakes her head and runs to get it, her sparkly pink tutu swishing around her. Just as she runs away, her father walks in.

Jeon Jungkook.

Today he has on a black leather jacket with a plain white tee under it. His black ripped jeans and tan timberland boots move gracefully towards you. Shaggy black hair gets swept from those piercing dark eyes in one smooth motion of his tatted hand which makes his equally tatted arm muscles shift and move with the motion underneath that leather jacket. You can hear the clinking of his multiple piercings as his hand brushes against his ear.

If you saw him on the street while you were by yourself, you honestly would be nervous. He has that hard yet charming look to him. Much like nightshade, gorgeous and pretty but deadly once you get too close.

He flashes you a quick smile of white teeth. "Hello Y/N. I hope Ji Ran was good today." He says while those dark eyes search for his daughter. You bow slightly.

"Hello Jungkook-ssi. Yes, she was an angel today as she always is." You tell him the same thing every day. Which isn't a lie. Ji Ran is an actual angel for you. She reminds you of the type of daughter you'd want if you ever have kids. But that isn't in the cards for you right now.

You see Ji Ran running back to you before Jungkook does. "Ah here she comes."

"Ji Ran-ah!" Jungkook yells out while dropping to his knees, his face breaking into an impossibly large smile. He spreads his arms out wide as Ji Ran flings herself into his embrace. "Daddy!" She yells back, burying her face into his chest.

"I missed you today." His voice rumbles softly but still loud enough for you to hear. He hugs her tight, enveloping her small body in his arms. He is a man completely opposite of his appearance when he's with his daughter. The badass tatted man who walked in off of a motorcycle instantly dissolves into a squishy cutie once he sees his daughter.

You look away from this intimate moment and try to busy yourself with helping the other kids.

Every day it is the same thing but every time it pulls at your heart strings with their love for each other. It is so pure and unconditional. Another thing you hoped to have one day.

Jungkook stands up with Ji Ran, her little arms clasped around his neck. He looks to his daughter. "Did you tell Ms.Y/N goodbye and give her a hug?" She shakes her head. He sets her down and she runs to you, hugging you around your neck. "Bye-bye Ms.Y/N." Ji Ran says in her little voice. You give her a light squeeze. "Goodbye Ji Ran. I will see you tomorrow!" You tell her. She lets go of you and goes back to her father. He scoops her up and throws you another white smile. "See you tomorrow Y/N." You nod and bow slightly again. Jungkook and Ji Ran then give you a small wave as they walk out to his motorcycle.

You remember the first time Jungkook came to your daycare. Ji Ran was so young, around one year old actually. He came on that same motorcycle and you were so confused as to why this young handsome man was at your daycare. "Maybe he's picking up a sibling. But in a motorcycle? That cannot be safe." You thought to yourself. You just became even more confused when you saw him pull out a small child from the side car that was hidden from your view. He slung a diaper bag over his shoulder and put the child on his hip while he struggled to take off her little helmet. You stood there watching for a little bit until you decided to go help him.

"Here let me help you." You told the young man while you quickly unclipped the helmet from the child who was clearly getting irritated. The young man looked at you and blushed a little in embarrassment. "Thank you." He tried to bow some which was difficult with a child and diaper bag. You nodded and bow back. "You're welcome."

He sees you looking at the motorcycle. "Oh yeah... I don't have enough money to buy a car yet...and the bus can be too slow... so I have this from when I restored it..." He looks down at the ground. You're not sure how to respond to that so you just nod. "Ah I see.."

Attempting to break the awkwardness, the young man gestures to your daycare with his head. "Are you Y/N-ssi?" He asks you.

"Yes, I am. Are you dropping your sister off because I'll need you to sign some paper work if she's going to coming here regularly." You inform him.

The young man blushes again, this time a deeper red. "She's..um... she's my daughter actually." He looks very uncomfortable. You scold yourself for being insensitive and assuming.

"A-ah no no it's my fault! I'm sorry for just assuming. Please forgive me." You also give him another bow. He shakes his head. "It's alright. I get that all the time. I know I look a lot younger than my age which is already young." He tells you. Now you're even more curious.

"If you don't mind me, how old are you?" You ask him. You already found him intriguing but now even more so. He rubs the back of his neck with his free hand. "I'm 22."

"Oh that is young, he's around my age." You think to yourself.

"You're around my age." You're not sure why you told him that but it seemed to make him feel better. Maybe he was afraid of you judging him if you were a lot older. He gives you a small smile, looking a little more at ease. "You said I needed to fill out paperwork?"

"Y/N-ah...Y/N-ah... Can you hear me?" A familiar voice pulls you out of your flashback. Jungkook has his face close in front of yours. You back away in surprise. "Jungkook-ssi! I thought you left!"

He laughs a little, "I thought so too but I forgot to tell you something that I noticed."

You raise an eyebrow. "Yes?"

He leans back some on his heels, his hands clasped behind his back. "We've known each other for how long now? 2 or so years?" You nod, not sure where this is going. "Yeah around that."

He continues, "That's probably enough time to be more than acquaintances right?" You just continue to nod. "So... are we friends then? You can stop calling me 'Jungkook-ssi', it sounds weird to me, especially with us being close in age." He points out, rubbing the back of his neck. You notice the nervous habit. 

Was he nervous to ask to be friends?

You laugh at his cute reaction. You and him were getting closer you realize. Sometimes when he'd have a question about child care, he'd ask you since he was pretty far away from his parents. "I'd consider us friends. I just was never sure since I'm the daycare provider and I was raised to when in doubt be polite."  You tell Jungkook with a small smile. He returns your smile with one of his.

"Ah okay that's good." He rubs his neck a little more but seems less nervous. "That's all I needed to say. I-I'll see you tomorrow Y/N-ah." Jungkook gives you another bright smile and walks back out.

"Goodbye Jungkook...-ah." You wave goodbye and smile back.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

*RING* *RING* *RING*

"Ughhhhh." Your cellphone rings in the dead of night, pulling you from your sleep.

"Who in the world is calling at this time?"  You grasp blindly for your phone, eyes still bleary from sleep. You click the green button without even looking at the name.

"Y/N-ah! Finally you answered! I-it's Ji Ran! I-i don't know what to do! Something is wrong and and...and I don't know what to do!"

Now you're wide awake. "Jungkook-ah what's wrong? What's going on?"

You sit straight up in your bed, fear pooling deep in your stomach.

Please let nothing have happened to Ji Ran.

"I-i don't know! We were up having a midnight snack since she gets hungry late at night and and then she couldn't breathe. S-so I rushed her to the hospital but they wouldn't let me go back with her. I-i feel like I'm going crazy. I don't know what to do..." Jungkook sounds like he's in full panic mode. You can hear the desperation in his voice.

"Y/N-ah... I-i need you...please..now..."

The sheer volume of those little quiet words weigh on you. Your heart cracks as his voice does.

"Where are you at right now? Which hospital?" You ask, quickly pulling on clothes, not daring to end the call with Jungkook.

"The General Hospital." He responds. You hear the clicking of his boots pacing back and forth and the shallow quick breaths he takes.

"I'm on my way right now." You grab your keys, start your car and fly like the wind.

"Okay thank you...thank you..." He breaths into the phone, clearly relieved. He seems to be calming down.

Jungkook ends the call once he sees you walk into the waiting room. He walks over to you then suddenly pulls you into a hug.

"Thank you so much..." he whispers, breath tickling your ear. A bit stunned, you just stand there and nod. "O-of course."

Jungkook pulls back from you and sits down in one of the plush chairs. He bounces his leg nervously and keeps looking around. You stay silent for a little bit, assessing the situation. You shift to look at Jungkook.

"Ah..Jungkook-ah...what happened? Did the doctors say anything?" You ask him. He looks up at you.

"They said something about a reaction and then a lot of other medical terms. I'm not sure. I don't remember. I was so scared and all I could hear was Ji Ran gasping for air and blood roaring in my ears..." He drops his head into his hands.

"I-i thought I was a good dad...I'm supposed to protect her...I just don't want anything to happen to her..." His small defeated voice cracks your heart again. "It's always been just me and her since we had to leave Busan and my parents..."

You just stay silent as Jungkook's walls break down and everything spills out.

"I had Ji Ran young. You know that. I was a young and stupid 21 year old college kid. Her mother was my age in the same college. We'd been dating for a little while before Ji Ran was born...I-i thought we were going to be together forever especially after she was born but that wasn't true..." Jungkook took a shaky breath and trudged on.

"Ji Ran was just a mistake for her."

You try to control the anger flaring up. From your years of caring for her, you came to love her little bright self. How could anyone just up and leave Ji Ran? Or Jungkook, who loves his daughter with every fiber in his being? How could she be so heartless?

His soft voice pulls you out of your head. "Ji Ran's mother took off after she was born and left me with Ji Ran but she was the best accident in my entire life. I-i didn't realize how much I could love someone until I saw her. My entire world changed when I first held her..." His voice cracks again and his eyes get watery.

Jungkook rubs at his eyes aggressively trying to stop the tears. He sniffs loudly. "I tried to do both, be a dad and still go to college. My parents took care of her as I finished that year out but I realized I missed her so much. I didn't want to go to school anymore. Ji Ran was growing up so fast and I was missing things because I was at school. So I dropped out..." He chuckles a little, rubbing his eyes some more.

"My parents were furious when I told them I was dropping out but grew to understand. I had learned enough in my business courses so I used some of my savings and bought my tattoo parlor, Euphoria Tattoos." You glance at the tapestry of tattoos winding up and down his arms and hands. The colors and designs peeking in and out of view as he shifts positions. You've never seen his tattoos this up close before... Each one seemed to tell a different story.

"I've always liked tattoos, drawing, and being creative so I figured why not? It won't hurt to try... but I would have to move to Seoul to do it. That meant I had to leave my family back in Busan and take Ji Ran with me to a new city all by myself... I-i was scared shitless to do it. I already took care of Ji Ran myself so the burden wasn't put all on my parents and to show I could be a good dad at a young age but it was scary. What if something happened? My family was so far away. What if I couldn't protect her? T-then tonight happens and shows me..." His voice cracks more and he sniffs again.

You reach over and grab one of his hands. "You are a good father Jungkook-ah. One of the best I've seen. You care so much for Ji Ran and you always put her first. I know she will be just fine. The doctors just have to run some tests or something. It’ll all be alright.” 

Jungkook looks up at you. "You promise?" You nod and give him a small smile. 

"I promise."

He gives you a soft smile back and squeezes your hand. "Okay."

You stay silent for a little bit, thinking about everything Jungkook told you. He just spilled his entire life to you...

"Jungkook-ah?" You softly get his attention. He looks up at you, those normally piercing dark eyes now soft and watery, looking millions of years older. "Thank you for...telling me." He looks away, his cheeks coloring red a little. "Y-you're welcome...i-it just felt right to." 

For the next couple hours Jungkook keeps holding your hand like it's his lifeline. Your eyes grow heavy with the need to sleep as the adrenaline eventually wears off. Your head keeps nodding until Jungkook says something about it.

"Y/N-ah, if you're tired you can take a nap. I'm alright now, I promise." He tells you softly. You wave away his words.

"Ah no no I'm fine... I'm not tired at all." You reply sleepily. Jungkook sighs and wraps an arm around your waist to pull you closer. You try to push away from him but he tightens his arm around you.

"Y/N-ah." He says in soft yet stern voice. "You're tired, sleep. I don't need you trying to stay awake and then drive home tired. You could get in an accident. I'll wake you up if there's news about Ji Ran." To emphasize his point, he grabs your head and puts it on his shoulder.

You are surprised by his actions and words but give into your need to sleep. "He does have a good point..."  You think as you drift off to sleep.

It feels like only moments later when Jungkook is nudging you awake. "Y/N-ah... the doctor is here." You pull yourself off him and rub your eyes. "Mnngh okay.."  You reply sleepily.

Jungkook stands up and offers you a hand. You take it and stand up next to him. The doctor begins to fill you both in on what went on with Ji Ran.

"Jungkook-ssi" The doctor bows slightly to him and to you next, "And you must be Ji Ran's mother." Surprised you tried to explain the situation, "I-i'm-"  But Jungkook butts in.

"Ah yes she is, she was caught up with things at her parents house." He nudges you to follow what he was saying. Not sure what was going on, you just smile and nod. The doctor smiles softly at you two and continues with their report.

"I'm Dr.Park. I’ve been taking care of your daughter. After the tests we ran we found out why she had such a hard time breathing when she came in." The young-looking doctor stated. "We learned she has allergies to mangos. The mangos caused an allergic reaction which made her throat swell up and caused the breathing issues. As long as you keep her away from mangos, she should be just fine. I'll give you a prescription for EpiPens and show you both how to use them once Ji Ran wakes up so you all can learn."

Jungkook almost falls to his knees in relief but you grip his arm to keep him up. He was visibly shaking. "Thank you Dr.Park. C-can I go see her now?" The doctor nods, "Yes you can. Follow me, I'll show you to her room." As the doctor turns their back to you two, you look at Jungkook.

"What was that?"  You whisper harshly at him. He looks down at the passing floor tiles. "If you're not kin, you can't see her and I knew you'd want to see her..." He whispers back softly.

"Oh.. thank you..."  Now you felt like an ass. Jungkook knew how much you cared for Ji Ran. Your heart melted a little more for the large man next to you.

Soon you reached Ji Ran's room and Dr.Park let you in. Ji Ran was sound asleep in the big hospital bed, looking so tiny. Jungkook went right up to the side of her bed and began to smooth her hair down. You turn towards Dr.Park and bow. "Thank you so much for your help. How long will she have to stay here?"

Dr.Park picks up Ji Ran's charts and flips a page up. "Only until tomorrow morning. We just wanted to keep her under watch to make sure the medicine doesn't cause an allergic reaction or any other complications. We'll come in later to show you all how to use the EpiPens." You nod and bow to thank Dr.Park.

Dr.Park nods in response and exits the room, leaving you and Jungkook alone with Ji Ran.

Ji Ran stirs and wakes up. "Daddy?..." she croaks softly. Jungkook grabs her hand and holds it to his cheek. "I'm here baby... I'm here." He leans over and kisses her face all over, trying to make her giggle. "Daddy... stop...I'm too tired." She giggles lightly. He stops and kisses just her forehead. "Alright my princess, you need to sleep."

You walk closer to the bed but stay behind Jungkook, not wanting to burst the moment. Ji Ran noticed you even as you tried to melt into the background.

"Ms.Y/N!" Ji Ran exclaims even as her little eyelids droop with exhaustion. You reach over to move a piece of Ji Ran's hair behind her ear.

"Hi Ji Ran-ah...How are you feeling?" You ask softly, stroking her face. She smiles softly at you, "I'm tired and scared. But happy now that you and Daddy are here." You smile softly back. "I'm glad."

Jungkook looks up at you and grabs your hand with his free hand. You look down into those dark eyes. So many feelings swirl in those eyes, making them soften and shine at you. Your heart melts even more. He smiles up at you and squeezes your hand. "Thank you." His eyes say to you. You nod back in response.

"Daddy?" Ji Ran's small voice pulls your attentions back to her. "Can you hold me?...I'm scared to stay here alone..." Her little body twists to face Jungkook.

"Of course baby but you're not alone. I’m going to spend the night with you." He whispers to her as he gently picks up Ji Ran and pulls her close to his chest, hugging her tightly. He walks over to the reclining chair and sits down with her. Ji Ran sprawls out on Jungkook's chest with her tiny thumb in her mouth, looking at peace. He starts to rub her back and hums softly to get her to fall back asleep. 

You go sit down in another chair and curl up, resting your head on the arm. As you watch how Jungkook is with Ji Ran, your heart grows tenfold at the scene in front of you.

Jungkook glances up at you, catching your attention. "Thank you so much." He mouths to you. You smile and mouth back. "Of course." The smile he gives you could light up a whole room. Your heart aches at the sight of it.

"He's the type of dad I would want for my kids..." You think, still looking at the little family in front of you. "He cares so much for Ji Ran..." You continue to think, your heartbeat growing faster at the sight of Jungkook. "Oh no..."  You feel butterflies forming in your stomach, bumping around.

Jungkook takes one last look at you, those dark eyes burned into yours and you fear he'd be able to see inside your thoughts. See what you were feeling and desperately trying to hide. You look away from him as he drops his chin onto Ji Ran's head, falling asleep. You close your eyes too, cheeks flushed in the dark room.

The sounds of Jungkook's and Ji Ran's rhythmic breathing lull your exhausted body to sleep.

Sunlight softly streams in between the openings in the blinds. "Mmmngg..." You groan while stretching your body, popping your shoulders and rolling your neck. You open your eyes to an unfamiliar place. But then you remember. "Ji Ran's hospital room."

Sitting up, you look around the room while rubbing leftover sleep from your eyes. Jungkook is awake with Ji Ran eating a light breakfast. He notices you're awake. "Oh you're up? Did you sleep well?" He asks sincerely while helping Ji Ran eat, the little girl looking up to smile at you then went back to eating.

You nod. "I did... Thank you for asking." Jungkook gives you a soft smile and turns his attention back to his daughter. Your heart flutters again at his words and that soft smile. You push your hand into your chest, trying to will your heart to stop fluttering.

That was the last thing you needed was to fall in love with one of your clients... But oddly enough Jungkook didn't seem like just a client anymore. You two had a... special bond now. Your eyes found Ji Ran sitting in her dad's lap, happily eating.

Your special bond was Ji Ran.

She brought light and happiness to your world. You had a special spot for her in your heart. Jungkook seemed to know that too.

You quietly got up to use the restroom. While you were gone Jungkook looked down at his daughter. "Ji Ran-ah." He whispered so you wouldn't hear him.

Ji Ran looked up at her father. "Yes daddy?" She whispered back.

"Do you like Ms.Y/N?" He asked Ji Ran.

She nodded aggressively and a big smile spread across her face. "More than that. She's the mommy I've always wanted. She plays with me and feeds me yummy snacks and always hugs me. I love Ms.Y/N." Jungkook can see the light shining in his daughter's eyes when she speaks about you. You really have made an impression on her these past two years.

Jungkook snuggles his daughter close. "Me too sweetie... me too." 

Part 2???

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