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homenum-revelio-hq · 5 years

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Welcome (again) to the Order of the Phoenix, Nicky!

You have been accepted for the role of non-biography character AINSLEY ABBOTT with the faceclaim of Olivia Taylor Dudley! I really loved the idea of having a half-blood character who is pretending to be pureblood, especially in the climate of this rpg. I think it will add a lot of excitement to the roleplay!

Please take a look at the new member checklist and send in your account within 24 hours! Thank you for joining the fight against Voldemort!

OUT OF CHARACTER:

NAME: Nicky

AGE: 30+

TIMEZONE: EST

ACTIVITY LEVEL: Medium, sporadic; I work retail hours which means that my schedule is not consistent between days. I expect to be able to make several replies each week, however, and am available to check-in or chat often. Tuesdays and Thursdays are the only time I’m really out-of-touch for considerable periods on a regular basis although in general I have more free time in the latter half of the week than I do at the beginning – and of course when Winter Holiday Shopping Season rolls around I will be more absent than usual!

ANYTHING ELSE: currently playing Dorcas Meadowes!

CHARACTER DETAILS:

NAME: Ainsley Marigold Abbott

AGE: 28

GENDER, PRONOUNS, and SEXUALITY: Cis-gender female, she/her. Ainsley does not realize it (because it’s not a term or identity she’s ever heard of before) but she is in fact a panromantic asexual. She has experienced crushes before, but since kisses and cuddles leave her feeling nothing but tired and bored she assumes that her affections are utterly fleeting – not understanding that a desire for sex and a desire for romance may be two different things – and said crushes usually curdle the moment anyone acts on them; elsewise they simply flicker-out after she pines from afar for a while, telling herself there’s no point because she just isn’t wired that way. She thinks there must be something wrong with her but (especially lately, with her sister) what she has seen of romance does not seem to be enticing enough for her wish she were any different. (note: I am aware of the delicacy of writing any asexual character with the notion of them being “broken” but as an aromatic asexual myself, I think I will be able to approach the topic with appropriate sensitivity! I am, however, happy to discuss this idea further both with the admin and with any fellow players who are concerned or curious about my reasoning or experience.)

BLOOD STATUS: Half-blood (but currently faking status as a pure-blood at the request of her sister)

HOUSE ALUMNI: Ravenclaw

ANY CHANGES: none

CHARACTER BACKGROUND:

PERSONALITY:

Ainsley fits very well into the mold that people like to think of as the “traditional Ravenclaw” – bookish, quiet, academically gifted. That stereotype very much does not fit the majority of the House, though; Ravenclaw Tower is often a noisy place full of chaotic experiments and passionate arguments and the occasional impassioned spurt of poetry. While there are quietly studious Ravenclaws, even they tend to be more of the obsessive breed than the merely academic; a House based around a love of learning for its own sake is not, necessarily, going to be a House full of good test-takers and obedient homework-doers. Ainsley enjoyed the chaos most of the time (except right before tests – which was the only time the academically-minded Ravenclaws revolted against their noisier, more idiosyncratic housemates to demand quiet for a while) and considered it to be both educational and entertaining. An uncharitable person might call her voyeuristic; a nicer description might merely state that she is an observer of human nature. However you say it, AInsley likes to watch people. She finds her peers both fascinating and, with increasing frequency with every year, baffling. A sort-spoken girl, Ainsley is also easily mistaken for meek – which she isn’t; only quiet. She would rather have an argument through owl post or in impassioned papers and essays than face-to-face, where it’s too easy to fumble over one’s words or forget an esoteric fact that can’t be looked-up mid-shouting match. Her writing, however, can become quiet fiery, to the point where one might almost expect her quill to scorch the paper as she scrawls her way across it. (For such a quiet, reserved girl, she has very broad handwriting – especially when emotional!) When she does have to stand-up to someone in person, she tends to shake and shrink in on herself – but fortunately, she usually has her more boisterous sister there to take-over when the stress of a fraught social interaction overwhelms her. Or at least she did, when they were both children; now Ainsley is on her own more and more, both because Nessie can’t exactly follow her to work and because she’s occupied with her own endeavors – the main one of which Ainsley does not approve, and isn’t at all shy about saying so. Ainsley is more opinionated than she seems; it’s just that her strongest opinions tend to be about things like Arithmantic equations or antique Runes or the history of the etymological development of spells. Not things that most people care about enough to have opinions over. Perhaps the most surprising thing about Ainsley is that she’s actually good with a wand. One would think that a witch like her would be interested strictly in the theoretical – but Ainsley believes that the only way to truly understand the theory behind something is to also understand it in practice. Since her allegiance with the Order of the Phoenix, many a Death Eater has had the unpleasant experience of being hexed by this seemingly-harmless bluestocking while they were focusing on shielding themselves against someone who actually looked like a threat. Of course, take her glasses away and Ainsley isn’t going to be hexing anything smaller than a train car– not with any accuracy, anyway.

BRIEF OVERVIEW OF FAMILY:

Ainsley‘s extended family is a large and widely-dispersed one and she grew-up knowing that just about anywhere she went, there would be someone related to the Abbotts close by enough to have her back in a pinch. It was quite the safety net, really – although at times it came across as stifling, especially during her awkward adolescent years. (How much can one truly feel like one is spreading one’s wings when one has to constantly wonder how much of the story is getting back to mum and dad?) For the most part, Ainsley liked it – especially given that her immediate family was small, so her childhood ended up having a rather good balance between intimate family relationships and broad family network. As far as that immediate family, Ainsley’s consisted of two parents (Hubert and Moira Abbott) and one sister, Vanessa, who went almost universally by Nessie. (Ainsley herself did not favor nicknames, and once out of the toddler-stage where both she and her sister referred to herself as “Lee-lee,” preferred to use her full name.) The girls were born barely two years apart and, thanks to Ainsley being born late in the spring and Nessie at the very end of summer, actually attended Hogwarts with only a one year gap between them. This led to them being very close both as children and later as adults, and the sisters suffered from little of the disagreements and competitions common to many close-age siblings – due in part, no doubt, to their parents’ insistence on focusing on their individual strengths rather than comparing their talents or weaknesses against one another. The Abbotts (at least, Ainsley’s small branch of that three) were the sort of parents who could and did spend time indulging their children’s particular interests, but didn’t hover over every aspect of their lives, especially as the girls grew older and could be more easily left to their own devices and entertainments. Part of that was due to mum’s increasing workload – she was one of the original designers for the Nimbus Racing Broom Company, having been a close friend of Devlin Whitehorn for years, and as the company’s popularity soared so too did its demands on its employees’ time – and part to dad’s promotion from junior to senior auditor in the Ministry’s Department of Magical Finance Management; they both simply had less time to spare to parent as their careers demanded more and more of their attention instead. It wasn’t that Moira and Hubert ever became bad parents – just busier than they had been, when their girls had been young. It meant more financial security and comfort, though, which was nice – but also more distance and distraction from their daughters. At least they were both already in Hogwarts by then, with plenty of their own distractions on which to focus. Ainsley and Nessie made up for any lack of parental involvement by sticking together, and neither would have said they ever noticed anything missing from their childhoods – until Nessie fell in love with someone she could not have. Now as long as she was a half-blood, anyway. There was no way that someone like Jayesh Rosier would ever be permitted to marry an Abbott – not since they slipped off the pillar of purity on which they had once stood, anyway. But Nessie wasn’t going to let a little thing like blood-status stand in her way…and as little as the idea of pretending to be pure-bloods appealed to Ainsley, she couldn’t say no when Nessie asked: “Oh come on Ainsley, you know there’s no real difference between a pure-blood and a half-blood. We were raised in the magical world too, it’s not like we’re muggle-borns! Our blood’s as good as anyone else’s. In fact it’s already mostly the same blood, so it’s hardly even a lie to say ‘oh actually, we checked the family history, and our branch is still pure, look at that!’ And if it is, it’s a lie that everyone’s telling. How many people do you think can really say they don’t have any Muggles in their family tree? Anyone? No, everyone does it–” “Not to the Rosiers, they don’t! I’m not protesting the–the morality of what you’re doing, you idiot, I’m worried about your life! These people are fanatics!” “Jayesh isn’t a fanatic–” “Jayesh won’t be the one holding the wand when they find out you lied and kill you for it!” “Ainsley…who’s going to find out? Are you going to tell them?” “What? No, of course not–” “Besides, Jayesh loves me. His family won’t hurt me. He wouldn’t let them. And after they see how happy we are together, it won’t matter anyway.” Ainsley was very much sure that it would, but she could also see that there was no talking her sister out of this foolishness. Love, Ainsley thought with disgust, it destroys people. I’m glad I’ve never fallen victim to that kind of stupidity – not realizing, of course, that she very much had, for it was love of her sister that compelled her to go along with Nessie’s mad plan. It wasn’t hard: a bribe here, a forged document there…as Nessie had said, everyone did it. The methods were well-established. Ainsley couldn’t help but wonder if everyone else who had walked this reckless path had felt so sick with nerves over every step. But her sister was happy. And that was what mattered. NOTE: I am leaving many details about Nessie deliberately vague in case anyone would like to pick her up as a Secondary or something, I hope that’s all right! If not I will gladly make some more concrete defining choices about her, just let me know!

OCCUPATION:

Ainsley is a staff editor at The Daily Prophet. She keenly wants to be a columnist, but so far none of the pieces she has turned-in have been run in the paper – there’s just too many stories this week, dear; it’s all this Death Eater-business, you know; maybe next month… It isn’t a lack of wordsmithing skill that gets in her way, but a focus on topics that just don’t interest other people. The Prophet values AInsley for her keen eye for detail, impeccable (obsessive) fact-checking, and grammatical precision; many of the staff-writers give her their pieces for proof-reading prior to publication. Many of those same staff laugh behind her back about her weird obsessions with archaic forms of magic or speculative archaeology – or the Arithmancy! Oh, the Arithmancy! Ainsley has no idea that she is an object of ridicule at the office, which makes it hard for the “gallant” reporters who try to catch her interest by “defending her” to their fellows whenever they think she’s listening – but she usually isn’t; Ainsley is very good at tuning-out the world around her, and spends most of her downtime with her nose buried in some ancient tome or fresh academic journal. Sadly for those young gallants, she’s perfectly content without their company – or perhaps it’s for the best; none of those wizards would probably enjoy a date with Ainsley, should they somehow manage to secure one. Sure, she’s easy-on-the-eyes – but what about the ears? It’s not like she’s going to want to make small-talk about the latest Quidditch upset, after all…and so few people find a discussion on the importance of comma placement or the intricacies of reverse Arithmancy to be entertaining dinner conversation, much to Ainsley’s bewilderment.

ROLE WITHIN THE ORDER/THOUGHTS ABOUT THE ORDER:

Surprising to most people, Ainsley is a fighter for the Order. That isn’t all she does, of course; none of them can really only do one thing when they’re part of a rag-tag army of volunteers on what is seeming more and more like the losing side of a war. Her other chief areas of value to the Order come from, firstly, her esoteric knowledge: Ainsley never made a particularly study of Dark Magic, but her research into odd little archaic bits and pieces of magical history and alternative theories means she knows more about it than most of her fellows. Knows enough to help pick-apart Curses and alleviate their suffering; knows enough to help undo many a boobytrap without loss of life along the way. She doesn’t have Moody’s grizzled calm or Dumbledore’s warm wisdom – but when they aren’t around, she’ll do in a pinch. The area where she should be the most obviously valuable – that of The Daily Prophet – is not one where she’s been of as much help as the Order would like. Ainsley doesn’t have the sort of clout they need to turn a story in their favor; doesn’t have enough influence over her coworkers to try and change anyone’s mind (and honestly, probably lacks the delicacy of social interaction to get away with such efforts undetected anyway). She gets to see the stories before they publish a lot of the time, because she’s editing them for grammar, punctuation, and outrageously nonfactual statements (far too many of the latter of which the Editor in Chief overrules her on and publishes anyway) but she rarely has enough time between when she turns-in her polished drafts and when the paper goes to print to give enough advance warning to her fellows in the Order to do any good. On the surface, having someone inside The Daily Prophet seems like a real coupe…but unfortunately, that someone is Ainsley Abbott. As for Ainsley’s feelings, she knows that she’s often a disappointment – but she doesn’t know how to make that better, so she pushes the feeling away as best she can and ignores it. On the other hand, it’s getting harder and harder to ignore the realization that the Order might be losing this war. When she joined, Ainsley loved being a member. Sure, it was dangerous and often scary and sometimes overwhelmingly awful…but it also reminded her, a little bit, of life in Ravenclaw Tower. The arguments had different subjects and the experiments were less creative, but there was the same sort of energy in the air. Now most of that’s been sapped, and the influx of “new blood” looks to be too short-sighted and foolhardy to bolster AInsley’s flagging spirits. She doesn’t mind breaking the law (is too much that sort of Ravenclaw to worry about silly things like human laws…or the laws of nature even, at times!) but she didn’t join the Order for a lark; she had an end goal. And every day, that seems to be slipping farther and farther out of the Order’s reach…

SURVIVAL:

As far as ordinary logistics go, Ainsley survives on her salary as an editorial assistant for The Daily Prophet. She shares a small, plain-but-decent flat near their London offices with her sister, Vanessa, although she might have to move to a less expensive location when the inevitable happens and Nessie moves out to get married – but that’s a problem to face in the future; maybe she’ll take a roommate instead. (Maybe someone from the Order. It’s one of the few places she has real friends.) It will be odd, getting used to living with someone who isn’t family again – the first time she’ll have done that since the Hogwarts dormitories – but AInsley is a Ravenclaw; she likes new experiences. As for staying alive…for the most part, Ainsley survives because no one thinks she’s a threat – no one who would want to hurt her for it, anyway. Many of her own allies have trouble wrapping their heads around the idea that this seemingly-meek, nerdy little eagle is anything more than a useful bookworm; the Death Eaters certainly have no reason to suspect her at all…and less reason than most, maybe; after all, as far as they know, she’s a middling pure-blood without ambition or angles of advancement, happy to take a back-set to her sister’s social climb. And no one who was helping said sister marry into the Rosier family would be so foolish as to join an organization opposing everything the Rosiers hold dear…right?

RELATIONSHIPS:

Ainsley’s most important relationship is, of course, with her sister – and despite the strain that Nessie’s marital prospects (and their attendant secrets and lies) have placed on the sisters, that is one bond that remains as strong as ever. As for her co-workers…well, Ainsley has yet to figure out where and how to really fit-in with the rest of the Daily Prophet staff. (Perhaps because she’s so often correcting their misuse of commas or calling their attention to “innocent” little factual errors that she’s too hard-nosed to let slide into print.) The closest she’s come to making a true friend at work is probably Edmund Gwynder, their newest staff photographer. Maybe he just hasn’t been around long enough to find Ainsley tiresome yet…or maybe the fact that she can’t correct the grammar of a photograph endears her to him. The fact that she feels guilty enough over the fact that he almost lost a hand in an Order-related incident, and consequently she makes more of an effort to actually engage when he talks to her, might have something to do with it too. Within the Order of the Phoenix, Ainsley fares much better. Maybe it’s the bonding-effect of facing death together; maybe it’s the fact that she has saved many of her fellows’ lives once or twice before (and they, her) or maybe it’s just that in a group made-up so largely of misfits in one fashion or another, Ainsley fits in. Maybe it’s just that she’s much too curious to be judgemental when someone else confesses to fears or failures, and that makes her a great comfort in times like this. Those she’s particularly close to include Edgar Bones, with whom she once shared a common room and classes – although Ainsley was, and remains, shocked that it was Edgar who joined the Order, not Amelia….but then, she joined too. Maybe the rest of the world should stop underestimating quiet Ravenclaws…and maybe Ainsley, of all people, should have known better than to jump to that same stereotypical conclusion. At any rate, she’s glad Edgar is here; it’s nice having someone around with whom she shares so much in common – not just a former Hogwarts House, either; they both have a penchant for watching, a drive for learning, and a sibling they love more than life itself. Caradoc Dearborn isn’t quite as familiar a face – or at least he wasn’t, before they both found themselves in the Order; they knew each other at school of course, but their paths crossed less often. These days, Ainsley finds him not just familiar but reliable – a pillar of strength and logic in a world tilting off its axis. Gladys Gudgeon is another year-mate she’s glad to see getting involved, although so far the other witch has been staying at more of a distance…but Ainsley thinks that ought to change. The more legitimate government connections the Order can form, the better – especially if they all mean to not be arrested once this war is over!

OOC EXPLORATION:

SHIPS/ANTI-SHIPS: I think it would be interesting to get AInsley to a point where she realizes that she can fall in love without falling in lust – but I’m not sure that’s likely to happen, and I’m definitely not sure what kind of character would be the one(s) to inspire that breakthrough…but if something looks like it’s kindling, I’ll certainly be all for exploring it!

WHAT PRIVILEGES AND BIASES DOES YOUR CHARACTER HAVE?

Ainsley isn’t prejudiced at all. Sure, she knows that being raised in magical society is a superior upbringing to that of Muggles but that doesn’t make her prejudiced; in fact, it just means she expects less of Muggle-borns because she knows they’re starting at a disadvantage, which is the opposite of being prejudiced against them of course. And it has nothing to do with blood-status, oh no! As a half-blood (even if she’s pretending otherwise these days), Ainsley would be silly to pay any credence to blood-status. It’s all to do with one’s experiences. Being born magical is just better, that’s all – that’s obvious. And of course the older one’s magical lineage, the better one is established within the magical world – but purity has nothing to do with it. Of course not. And as for unclean – sorry, as for inhuman beasts like werewolves and giants and goblins and centaurs…well, they’re interesting to study, sure enough! But Ainsley wouldn’t invite one of them over to dinner! That would just be absurd. She’s no more likely to treat a House Elf with the same respect with which she does a person than she is to sprout wings and start flying without a broomstick – less, honestly; that sounds like just the sort of experiment that Ainsley would be captivated by. House Elves, on the other hand…well, they’re useful and they’re often sweet and that’s nice, but they aren’t people. No more are any other non-human beings or (worse yet) those unfortunate half-breed creatures. Oh, Ainsley can be perfectly civil and even kind to them – especially if she’s studying them; she’s learned quite a lot from her forays to the McKinnon farm to talk to and observe the lycanthropic subjects sheltering there, for instance, and she was one of the few students to have managed to strike-up the occasional interaction with one of the notoriously shy merfolk inhabiting the Hogwarts lake back at school – but she’d never make the mistake of thinking that they’re people like her. That sort of foolish, illogical anthropomorphizeing empathy is how good researchers get eaten.

WHAT ARE YOU MOST LOOKING FORWARD TO?

I am honestly just so excited to get to explore the imperfections and prejudices within the Order; too often fandom makes 99% of the characters in HP so black-and-white in terms of good-vs-evil when most of them aren’t. Sure, there are extreme end-of-the-spectrum characters like Voldemort and Bella and Umbridge who are pretty much Pure Evil (and the occasional opposite end like the hardly-flawless-but-wholly-good-hearted Luna Lovegood) but for the most part, the people in this story are just people. (All that “both light and dark inside us” blah blah blah stuff.) But when you only focus on the Good Guys vs Bad Guys – particularly when the cause the bad guys are fighting for is so bad – it’s easy to gloss-over the flaws in the people fighting against them; easy to forget that they aren’t always great too. Easy to forget that just because you’re fighting against a group of people trying to enshrine prejudice as near-holy writ in their society doesn’t mean that you’re automatically free of prejudice yourself. (Maybe some of the people in the Order are there because they oppose blood-supremacy, but does that mean they like werewolves? Doubt it! Or what about the ones who come from Muggle roots who thus have Muggle prejudices that the wizarding world has little of – racism, for starters! What about queerness? Is it more tolerated in a magical society where people can change genders as easily as they transfigure themselves into rabbits and armchairs, and where marriage has always been about preserving the family line more than romance so who cares what the gender of your “bit on the side” is as long as you produce a proper heir? Etc. What about religion? I doubt too many wix go in for Muggle religions, when so many of those belief systems take the tactic of “thou shalt not suffer a witch to live!” so how does that conflict play-out between those who grew-up with one foot in the magical world and one in the Muggle? So many options for turmoil!) Just because someone is paying enough attention to know that Voldemort is evil doesn’t even mean that they don’t share some of the same ideals being spouted by the Death Eaters – maybe unconsciously, maybe to a lesser degree, etc…but still there, in their head. Internalized. Needing to be unpacked, confronted – but fandom does so little of that. Good Guys are Good, End of Story. The Order were all friends who got along, la la la! Nope. Don’t think so. The Order was made up of a bunch of scared, desperate, angry, beleaguered people (several of them outcasts in their own way) fighting life-and-death battles against an enemy they couldn’t always even find, opposing their own government in many ways in order to “do the right thing” – fighting a war that half the populace would rather just went away. Even if they had all started as buddies, that would have been enough strain to crumble half their friendships by the end – and conversely, to forge people who otherwise have nothing in common into lifelong mates. The interpersonal relationships and inevitable clashes and arguments and confrontations – those are going to be awesome. I’m so excited.

PLOT DROP IDEAS: Things to inspire more inter-personal conflict in the Order; things to erode people’s trust in one another. Unfortunate circumstances, suspicious choices – maybe someone is seen talking to somebody whom other Order members know to be a Death Eater, but they didn’t get the memo yet and just think they’re an old friend, but the others don’t buy that explanation… Maybe someone has to make a purchase in Knockturn Alley that they don’t want to talk about publicly, which should be fine – everyone deserves a little privacy! But can they afford to grant that in the middle of a war…? Maybe someone (a Death Eater, a concerned citizen, a copy-cat) stages an attack that the Order gets blamed for, and certain members of the Order (Dorcas and Emma? James and Sirius?) have a hard time convincing the others that it wasn’t them… Maybe somebody defects; maybe somebody dies.

ANYTHING ELSE? nope!

EXTRA FOR NON-BIO CHARACTERS:

PAST:

There are a lot of Abbotts in the world. They’re an old family and rather than dwindle over the years like so many other old families, they’ve multiplied. Ainsley has cousins upon cousins upon cousins, and ties to most of the magical families in Great Britain (and abroad) if you trace those family trees back far enough. Everyone knows an Abbott – and everyone knows they aren’t pure. Not anymore; not since the 1940s, when the societal shift post-Grindewald led to a relaxation of blood-standards among many of the older families (the Bulstrodes, the Bobbins). But not every family loosened their ideals of purity, and some of those that did not were the most prestigious. This led to the Abbotts not so much being exiled from the higher echelons of society as drifting slowly to the side as the blood-purists solidified their grasp on the top slots and everyone else stood back and let them. For Ainsley, that was a stroke of luck; she’s the type of witch who prefers the sidelines, prefers watching to interacting, especially in a crowd. It is a trait that surprisingly few of her Hogwarts Housemates shared, but while AInsley preferred the company of her fellow quiet academics she was nonetheless delighted to let the more rambunctious Ravenclaws entertain her with the endless experiments and impassioned debates that made their Tower such an eye-opening place for a quiet, curious young Abbott to grow-up.

PRESENT:

Ainsley might have been expected to go into some esoteric research position after Hogwarts, locked away in a room full of dusty books and quills and quiet. But quiet was best when it was surrounded by something exciting – and Ainsley liked sharing what she knows almost as much as she likes learning something new. So she turned to a very different source of the printed word: journalism. Her career at The Daily Prophet has not proved to be as fulfilling as she had hoped when she was first hired as an editorial assistant, however. She thought that would include writing a few articles herself – fleshing-out the paper’s coverage of current events and societal gossip and economic and investment minutia with some columns on important topics like Arithmancy theories and archaic rune translations. Somehow, though, there’s just never enough room to squeeze in her pieces; too much other news keeps getting in the way. That isn’t what drove Ainsley to leave her desk and take up wands against the Death Eaters, though; she did that for her sister. Vanessa was always the more impractical, romantic of the two – but their differences did nothing to drive them apart, and there’s nothing Ainsley wouldn’t do for the person she loves most. Including fight to make a world where Nessie would be safe to follow her heart. That’s why Ainsley went along with her sister’s scheme to pretend to be pure-bloods so she could marry Jayesh Rosier – and why AInsley decided to cut to the chase and just destroy blood-prejudice. The Order hasn’t had as much success as she’d hoped, though, and now Ainsley is starting to wonder if she isn’t potentially doing Nessie more harm than good. What will her prospective in-laws do if they find out Nessie’s sister is fighting against their precious Dark Lord?

FC CHOICES: Olivia Taylor Dudley, Song Ji-Hyo, Amy Acker

#homenumaccepted #harry potter rp #harry potter roleplay #harry potter rpg #marauders rp

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joonbird · 6 years

Text

Breakfast in Bed

➭ “Min Yoongi, a grumpy Ikea employee, is wondering who you are and why exactly you’re sleeping in the display bed at his Ikea.”

pairing: yoongi x reader

genre: ikea employee!au, smut, fluff, semi crack/humour

wordcount: 12k

❀ 2 / 8 of my oneshot requests ❀

**Warnings: Breathplay & cumplay. Heavy usage of Ikea puns. OT7 are in this as very AU Ikea!employee versions of themselves. Also, this fic is definitely not an accurate depiction of what working at Ikea is like. I’m sure irl they work very hard and don’t have wild sex on the beds.

This is, without a doubt, one of the worst days of Yoongi’s life.

It’s not so much that this day is particularly terrible in itself, but rather, it’s that this one day is unbearably boring. Yoongi’s entire life has been utterly imbued in mediocrity for the last year. If fresh out of high-school, bright eyed, bushy tailed Min Yoongi could see him now, working full time in an Ikea... Words would certainly be exchanged.

“…Well?” A voice draws him out of his thoughts, and he glances up from under heavy lids. He tries to keep his face calm and free of contempt. Needless to say, it’s a struggle. His store manager Kim Seokjin stares back at him with an unimpressed frown.

“Do you have an answer for us, Yoongi?”

Shit, what was the question? Yoongi glances furtively at his co-worker Jungkook, who as always is being completely useless, throwing him a shit eating grin and an overexaggerated thumbs up. Yoongi fights the urge to roll his eyes and flips through his memory, attempting to dredge back whatever it was that Seokjin wants an answer to.

Ikea staff meeting, store targets, new collection of Swedish kitchenware… oh right.

“My long term goals in this company are…” Yoongi begins, and he has to fight al of his instincts to not let out a derisive snort, because he definitely doesn’t have any long term goals in this God-forsaken hellhole, “… To memorize all the product names.” He tries to deliver his words with as much conviction as humanly possible, but his attempt falls flat. He knows full well that he would rather wrestle a grizzly bear naked, than memorize over 500 obscure Ikea product names.

Despite his flat intonation, his answer seems to please Seokjin somewhat. He nods in affirmation and settles back on his chair, folding his hands together and giving Yoongi a pleased smile.

“An admirable goal,” Seokjin says placidly. “Much better than ‘beat my record of eating 50 Swedish meatballs in one sitting’.” He shoots a pointed glare at Jungkook. Jungkook pretends not to notice.

“Sir,” Yoongi’s other coworker, Kim Taehyung, pipes up. “Just letting you know that I personally have memorized 487 out of the 500 product names.” Taehyung shoots Seokjin an angelic smile and this time, Yoongi physically cannot stop himself from rolling his eyes.

Taehyung is one of those rare workers who genuinely sets himself long term Ikea employee goals. He uses his Staff Discount to full capacity every single month, and he is studying Swedish at some obscure weekend academy out in the countryside. Needless to say, Taehyung has been Employee of the Month for the last fourteen months straight, and he won’t shut up about it.

“See,” Seokjin says, clapping his hands together. “That is what I call initiative. Well done Taehyung! A gallant effort.”

Taehyung’s beam widens. “You could say sir... that it’s a gälant effort.” He points at the catalogue on Seokjin’s desk, glossy pages featuring the new in store gälant shelving system. Seokjin bursts into laughter, he sounds like a donkey breaching before childbirth and Yoongi wonders how his life has gotten to this.

Yoongi has been working at Ikea for the last two years, Mondays to Fridays, 9AM-5PM. It’s not the world’s worst job in itself, in fact, he’s been here long enough to have a decent amount of authority amongst the team. Ikea is a stepping stone for him to squirrel away his money, waiting for the day he has enough to buy some recording equipment and put in proper effort into establishing a music career. Ikea actually pays pretty well and he gets a great superannuation. All bonuses surrounding the otherwise mildly depressing blue and yellow cesspool he finds himself in five out of seven days a week. I’m here for the pay, he tells himself, and the free meatballs.

Yoongi is so tired that it feels like he may collapse at any given moment.

He really should go to bed earlier, it’s just that by the time it’s a decent hour to catch up on sleep, he’s distracted by all the various social media networking sites on his phone (he has an ironic Instagram account and a Reddit account, of course. And an AO3 account because he may or may not be totally hooked on this one particular series.)

Yoongi stifles a yawn and looks around the shop floor. Seokjin has put him in the Bedframes and Bedding department this week, and looking around his empty surroundings, Yoongi decides today is a day of shuffling around and looking a lot busier than he actually is. That is an art that Yoongi has perfected.

As he strolls around the shop floor, he stops in place. Yoongi frowns to himself, squinting. His Ikea is always completely dead at 10AM in the morning, a peaceful retail ghost town before the mania that is the after school rush. It’s rare that there is even one browsing shopper at this time of the day, let alone... that.

Right there, sprawled out in the middle of the most expensive display bed in the store, is a person.

Yoongi realizes as he investigates closer, said person is asleep. Asleep and burrowed under the covers no less. This blatant disregard for store property, as well as the complete and utter shameless method of napping probably should have caused a negative reaction from him. Annoyance, or irritation. Professional responsibility, perhaps. But instead, Yoongi just feels impressed. And envious.

He strolls up to the bed with his head tilted to once side, surveying your cocooned body. Your hands are tucked neatly underneath your cheek, your hair fanned out on the pillow. Your mouth is slightly parted, and there is drool on the $50.00 display pillow.

“Hey.” Yoongi mutters gruffly. You don’t react. He reaches out and tentatively pokes your cheek, as he does so, your eyes flutter open. They’re bleary with sleep but still disarmingly expressive, and you shoot him a look that reminds Yoongi of an injured kitten.

“What d’you want?”

You frown, a tiny, pouty expression, before you close your eyes again. Yoongi blinks, wondering how it’s possible for somebody to fall back asleep so damn fast. You look so innocent, Yoongi muses, bending down to see your eyelashes fluttering slightly with each breath, face peaceful. He hesitates, and then reaches forward and gently prods your cheek.

“...You’re sleeping on the bed.”

“No fucking shit, Agent Benson.” You mutter irritably, and Yoongi’s mouth goes slackjawed, okay, not so innocent.

Yoongi watches you warily. “Are you homeless?” He asks flatly. “I can take you to a shelter, if you want.”

“No,” You sit up now, stretching out, your mouth opening impossibly wide into a large yawn. Your hair is mussed up, and you shoot him an annoyed look. “I’m not homeless. But I am awake. And tired. Thanks a lot.” You huff out the last few words and for a moment, Yoongi has no idea how to react.

“I’m… sorry?”

You sniff, and your shoulders drop up and down in a stubborn shrug.

“S’okay.”

You’re still sitting on the bed and the two of you stare at each other for a long moment.

“So why are you er… sleeping on the oppland here?”

You wrinkle your nose ever so slightly. “Oppland?”

Yoongi nods, pointing to the tiny display sign hanging beside your head. “It’s what you’re lying on.”

“Oh.” You blink owlishly at that information and shrug. “I live just down the road. My next door neighbour is doing renovations,” You explain, “And I work in hospitality so I pretty much only work evenings. It’s so fucking loud all morning … and I need at least eight hours sleep. I need eight hours to survive. It’s a scientific fact.”

You’re saying all of this earnestly, and Yoongi suddenly has the stray thought that you are cute, voice thickened with drowsiness. You spring out of the bed and start to make it, tucking in the covers and fluffing the pillow, all while chatting away.

“Anyway, I had a pretty good nap. The oppland is comfy! So thanks.”

Yoongi just stares at you and clears his throat.

“Uh... you have...” He wipes inconspicuously at the corner of his right eye, and unbothered, you swipe at your eyes.

“Oh, sleep seeds?”

He blinks. “Did you just call eye crust... sleep seeds?”

“Uh huh.”

Yoongi is completely lost for words. Your hair is like a birds nest at the back, you’re still blinking slowly, letting out intermittent yawns. He doesn’t know anything about you except that you work evenings, there is construction next door to your house, and you call eye crust sleep seeds. Yet somehow that’s enough information to warrant the next words that come tumbling out of his mouth.

“If you want,” He begins, and you look up at him curiously. “You can uh, sleep here. Before 12pm. We don’t usually get customers and it’s just me and another guy on this floor. You can sleep. If you want.”

Yoongi has no idea why he’s saying this, why he’s offering to rent out the fucking display bed like he’s some kind of furniture pimp. This is very out of character for him. He is the kind of employee who doesn’t even like going out the back to grab an item for a customer, let alone offer to let customers have nap time during his shifts.

You stare at him, a surprised look on your face.

“Seriously? You’re not gonna get in trouble or anything?”

Yoongi avoids that question because the answer is a hard yes and his suggestion breaks at least fifteen rules in the Ikea Employee handbook.

He reasons to himself that hey, he’s already broken most of the rules in that damn Handbook anyway (including no public nudity at the workplace. That was the result of a lost bet with Jungkook and a very embarrassing nudie run.)

Yoongi shrugs.

You narrow your eyes, staring closely at him as if to try and work out if he’s serious. Yoongi must pass whatever test you’re giving him because your face relaxes into a smile and you shrug back, a cute little shrug of your shoulders that introduces a small wriggling itch in Yoongi’s belly.

“That would be really nice,” You admit. “If you’re sure it’s okay.” You punctuate your words with a smile.

“Yeah I’m sure,” Yoongi babbles out, and your smile gets even bigger and Yoongi is transfixed. You have a very expressive face, and he can’t help but wonder what else it would be expressive in… Yoongi shakes his head and tries to get that thought out of his head. He’s merely a professional trying to help a fellow sleep deprived citizen. No other reason. Nothing to do with the fact that you have doe eyes and a face that gives every single emotion away. Nothing to do with the fact that he, a man who finds nothing cute, finds you cute. You, standing in front of him, still rubbing your eyes and trying to stifle a yawn and causing Yoongi’s stomach to do an entire Olympics gymnastics routine. That has nothing to do with it. Nothing at all.

“Okay,” You singsong, stretching out your hand. Yoongi doesn’t have the biggest hands in the world, but you however have hands that slot into his nicely. He tries his hardest not to think about your body parts and his and slotting. He fails.

“I really appreciate it. I’m Y/N by the way.”

“Min Yoongi.”

Monday through to Friday that week, at precisely 9AM on the dot, you arrive at the Bedframes and Bedding floor in Ikea and you nap.

Yoongi has worked out a system. He’s told the new staff member Park Jimin to stay in the pillows and manchester section, and that he, the senior staff member, will man bedframes.

The entire week has seen to smooth sailing, bar for a few confused customers who stroll past your sleeping figure, nestled in the oppland. Yoongi tells them when they enquire that you are a paid model giving a live demonstration of ‘how to use the oppland. He’s bullshitting out of his ass, but somehow it works and the oppland sales spike by 30% that week.

You sleep from 9AM-12PM, and then you linger while Yoongi works. The two of you chat about lighthearted things, bickering back and forth. On Wednesday you exchange phone numbers and carry on your conversations late at night when he’s up flicking through Youtube and AO3 and you’re wrapping up a shift at work.

During the second week, Yoongi learns more about you. You talk to him about your chlldhood best friend, chattering on and on with tidbits about her and about your life, and Yoongi laps them all up like he’s reading the most exciting novella in the world. In return, he tells you stories that he’s gathered from two years of working at Ikea, from the time that Jungkook tried to slide down the Kiddie slide in the Children’s Play Area and got stuck so badly the fire squad had to come and cut him out, to the time that Taehyung dressed up as an actual Ikea blue plastic shopping bag on Halloween.

Your naps run shorter because you start well, just talking to him. You talk about your family, and he talks about his parents and his brother’s dog Holly, even digging in his pocket to show you a photo. You lean in close as you squint at the screen and coo, and Yoongi’s heart starts ricocheting in his ribcage when you step closer to him.

On the Friday of the second week, right before you leave, you look at him with a playful smile and a quirk of eyebrows, and you tell him that you think he’s cute. Yoongi feels ten thousand emotions all at once, he’s frozen in place and opening and closing his mouth uncertainly. Before he can muster up a response, you leave. And with that Yoongi realizes that he has formed the world’s biggest crush on you, and he has no idea what to do about it.

“What does it mean if a girl calls you cute?”

Yoongi asks the question as innocently as possible, and immediately regrets it as soon as Jungkook’s head snaps up.

“It means she wants to give you the suc-”

Yoongi kicks Jungkook’s shin from under the table and Jungkook grins, unfazed.

“Forget it,” Yoongi grumbles, glowering at the younger man. Jungkook just leans forward, putting his chin in his hands eagerly.

“Seriously though? A girl called you cute? Bitch where?” He is unable to hide the disbelief straining his voice as he looks Yoongi up and down critically. Yoongi scowls.

“When did you meet a girl anyway? You’re always here.” Jungkook continues on, ignoring the dark look on Yoongi’s face. “And don’t try and pretend that you have a social life because I know for a fact that all you do on your days off is read that Namjoon’s guy’s fanfics.”

Yoongi frowns. “I take offence to the fact that you’re insinuating I have no life other than this hellhole and the world of fanfiction.”

Jungkook looks up from his plate of meatballs with an innocent smile.

“Am I wrong though?”

Yoongi grumbles to himself in response.

Jungkook grins, picking up a meatball with his bare fingers and practically inhaling it in one gulp. “So,” He begins, “How did you meet her then?”

Yoongi hesitates, debating in his mind what exactly to tell his friend.

“I may or may not have met her here.”

Jungkook’s eyes practically bulge out of his head and he claps his hands down on the table, his words spilling out in succession.

“What? How? Is it a milf? is she hot? Dude, tell me everyth-”

“No, she’s not a milf, Jesus fucking Christ Jungkook-”

“So how did you meet her? Is she a customer?”

Yoongi lets out a defeated sigh.

“I found her sleeping on one of the beds on one of my shifts, and I dunno. We just started talking. She comes here and naps sometimes on one of the display beds.”

A disappointed frown crosses Jungkook’s face.

“… Okay, that was the anticlimax of the century, but whatever.... what bed?”

“What?”

“What bed does she sleep on?”

Yoongi rolls his eyes. “Seriously dude, how is that remotely relevant-”

“The Ikea bedframe a woman chooses says a lot about their personality.” Jungkook says somberly and Yoongi decides that Jungkook has definitely been spending too much time with Taehyung lately.

“The oppland.”

Jungkook looks up at that, a sly grin on his face.

“So let me get this straight, she comes to this Ikea and you let her sleep on top of the oppland?”

Yoongi does not like the grin on Jungkook’s face.

“Yeah. Don’t tell anyone or I’ll rip your balls out with this fork.” Yoongi picks up the fork and waves it threateningly in Jungkook’s face, but the younger man just bats it away lazily. The disrespect! Yoongi misses the good old days when Jungkook cowered at all of Yoongi’s half-assed threats. Although, Yoongi thinks, looking down at the brown plastic fork in his hand, it’s not like he’s actually ever gone through with his threats of enacting penis-related violence to Jeon. Yet, anyway.

“I’ll bet she wants to sleep on top of your oppaland if y’anno what I’m sayin-”

Yoongi stabs Jungkook’s hand with the fork and Jungkook lets out a yelp, the fork clattering on the table. Jungkook whines for five seconds before he grabs the fork and uses it to spear another meatball, cramming it into his mouth.

Yoongi watches in mild disgust.

“So like,” Jungkook starts. “Do you like her?”

Yoongi’s face goes bright red and he mumbles something about taking the fork and shoving it down Jungkook’s esophagus. Jungkook just grins, completely unbothered as per usual.

“You are so whipped man.” Jungkook crows and Yoongi shoots him a menacing glare.

“Shut up. I swear to God I am going to murder you.”

Jungkook just laughs louder, and Yoongi groans, dropping his face into his hands because Jungkook is right. He is one hundred perecent, no doubts in mind, whipped.

On Monday, Yoongi walks onto the Bedding floor to find that the oppland is no longer there.

He stares at the empty space blankly for a few seconds before he whirls around, looking for Jimin. He finds Jimin actually assisting a customer, smiling sweetly and engaging in chit chat. He’s so new and hopeful, Yoongi thinks dismissively. He taps his foot impatiently as he watches Jimin hold up a pillow and pass it to the customer with an angelic smile.

“Hey. You. New kid.” He barks out, and Jimin glances up. “Where’s the oppland?”

Jimin frowns, his pert nose wrinkling. “Oh, the bed?”

Yoongi rolls his eyes. “No, the fucking yellow unicorn. Obviously the bed, what else do you think I’m talking about?”

“Oh! Visual Merchandising team put it back in storage. Why?”

Yoongi is already walking away, and he hears Jimin pipe up a “Talk later hyung!” behind him. Yoongi spots you standing by the empty display, and he hurries over.

“Hey,” He murmurs, and you glance up, giving him a little smile. He feels a flutter in chest and tries his hardest to suppress it. “Oppland’s gone.” You comment, a frown marring your features as you turn to look speculatively at the nearest display bed. “Should I try the bittergurka instead?”

Yoongi smiles. “I have a better idea.”

“Whoa,” You breathe out, gazing around. The storage warehouse is huge, large cardboard boxes stacked on chrome shelves. The warehouse is also empty on Tuesday mornings and at this current moment, locked. Thank God for staff privileges.

Yoongi spots the oppland tucked behind some of the taller shelving units, and you walk to it together. He watches as you immediately clamber onto the bed, lying on your back.

“Here,” You say, patting the mattress. “Lie down with me for a sec.”

Yoongi lets out a groan, but there is no hesitation on his face as he sprawls out beside you. You’re both lying side by side, staring up at the tall shuttered ceiling.

“It’s really comfortable,” He admits, and you turn to face him. The movement has something falling out of your pocket, landing with a clatter on to the floor. You let out a little squeak and hop off of the bed, bending down to grab the item that had fallen, your phone.

“Got it,” You breathe, popping up from where you had been crouched beside the bed.

Your head is at pretty much exactly at level with his dick. Yep, it’s right there. Now that he’s got his dick in his mind, he’s imagining various scenarios involving you and his dick. He is having all kinds of thoughts, varying in different degrees of filth, and he swallows thickly.

“What’s with you?” You giggle, before you lie back down beside him. The angle of which you lower yourself onto the bed is pornographic, Yoongi decides – the small of your waist curving as you settle in comfortably, the upwards tilt of your hips as you smooth the covers beneath your back. And God, oh God your shirt is lifting and Yoongi’s eyes fall greedily on the tiniest slip of bare skin.

Yoongi has seen naked women countless times (moreso on a computer screen rather than in real life, but hey, naked bodies are naked bodies). But none have ever turned him on like this.

He never thought the two centimeters of skin from a waistband to a shirt hem could make him semi-hard.

Yoongi’s eyes are travelling over before he can quite stop himself and yep, there are your asscheeks, sinking into the mattress. His mouth goes dry.

You glance over at him with an amused quirk of your lips and Yoongi awkwardly drags his eyes upwards and they land on your collarbones and your chest... Bad idea, he internally barks to himself, tearing his eyes away as his eyes land on your face.

Game fucking over, because you’re staring at him with that look. Yoongi loves that look. Your eyes are warm and soft and creased in the corners, and you’re doing that thing where you bite down on your bottom lip to try and stop yourself from laughing. He loves this look, because it’s a look that you get when you think he’s being funny. And no one ever thinks he’s funny but for some reason you do, and he really God damn likes it.

“Are you okay? You look so weird right now,” You whisper softly, and Yoongi just swallows and stares. He has never been this close to you before, and it’s sensory overload. You smell good, for starters- like fresh laundry and perfume.

You look good this close too. He decides right then and there that he likes everything about your face. He likes your eyelashes, blinking rapidly and uncertainly at him, he likes the little pimple on your right cheek. He likes your eyes, and he likes your lips. He swallows. Yep, he definitely likes your lips.

Yoongi realizes then that he is one hundred percent hard. And before he can stop himself, his knee-jerk reaction kicks in, and he glances down at his dick. Yep, hard as expected.

The only problem is that your eyes follow his curiously, and they too, land on his cock.

The worst part of it all is that Yoongi’s cock, that betraying piece of shit, doesn’t even try to camoflauge itself to you. Like it’s finally receiving its moment of glory, it’s time to shine, his dick gets harder somehow. And then it fucking twitches.

Yoongi decides immediately that if a freak accident occurs and one of the humongous boxes on the shelves surrounding them falls and crushes his body into oblivion, he’d be okay with that. Because you’re still staring straight at his erection and the little laugh you had playing on your lips is gone.

“Are you… is that …” You stammer out and Yoongi groans.

“Sorry. Sorry, I ah, yeah, sorry,” He mutters, and you look up and meet his embarrassed gaze, your eyes full of confusion.

“… Are you hard over me, or is there something else here that’s causing this?” You ask, your tone stunned.

He considers his options quickly. One: he can lie. That option is, in all honesty, the most immediately appealing one. Maybe he can say that he has a medical condition that causes him to get one raging boner at random every day. Or that he has a warehouse fetish. Or, that he has a prosthetic dick and it getting hard is something that happens when he lies down on foreign surfaces, with no connection to actual arousal whatsoever.

But something stops him - he tells himself that it’s because he values honesty and truth, when it’s really the fact that he’s really fucking wishing, hoping and praying that being honest might result in an outcome that doesn’t involve his imminent death... and he decides fuck it. Honesty. He’s going to be honest. He’s going say something short and sweet, dripping with coolness. Something like, “Yeah, I want to fuck you, got a problem?”

“I’m hard because of you, you’re hot as fuck and you don’t understand how many uncomfortable boners I’ve had because of you in the last two weeks, and in all honesty I want to fuck you senseless against every piece of Ikea furniture imaginable.”

Oh God. That had absolutely zero cool, what the fuck. Yoongi braces himself for it, he’s sure you’re going to say something that will crush his soul. He’s convinced you’re going to let him down easy. Or maybe you’ll start laughing.

What he doesn’t expect is for you to wriggle forward and grab his face in your tiny palms. He lets out a shocked sound as you practically squeeze his face in between your hands, and before he has time to think or react, you kiss him.

His brain freezes.

You’re kissing him, and you’re kissing him hard and fast, and it takes him a second to register that this is happening, before he lets out a noise of surprise and starts kissing you back.

There is no elegance in your kissing, because you’re both frantic and desperate and practically clawing at each other like crazed teenagers. Yoongi rolls on top of you, letting out a soft moan as he deepens the kiss. You sink into the pillow and he can taste you, his tongue intermingled with yours. Your hands are roaming up Yoongi’s back and underneath his shirt, and he feels like he might implode because there’s so much going on.

You’re making tiny, excited moans into his mouth, your kisses only broken by you nipping on his bottom lip. The feeling of your teeth gripping his bottom lip causes him to emit a guttural moan, as he attacks you with a deeper, hungrier kiss. You smell good, and everything about you feels good.

His hands are on your waist and slipping up your shirt, and your skin feels like velvet. His hands glide over your lower stomach and you let out this unbelievable moan- low and throaty and choked, and Yoongi feels his abdomen tense because how the hell can every noise coming out of your mouth sound so damn sexy?

“Fuck, you’re so hot,” Yoongi groans out, pulling away from your lips to glide his fingers up your stomach to your breast. You suck in your breath at that and your eyes widen, and you start blinking rapidly as Yoongi teases his fingers around the curve of your breast.

“Oh my God Yoongi,” You moan out, and Yoongi feels a dark, wicked heat start to pool inside his belly at hearing you moan out his name, at the way you’re making his own name sound like the dirtiest word in the entire Dictionary.

Nothing sounds better in the world, he decides, as he circles closer and closer around your nipple with his fingers. Nothing.

“Yoongi, please baby. Please.”

Okay, something.

He wants to reach down and kiss your neck, down the slope of your skin, but he’s mesmerized in your face. Your lips are parted and your eyes are fevered, and you’re blinking rapidly as you stare at him.

“Yoongi please, please touch me,” You pant out, and your voice is throaty and husky with lust. Yoongi can’t help but groan, a growling sound that rips out of him. You’re a mess, he realizes, a messy, dirty fucking mess and it’s all because of him. He decides that he likes this very much, furthermore, his dick likes this very much and his balls are so tense that they’re beginning to ache.

He finally relents, his fingers latching around your hard nipple and teasing it in long, lazy strokes. He dives in and peppers hard kisses that are more like bites along the canvas of your neck. He starts at that dip in your collarbones, enjoying the taste of your skin on his lips and the tiny whimper you give out when he works his way upwards. He stops right underneath your ear, where your skin is soft and sensitive and the mere sensation of his breath against your skin has your body trembling beneath him.

With his free hand, he squeezes your thigh, his fingers strong and full of intent, before he allows his his fingers to brush at the edge of your pussy. You let out an urgent whimper and Yoongi begins to rub the tip of this thumb hard and fast against your nipple. He keeps his hand locked firmly on the top of your thigh, using the crook of his pinky to rub his knuckle along your slit.

You are soaking wet. Like, underwear ruined, sopping wet and Yoongi was not expecting that. He is painfully aware of just how hard he is, so hard that his erection hurts, straining against the fabric... but all he can concentrate on now is the dampness of your underwear.

He moans against your neck and latches an expanse of your skin with his lips, sucking hard and eliciting yet another dirty fucking moan from you.

“Yoongi,” You grit out between clenched teeth. He decides right then and there that he loves the sound of you moaning out his name. He would make it his ringtone if he could, fuck.

His hand slows from where it’s been teasing your nipple, and he pulls away from your neck. There is a small inky splotch mottled on your skin and he sits up. You look thoroughly dazed, your hair messy and your eyes wide as you blink up at him. Your chest heaving with labored breaths, your cheeks flushed with arousal, and Yoongi feels his dick start to throb.

Yoongi sits up and pulls the shirt off of his head, moving with a kind of speed of only a truly horny man. He slides off his pants, lying there in his black jocks. You catch on quickly, and you’re ripping the blouse off of your head, wriggling your skirt off, your breaths coming out in little pants.

Yoongi feels like his eyes are going to boggle out of his head because you’re in your underwear, doing that thing where you tilt your hips up and wriggle, and you’re moaning out his name in time to each sway of your hips.

“You look so good, fuck,” You murmur out breathlessly, and you reach up and run your hands down his chest. He’s not built by any means, but Yoongi feels his ego start to swell in his chest from your words and the touch of your palm right there on his lower abdomen- torturously close to his hard cock.

You hook your hand around the back of his neck and pull him down on top of you. He gladly obliges, kissing your lips with a messy kind of desperation, as he reaches down and runs two his fingers along your slit, unable to resist any longer.

Yep, your underwear are completely soaked through and he feels like he might actually cum on the spot- especially when your back arches upwards and you tilt your hips, pushing your slit against his fingers, letting out a soft cry of want.

Yoongi stops kissing you as he pulls off your underwear, and then he begins to tease at the hood of your pussy.

You’re writhing underneath him and he takes a moment to stare at your body, bare naked and all spread out for him. Now that your underwear are off he can smell you, smell your juices in the air. He reaches down with one finger and swipes up your pussy from bottom to top.

The moment his finger touches you, his breath hisses in. You are so wet, and his finger glides effortlessly against your heat. You bite your lip and let out a choked moan- three seconds of relief and release before you want more than before. It’s like you’re climbing up a rollercoaster and waiting to plummet, each second that passes taking you higher and higher. You’re rocking your hips against his hand, pressing your pussy against him with so much hunger and urgency that Yoongi can see your thighs tremble.

“You’re so wet,” Yoongi grunts, he finds your clit, it’s swollen to touch and judging by the way you hiss in your breath it feels good. He taps against your swollen bud, hard, fast strokes that has your jaw clenching and your nails digging into the small of his back.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” You swear out, your eyes are wide and desperate and Yoongi smirks to himself as he reaches down with his other hand, pushing the entire length of his index finger inside of you. It slides in effortlessly against your wetness, and you’re tight around his finger. You let out a delicious groan, one that fills Yoongi’s body from head to toe with an even darker deeper heat.

He slides in another finger and you groan. “God, I want it, I just want you inside of me,” You pant out and you tilt your hips and rock. Yoongi realizes that you’re actually fucking yourself against his fingers, the two that are inside of you and the other two pressed against your clit.

“Holy shit you’re amazing,” Yoongi moans out, and then you reach down and latch your fingers around his wrist and pull his fingers out of you.

Yoongi barely has time to ask if everything is okay, because you’re yanking his underwear down and you are wrapping your fingers around his cock.

Yoongi decides that this is it. This is the moment that he wants to remember, because this is the moment with the dream girl he had fantasized about as a horny asolescent, this is the moment twenty five year old him has been fantasizing about for the last three weeks. This is the moment that he will commission an artist to recreate on canvas when he is a rich famous musician. Your fingers, wrapping around the base of his cock, and you staring at him, blinking slowly like a kitten.

He opens his mouth to tell you that you are without a doubt the hottest damn woman in the whole world. The words are there on the tip of his tongue. But then you start to glide your hand up and down his shaft.

“Fuuuuuuck.”

His rock hard cock stands up straight and tall, the head glistening from the precum leaking from his tip. Both of your hands are wrapped around it, pumping up and down his length.

“You have a really nice dick,” You breathe out, and you lick your lips and Yoongi has dangerous images of you sucking on his cock, choking on all of him, blinking prettily and eyes full of tears.

Before he can indulge that thought too much, he tips his head back and lets out a choked groan. “I need…” Yoongi pants out, lifting his head to see you staring at him. “…To fuck you. Right now.”

He’s so uncomfortably hard and so full of tension, and he just wants to be balls deep inside of you. You smile to yourself and grab his cock again, twisting up with your hand and placing your palm flat against his tip. Yoongi hisses in for breath and before he can release it, along with a barrage of dirty swear words because he cannot think straight with the pressure of your palm down hard around his fucking frenulum… you lift up with your hips.

The tip of his cock is brushing against your slit and his entire body starts humming with a want so intense that it feels like it’s a flame, licking at his insides from inside out.

“God I want to fuck you so badly.” Yoongi growls, his voice is raspy and his blood is racing through his veins, and finally, finally, you lower your body and he’s inside of you.

You are so wet that you ease down on top of him, and all of him is buried deep inside of you. You tip your head back and let out a long, breathy moan because he feels so damn good filling you up, stretching you out, and it’s like the most gratifying release ever to finally have him inside of you.

Yoongi on the other hand is pretty sure he can see stars and the moon because you are so wet and so tight, and when he opens his eyes you’re moaning and you’re naked, sitting down on his cock.

“Yoongi,” You pant out, “Holy shit.”

It’s full, so full, just an intense and overwhelming fullness, and it takes a moment for the two of you to bask in it and adjust.

And then you start to rock your hips.

You arch your lower back so that with each sway of your body, Yoongi’s cock is there- buried so deep inside of you that it aches.

“I can feel,” You moan out, “All of you inside of me and it feels so good…” Your voice pitches upwards in want, and you place a palm on Yoongi’s stomach to steady yourself. Yoongi just lets out a choked sound, because you are on top of him, riding him like a damn professional and he’s so riled up that he can feel the orgasm already starting to ebb in his toes.

“Come here,” He mutters, and he flips you over so that you’re on your back with a breathless gasp. He slams his hips hard against you, his hips rutting against yours, and you let out a sharp moan. He pumps into you again, enjoying the sounds of your cries catching in your throat and the way you wriggle your core under his cock.

He reaches up, about to run his hands in your hair, when you let in a sharp intake of breath.

He pauses, his fingers hovering near your neck.

“Yoongi…” You moan out his name, humming it out so intently, your eyes staring up at him. “I want you to...” Your voice trails off and he swallows hard, wrapping his fingers around the base of your throat.

You let out a thick sound of delight at feeling the heaviness of his hand gently around your throat. “Fuck,” You groan. “Fuck!”

Yoongi is still fucking into you, each thrust is hard and he grinds his dick up inside against your walls, ensuring every single centimeter of him is buried deep in your pussy.

“It feels good, oh my god it feels so good…” you cry out, and Yoongi looks down. Your eyes are wild with it, his hand around your throat, your hair messy and fanned over the pillow.

“Harder,” You moan, and Yoongi squeezes your neck gently and you let out a choked cry as Yoongi thrusts hard into you, tilting his hips up. He is so full of arousal, seeing your parted lips and the pant of your breath, the squirm of your body under his, the expressive face of yours showing every single shade of pleasure imaginable. He tilts his hips, grinding into you from a different angle.

His cock hits your spot, Yoongi can tell from the vibrations of your moans under his palm and the way your eyes roll back into your head. "Yes!” You cry out, and Yoongi feels your walls tighten around him as you cum, waves of pleasure washing over your face.

He relaxes his hold and flutters his palm up to cup your cheeks, watching the orgasm play out on your features. Your eyes flutter closed and strain as they roll under your closed eyelids, your mouth parted as mewls and moans and utterances of his name come forth, and your entire body is stiff and tense before it practically crumples beneath him, shivering with pleasure.

He can see all of it written on your lips and your eyes – the release, the crescendo and wave of pleasure and relief and fullness, and Yoongi decides it’s a sight he wants to see over and over again.

“Oh my God, I came so hard,” You pant out, your voice is husky and blissed out, and your eyes flutter open. You look completely fucked out, and you smile and Yoongi feels a shiver of heat through his spine.

I think I might be falling in love you, Yoongi thinks, a wild thought that slips through the cracks along with the realization that… “I’m gonna cum soon,” He pants out, his body stiffening.

“Cum on my face baby,” You murmur, and he glances at your face, you’re biting your lip and giving him that same smile. You still look blissed out from your high and he hesitates.

“Are you…”

“I want you all over me.”

He doesn’t question it, he pulls himself out of your pussy and his hands are wrapping around his own cock, as you wriggle down so that your pretty face is underneath him. He stares at you- your eyes staring straight up him, the hint of a smile dancing on your lips, your cheeks pink and flushed. You place your hands on his thighs and bite your bottom lip. “I want your cum all over my face, baby.”

Holy shit. That is a mental image he is going to have on replay for the rest of his life.

With a few deft strokes he knows he’s going to cum, and he lets out a choked moan as he releases. Ropes of seed shot out of him and all over you. His hand continues to work on himself, but he can barely concentrate on what he’s doing, his voice stuttering and his body tightening. His orgasm is so intense, like sparks of white hot pleasure over every inch of his body. His eyes are focused on you- your cheeks and mouth painted in lashings of his milky white cum. Your eyes flutter open and you smile at him, reaching out with an index finger to swipe some of his cum off of your cheek, placing it in between your full lips and sucking it clean. He feels so damn full, full of a knotted, fierce, crimson red lust at the sight of you. He’s never been higher in his whole life.

Yoongi reaches to the side of your head and grabs one of the pillows, hurriedly ripping out the inside. Using the pillow cover, he carefully wipes his cum off of your face, feeling something swell in his chest as he does so.

He tosses the pillow cover to the floor – he’ll deal with that later – and focuses all of his attention on you. You smile up at him, a smile so radiant that he feels like he’s going to melt into the floor.

“Thank you,” You say, and you smirk faintly. “For you know. That.”

“Thank you,” He mumbles, collapsing beside you. The two of you lie there, your chests rising and falling with each heavy breath.

Yoongi, before he can stop himself, snakes out and tucks his arm underneath your neck. You wriggle in and he pulls you into the crook of his arm. Your body is right there, tucked into his, and he suddenly feels full. His whole body is full, humming with the release of a great orgasm, and his chest is full- brimming with a warm, glowing kind of heat.

He can feel your breaths coming out against his skin, your hair tickling his chin, your arm wrapped lazily around his waist.

He’s pretty sure that this right here is the best feeling in the world.

“I feel like,” You whisper, and Yoongi cranes his head down to look at you. Your face has a light sheen of sweat, tiny smudges of mascara under your eyes and he’s giddy and his heart hurts.

“I feel like we should high five or something.” You shoot him a tiny grin and he smiles back, weakening around you.

“I’m comfy though.” He says instead, because he has you lying down on one of his arms and the other hand is rested comfortably on your hip.

“True,” You agree, and your eyes soften as you smile at him.

He leans over just a fraction and brushes the tip of his nose against yours. When he pulls back you’re looking at him with a surprised expression on your face.

“Nose high five,” He says simply, and he feels a flare of embarrassment that he really just did that. What exactly is it about you that turns him into the kind of guy who rubs noses with a girl? Let alone the kind of guy to cuddle after sex? Still, he doesn’t have time to dwell on it because his chest is overflowing and he suddenly has the urge to talk.

“Hey,” He begins, but you’re not looking at him. You’re looking at something behind him, your nose wrinkled slightly.

“Er…” You interrupt. “Is that… a security camera?”

“Nah, there aren’t any in the warehouse-”

“Yoongi. Look. I swear to God that’s a security camera.”

Yoongi lets out a small sigh and turns his head lazily. “I don’t see-”

And then he spots it. It’s the same type of camera that they use throughout the entire store.

Small black security cameras that run a 24 hour loop feed through to the store manager.

Seokjin.

“Ah, fuck.”

“Min Yoongi. I must say. Initially, I was disappointed.” Seokjin is staring at Yoongi with a disapproving expression, his arms folded over his chest.

“To think that you would indulge in pleasures of the flesh at your place of work.”

Yoongi cringes. This isn’t exactly how he wanted to end his career at Ikea, but hey, what happens happens. He begins to stand. “I’ll pack my things-”

“I’m not firing you.” Seokjin interrupts gravely.

Yoongi freezes, halfway to getting up from his seat.

“I’m... not... fired?”

Seokjin shakes his head. “No. You are not. I see that you’re acting up. I understand why. We, your employers, didn’t value your hard work enough.”

Yoongi is shocked. Acting up? Hard work?

He had burst into Seokjin’s office five minutes ago, clothes still haphazard, only to see Seokjin staring at the security screens with a bewildered look on his face, his neatly packed lunch sitting forgotten in front of him.

Yoongi eyes had gone from the lunch to the screen, where his pixelated bare ass was, right there, in the centre of the oppland bed.

“My… hard work?” Yoongi repeats slowly, not quite sure he’s understanding what he’s hearing.

Seokjin just nods. “I’ll have to file this to HR of course. It’ll go on your employee record. But as your manager, how we handle situations like these are at my discretion. And well, I can understand why what happened, happened.”

Yoongi’s jaw drops.

“… And like I said. You are valued, Yoongi. In fact,” Seokjin stands up and walks over to the Employee of the Month pinboard. “I think it’s time we showed that appreciation officially.”

Yoongi’s eyes boggle out of his head as Seokjin takes down the photo of Taehyung beaming at the camera and replaces it with his deadpan staff photo.

“I…” Yoongi’s voice trails off in disbelief and Seokjin turns, a sympathetic smile on his face.

“Yoongi. On behalf of myself and the rest of the team here at Ikea. I just want to say. We appreciate you.”

Yoongi stares at Seokjin, then at the pin board with his stoic face under the Employee of the Month! sign.

“Plus, I have to say. You’re not the only one who has used that warehouse for… personal means. I may or may not be the reason why Head Office insisted on installing security cameras to stop such dalliances from occurring.” Seokjin says calmly, a serene smile on his face.

This, he thinks to himself as he accepts Seokjin’s outstretched hand dazedly, is probably the weirdest day of my life.

After filling out the necessary paperwork and sending them off to HR (all while trying to get the image of his boss entertaining his lady friends in the work warehouse out of his brain), Yoongi is finally out of Seokjin’s office.

Despite somehow receiving the title of employee of the month, he’s still going to be facing some repercussions – the main one being that he now has to work the rest of this month in the Electrical department and not Bedding. (Electrical is the worst department to work in, because customers come back to complain all the time about missing the small print that says ‘batteries not included.’ Hello, it’s called fine print.) Any other day and Yoongi would be bitter about the department change, but every time his mind flashes back to you, tucked in his arms, it feels worth it..

Yoongi pulls his phone out of his pocket and fires off a message.

MYG: You still around?

Y/N: yeah… did everything go okay?

MYG: weirdly, yes. Meet me in electrical. bedding has been compromised

He makes his way to the third floor, electrical, and lets out a small sigh.

Suddenly feeling nervous, he wonders what he’s going to say to you when you arrive. Ever since the mid-sex epiphany that he might just be madly falling in love with you, he hasn’t been able to stop thinking about it.

He frowns, leaning against a display table that is featuring a row of table lamps. He’s running through different ideas and scenarios in his head of what exactly to say, when he hears someone clear his throat behind him. It’s a customer, an older man holding two small lamps in each hand.

“Excuse me, I was wondering what-”

Yoongi spots you coming up from the escalator and stops paying attention to the other man entirely (something about needing ‘ambient lighting’).

“No.” Yoongi barks out bluntly, turning and marching to you.

“Hey,” He says smoothly, once he reaches you and you stare at him.

“..Was that a customer? He looks upset.”

“Yeah, but he’ll be fine. Lamp issues, you know. No big deal.”

Yoongi realizes that he’s nervous. So nervous that he has a lump in his throat and his palms are sweaty.

“Um… don’t you think you should help him-”

“No need. I’m employee of the month.”

“You’re employee of the month? You?! How?”

Yoongi just shrugs.

“Okay, I want to hear about how that happened later... I just have to get to work and I… wanted to talk to you about us, I guess.”

“Oh?” Yoongi asks, his voice sounding high pitched and strained even to his own ears. “Yeah that sounds good, my thoughts exactly.”

You nod, relief crossing your features. “Good.”

Yoongi pauses. He narrows his eyes on you, wondering what you mean by good. Good as in, I have feelings for you and I want to sleep with you again good, or good as in, I hate you and that was the worst lay of my life?

Yoongi starts to panic. He has no idea what to say or what to do, and it occurs to him that he never, in his many years of being in the dating scene, and his even more many years of being alive, dealt with this level of nerves. He’s overthinking everything and his palms are sweaty.

Min Yoongi does not get sweaty palms. Min Yoongi does not overthink.

“Er… why are you looking at me like that?”

You’re staring at him with a confused expression on your face and Yoongi panics.

“Ican’t talkrightnowIhavetogotoworksorry.” He blurts out hastily and your confusion is quickly replaced with suspicion.

“Work? You never work.”

“I’ll have you know that I do indeed-”

“Last week you told me you had a competition with your coworker to see who could eat the most meatballs in one minute.”

“Yeah well-” Yoongi sputters. “That was work. Occupational health and safety um, checks.”

You’re frowning at him and Yoongi realizes he’s dug himself into a hole but it’s not like he can get himself out of it now.

“Are you sure it’s not just because you’re freaking out that I mentioned the word ‘us’?” You ask calmly and Yoongi lets out a weird noise that sounds like the mix of an of exaggerated ‘no’ and a gurgle. His face is bright red because one, you got the nail on the head, he is freaking out, and two, the sound he had just made was really freaking embarrassing.

“Yoongi? Can we talk about it without you being weird?” You sigh, your voice quietning, and Yoongi does the first thing that comes into his mind.

He reaches up, grabbing the first thing his fingers find on the shelf - the sensuëll pot, highly ironic given the situation. Your eyes widen in confusion when you see him clutching the giant pot, and before you can say anything, Yoongi turns and runs down the escalator.

It isn’t until he’s on level 2, Appliances, that he realizes he is an idiot and races back up to the third floor only to find it devoid of anyone, spare for that one guy still deliberating between two table lamps.

“I’m an idiot,” He moans, putting the sensuëll back in place and glaring at it.

I definitely will not do that tomorrow. Definitely. Probably.

Except you don’t come into the store tomorrow. You don’t show up, Yoongi texts you four times in an attempt to be casual, cool and collected.

MYG: hey are you coming today?

MYG: “**** COMING BY. not the other kind of coming

MYG: no biggie if you’re not. coming by that is

MYG: *sunglasses guy emoji*

Two hours later, no reply, and Yoongi can’t stop rereading his messages and cringing.

He’s still staring miserably at his phone when he drags his body into the cafeteria. He spots Jungkook and Jimin sitting at a table with a humongous platter of meatballs in front of them, and he lowers himself onto the table with a melodramatic sigh.

“HÅLLÖ Yoongi hyung!” Jimin chirps, holding up the Hällö mug with a huge smile. Yoongi gives him his most menacing glare but Jimin, just like Jungkook, is completely unaffected.

Yoongi drops his head in his hands, lamenting the fact that he is not only completely uncool and has terrible emoji judgment, but he is losing his power and authority in his place of work. Also, that aforementioned place of work is Ikea. Ikea. Where he is Employee of the Month.

“I hate my life.” Yoongi groans aloud.

“What’s with you?” Jungkook glances up.

“My entire life fucking sucks.” Yoongi says flatly.

“Oh,” Jungkook nods in understanding. “The girl you’re into doesn’t wanna hop on the dick and give it a suck?”

Yoongi doesn’t even have the energy to threaten Jungkook. However, Jimin does it for him, whacking him on the arm.

“Gross. Yoongi hyung, ignore him. What happened?”

Yoongi wonders idly how Jimin knows who he and Jungkook are talking about, but he doesn’t have the energy to ream Jungkook for having the inability to keep a secret. To be honest, his boss has seen his bare ass. Yoongi doesn’t really care about privacy anymore.

“I think I messed things up yesterday.” Yoongi sighs. “And I dunno what to do. If anyone has any ideas for once, that would be great.”

The three men sit and stare at the table, deep in thought.

“I’ve got an idea,” Jungkook pipes up, and Yoongi focuses his attention on the younger man.

“Why don’t you tell her you wanna give her the suc-”

“I’m going to murder you with Jimin’s Hällö mug so help me God.”

“Why don’t you just do something big? Like a big romantic gesture?” Jimin intervenes delicately. “In all the movies they always do stuff like that.”

Yoongi stops mid Hällö mug grabbing, a contemplative expression on his face.

“A big romantic gesture?” He repeats thoughtfully. “That’s not a bad idea actually.” He eyes Jimin, thinking that Jimin just might be alright, and that maybe, just maybe, Jimin can join his ‘We Hate Working At Ikea but we Need Money’ squad with Jungkook.

Jimin beams and holds up his plate, revealing the bottom where the product name is printed. “Täck you, Yoongi Hyung.”

On second thoughts, maybe not.

“Just so you know,” Jungkook huffs. “I actually hate you.”

Yoongi’s shoulders are so cramped and aching that they’re close to spasming with pain.

“Don’t talk,” He manages to grit out. “Conserve your energy.”

His arms quiver under the weight that he’s carrying, his face shiny and bright red like a tomato. Jungkook just shoots him a look of mild disbelief.

“Hyung, it’s really not that heavy.”

Yoongi doesn’t reply, because he’s pretty sure that if he tries to speak, he might collapse.

“I don’t get it,” Jungkook whines. “What has this got to do with a big romantic gesture? Why couldn’t you have just, I dunno, gotten her some flowers or some shit?” Yoongi drags his head up a fraction to shoot Jungkook a withering glare. However, it does not have it’s desired effect, likely due to the fact that Yoongi is bright red and sweaty.

“I really don’t see how this is romantic. If anything, it’s completely inconvenient.” Jungkook continues, hoisting upwards with his arms. Yoongi grits his teeth, they’re on your street now, shuffling closer and closer to your house. Jungkook is taking the lead, looking bored and unbothered by the weight he’s carrying.

“… Jimin said… it had to be… special,” Yoongi growls. He starts counting the steps towards your front door, thank God it’s close because he’s beginning to genuinely worry about his back. Every muscle hurts, including some muscles he didn’t even know he had.

“Yeah, Jimin said special, as in, fancy flowers or a nice piece of jewellery or something… not a fucking bed,” Jungkook snaps back.

Yoongi ignores him, eyes trained on the house that’s about 20 or so metres away. Finally.

Buying the oppland had been a relatively easy process. He was able to use his staff discount, he had just enough savings to afford it. It had all seemed to be smooth sailing until delivery came into the equation.

Hypothetically yes, Yoongi could have paid $200 for their store delivery driver Hoseok to take it to your front door. But, he was reluctant. After all, you live right down the street and Hoseok is notoriously unpredictable with his deliveries, some taking weeks to arrive and garnering a bevvy of customer complaints, others arriving freakishly fast (within thirty minutes when the address was a fifty minute drive…. Everybody questioned the logistics of those deliveries but didn’t say anything because to be honest, their Ikea could use some glowing customer feedback emails for a change.) So, Yoongi decided, he would deliver it himself. It sounded like a great idea in theory… until Yoongi realized how damn heavy the oppland was.

They finally reach your doorstep, dragging the giant cardboard box and lowering it onto the ground with a soft thump. Yoongi takes the moment to lean against your front door, heaving for breath. He has never been more aware of his lungs in his entire life.

Jungkook is watching him with a frown, his arms crossed.

“You really need to go to the gym, hyung-”

“Shut up,” Yoongi groans, clutching his chest and wincing. “I think I’m dying.”

Ten minutes later, Yoongi has recovered somewhat, and Jungkook has left the scene. Yoongi is still standing in front of the front door, sitting on the oppland box, trying to work up the nerve to ring the doorbell.

It is bizarre, the fact that he is so nervous. He doesn’t but get nervous, he just doesnt. It was something he always prided himself on, his inability to cry in movies (except for Marley and Me, because he’s not a monster), his uncanny skill to have a stone-cool face in even the most stressful of situations, and the fact that he is always in control of his emotions.

That is until you came into the picture,

He doesn’t know what it is about you that changes all of that about him. He has spent so much of his life stacking up the different aspects of his personality- perfecting his deadpan monotone delivery, imbuing sarcasm into 70% of his words, and in general being a quietly cynical asshole about most things.

Yet when it comes to you, Yoongi becomes a mess. With you, he’s someone who blushes, he’s someone who makes strange noises at random. He’s someone who voluntarily buys expensive Ikea goods and instead of sticking it to the man, he’s supporting the man with money from his own pocket.

“Oh my God,” Yoongi groans in realization. “I’m Taehyung.”

He’s working up to ringing your doorbell, bit by bit, and he tells himself that in exactly ten seconds he will stand up and he will press that button… when the door opens on its own accord.

You are standing there, your eyes widening like saucers when you see a still somewhat puffed out Yoongi sitting on a giant cardboard box, his head in his hands.

“…Yoongi?”

Yoongi scrambles to his feet, tripping over the box in the process. Your eyes follow his movements and get even wider.

“What are you… is that a bed?”

“Yeah.”

“Is that… is that an oppland in a box?”

“…Yeah.”

Yoongi watches as you stare at it, a baffled expression on your face, before you turn to meet his gaze. You’re dressed in pyjamas, flannel ones that have nearly all of the colour faded out of them, and an old concert tee. You have pillow creases in one cheek, and you’re mid-yawn.

Yoongi decides that you have never looked better and yep it’s back, the flutteriness in his belly that he both loves and hates, and is terrified of, all at the same time.

“Why is there an oppland here?”

A slight pause hangs between the two of you as you both turn to look at the giant cardboard box, battered in one corner (thanks to Yoongi stumbling on the footpath and dropping his end of the bed onto his foot and then letting out a string of obscene swear words when Jungkook started to cackle with laughter).

“Because…” Yoongi begins, and then he swallows. “Because apparently the right way to do this kind of thing is with a big gesture. So this is my big gesture.”

You blink.

“…This kind of thing?” You repeat, confusion colouring your voice.

Yoongi shrugs, reaching up and scratching the back of his neck.

“Er… yeah. You know. Apology … things.”

You fold your arms, tilting your head to the side. Your hair swings in the air and Yoongi is suddenly reminded of how good your hair smells.

He has become the kind of person who thinks about how a girl’s hair smells and he wants to hate himself but he can’t, because he really wants to smell your hair and he doesn’t think that’s a crime.

“What are you apologizing for Yoongi?”

Yoongi hesitates.

“Because yesterday I felt like I screwed things up with the whole running away from you thing, and you didn’t come by today. I dunno you usually do, and you didn’t reply to my messages and I was worried you were upset… ‘cos that’s kind of what I’m good at y’know, making people upset. And well, yeah. Gotanopplandforyou.” He prods the cardboard box with the toe of his sneaker, staring at it forlornly. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see you masking a laugh.

“I’m not upset. I just had an urgent work situation this morning. I was so tired after, I got home and crashed. That’s why I didn’t reply to your messages.”

Yoongi’s mouth opens. “Oh.”

The corners of your lips twitch. “I was actually on my way to go see you, actually.”

Yoongi raises his chin. “Dressed like that?” He nods at your flanellete pyjamas, accompanying his words with a tiny smirk to let you know that he’s joking. He thinks you look good, and also kind of weirdly hot.

You smirk back. “Well, you’re dressed like that.” You point to his bright blue and yellow work Ikea polo tee and Yoongi frowns down at it.

“Touche.”

The two of you smile at one another. Yoongi clears his throat uncomfortably.

“I just thought you should know that um… I know I freaked out a bit yesterday but I can explain why.”

You cock your head at him, the smile growing on your lips.

“Oh?”

Yoongi nods. His heart is beating so hard in his chest that he can hear it, he can hear the blood drumming in his ears.

“So. Why?”

The question slips out of your lips and Yoongi stares. He swallows thickly.

“…I like you.”

You smile, a big, radiant smile that has your eyes creasing in the corners and your nose scrunching up, and Yoongi feels his heart collapse in on itself and then swell three times larger than usual.

“I know.”

His eyes widen. “You do?”

You laugh, a soft laugh that has Yoongi’s heart is dangerously close to falling down his ribcage and out of his ass. Or at least that’s what it feels like.

“Yeah, Yoongi. I know. You lugged a giant bed to my doorstep.”

You glance pointedly at the battered cardboard box sitting on your lawn.

“…And just so you know. I like you too.”

Okay, now Yoongi’s heart is definitely going to plummet down out of his ass because those are the best four words he has ever heard in his entire fucking life. He stares at you and struggles to hide the smile on his face.

“You do?”

You blush, your cheeks tinging pink before you shrug.

“Yeah. I mean, the next door renovations finished last week ago but I still keep coming to your Ikea to sleep. So yeah. I like you.”

This time, Yoongi can’t hide the smile and it melts over his face like butter.

“…And just so you know, you’re kind of the best sex I’ve ever had in my life.”

“Oh.”

The two of you stand there for a moment, smiling at each other.

“You do know,” You begin, “That I have a bed already?”

Yoongi just shrugs. “Don’t look a big romantic gesture in the mouth. Tell me, has a guy ever gotten you a bed before?”

You bite the inside of your cheek and giggle softly, shaking your head.

“Nope.”

Yoongi just closes his eyes and nods, emanating with the confidence of a man who has just heard the words ‘you are the best sex I’ve ever had’ from the girl who he’s crazy for.

“So,” You begin. “Do you want to come in?”

You push on your front door and it swings open. Yoongi can see inside your house – the hallway, lined with a few haphazardly stacked bookshelves, potted plants hanging off of the walls.

“Maybe we can build my new bed and test it out.” Your eyes are dancing and while that may very well be one of the best ideas Yoongi has ever heard, he hesitates.

“I want to, I really do but…” He turns and looks at the Oppland. “It was just really heavy…”

He turns back to see you leaning in with a smirk on your face.

“We can do that later then. Like I said, I do already have a bed. We can test tht out…”

Yoongi swallows. “That may just be your best idea yet.”

A hum of want, and excitement rushes through his body, and he nods, following you inside your house. You shut the front door, and lean in, your body pressed up against his. Yoongi encircles his arms around the small of your waist, breathes you in and all thoughts that were previously going through his mind disappear the moment you press your lips against his.

He kisses you softly, slowly- a lazy kiss because he’s tired and so are you, and your bodies fuse together. He breathes in, and he has never felt so comfortable in his entire life.

When he pulls away, he leans in and brushes his nose against yours. You laugh quietly and Yoongi takes a moment to send a silent thank you to whatever deities are out there, and of course, the guy who invented Ikea. Whoever he is.

“I really like you,” He mumbles, pulling you in for another kiss because he still feels a bit petrified and vulnerable every time he says those words. Yet, he can’t seem to stop saying them and thinking them.

“You’re such a softie,” You giggle, kissing his lips and then his cheek, his neck, his shoulder. “I really like you too. A lot.”

Yep, Yoongi thinks, watching as you lean back and laugh, before taking his hand and leading him to your bedroom. I’m soft for you, I’m head over heels crazy for you. Sue me.

He leans in and kisses you hard, your bodies entwined as you collapse on top of your bed. He kisses you, his fingers running through your hair and a tiny whimper slips out of your lips right before Yoongi chases that sound with a kiss.

And with that Yoongi decides that this is, without a doubt, one of the best days of his life.

→ Breakfast in Bed drabble

a/n: For once I wrote something without an inkling of angst! Just a whole bunch of ridiculousness & fluff instead! Note: all Ikea products referenced in this fic are real, including the oppland. I had so much fun writing this. A huge thank you to the person who sent in the original request & to the people who voted for this request on the poll. I hope you enjoyed reading it! ♡

#yoongi smut #yoongi fluff #bts fluff #bts smut #yoongi scenarios #bts scenarios #bts fanfic #yoongi fanfic #yoongi x reader #yoongi crack #bts crack

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