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#suga x reader
joheunsaram · a day ago
squeeze (myg)
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Part of my Ask Me Anything drabble series
word count- 585
pairing- yoongi x reader
rating- R
genre- smut, fluff
warnings- choking, spit play, penetrative sex, cuddles
a.n- I saw this hair live and I fucking died. HE HAD THE AUDACITY TO WINK IN MY DIRECTION AFTER BITING HIS LIP. Imma combust. Anyways enjoy the thirst. more drabbles to come soon.
As always feedback appreciated, a reblog and a like goes a far way. Send me an ask! 💌
“Tell me what you want, pretty baby,” Yoongi taunted as he stared down at you, eyes narrowed and a smirk across his face. He was panting, ginger hair matted across his forehead as sweat dripped down his temples, occasionally falling on you. He looked absolutely feral, but that was nothing compared to you.
Nails digging into Yoongi’s ribs, you were barely holding on to reality. Mouth agape, face flushed, and body quaking, all you could see, feel and hear was Yoongi. *Yoongi. Yoongi. Yoongi.
The tendons in his forearm flexed as he tightened the grip around your neck, two fingers and thumb pressing at the pressure points on either side of your throat, restricting the blood flow deliciously, making you keen. You could feel his weight on top of you even when he tried to keep it mostly on the forearm placed beside your head, hand buried in your hair, pulling and stinging your scalp in an effort to ensure you didn’t hit the headboard -- the precaution necessary because his hips were unrelenting, thrusting at a pace unfathomable, turning you boneless.
“Please,” you rasped, clawing at his back, leaving stark red marks that glistened against the porcelain. The plea had him snickering, using your hair to arch your neck so you had to look up to him through hooded eyes, desperate and needy, just the way he liked.
“Ask me like a big girl. Use your words,” he goaded, increasing his pace, his pelvis continuing to grind against your clit and sending shockwaves through you. You knew you couldn’t hold on for long so you asked for the one thing that would push over the edge.
“Spit in my mouth,” you whined, mouth open and tongue out immediately after, and Yoongi’s face lit up at your request, a large grin displaying his gums and his glee.
“Anything for my baby,” he replied, tightening his hold on your neck just a little more to have you see stars and letting a glob of spit fall into your mouth. The familiar taste made you flush deeper, warmth flowing through you as you demanded more and Yoongi gladly acquiesced. It was thrilling, unbelievably tantalizing, and paired with his hard thrusts, it threw you headfirst into your orgasm, waves of pleasure crashing through you until you were whimpering in his hold.
He wasn’t far behind, the pulsating of your walls around him making him meet his end as well, as he collapsed onto you, pressing you into the mattress, leaving lingering kisses on your cheeks and jaw and neck.
“I love you,” you confessed quietly, laying limp under him as he gazed at you with incredulity.
It was silent, the kind of silence that blankets you in its warmth, comforting and content. Yoongi smiled at you, fingers stroking your scalp before they were searching for yours and he was turning on his side.
And with four tight squeezes of your hands in reply, he pulled you closer, kissing you gently.
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cellotonin · 2 months ago
good girl ➳ k. sugawara
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day 2 ➼ praise kink
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⤷ { sugawara quickly takes a liking to the new transfer student in his lab section. after noticing how flustered you get with compliments, he decides to try his hand at it. }
wc: 1.9k
tags/warnings: smut, 18+ (mdni !!), fem!reader, praise kink, TA x student, slight age gap (~ 5-6 yrs), excessive use of “good girl” clearly LMFAO 💀
a/n: is2g soft dom suga has me by the throat 🧎🏾‍♀️🧎🏾‍♀️ i truly cannot write him any other way LMAO,,,, i honestly don’t have much to add here imma just let the fic do the talking from here 😳 hope y’all enjoy <33
as always comments and rbs will earn u a big fat kiss from urs truly 🥰🥰
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Koushi doesn’t realize how much he’d enjoy being a TA until he finally meets the new transfer student in his lab section.
He takes a liking to you almost instantaneously. You never fail to show up at least five minutes early, dressed in the proper attire for laboratory settings, and he can’t help but take note of how cute you look in your lab coat, clearly a couple sizes too large for you. You’re always such a hard worker, getting started on your assignment as soon as you arrive and completing it with still some time to spare. The energy and enthusiasm you bring with you seem to brighten the whole room, and it draws him towards you like a moth to a flame.
And to top it all off, you are so, so easy to fluster.
He discovers that fact by pure accident, his eyes briefly spotting your figure as he searches for students who may need help on the current experiment, only to notice someone else next to you. “How are you so good at this?” he hears the other student say, but what really catches his attention is the way you respond. You say something, too quiet for him to hear from where he’s standing, and you tuck the bottom half of your face behind your lab coat. If he squints hard enough, he could even argue that he notices the ever-so-slight darkening of your cheeks.
Suddenly, Koushi gets an idea. He approaches you after the other student leaves, pretending as if he hasn’t had his eye on you for the past five minutes. You almost jump when his presence startles you, and you quickly offer him your greetings before returning your attention to your filtration. “How’s it coming along so far?” he asks innocently, nodding towards the brightly colored product.
“Ah! Pretty good, I think,” you answer, breaking the seal in the vacuum once you’ve turned it off. “Looks like I’ve got enough for the next part!”
Koushi nods, impressed by your quick work. “Nicely done, (Y/N). You have quite the skill for this, don’t you?”
Almost instantly, he gets exactly what he came for. Your shoulders tense under your coat, your gaze dropping down to your shoes as you adjust your goggles, and even though he’s now standing right next to you, he can just barely hear you mutter a “thank you.”
It takes all of his willpower not to reach out and tilt your chin back up towards him. He simply chuckles to himself instead, deciding to leave you to continue your work while he checks on the rest of the class.
He comes back to you a couple of hours later with a similar intention, choosing to direct his compliment towards how beautifully your crystals are forming. Almost as beautiful as you, he nearly adds. But he bites his tongue before it slips out, deciding to save it for another time. Much to his delight, you react the same way you had last week. And this time, he notices the way your thighs press closer together as you quietly thank him again. It’s cute, Koushi thinks, and he resolves to return again for a third trial.
This new discovery quickly forms a habit. Every week, Koushi makes sure to say something about how well you work in the lab, how quickly you pick up new concepts, and sometimes, he’s bold enough to mention how nice you look. And he never gets tired of watching you squirm in response, a bashful smile hidden behind your lab coat as you thank him quietly. He loves the way you seem to crumble with any sort of praise, and before he realizes it, his mind is starting to wander. He starts to wonder how you’ll react when he tells you how pretty you are, how your cheeks will burn when his thumb gently grazes your skin, how your body will squirm under him when he calls you a good girl, his good girl, for taking him so well.
And one day, he’s lucky enough to find out.
“Um, excuse me…?”
Koushi’s attention is pulled away from his paperwork when he hears the sound of your voice. Instantly, a smile begins to tug at his lips as you shut the classroom door behind you. “(Y/N)! What a pleasant surprise! I was starting to think you were too smart for office hours.”
“Ah - no!” you quickly shake your head. “That’s… that’s not exactly what I’m here for.”
“Oh?” Now he’s really listening, putting his pen down to give you his full attention. “What did you want to speak with me about, then?”
You pause, dropping your gaze before you speak. “I hope this doesn’t sound too far-fetched, but… I noticed that you’ve been giving me like… some kind of special treatment or something…”
“How so?” Koushi pushes, hoping to get a little more out of you before he gives you his reply.
To his satisfaction, you continue. “Well… you seem to be complimenting me a lot, even when I’m not really doing anything remarkable, and I was just… I can’t help but feel like there’s some kind of intention behind it, if that makes any sense?”
Koushi almost laughs. “You really are a smart one, aren’t you?” he grins, standing up from his chair and making his way over to where you stand.
You blink a couple of times, then your eyes widen. “Wait, so - that means you are doing it on purpose?” you ask again.
“Well, my dear, that depends,” he chuckles, cupping your chin with two of his fingers and lowering his face dangerously close to yours. “Is it working?”
He can feel you swallow as your face grows warm under his touch, eyes locked onto his as if you can’t look away even if you tried. “I - um…”
You’re always so cute when you start to run out of things to say. It just makes him want to leave you speechless entirely. “You know, you can always ask me to stop if it makes you uncomfortable,” he purrs, allowing his other hand to trail down past your torso and towards your hips.
He’s all the more pleased when you shake your head, letting out a shaky exhale. “No - no… it doesn’t…”
“Oh? So you’re saying I should continue? Want me to keep telling you how good you are, yeah?” All he gets is a quiet whimper in response. But when his hand dips a little further down and reaches under your skirt, he gets the answer he needs. “Soaked already and I haven’t even done anything yet~”
“Sugawara, please…” Your whine is almost inaudible, and your body shivers as his fingers sneak past your panties and into the soft walls of your cunt.
“Eager today, hmm?” he hums, inching his fingers further inside your cunt as his thumb begins to toy with your clit.
Soft moans and mewls begin to fill the room as your hands reach up to hold onto his shoulders. “S-Sugawara, wait… we - we shouldn’t…”
“You’re right, maybe we shouldn’t, but I don’t see you stopping me. You want it as much as I do, don’t you?” He curls his fingers up towards himself, absolutely thrilled by the way you gasp and nod your head feverishly. “You’re gonna be a good girl for me, right?”
Just as he expects, your cunt practically squeezes his fingers as your body tenses. You nod again, inching your thighs further apart as if giving him more access. Instead of using the extra room to his advantage, he stops, pulling his fingers away from your sopping core. You let out a whine, almost chasing after him with your hips. “Ah… why did you—”
“Shh…” Koushi cuts you off, pressing his slick-stained fingers to your lips. “Open.”
With another whine, you slowly do as you’re told, slightly parting your lips and allowing him to slip his fingers past them. You quietly suck on them, cleaning your juices off with careful swipes of your tongue. Once he’s satisfied, he retracts his fingers from your mouth with a gentle pop. “Cute…” he hums.
“Suga…” you start to whine again, but he shushes you a second time.
“I know, I know, just be patient for me~” He has you against the desk now, undoing the zipper of his pants to free his hardened erection. With one swift motion, he lifts you up onto the desk, scattering the stack of papers he should have finished grading by now. But those are no longer his concern, not when he has your skirt pulled up past your waist and your panties shifted to the side, not when your puffy folds are on full display for him, practically pleading for his cock each time it grasps at nothing. Fuck, if he had known exactly what he was doing to you, he would have done this so much sooner.
You open your mouth for a third time, but he doesn’t wait for you to speak. He slowly slides into you with a low groan, pushing your thighs apart as he watches his cock gradually disappear into your cunt. “Oh, fuck,” you cry out in a hushed voice, hands grabbing at the edge of the desk to keep yourself steady.
Koushi quietly curses as he starts to thrust his hips into yours, almost instantly lost in the feeling of your walls squeezing him tightly. “Fuck… good girl, taking my cock so well…” he mutters, steadily picking up the pace.
Once again, his words seem to go straight to your cunt as it clenches around him. You sink your teeth into your bottom lip, attempting to muffle the gorgeous sounds spilling out from you. Koushi is having none of it. “Come on now, pretty girl, let’s not do that,” he tuts as he reaches over, gently freeing your lip from the grasp of your teeth with his thumb. “Let me hear you, I wanna hear all those beautiful sounds.”
As if on command, the volume of your moans slowly increases as his hips snap into yours at an even faster pace. One particular thrust makes your whole body jolt as you nearly scream, and Koushi quickly adjusts his position to hit that same spot again. “Fuck - I - I’m close…” you sob.
“Yeah? Gonna cum nice and hard for me?” He grins when you nod frantically, fingers still tightly clutching onto the desk.
“Yes-! Yes… I’m cumming - god, I’m cumming-!” You’re practically a babbling mess as your cunt starts to spasm around his cock, pulling him towards his own release.
Koushi coos at you as his thrusts start to get sloppy. “That’s it, baby, there we go… that’s my good girl…” He lets out a deep groan, almost reluctant to pull out, but he makes it just in time, and milky ropes of his cum spill onto your stomach and your skirt. 
He gives you a moment to catch your breath, watching as your chest rises and falls with every inhale and exhale. Once you seem to have regained some of your composure, he helps you stand back up, making quick work to clean you up and put your clothes back in place. “You know, I think you should come and stop by during my office hours more often. Think you can do that for me?” You nod eagerly, a bashful smile stretching your lips as he walks you to the door.
But he doesn’t let you leave until he lowers his face towards you again, pressing a faint kiss on the side of your neck as he whispers “good girl” right next to your ear. All so he can watch your body shudder again, thighs pressed together as you suppress a silent whimper.
Oh, Koushi’s going to have a blast this semester.
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➟ kinktober taglist status: open !!
➟ kinktober masterlist
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hannamakki · 2 months ago
you accidentally send them a selfie meant for your friend !
✸ ft. atsumu, suna, oikawa, matsukawa, suga, & nishinoya
✸ info & warnings: none!
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✸ atsumu & suna
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✸ oikawa and matsukawa
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✸ sugawara and nishinoya
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thanks for viewing! comments and reblogs are appreciated <3
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lavienjin · a month ago
first love | myg
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synopsis: After an incredibly long day, Yoongi found you crying in the copy room. Though he doesn't talk much, you've always found his presence comforting, and it didn't surprise you when he stayed and listen to you vent. However, while you sought comfort in his embrace, he proposed a special offer to reduce your stress with the magic of his hands. The only catch to your arrangement? You couldn't fall in love.
But wouldn't you know it, just as your friendship deepens into something more, you find an old notebook sitting on his bookshelf, and in it, a collection of poems. The last entry has you reeling because it's addressed to you. And in that page, a single line is written: Without you, I am nothing.
→ part of the virtue, vice, and everything nice collab.
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pairing: yoongi x reader
wc: 11.3k
genre/rating/au: 18+ | fwb, coworkers, f2l au | smut, angst
warnings: unprotected sex, fingering, semi public sex, multiple smut scenes, multiple orgasms, oral (m. & f. receiving), masturbation, exhibition, lots of feelings. like a lot of feelings :(
author's note: i'm fully aware that this song is about a piano but i don't want to write angsty musician yoongi since it hits a little close to home, so i put my own spin into it. thank you to the lovely @ddaechwita for the banner! this is part of @missgeniality's wings collab so please make sure to check out the rest of the authors! ♥
i wanna give a shoutout to one of my favourite authors out there! @yoonia happy heckin birthday, my love!! i tried to channel your energy when i was writing this. truly, your fics give me a lot of inspiration!!!
m.list | ao3
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You first entered Helion Game Company together as interns, assigned to comb through thousands of customer complaints while sitting across from each other.
Yoongi didn’t speak much; opting to tilt his head every time you greeted him good morning, but the way his eyes twinkled as he listened to you talk about your weekend caused a confusing array of feelings to emerge quietly in your heart. And the feelings continue to blossom whenever you return to find the occasional tangerine next to your computer after you’ve had a long day.
To you, Yoongi would always be that seemingly aloof coworker with a tight rein on his emotions, but one whose voice can command the entire room with just the simplest of words. It wasn’t surprising that he rose quickly through the ranks and you watched with quiet pride when he was inducted into the Senior Sound Engineers circle for the next version launch of the company’s hit mobile game.
Though it took you a few more months, you soon joined him in the ranks to work alongside the project with a team of Creative Directors. Introducing yourself to a room of ambitious souls was a nerve-wracking experience, but it was only made bearable when you caught Yoongi’s eyes in the back of the room as his warm presence continued to provide a quiet flow of support that strengthened your nerve. Ever since that day, you held his gaze steadfastly whenever you presented a new concept to the team, and if you’re lucky, you’d find a tangerine sitting prettily on your desk the next morning.
With the highly anticipated one-year anniversary launch coming up soon, you’re swamped with endless meetings to finalize the details that would be included, so much so that you’d find yourself reminiscing about the early days. Though combing through a never-ending list of demands from players was tedious, you relished in the quiet that surrounded you and Yoongi, the two of you lost in your own worlds with only the clicks of keyboards accompanying your routines.
As time and busyness enveloped your lives, they robbed you from seeing one another and it didn’t surprise you to learn that the sprouting feelings you once had for the ebony-haired man were eventually absorbed by the cacophony of noise around you. However, not all is lost, because you’ve gathered the scattered petals on the ground and chose to call it a different name: friendship.
And though it felt like months since you last talked or even been in the same room with each other, you couldn’t help but smile at the rare moments when you’re greeted in the morning with the comforting scent from the small, citrus fruit.
The day started out rather pleasant, the stifling summer air made way for a gentle breeze, cooling down the normal heatwave that lurks in the alleys of the city. You hadn’t even slept that terribly, even waking up before your alarm clock to enjoy the morning air as you sipped coffee from your favourite mug. As you smiled at the chirping birds in a nearby tree, you just can’t shake the feeling that today was going to be great.
Or so you thought.
As soon as you arrive at the office, your lifted spirits deflate as your assistant frantically calls your name in near tears.
“Dowon leaked the character concept,” she informs you in a high-pitch shriek as you shouldered your way through a sea of panicking bodies. “Namjoon wants to see you.”
From what you can gather in the few minutes you had with your assistant as you turned around to walk in the other direction towards Namjoon’s office, the newest artist in your team, Dowon, had posted a selfie of himself on Twitter that contained the early sketches of the not-yet-released Yuna in the background. He hadn’t realized his mistake until he checked his ever-buzzing phone, and upon looking at the encroaching thousands of retweets and likes, his panic was evident in his pallor. Although he deleted the tweet immediately after his discovery, the news had already spread like wildfire – with users reposting the tweets on multiple platforms outside of just Twitter.
When you enter Namjoon’s office, his back is turned towards you. He’s talking to someone on the phone in harsh whispers, though your deafening heart rate makes it hard for you to piece together the words.
“G-Good morning,” comes a timid voice from your side.
You blink in surprise at Dowon’s trembling figure. Of course, he’d be here, but your mind had been so preoccupied with the disaster that you hadn’t noticed his presence. With his shoulders raised to the skies, he sinks into himself, unable to meet your gaze. You’re suddenly parched, throat constricting around your reply, unable to push the words out, so you offered him a half-hearted smile instead.
Your attention is stolen when Namjoon clears his throat. The blue tie on his neck is slightly loose, and the way he sighs as he slumps on his dark leather chair causes a stone to drop in your stomach. When Namjoon regards you with his steel gaze, his mouth is pulled into a grim line.
“I assume you’ve been informed about what happened?”
Dowon squeaks from beside you and you steal a quick glance at the pitiful man, your heart clenching at the unshed tears in his eyes. He isn’t the best artist in your team, but he does work the hardest. If Namjoon decides to terminate his contract, it will be hard for you to hire another artist so late into the development.
You nod. “Minju told me what happened on our walk to your office, yes.”
Namjoon’s face is unreadable, a stone mask that doesn’t betray what he’s thinking. The only indication that this situation may be worse than what you’d imagine is the way Namjoon’s tongue prods the inside of his cheek, a rare expression you’ve only seen a handful of times in your employment.
You’re unable to breathe with the thick, palpable tension in the air. Namjoon studies both your figures in the silence, and you wonder if he’s quietly enjoying this.
“Dowon,” he says calmly. “What do you have to say for yourself?”
“I’m—I’m sorry, sir. It w-won’t happen again,” Dowon stammers. He bows as he balls his slacks into his fists.
Namjoon nods and returns his attention to you. “Tell me, how’s his performance as of late?”
You feel a prickling sensation as Dowon’s pleading gaze snaps to you. “His work is consistent.” You maintain the intense eye contact with Namjoon, resolute in defending your employee. “You won’t find another artist like him this late in the game, sir.”
Tension releases your body from its hold when Namjoon shifts his gaze away from you. The breath of relief you let out seems to reassure Dowon, and from the corner of your eye, you can see the way his shoulders begin to relax.
“Dowon, you may go,” Namjoon announces.
You offer a congratulatory smile at the man beside you, one he returns with a deep bow before he scurries out of Namjoon’s office. The unsettling feeling returns to your stomach when the door shuts behind you.
“Unfortunately,” Namjoon mutters, his expression turning grim once more. “I have some bad news for you.”
You can’t stop the hot tears from making their way down your cheeks as you barricade yourself in the copy room. Your team, possibly sensing your ire after you left Namjoon’s office without so much as a hint of a smile, has left you alone to wallow until it was time for them to go, where they quietly slip away without so much as a wave.
“Stupid thing!” you grumble, kicking the wheel of the copier in frustration.
For the past hour or so, you’ve been trying to print the incident report you’ve painstakingly typed out all afternoon. Your meeting with Namjoon has left a nasty mark on your otherwise pristine office life. You can’t blame him, knowing that the decision has been made prior to you stepping foot on the ugly navy carpet of your office, but you can’t help the anger that rises steadily towards the man either.
After Dowon left, having been dismissed by Namjoon, your boss informed you that you’ve been written up for your negligence, which, as you spat out to him that morning, was complete and utter bullshit. Namjoon patiently listened to you rant as you plead your case, but your passionate words didn’t make a dent in his armour.
“I’m sorry,” Namjoon murmured as he handed you a yellow slip. “Please have this signed along with the incident report. I expect it on my desk first thing in the morning.”
The beeping from the printer breaks you of your thoughts and you cast your gaze down to the LCD screen flashing red and yellow, signifying yet another paper jam on the side of the printer.
Defeat pulls you down on to the floor, where you bring your knees close to your chest as you bury your face into your hands.
“Hey, are you okay?”
You lift your face to meet Yoongi’s worried gaze. Great.
“Yeah,” you sniffle, wiping your tears away with the back of your hand. “Yeah, I’m okay. Just been a really long day.” You let out a half-hearted chuckle, one that Yoongi returns with a sad smile.
He makes his way to your crouched figure before sitting down next to you, both your backs leaning against the printer. “Why don’t you tell me about it?”
Though you’re touched by his sincerity, a part of you hesitates to tell him what’s wrong, especially since your interactions thus far have been minute due to your busy schedules.
Sensing your reluctance, Yoongi nudges you lightly with his shoulders, a growing smile on his face. “Come on,” he urges. “I’ve heard you talk about your weekend since we were interns. You were never shy about discussing your thoughts before, why are you hiding them from me now?”
With a shuddering sigh, you smile gratefully at Yoongi before highlighting the unfortunate moments from this morning. True to his nature, Yoongi listens closely as you speak, chiming in once or twice with a few hums. Though as you begin to retell what happened in Namjoon’s office, Yoongi tenses beside you, his once worried expression morphing into fury.
“What the fuck?” Yoongi slams his fist to the copier behind you. “That’s bullshit!”
“Yeah? Well, tell that to Namjoon,” you snicker. In all the time you’ve known Yoongi, you have never seen him so upset. “It’s fine, really. I’ve never been written up before, so it’s not the end of the world. Plus, Namjoon said that it was out of his hands,” you sigh. “I just hope it doesn’t look bad on my performance review.”
Yoongi releases his bottom lip from his teeth, but not after he tortures it to a point where you see little pricks of red peeking through the soft tissue. Your hand moves on its own as you wipe his bottom lip with your thumb, tutting at the small injury. When you realize what you’ve done, you snatch your hand away quickly, your cheeks aflame when Yoongi looks at you with wide eyes.
“I’m so sorry, force of habit!” you stammer. “I have cousins and they’re a messy bunch, always wrestling with each other and getting cuts all over.”
God! What was wrong with you? With a silent prayer for the ground to open up, you bury your face into your hands, trying to hide away the embarrassment colouring your face.
“Thank you.”
With an amused chuckle, Yoongi gingerly removes your palms from your face to force your gaze back to his. “I mean it,” he whispers as he lets go of your hands. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome,” you utter just as quietly. “Really, I should be thanking you for listening to me; not just about this fiasco, but for all the times I bugged you during our intern days.”
Yoongi tilts his head, his smile faltering slightly. “That’s assuming that you’re a bother.” At your protests, he begins to laugh, shaking his head. “Nah, I like listening to you talk,” he beams. “If I hated your voice, I wouldn’t have listened to you drone on and on about the countless awful blind dates your friends set you up with.”
“Oh my god! Why would you bring that up?” you laugh, smacking him lightly on the shoulder. “Anyway, I should probably get on with this,” you pat the printer a few times, “I still have an incident report to print out.”
Yoongi rolls his eyes at the mention of your task. “Leave it until the morning. It’s all formality anyway.”
“I would never have guessed that one of the greatest sound engineers in our company is a troublemaker.”
He chuckles at your teasing grin. Maybe it’s just your imagination, but there’s an amused glint in his eyes as he murmurs, with a voice so low that goosebumps appear on your skin, “There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”
Your thoughts slow to a crawl as he pins you with his gaze. Was his face always this close to you? Breathing becomes secondary as your heart hammers in its cage. What was he thinking behind those rich irises?
“Yoongi, I…” you begin, but you’re not sure what you wanted to say next.
The spell breaks when his lips curl up into an easygoing smile. “Come on.” Yoongi stands and offers you a hand. “I’ll help you with the printer, only if you promise to get a drink with me.”
Bewildered at his sudden offer, you can only muster a nod as he helps you stand.
“Okay, let’s see what’s going on with this thing…”
You watch Yoongi work on the printer for a few minutes, though really, your mind is drifting further away as the feelings you thought had disappeared seem to resurface back into reality. After opening two separate compartments in the printer, Yoongi’s able to find the source of the jam and removed it, instructing you to press a few buttons on the small LCD screen. Like magic, the flashing red warning sign stops and a little jingle resounds instead before the machine begins to spit out your documents into the tray.
“How did you…” you begin, staring in awe as the printer staples your report together.
“Well, the IT guys were taking a long time to appear this one time and our team really needed to print some reports. Since no one seemed to know what to do, I just rolled up my sleeves and opened it to find the issue,” he explains as he hands you the stack of paper. “Ever since then, every time this printer acts up, my team usually comes to me for help.”
Yoongi flashes an amused smirk in your direction as he wipes his toner-covered hands with a handkerchief. “So, ready for that drink?”
The walk to the trendy bar just a little way outside of your office is filled with a round of 20 questions. It’s strange to see Yoongi in this light, so animated and full of life. He talked about college; how he switched majors from business despite his parents’ disapproval. In return, you talk about your favourite musicians before learning that you listen to similar genres.
When you enter the mostly full bar and squeeze yourselves into the booth, the conversation never ceases, only stopping briefly when a waiter comes to take your order. Not wanting to drink on an empty stomach, you ordered a plate of appetizers – wings and nachos – to accompany your liquor.
“Good choice. They have the best nachos here,” Yoongi comments just as the waiter takes your menu and leaves.
“Oh? Do you come here often?”
“Yeah. They have live music a few times a month and my friend recently got a gig here, so I showed up to support him.” Yoongi points to the dim stage area where a microphone and a singular chair stand.
“That’s sweet of you! Okay, what else don’t I know about you, Yoongi… Do you have a secret identity? Office worker by day, criminal mastermind by night?” you tease.
Yoongi laughs into his hand, shaking his head. “Oh, if I was a criminal mastermind, I wouldn’t be stuck working at an office job. I’d just steal a bunch of money so I can live in peace.”
Just as you begin to ask about his plans for conquering the world, your food and drinks arrive, holding off the conversation for a later time. You’re too busy munching on your nachos and sipping your liquor of choice that it takes you a moment to realize that Yoongi stopped eating.
“What’s up?” you ask.
Yoongi studies you as he brings the glass of beer to his lips. “Nothing, I’m just glad you’re finally yourself again.”
“It helps that I have a friend to talk to,” you beam. “Thanks for taking me out tonight too.”
“Don’t mention it,” he smiles. “Sorry, I got a bit in my head there because I felt like I was pushing you to go when you didn’t want to.”
“Honestly? I’m glad you did. If not, I would’ve been at home alone to just drink myself under. That can’t be healthy.”
“Oh, and drinking in a relatively crowded bar is?” he fires back before bursting into laughter.
“That’s not what I meant!” you protest with a pout, stuffing your face full of nachos.
You continue to eat until only the platter empties. Through the night, the empty glasses beside you increase in quantity as you let yourself go with the flow of conversation and music. Once, Yoongi made you try something called a ‘Blue Moon’, his favourite beer imported from the Midwestern area of the United States that is served with a slice of orange.
“That reminds me, I never thanked you for the tangerines you leave on my desk,” you muse, drinking the last of the beer. The citrusy taste lingers on your tongue even as you switch over to chug a glass full of water.
Yoongi grins as he raises his glass. “Of course. A good job always deserves a reward.”
“Oh, and what kind of reward are you looking for?” You couldn’t help but snort when Yoongi chokes on his drink.
“You’ll pay for this one day,” he pouts as he cleans up his mess with a napkin.
Sure, your day was less than stellar, but after the Yoongi’s presence, you couldn’t help the smile that found its way into your face as you crawled into bed.
The next couple of days after the incident was just as you expected. The office is abuzz with gossip when you enter, with some brave folks asking if what transpired during Namjoon’s office was true. You confirmed what little you could, preferring to keep the details of your write up a secret, away from loose lips.
Though the energy surrounding your team has shifted, some are wary of working with Dowon in the event that another leak, your spirits lift slightly when you spy a familiar round orange fruit on top of your files this morning. Unlike all the other instances however, this one has a note attached to it.
“Drinks are on me tonight.”
And maybe… just maybe, things aren’t so bad after all.
“Fuck!” You slam the empty glass to the table, causing a few patrons to look over in your direction.
“Whoa, settle down there.” Yoongi’s comforting presence has not placated your anger the way it normally would.
Despite the launch happening within less than a month, your team is behind on some of the last-minute touches for the characters, making you work overtime for the past few days now. Speaking of the devil, your phone chimes and you spy the email that one of your employees sent you, asking for approval on a last-minute design change.
You type your confirmation with a low grumble under your breath, upset that even with the weekend within sight, your team is still hard at work.
“I’m sorry, Yoongi,” you mutter as you lock your phone and stash it back in your purse. “I’m sure it’s hellish on your end too and I’m taking this out on you.”
“I guess I should feel honoured?” he snickers, raising his glass to you. “When you were written up, you barely opened up to me and now look at us, drinking away our stress in the same booth every other day.”
You tap the bottom of his beer with your glass before taking a sip, grimacing as the liquor burns its way down your throat. “Well, it beats drinking alone,” you sigh.
Over the past month now, ever since the incident, you and Yoongi have made a point to meet at the bar every now and again, mostly to complain about work.
“Your blood pressure is off the charts, huh?”
“I feel like I’ll probably die before I reach 40 if this is how my team handles every launch,” you grumble, not affected by his joviality.
“Relax, tomorrow’s Friday! And then we have a long weekend ahead of us. Just bear with it for one more day, okay?”
You grumble an unintelligible response as you sip on your drink. Numb from the drinks, you’re not as perceptive as you usually are, completely missing the way he’s currently staring at you. His lips are downturned as he absentmindedly drums his fingers on the side of his beer before he finally pipes up.
“You know… I can help you with that. Your stress, I mean. I know that this was pretty much my idea – to get drunk and forget the stress” – you can’t help but raise your glass and chug as he continues to speak – “but I may have a healthier alternative.”
“Okay, spill. What do you have in mind?”
“I can always make you cum.”
As though he didn’t just drop the biggest bomb in your time together, Yoongi continues to drink his beer nonchalantly, while your mind struggles to comprehend what he just said.
“I’m sorry… what? Are you serious?”
“Of course, I am,” he shrugs. “I mean, I heard an orgasm is the best way to get over your stress and I’m pretty confident in my abilities.”
Your brain is unable to form the correct syllables to convey your thoughts.
The fact that Yoongi finds you attractive is a miracle in itself, especially when he walks around charming everyone in the office with his swoopy black hair and easy smile. Maybe your crush on him is slowly rearing its head again after all these years, but you aren’t sure if you’re willing to risk changing the relationship you currently have. Being Yoongi’s friend has been easy; he’s a great listener and you’re only scratching the surface behind the quiet exterior he presents.
However, somewhere deep inside, you must’ve wanted to change the dynamic to something more, or else why would you be questioning his proposal so intently?
While you’re busy staring into the amber liquid in your glass, Yoongi reaches out to cover the back of your hand with his, breaking you from the internal struggle in your mind. “Hey, if you’re not into it, don’t worry,” he chuckles, with a shrug of his shoulders. “I’m just offering my services. No strings attached, kind of deal.”
The question stands: why? As you stare into the hand that’s currently enveloping yours, you can’t fathom why someone like Yoongi would give you the time of day. It didn’t seem real – his proposal. But then, your gaze drifts to his face and after spending so much time with him, you know that Yoongi isn’t one to joke around.
“Don’t think about it too hard, okay?” He speaks just as he spies the waiter coming towards you with your check. “Looks like the bar’s going to close pretty soon. So, how about we get out of here and call it a night?”
That night, you toss and turn in your sheets, feeling a sense of emptiness. You can’t help but replay the scene from the bar – specifically Yoongi's nonchalant proposal.
Unable to sleep, you think. And then you think some more. Until your head is swimming with alcohol and something else.
And that’s when you call Yoongi at 3:22 in the morning, slightly surprised that he’s still awake.
"On the topic of what we talked about in the bar tonight…” you begin, biting your bottom lip nervously.
Yoongi groans on the other line. “I’m serious when I said you shouldn’t worry about it. We’re cool. If you’re not into the idea, I get—”
You cut him off before he could ramble further, smirking into the phone. “How confident are you?”
Instead of answering, Yoongi chuckles. “Wear a skirt and you’ll find out tomorrow, hm?”
It isn’t strange for you to be seated next to Yoongi during the manager’s meeting, especially since how closely you have to work with the sound department, but you can’t help but squirm in your seat as you attempt to listen to Namjoon summarizing the development reports he received in preparation for the launch.
Your seat is pushed almost flushed against the table, with the edge digging into your abdomen, to hide Yoongi’s fingers that are currently trailing ambiguous shapes into your skin. Coupled with the fact that he’s currently holding your panties hostage in the pockets of his slacks, every time you feel the cold bite of his metal rings when he travels higher, you clench around nothing while trying not to whine in front of the twenty-something people gathered in the room.
Taking a chance to look around the room, you’re only met with bored faces and yawning mouths, and there’s a subtle groan when Namjoon moves the PowerPoint slides to talk about last season’s numbers. However, whatever brilliant revelation he’s about to impart on you is drowned out by the roaring desire when Yoongi’s fingertips brush against your folds.
He whistles low while staring at the pie chart, and the few chuckles floating from the back of the room assume that he’s talking about the high numbers last season brought in, when in actuality, Yoongi’s pleasantly surprised at how wet you already are; your pussy sucking his fingers in down to the second knuckle.
The breath leaves your lungs when Namjoon raises an eyebrow when his gaze floats over to the two of you.
“Tell me about it. You really knocked it out of the park with the background music for the new area,” he chuckles, nodding his praise to Yoongi.
The corner of Yoongi’s lips twitch, a smirk threatening to take over his features. Oh, if only your coworkers knew.
Your poor bottom lip is bruised and swollen from your constant need to swallow down your moans. Sweat slicks all over your arms and back as you sit rigid, your legs pushed apart, and Yoongi’s unhurried fingers traverse your sopping cunt, taking care not to make too much noise in the otherwise quiet meeting room.
“All right, that’s pretty much all I have for you today. Thanks for letting me drone on for an hour,” he winces when he looks at the clock, “…and a half. Enjoy the rest of the day,” Namjoon chuckles as he adjourns the meeting.
You exhale gradually when Yoongi leaves your cunt as the others begin to stand. On one hand, you’re relieved, grateful that you weren’t caught because you were definitely breaking a slew of code violations while you’re getting handsy on the table. On the other, the strong need to orgasm only surges in your veins, wanting nothing more than to have Yoongi fuck you right then and there; consequences be damned.
“Aren’t you getting up?” Yoongi quips, an amused grin on his face.
You glower at his smirk, unable to form a sensible comeback with your heartbeat still steadfast on a thundering rhythm. When you do get out of your chair, the grip you hold on to the back is strong, your legs feeling like jelly after being teased for so long.
“I’m fine,” you grumble as Yoongi extends a hand – the one that was inside of you just mere moments ago.
With your shaky legs, you walk stiffly out of the meeting room, but not after stealing a glance around the remaining crowd to see if anyone noticed anything strange. Everyone, including Namjoon, seemed indifferent.
“And how was that?” Yoongi questions once you’re out of earshot.
“Unbelievably hot. I think I could’ve cum if Namjoon kept on talking,” you admit with a grin.
“Interesting,” he hums. “Do you have any meetings after this?”
Before answering his question, you look through your phone calendar. “Nope, I don’t have anything until 2pm.” That’s a lie – you meant to check in with your artists all day today, but the curiosity got the better of you and you wonder what it was he has planned.
“Come to my office in half an hour? I’ll make sure we’re undisturbed.”
Though he posed it as a question, you know it’s anything but.
Yoongi walks away with a smirk and you have to bring your legs together as you anticipate what he has planned next.
This is nothing like the meeting this morning.
Yoongi has you pressed up against the copier, holding your leg up as his fingers return to their rightful place inside you. The metal bits dig into your shoulders as you shift your hips, allowing him access into your deepest parts.
The whine you let out is nothing short of pathetic as you rut in time with his thrusts. The sleeves of his dress shirt are seeped with your arousal, yet Yoongi doesn’t care, too focused on your pussy swallowing his fingers whole.
“Look at you,” he breathes, marvelling at the way your chest rises and falls rapidly. “So needy and wet. Keep your voice down, hm? We don’t want the whole office to hear us, do we?”
You inhale sharply before busying yourself with your bottom lip as he slams his hand repeatedly inside, his fingertips stroking the patch of nerves that has your body jerking in his grip. The coil has been building for some time now – your head is already swimming with desire. When his thumb presses circles on your clit, you know it’s only a matter of minutes before you come undone.
“S-So close,” you whimper. You’re arching your back as you’re practically sprawled all over the copy machine.
“Just let go, cum all over my hands,” he rasps before dipping lower to graze his teeth along your pulse point. “Cum for me.”
With a strangled moan, your body obeys his command. “Yoongi—fuck.”
While your team is out there, perfecting the project that’s due in a matter of weeks, you’re pulled apart at the seams – the orgasm slamming into you like waves as it cascades down your spine, making you shudder.
“Good girl, so good to me,” Yoongi mumbles absentmindedly into your hair. “So pretty when you cum.”
Your vision is blurry, filled with dancing lights as you attempt to calm your breathing. When Yoongi slips his fingers out of your cunt, you hiss, aching at the sensitivity. He massages your thighs with a hum, paying attention to the leg that was propped up for the entire duration of the… events.
“How’d I do?” he teases as he helps you smooth out the wrinkles from your skirt.
You’re honestly still reeling. Though your heart isn’t traveling a thousand miles an hour, it’s still clocking in the upper hundreds. Yet, your body did feel lighter, your mind also clearer somehow. You must admit, Yoongi orchestrated your body like an expert conductor – as though he’s known you all your life. No one has made you cum that quickly before.
Perhaps you should’ve kept those thoughts to yourself because you can see the way Yoongi seems to glow at your compliment: pride filling his chest along with a confident smirk on his face.
“Now, can I have my panties back, please?” you whisper as you hold out your hand.
Yoongi seemed to think for a moment, his lips turned upwards to the side. At your amusement and horror, he shakes his head. “I think I’ll hold on to these for the rest of the day.”
“Yoongi,” you state flatly, nervousness clawing up your belly, but you can’t deny the thrill either, so you don’t push it.
After he makes sure that no one seems to be paying attention to the copy room, Yoongi helps you sneak away, but not before filling your thoughts with some of his other ideas.
Your day passes like a blur, and you find yourself locking your legs more often as your distracted brain thinks about the events that happen this morning. The idea of Yoongi walking around the office with your lace underwear stuffed in his slacks makes poor company when you’re trying to work.
Too engrossed in your thoughts, you hadn’t realized that your assistant had let herself in until she called your name again with a cough.
“Sorry,” you smile sheepishly. “I’m a bit distracted right now.”
Your assistant merely smiled demurely as she hands you a stack of reports you requested. “Here’s the information on the developments we’ve made over the past few months and the breakdown of the new region from the programmers for next year’s launch. We can start meeting with them to talk about what they want the art team to start working on.”
You skim through the details, humming along as your assistant explains the finer points of what is written. “Thank you, Suha. This looks good,” you praise.
Suha bows to you with a proud smile, but instead of leaving, she shifts her weight as she stands. “Actually, I was wondering if I could leave in half an hour?” she requests.
A mischievous idea pops in your head and you have to thread your hands together to avoid immediately texting a certain dark-haired man. “Sure,” you chirp in a voice too high as you fail to hide your excitement. Clearing your throat, you try again. “Yes, Suha. You’ve done a good job. Please feel free to leave now if you’d like.”
Suha claps her hands together and bows. “Thank you!” she calls out before disappearing.
When the door to your office closes shut, you fire out a text and hum, fingers drumming impatiently on the oak table as you wait for Yoongi to arrive.
“Took you long enough,” you smirk when he opens the door.
“Well, unlike some people, I was busy managing my team.”
Poking his head one more time to make sure that no one’s noticed his arrival, Yoongi closes the door firmly behind him, locking it in place.
“Now, why have you brought me into your office, hm?” he asks rhetorically before stuffing his hands in his pockets and pulling out the familiar garment. “Could it be because of this?”
You laugh quietly with a shake of your head. “Maybe it has something to do with that,” you muse, watching him approach with your bottom lip tucked between your teeth. “Or maybe it’s because I’m just so stressed, you know?”
Yoongi chuckles at your insinuation before leaning forward until your faces are inches apart. “And,” he husks, wetting his lips with his tongue, “How can I help you?”
You hum as you grab him by the collar, crashing your lips against his as an answer to his question. In a spectacular feat, Yoongi’s strong arms lift you up from across the table, pulling you flush against his chest as he sits you down in front of him. Your legs wrap around his torso, causing your skirt to rise to display your bare pussy towards him.
Yoongi’s rough hands dig into the meat of your thighs as he grinds into your core. “Tell me. How did it feel walking around the office with no panties all day, hm?”
“Exhilarating,” you admit in a breathless moan, body aflame with desire as you feel his erection drag against your clit.
“And look at you now, so needy and ready for more. What do you think your team would say if they saw you like this?” Every few words are punctuated with Yoongi’s fingers undoing the buttons to your blouse.
“God, don’t ask me that,” you pout, arching your chest forward. “I don’t want to think about work right now.”
At this, he laughs. “Have you been thinking about work at all during the day? Some might say you’re a little distracted.”
Yoongi cuts off whatever retort you had prepared when he kisses along your jawline and down your neck, nipping the skin just harsh enough to send shivers down your spine, as he continues his mission to free your tits from their cage.
“Pretty,” he mumbles into your skin while palming your breasts.
The combined stimulation is almost too much for you to handle. With his hard cock dragging against your bare cunt and his lips attacking your neck, it doesn’t take long before your skin is riddled with goosebumps as you clamp your lips shut to stop yourself from moaning too loudly.
You find a moment of clarity when Yoongi unbuttons his pants, but just as you reach out to help him, a knock resounds at the door.
The two of you looked at each other in a momentary state of panic as you buttoned up your blouse in haste. Your hands tremble, making it hard for the plastic beads to slip into place, but somehow you managed to not wrinkle your clothes too much, though your heart thunders in your ears when you hear Namjoon, of all people, call your name from the other side of the door.
Making sure you’re both half decent, you unlock the door and yank it open, revealing a startled Namjoon in front of you.
“Uh… hey. Are you okay? Why was your door locked?”
You’re sweating and shaking, almost getting caught by your boss will do that to a person, but somehow you manage a curt nod, and when you lie, your voice actually sounded believable. “Yeah, just got a call about some interesting news from my family. How can I help you?”
Namjoon narrows his eyes in suspicion before shaking his head. “How about we talk inside?”
“That… um…” Your brain stalls for an excuse but fails. With a dejected heart, thinking that you’re probably going to get fired at this rate, you seal your fate and let your boss in… only to find yourself staring into an empty office.
Where had Yoongi gone?
Namjoon closes the door behind you and makes his way to your desk. You trail after him but before glancing around the room again. You find your answer when you sit down in your chair. Hunched under the desk is Yoongi, who has both his feet tucked under his chin as he grins at you. If Namjoon catches the way your eyes widen in surprise, he says nothing as you sit down.
“I’m just here to see how you’re doing, especially with the launch happening so soon. Is there anything I can help you with?”
You shift uncomfortably in your chair, especially when you accidentally brush against Yoongi’s leg. “I really appreciate the offer, but you really don’t have to check in on me every single time we have a launch. This isn’t my first time, sir.”
Your boss only sighs, sinking into the chair. “I know, truth be told, I wanted to tell you that I’m in the process of getting your write up to disappear from the HR records since it’s really not your fault.”
“Wait… huh?” You blink at Namjoon slowly, genuinely surprised that he’d go through such lengths.
Namjoon only shrugs. “Yeah, I mean. I feel pretty awful about it. So, I pulled some strings and you have been granted your clean record back. That’s all I wanted to say, really. It just didn’t seem right if I brought it up in the hallway,” he grins, showing off his dimpled cheeks as he finished his explanation.
“Thanks, boss,” you mumble gratefully. “It means a lot to me that you’d do that.”
“Don’t mention it.” Namjoon chuckles. “Anyway, what’s with the interesting call? Is your family okay?”
“Yeah,” you squeak, unprepared for him to call out your lie. “They’re okay, I swear. Just some trouble with my cousins…”
Namjoon seems satisfied with your response, nodding after you trailed off. The silence feels suffocating. After a few more heartbeats, Namjoon stands to leave, calling out behind his shoulder as he opens the door, “Well, if you need anything else, you know where to find me.”
The instant the door clicks shut, you jump away from your chair as you help Yoongi stand.
“You all right?” you ask, looking him up and down before deeming that he’s fine.
The easy-going smile returns to his face almost immediately, giving you a full view of his gums. “That could’ve been bad.” Yoongi checks his watch and smiles, pointing at the time. “But, it’s now technically the weekend. So, how about we pack our things and get the hell out of here, huh?”
Yoongi’s apartment is everything like you’d imagine, clean and monochromatic with hints of blue popping here and there. Lining the walls of his bedroom are framed jerseys from a few athletes you recognize, all of them signed and probably costing a good fortune. Besides the decoration, there’s really only one other piece of furniture aside from the bed. Standing on the wall closest to the window is a black floor-to-ceiling bookcase, filled with all sorts of books and a few random photographs of his younger years.
But you have no time to observe fully, not when Yoongi pushes you on the bed with a quiet chuckle, demanding your attention once more as he kisses the length of your throat.
“Now, where were we?” he teases into your skin.
You can only giggle before the sound turns into a groan when his hand digs into the skin of your ass. “I have no idea, but I say, let’s just fuck.”
“Good answer.”
Yoongi doesn’t care to discard your clothing, choosing to simply ruck your skirt to your waist before his hands fit between your legs.
“Yoongi—ah! Stop teasing!” you whine, pressing your back into the mattress as you writhe under his touch.
“Not until I get a taste of you first.”
With a final peck to your lips, Yoongi drops to the edge of the bed before pulling you towards him until you feel his hot breath against your pussy. He takes his time with eating you out – alternating between licking your folds and sucking on your clit – as you moan and gasp around him. Your arousal seeps out of you in a steady trickle, a puddle forming on his sheets.
“Shit…” you grunt. “Do I taste that good?”
“You do,” he mumbles, the deep vibrations from his voice causing you to arch your back. “God, I can taste you all day.”
True to his word, he drowns himself with your pussy, paying more attention to your clit as you feel the orgasm slowly spreading through your body.
“Yoongi, wait,” you breathe, tugging at his dark locks so he’d look at you.
And what a sight he is to behold.
The bottom half of his face is wet with your arousal as he smirks up at you with pupils so blown out, they’re almost black.
“I wanna cum with your cock inside of me,” you confess, sitting up to pull him into a deep kiss. “Haven’t you teased me enough today?”
Yoongi hums into the kiss, wrapping his arms around your body before pushing you back down to the mattress. “I guess that can be arranged,” he chuckles.
With your help, his slacks and underwear are thrown haphazardly on the floor. His cock stands proudly for you to admire; with a leaking reddish tip and a prominent vein running down one side of the shaft. Unable to help yourself, your hand wraps around his length, causing Yoongi to groan as his eyes flutter shut.
“I thought you wanted my cock?” he teases breathlessly.
“Not before I get a taste,” you counter.
Chuckling, he props his pillows along the headboard before settling back, making it easier for you to crawl over and swallow his length. Intent on keeping eye contact, you make short licks around the head before travelling lower, sucking on the tender skin of his balls before moving back up.
“Oh, fuck—” he grunts, hips jumping up when you wrap your lips around the tender head.
While still staring at him through your lashes, you lower yourself until about halfway, the weeping head knocking against the back of your throat making it hard for you to breathe. You hollow your cheekbones as you exit, earning a lovely, guttural groan from the dark-haired man below. Yoongi places a hand on your head as you continue, pumping him in tandem with the movements of your head as you bob up and down his length.
Your remaining hand digs into the skin of his thigh as you take him deeper down your throat, until you manage to sheathe all of him down to the base. Tears spring in your eyes as you whimper around his length, but despite this, you refuse to stop, not when you spy the satisfied smirk on his face that only aids the desire that’s already strong in your veins.
The grip around your scalp tightens as he attempts to pull you off. “I can’t… I’m going to cum if you keep this up.”
His words only add fuel to the fire and you speed up your ministrations despite Yoongi’s attempts to make you stop. Saliva collects into a wet, messy pool on the sheets as you swallow him into your throat. The tears cascade down your face, yet you can’t help but smirk proudly, especially when his lovely eyes flutter shut and his mouth hangs open as he chants your name.
“Fuuuck, I’m going to c-cum—shit!”
You inhale sharply as you push your head down, until his soft curls tickles your nose. A second later, your mouth fills with the salty, bitter taste of cum as Yoongi jerks under your touch, digging his nails into the sheets. You help Yoongi ride out his orgasm with a few pumps of your hand, making sure to collect all the excess without leaving a drop behind. When you’re sure there’s nothing left, you open your mouth to show him your reward before gulping it down with a smile.
With ragged breaths, he watches you swallow with a quirk of his lips; one of the corners pulled up into a half-smirk. “God, that was so fucking hot.”
“It’s your reward for making me feel good this morning,” you wink.
“Are you ready for round 2?” Yoongi asks with a grin.
“I should be asking you that…” But your words trail off when you notice that his dick is still very much hard. “Talk about stamina,” you mumble.
Yoongi chortles as he studies your shell-shocked face. “You look like you’ve never been properly satisfied,” he hums.
“After tonight? I have a feeling that may be the case.”
The two of you burst into laughter before he pulls you closer, kissing you unhurriedly as his hands explore your body to discard your clothes until you lay bare before him.
“You really are gorgeous,” he mumbles as he draws abstract shapes into the small of your back. Catching your eye roll, he chuckles. “I mean it.”
When he sits up to capture your lips, it’s all soft and filled with an emotion you’ve yet to name, and you wished your blood wasn't roaring in your ears because it’s making it incredibly difficult for you to hear what he’s whispering into your skin.
“What were you saying?” you ask when you part. “I think I missed it.”
Yoongi only smiles, but it’s not the brilliant grin that shows the pink of his gums, no, this one is more subdued – delicate – as he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear.
“Nothing,” he replies, voice low and airy. “I didn’t say anything you don’t already know.”
It’s a strange response, but you really can’t push it further, because in the swirling abyss that exists in the dark pool of his eyes, lies an answer that you’re uncertain you want to know just yet.
Instead, you kiss him again, gliding your lips to get his to open, so your tongues can meet and have the conversation you’re too afraid to voice – for the sake of preserving the moment. You kiss him with ferocity, pushing him back onto the pillows as your hips grind against his hard length.
And when you lower yourself onto his cock, you forget the vow you made, because in this moment, with the moonlight filtering past the sheer curtains in his room, Yoongi is breath-taking. With his soft, dark hair splaying all over the pillows and his slightly swollen lips parted open in a quiet moan; you know you’ve fallen in love. Yoongi’s sincerity is your undoing, ever since the two of you met and sat next to each other when you were interns, and now? As you learn more about him and manage to breach through the quiet exterior? You’re a goner.
And maybe you’re delusional, but you swear, when your lips find his as you begin to move, you can taste the faintest trace of oranges.
Your nails drag down his chest as you roll your hips with his thrusts. “Please,” you beg, but you’re not sure what for. “Please, Yoongi.”
Despite your lack of instructions, Yoongi seems to know exactly what you need. “I got you,” he murmurs as he holds you before flipping you over, letting your chest rest on the mattress below.
Yoongi kisses your spine as he bottoms out again, making you moan into his pillows as he begins to move. “You’re so tight, shit,” he rasps as his fingers find your clit between your legs.
He keeps a steady pace, rocking you back and forth against the bed as you writhe with every drag of his cock and fingers. The only word that exists in your vocabulary at this moment is his name and without shame, you call out to him in a series of pathetic whines. You need him to know how good you feel, but without the ability to form coherent sentences, this is all you can do.
Though just like before, it doesn’t take him long to decipher your tells and he increases his speed, driving his cock deep into your pussy.
Finally, your tongue seems to want to move again. “Feels good… Yoongi…” you manage.
“Yeah? Me too. God, me too.”
He turns you over again then, so that you’re facing him once more. Yoongi crashes his lips to yours as he begins to thrust in earnest, pushing himself deeper than before. Your vision is filled with stars as you grab hold of his neck, rutting in tandem with his drive. What little hold you have left on your sanity wanes as the pressure builds – release so close that it leaves you gasping.
“Gonna-ah c-cum,” you moan, digging your nails into his back.
“Let go,” he commands, and again, he repeats, “I got you.”
The coil snaps at the sound of his promise. “Yoongi!” you shriek, tumbling down the chasm of pleasure. Your walls tightening around his length triggers a second orgasm from him, and with a groan of your name, he floods your insides with his seed.
“Shit… I didn’t—fuck—you felt so good, that I, uhm,” he stutters. Yoongi’s body shudders with pleasure even as he comes down from his high. With a heaving gasp, he collapses next to you, arms too tired to hold himself back up.
You pull him into an embrace while shushing his mumbled speech. “It’s okay, you’re okay. I’m on the pill, so don’t worry,” you assure him. “And if you’re worried if I came, didn’t you hear me scream? My throat is so sore now, holy shit.”
The both of you chuckle, the airy sounds mingling together. In the silence that follows, you don’t think about the feelings that surged in the midst of your coupling; refusing to acknowledge that he’s the reason that has your heart running a thousand miles a second. It isn’t just because of the nature of your relationship, but you’re genuinely worried of the possibility of losing a friend… and yet… Yoongi feels so perfect in your arms like this, with his smiling face smushed slightly to your chest. In the singular day since you’ve started this relationship, he’s made a habit of trailing shapes on the small of your back while humming quietly to a song you don’t know.
The soothing action pulls you away from your overbearing thoughts for a second. While planting a kiss into his hair, you ask him, “What’s the name of this song?”
“You like it?” Yoongi nuzzles further into your skin, breathing you in. “It’s my own original piece. It’s called ‘First Love’ and I wrote it about my piano back in my mother’s house.”
In your time together, Yoongi’s never mentioned his family or much of his childhood really, though you never thought to ask about them either.
“Music will forever be my first love,” he hums, dark eyes turning glassy as he recalls the memories. “I remembered slaving so hard over the keys that by the time I managed to master my first classical piece without making any mistakes, it drove me to tears,” Yoongi chuckles. “Ever since then, I practiced like a mad man, every single day after school. Just to play one piece after the next. My mother was mad; not because I was making too much noise, but because my studies suffered a lot.”
Your silence allows him to continue, but not before he peeks at you to make sure you haven’t fallen asleep. When your eyes meet his, the two of you smile, but his is much wider, a perfect showcase displaying his pearly teeth. He rolls over so your head lies on his chest, and his hand moves to trace shapes on your shoulder instead.
“My mother threatened to take the piano away, so I ended up working extra hard, on both music and my grades, but somehow it still wasn’t enough. There’s a time when she came into my room and ripped a bunch of the music sheets that I’ve painstakingly collected,” he sighs sadly, casting a faraway look towards the ceiling.
Your heart bleeds as he recites some of the words to the song. The lyrics personifies music as though it truly was his first love, but one line leaves your heart aching and shattered: Without you, I’m nothing.
It’s the decisive and almost unhealthy, nature of the words that cuts you deep. You’re not sure if it’s intentional, but it sounded like he’s shackled to his muse; needing it solely to live.
However, Yoongi isn’t seeking validation, nor is he looking for you to disagree, so you keep your mouth shut as he continues to talk about his life – about having to work two to three jobs while going through college and once he graduated, unable to find a suitable job in his field that lead him to work with Helion today.
“And that’s when I met you,” he chuckles as he tightens his embrace. “Something about you reminds me of the day I learned Chopin for the first time.”
“Why? Because I make you want to be a better person?” you tease, poking him lightly on the cheek.
Yoongi looks down at you with a cocky smirk. “That’s for me to know and for you to find out.”
When you wake up the next day, the sun is peeking into the otherwise dark room through the crack in the blackout curtains. The bed next to you is empty, though the lingering warmth from its previous occupant tells you that he left not too long ago. Sure enough, you find a note on the nightstand tucked under the glass of water.
Gone out for bagels. Text me your order.
You’re smiling as you down the glass, reading the swoops of letters repeatedly before reaching for your phone.
You: just a plain bagel with cream cheese. Strong coffee. Please and thank you. Yoongi: yep.
That one simple text turns you into a giggling mess as you shove the screen close to your face.
Setting your phone aside, your thoughts are too deeply intertwined with yesterday’s events that you can’t help the burning desire that flows through you once more. You’re satisfied; of course, you are, but the thought of spending another day with him, without having to worry about work for another day, especially with the launch being so soon, has you melting into his sheets.
Your breathing hitches as you close your eyes and lay back on the bed, caressing your own skin like Yoongi did the night before. Your fingers pale in comparison to his, yet you let the memories guide you as you tremble with every drag of touch against your clit.
“Yoongi—” you mumble into the quiet morning air.
You press your face closer to his side of the bed and the familiar scent of his cologne has you careen closer to the edge. The whine you let out is nothing short of pathetic as you rut desperately into your hand while your mind conjures up an image of Yoongi leaning against the doorway, bagels abandoned in the kitchen while he studies your actions with amusement.
“Jesus, wetting the bed so early in the morning?” He’d tut, arms crossed in front of his chest. “Guess you can’t get enough of my cock, huh?”
“N-No… need you,” you whisper, hips raised from the bed as your fingers work quicker – wetness dripping down the inside of your thighs to make their mark on the sheets below. “Fuck—need you so badly.”
You press your head into the pillow while you crowd your pussy with another finger. It isn’t enough – nothing compares to the sheer girth of his cock and how effectively it stretches you out to make a mess out of you.
It requires three of your fingers for you to feel full as you replace your hand with the veiny arms belonging to Yoongi in your mind. You imagine him leaning over you with his signature, ever-present smirk on his face as you writhe under his touch. He’d provoke you to be louder, punctuating his words with every drag of his fingers against the patch of nerves in your cunt so that everyone could hear who this pussy belongs to.
It’s sudden – how the forest fire eclipses your whole body that snaps the coil in half. All because your filthy mind conjures up a final image of Yoongi commanding you to let go.
“Shitshitshit—Fuck! Yoongi!” You cum with an embarrassingly broken whine of his name, your fingers plunging deep into your pulsing hole that causes your arousal to squirt on the bed below.
You crash back to the reality of the bed with ragged breaths. The room spins slightly when you open your eyes and you have to blink several times to get the squiggly lines to float away from your vision.
When your breath evens out, you survey the room you’ve neglected in the heat of the moment. You didn’t get a chance to see very much of it last night and with your brain so occupied this morning, this was the perfect time to snoop into your coworker’s life.
Like the vague recollections of his living room, his bedroom is mostly devoid of furniture aside from the bed and the large floor to ceiling bookshelf on the further end of the wall. With nothing else to do, you hop from the bed to take a look at the books, smiling to yourself as you survey the rare photographs in each shelf of a younger Min Yoongi.
As your fingers trail the large tomes of stories, dictionaries, and magazines, you stop when you notice a gap between the end of the shelf and a copy of Don Quixote. Curious, your finger reaches into the gap to produce a small, yellow notebook the size of your palm. The title on the front is illegible, scrawled on by a small child, so you decide to delve through the pages to see what lurks behind.
You chuckle into the book as you read through entries dating as far back as the early 2000s. It’s a collection of poems – written by the one and only Min Yoongi. The earlier pages contain stories of playing outside and ice cream along with brief glimpses of his intelligence as he laments about the fleeting nature of summer.
You’re pleasantly surprised to find that he’s continued the tradition as you study the entries, his once messy handwriting morphing into the swoop of cursive you’re familiar with. It’s interesting to see his life in small glimpses: his teenage self agonizes over his future while the Yoongi in his early twenties begin to explore topics of dreams and goals.
You read each sentence carefully in an attempt to retain all the emotions he’s spilled on the page. Who knew that Yoongi has such an artistic mind?
When you reach the more recent entries, you hesitate, wondering if it’s all right for you to read through them. Unfortunately, your curiosity outweighs the small voice of conscience, so you pressed on.
The thought of Yoongi hunched over his bed scribbling into the tiny notebook makes you smile. You imagine the way his shoulders would curve inwardly while he balances the pages on his lap and that devilish tongue of his would wet his lips occasionally as he thinks.
You suppress a groan as your treacherous mind recalls what that tongue did to you the night before.
Shaking the dirty thoughts away, you return your attention to the last entry on the page. Unlike its predecessors, this one is short, containing only a title and a single line. However, the title itself is confusing - a seemingly random mix of consonants and vowels forming a word you know for sure does not exist in the English language. You figure it’s some sort of code, but your sluggish mind refuses to piece together the anagram, still dipped in sleep and the aftereffects of your orgasm. You grab your phone with a sigh, employing trusty, old Google to do its job. When you input the title into the search bar, for once, autocorrect comes to your rescue… but at what cost?
Disbelief exists in the knot of your eyebrows until you reread the page in its entirety. Realization kicks in slowly, but when it does, you gasp, throwing the notebook and the device away to the floor as if they burned you.
Because the anagram spells out your full name. This entry was written for you.
And the disquiet in your stomach is due to the emotion so easily evoked by a single line, one that you’re all too familiar with:
Without you, I’m nothing.
“I’m back. I got a bunch of bagels because I wasn’t sure which one you liked,” Yoongi calls out as he enters the apartment.
The silence that greets him makes him smile as he assumes that you’re still tired after last night, but when Yoongi walks into the bedroom, your name dies on his lips as he looks on in horror: at the yellow notebook – his yellow notebook – lying face down in front of your feet. Your shell-shocked expression tells him all he needs to know. You’ve read the latest entry.
This all feels like déjà vu; just like the first time he caught you weeping in the copy room. His own bedroom feels foreign to him as he takes a hesitant step inside. Yoongi wants nothing more than to laugh it off as a joke, but he knows you won’t buy the lie.
His attention snaps from the swirling patterns on the carpet to your face. Instead of fear, you seem curious, could he take it as a good sign?
“How much did you read?”
The voice that comes out of his mouth sounds foreign even to his own ears.
Your eyes drift lower then, to the notebook on the floor. “All of it,” you admit in a quiet voice. “I read all of it.”
The room fills with a blanket of tension. With a heavy sigh, you stand and brush past him, heading to the living room.
Yoongi’s eyes trail after you as you sit on the cushions of his couch. With an indescribable smile, you look straight into his eyes.
“Let’s talk.”
Despite your invitation, it’s you that sits mum on the couch next to him, refusing to meet his eyes.
“I saw it, you know.” Yoongi begins with a humourless smile. “The discomfort you felt was written all over your face when I recited that one line.”
You wait for a bit, holding a space for him to talk should he feel the need to elaborate. “You know, I feel like I do the talking in our relationship, but I’m going to need you to listen to me again, okay?” you say as you mirror his solemn grin. After taking a shuddering breath, you explain, “I don’t want to be the sole reason you live, because without me, you should still be something. I mean, you’re so… you,” you gesture at his figure. “Funny, and kind, and sincere. Someone I can trust and even lean on after all these years.”
His face doesn’t betray his thoughts as he refuses to meet your eyes.
“Yoongi,” you reach out to envelope both his hands into your own. “I love you.”
You can tell he hadn’t expected the confession, but his surprise quickly disappears as he laughs bitterly.
“Why do I feel like there’s a ‘but’ in this confession?” Yoongi asks sarcastically and his lips twitch into a faint hint of a smile.
“But… I don’t want to be in a relationship where I feel like you’re not being true to yourself,” you advice as you squeeze his hands with your own. “That doesn’t mean that I don’t want to be with you, but I just need you to know that you are your own person first.”
Yoongi nods as he digests your words. When he finally returns his gaze to you, he seems more relaxed, a genuine smile on his face. “Thank you,” he murmurs as he squeezes your hands in return. “I think I really needed to hear that.”
“So… what happens now?” you ask meekly, despite being the cause of this whole mess.
His tongue darts out to wet his lips before he speaks, and when he does, there’s a quiet surge of confidence that you hadn’t heard from him before. “I want to be with you,” Yoongi admits. “But I think I’d also like to take things slow.”
“We can do that,” you grin.
And the following week, it’s you that leaves a tangerine on his desk; a signaling promise for tomorrow.
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moon’s notes: ah! don’t we love a semi-ambiguous ending? i didn’t have the heart to end it sadly, so i hope it still makes sense!! thank you so much for reading through this lovely little piece. i appreciate all your love!
thanks for being part of the taglist! (½): @diorejeon @hwngsgf @clumsymandu @yoongskook @bringmetheksj @wacdon @itsallabouthedetails @chimchoom @sunshinerainbowsbts @mrsparknamjoon @thedarkwinterrose @somewhereofftheglobe @typicalgenzworld @nch327 @moonchild1 @kooafraid @syazkook @kookie-vuitton @tenmonthsjay @jimilter @hoseokstrashcan @imcompletelyok @sa1ntsuga @jungkookah-lover @vantxx95 @love2luvya-blog @nochuel @yoontaethings @kookieebangtan @Madamdoue @squeakymeekster @jkbabiey @jikookiekosmos @novilara @btsis7okay @sunflwrxclouds @taecal @fancycollectormoon @Starbrightday @chimmy-licious @outrofenty @codeinebelle @hey-youre-appreciated @sugaslittlekookies @fan-ati–c @bbangtanlove95 @ppeachyttae @taebae19 @ggukkieland @mellygallagher @greezenini @gukkmoans @Jimmeojimin @koolvrr @daggersandicedcoffee @doublebunnykoo @jamlessstars @shrimpmsg @mrcleanheichou @ysltae @etherealyoonkoo @unicornbabylover @majolittlemixgurl18 @Asifihaveaclue @ionasfeelings @moonreadsfics
931 notes · View notes
starrysouya · 4 months ago
★ asking them for nudes
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includes: kuroo, kenma, suga, osamu, atsumu and suna
genre/warnings: suggestive, implied fem reader for kenma and osamu (reader has boobs)
note: THIS IS THEIR TIMESKIP VERSION!! some random crack that i make to entertain myself. lmk if you’d like more of these!
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© content of starrysouya. please do not repost or copy any of my work.
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1K notes · View notes
gukyi · 5 months ago
no choice (next to you) | myg
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summary: the pros of your last-minute senior year apartment sublet: cheap, furnished, close to campus, in a gorgeous old victorian conversion home, and right next to the greek takeout place.
the cons of your last-minute senior year apartment sublet: min yoongi, senior member of the beta tau sigma fraternity, and his party-throwing, vodka-loving, ruckus-making fraternity buddies, are your neighbors.
{college!au, frat boy!au, neighbor!au, enemies to lovers!au}
pairing: yoongi x reader genre: fluff, comedy est. word count: 13k warnings: alcohol consumption, frat parties, misunderstandings as a plot device, idiots being idiots, frat boys being frat boys, hawaiian pizza slander, yoongi says things that could be construed as sexist but they actually are not i promise you just need to read the fic ;-; a/n: here it is!!!! a very happy 4 years to, and an even happier 8 years to the men who made it all possible, bangtan themselves! i hope you enjoy this frat party of a fic: loud, chaotic, and filled with college boys. much love to you all, always and forever <3 guyi
The first time you meet Min Yoongi you are hunched over the kitchen sink of the Beta Tau Sigma fraternity house, throwing up vodka and Sprite like it’s nobody’s business. Except it apparently is someone’s business, because from behind you, over the booming rap music and the thumping bass emanating from the speakers, you hear a voice. 
“Well, at least it’s not the floor.”
You whip your head around, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, to find a grouchy, unimpressed boy standing a couple of feet away from you, arms crossed over his chest as he looks at you with his eyebrows raised. 
“I try to be considerate of my hosts.”
He scoffs. “I can tell. Good thing we installed a garbage disposal last year.”
“You a brother?” He doesn’t look like one. Too unapproachable and disapproving. He doesn’t even seem to want to be at this party. 
“You just puked in our sink and you’re asking me that?”
You shrug. “I’m trying to make conversation here, since you just caught me. I gotta be honest, I don’t really make it a point to know whose frat house I’m attending unless I plan on staying the night.”
Then he grins, this lopsided little smirk that matches the devilish spark in his eye. “We can arrange something like that if you’d like.”
You look him up and down and pretend that he didn’t just catch you hurling chunks into his kitchen sink. Maybe if you match his aloof disposition you can retain at least a shred of your dignity. Although, you suppose that, as a frat brother, he’s probably seen worse than some sophomore like you throwing up into a basin. There are so many people here, many of them more drunk than you are. Not all can be lost.  
“How about you tell me your name first, and then maybe I’ll consider it,” you suggest, grinning. 
He seems to appreciate the back-and-forth between the two of you. You’re probably two of the more sober people in the building right now. If the mass of dancing bodies in the room across from you is anything to go by. 
He smiles, small and muted. “Yoongi.”
“I’d shake your hand, but you just wiped your throw-up remnants on it, so I’ll hold off for now.”
“How observant of you,” you chide. “Promise I’m usually much cleaner.”
“I’d make a joke about being dirty but I don’t think either of us are drunk enough for that,” Yoongi muses. “Want me to mix you something?”
“How about a glass of water? Don’t really feel like throwing up again,” you ask, eyes glancing back to the sink. Most of your bile has gone down the drain but you can see some remnants stuck to the bottom of the basin. Yikes. 
He chuckles, shaking his head. “Sure thing. Hey, do you think you can flip that switch on the wall right by the paper towels? Turns on the garbage disposal.”
“While I’m at it, do you have any Febreeze I can spray?”
At that, Yoongi laughs as he pours you a simple glass of water in a red solo cup. Maybe you can both just pretend it’s vodka. “You’re in the Beta Tau Sigma house and you think we have Febreeze?”
“You should consider it a compliment that I thought that highly of you,” you tell him pointedly. “Other people would not be nearly as impressed.”
“Other people also don’t throw up in our kitchen sink.”
You narrow your eyes at him. Sure, that literally just happened and Yoongi straight up caught you red-handed in the act, but that was a low blow. Isn’t he trying to flirt with you?
“Are you or are you not trying to get me to sleep with you? Because right now, you’re not really on that track,” you ask him, crossing your arms in front of your chest with an eyebrow raised. 
“That depends,” Yoongi responds nonchalantly. He takes another sip of whatever the hell he’s drinking—from where you’re standing it smells like whiskey, but he’s not even flinching as it goes down his throat so either he’s an absolute tank or your sense of smell is still off from the aforementioned vomiting—and grins. “Do you want me to try to get you to sleep with me?”
“I take back my ‘are you a brother’ question. I should have just spoken to you for like, five more seconds and I would have figured that out pretty quickly,” you say, even though you’re loath to deny the attraction you feel towards him and you both know it. He’s hot, he can actually keep up a decent conversation, and he doesn’t seem like a total asshole. These are all the boxes that need to be checked when considering who and who not to sleep with. 
“Listen, I was joking earlier when I said we could arrange something, but if you actually want to then I’m down. And if you don’t, then I’ll walk you home, since it’s late and I don’t think you should be out there by yourself,” Yoongi offers, two equally nice-sounding suggestions that ultimately allow you to have the final say. 
And they said chivalry was dead. 
“You’re cool with leaving the Beta house at one in the morning just to walk me to my dorm?”
“Yeah.” Yoongi nods, completely happy with the idea. “And you don’t even have to worry about me trying to get in your pants there since I won’t be able to get past the check-in doors because I live off campus. And I forgot my access code. That, too.”
You laugh at that. Hot, conversational, not-an-asshole, and funny? You’d be an idiot if you were to just let him take you home and leave it at that. Wait until the next Beta party so you can flirt with each other all over again before letting the night end as anticlimactically as it had before.  
“Well, I don’t think you’ll need to remember your access code tonight,” you say, placing your cup on the counter as you step towards him, letting the glint in his eyes and the warmth of his body draw you towards him. 
Yoongi’s grinning, smirking, smiling at you as you approach him, looking rather pleased. “And why would that be?”
You wrap your arms around him, letting them rest on his broad shoulders as you lean in, lips hovering over his own. “Do you really need me to spell it out for you?”
There’s no alcohol in your system, but the rest of your body is on fire anyway. You feel the way his enormous hands gently brush your waist, like he’s afraid to press any harder against your skin. He seems rather pleased that this is the direction his night went in. So are you. 
“Please,” he pleads simply. 
When you close the gap between your lips, standing in the dinky old Beta Tau Sigma kitchen as the music blasts through the speakers and the bass shakes the tiled floor, sparks fly. 
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Before you go the next morning, Min Yoongi only has one request: call him later so you can arrange a proper date. 
He’s still in bed when he asks, all mixed up in the dark navy sheets of his tiny little room in the attic of the Beta house, hair a tousled mess atop his head. It’s a Monday, and clearly only one of you was masochistic enough to put a nine AM class into their weekly schedule. Yoongi looks just about as dead as anyone would be after an entire weekend of partying and binge drinking jello shots and soju bombs, but he still manages to etch out a half-smirk as he bids you goodbye, watches you pull on the same clothes you were wearing last night and wipe away the sleep in your eyes at his mirror. 
“Promise I’ll call you after my classes,” you tell him, not just to get him off your tail but because, for the first time in your short and hallowed history of one-night-stands, he is actually someone you’d like to stay in touch with. 
“Kiss me before you leave,” Yoongi begs, too tired to care about being desperate. 
You roll your eyes. “Just one.” Scurrying over to the side of his bed, you lean down and press a kiss to his lips, tasting remnants of the cherry lip gloss you were wearing last night. You should wear that more often. 
Yoongi looks instantly dissatisfied as you pull away. “One is not enough.”
“Yoongi, I have class in five minutes. If I don’t leave now, I’ll be marked absent,” you remind him. Not everyone can enjoy the luxury of sleeping in until noon. “I will call you later, I promise.”
“I’ll hold you to that,” Yoongi says, though from the look on his face, it’s clear that he’s not really worried about you flaking on him. 
You grin as you shuffle down the steps of the Beta house, trying not to stare too closely at the tornado that’s been left behind. You’ve never been in a frat house when it was light outside. It’s kind of haunting. The empty halls, the streamers and beer bottles and solo cups strewn across the floor. The indiscriminate puddles of an unspecified liquid in some of the corners. You don’t even want to know what the fuck the bathrooms must look like. You pull open the front door—totally unlocked, which must be a security concern—and dash out, completely unashamed. 
By the time you reach your lecture hall, you realize you don’t even have your goddamn laptop. 
One iced coffee and a very awkward seminar class later, you’re heading back to your dorm after spending a couple of hours in the library trying to do some work—but mostly just recovering from your brain-hammering headache—when you hear a familiar voice come from one of the tables outside of the business school. 
He’s clearer in the daytime, voice sharper and more punctuated, but after a night of hearing his breathless moans and his whispers against your skin, you’d like to say that you’re pretty familiar with the way Min Yoongi sounds. You look down at your phone. You were gonna call… but why do that when he’s right here? Plus, this is better than calling because you get to see his face, too. 
You begin speed-walking towards him, hoping to surprise him, when the clarity of his voice finally betrays him. 
“—So easy to get her, you know?”
You freeze. He’s not talking about you… is he?
“Honestly, I can’t believe I didn’t do it sooner,” Yoongi continues with total disregard. “Like, it was so easy. I walked in and it was like, boom, done. Instant results.”
There’s no way he’s talking about you. Absolutely no way. The Min Yoongi you were flirting with last night is not a sexist asshole. He treated you with respect and even offered to walk you home with no expectation for a sexual favor in return. He begged for a little kiss, a mere peck, before you left his room this morning. He had broken all of the stereotypes you normally associate with frat boys and that was the whole reason you had even promised to call him again to begin with. 
“Do you think it could be, like, a house thing? You know, like we all share her?”
You don’t want to listen anymore. Trying to blink away the tears of pure and utter anger—you should have trusted your gut, why did you think he’d be any different than all of the other frat boys on campus, how could you let him string you up like this—you shut your phone off, turn around, and never look back.
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Maybe you should have rethought your senior year sublet situation. 
At the time of agreeing to the sublet, it checked all of the boxes. Cheap? Yes. Furnished? Coffee maker included. Close to campus? Barely a two minute walk. Next to the Greek takeout place? You can practically smell the gyro through your bedroom window. 
What you, however, failed to consider was the fact that on the other side of your old, refurbished Victorian-era home-turned-apartment-complex was not another fast food restaurant, or Starbucks, or even an office building. 
You are living next to the Beta Tau Sigma house. 
A house known for its near-daily parties and lack of basement, meaning all the noise goes right through the old rickety walls and right into your bedroom. Not that any of the brothers would ever care about how much noise they make, how it travels down the sidewalk and fills up the night air like radiation, an inescapable fog of pure sound. And it’s not as if any of the brothers care about who lives next door to them, either. You imagine there used to be offices in these old Victorian homes, perhaps even other fraternity and sorority houses could have sat on this block, but not anymore. Not that any of the brothers care.
On a normal, average day, you would just buy a pair of noise-cancelling headphones and move on with your life, pretending they don’t exist and that you aren’t living next to a house that sounds like a constant shitty concert venue. But this is not a normal, average day. You have a bonkers-difficult exam for Inorganic Chemistry II tomorrow morning and your rowdy, terrible, rave mosh pit group of neighbors are throwing a party. Who even parties on a Tuesday? Don’t they have class tomorrow?
You manage to tolerate it until around 1:30 in the morning, when the bass that thumps through the thin drywall of your bedroom just becomes too much to bear. So, you do what any sane person would do. You storm out of your bedroom wearing nothing but your raggedy old high school pep rally free t-shirt, shorts, and slippers, and head straight to the front door of the Beta Tau Sigma house, stomping the whole twenty-feet walk. 
One of the younger brothers, a freshman by the looks of it, stops you in your tracks. 
“Know a brother?” He grunts out, clearly not too thrilled with being put on door duty instead of getting wasted inside with everyone else. 
“Didn’t you just see me walk out of that door? I’m your neighbor,” you exclaim, indignant, motioning to your front door. 
“Know a brother?” He repeats. “You can’t go in unless you can give me a name. House orders.”
“Fuck,” you say with a sigh, rubbing your temples with your hand. Yeah, you’ve heard of a few. Are Facebook friends with a couple of them. And there was that one incident in sophomore year… but you don’t like to think about that. “Whatever. I don’t care, I’m not here to party. I have a message that I would like you to deliver to whoever is in charge of… all this.” You gesture frantically in front of you.
The boy just quirks an eyebrow, uninterested. But he doesn’t tell you that you can’t deliver that message, and if you’re being honest, he’s probably the most sober anyway, so you take your chances and continue. 
“I would like you to tell whoever is in charge that I have been putting up with all of this for—”
“Putting up with what?”
You didn’t even notice the door swing open. Peeking his head out from the open space, a very familiar face smiles lazily at the two of you, that same stupid smirk happily lacing his otherwise typically grumpy features. 
“With you, Min Yoongi!” You shout. For some reason, seeing his face has increased your irritation tenfold. It must be the sound of his voice. “You and the rest of the Betas and your stupid party. It’s Tuesday.”
“I know.” Yoongi nods. The fact that he doesn’t say anything else, just stands there, a shit-eating grin on his face, swirling a half-empty bottle of beer in his hands, pisses you off even more. 
You sputter. “Well, it’s Tuesday and I have an exam tomorrow and I would really, really appreciate it if you could just keep it down. Or shut it down. Either works.”
“And ruin the fun?” Yoongi takes another step towards you, letting the door shut behind him as the other brother bows out, clearly recognizing that this exchange is out of his hands. “Come on, Y/N. You’ve become such a stick in the mud these days. Why not loosen up before your big test?”
“Because unlike you, I actually plan on doing something with my life after college,” you hiss, wanting nothing more than to snatch that bottle of beer right out of his grasp and dump it on him. You close your eyes, taking a deep breath. “I am going to say this again nicely. I would really, really, genuinely, very much appreciate it if you could just keep it down for this one night. It would mean a lot to me because I have a very important test tomorrow that I cannot fail.”
Yoongi just smirks. “And what if we don’t?”
Oh, so that’s how he wants to play? Alright. 
“Then I will have absolutely no problem calling campus police so that they can shut down your party for me.”
Yoongi narrows his eyes. “You wouldn’t.”
“Try me.” You raise your eyebrows at him, as if egging him on. 
“Is that all? Or do you plan on threatening me with anything else if I don’t comply with your ridiculous demand?” He asks. 
“It’s not ridiculous to want some peace and quiet on a fucking Tuesday night. Actually, Wednesday, since it’s one in the morning,” you say defensively. Min Yoongi thinks he’s so much better than you because he drinks more alcohol and throws more parties. But the only people he’s really impressing anyway are the try-hard freshmen who either want to join the brotherhood, or sleep with its members. So who’s the cooler one, him or you? 
Yoongi scoffs. “You’re the one who decided living next to a frat house was a good idea. Maybe next time, before you come strutting over here to tell me and my house to be quiet, you can also reevaluate your own decisions.”
You sneer. “I had no choice. What’s your excuse?”
“My excuse?” Yoongi shakes his head like this whole damn conversation is beneath him. “I don’t care what you or anyone else thinks of me.”
“Maybe you should. Then you might actually have a future beyond college. Or are you just going to live in your frat house forever until they kick you out because you’re too old and have no job?”
Yoongi frowns at you. His dissatisfaction at the direction of this exchange isn’t even enough to cheer you up at this point. All you want to do is go to sleep. 
“Are you going to be leaving now, or—?”
“You don’t have to ask me twice,” you say, already turning on your heel to march off their front porch and back to your apartment. “And may I remind you to please, kindly, shut the fuck up, or you will be hearing from campus police shortly. Goodnight.”
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The next morning, you wake up bright and early at seven in the morning for some last-minute morning studying and find yourself relatively well-rested. Well, as well-rested as anyone can be on five hours of sleep. But surprisingly, by the time you were in bed with your eyelids drooping, you could barely hear the Betas next door. Did they actually quiet down? You weren’t actually planning on calling campus police anyway. Huh. 
At 7:50 you whip open your front door, still trying to wrestle your left foot into its shoe, to find a handle of Tito’s Handmade Vodka and a note at your door. 
Thanks for putting up with your super annoying neighbors. We have way too much alcohol, and we figured you could use this to drink so you don’t have to remember that you live next to the Beta house. Or you could celebrate after your exam. 
Your friends, the Beta Tau Sigma fraternity.
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“They just gave you a whole ass bottle of vodka? For free?”
You huff as you bring over the unopened handle of Tito’s to your coffee table, clinking as it thuds against the wooden surface. 
“Well, they didn’t write their Venmo on the Post-it note so, yes, for free,” you say, trying not to complain despite it being your favorite hobby. After all, you did just swing free alcohol from your least favorite people. There could be worse circumstances in life. “But let’s drink it all tonight so that they can’t charge me, just in case.”
“That’s amazing,” Nicole says, in awe as you return from the kitchen again with cups, little stemless wine glasses from IKEA that cost ninety-nine cents each. “I want to live next to the Betas.”
“No, you don’t,” you say pointedly. Despite the free swag, living next to the rowdiest frat house on campus has far more cons than pros. In fact, you could probably name five of them right now, not the least of which is the fact that they throw parties every day of the week except the occasional Monday. 
“Y/N probably has drunk freshies banging on her door every night thinking this is the Beta house,” Seoyoon jokes as she cracks open the bottle with a satisfying pop, her brute strength coming in handy when all of you just want to get drunk and eat like shit in your little apartment on a Friday night like normal college seniors. 
You scoff. “Surprisingly, that’s, like, the one thing that hasn’t happened.”
“Yet,” Seoyoon warns. 
“Yet,” you concede. 
“Oh, come on, living next to the Betas can’t be that bad,” Neha says, pouring herself way more than a shot’s worth of vodka like it’s nobody’s business. Good thing she’s about the biggest tank you know when it comes to drinking. “All of the brothers are so hot.”
“Neha just has a fat crush on the Pres,” Nicole says with a side jab. “Namjoon, right?”
You shrug, trying to pretend like you haven’t learned all of the brothers’ names just so that you can write threatening notes and hang them in your bedroom window. 
“I do not!” Neha exclaims, aghast. “If anyone has a crush on any of the brothers, it’s you. I literally see you stalking that one junior’s Instagram every day.” 
Nicole’s face turns bright red at that revelation, caught in the act. “He’s cute!” She cries out helplessly. 
“Who’s cute?” Seoyoon asks. She has been dating the same girl since junior high. 
“Kim Taehyung,” Neha says as Nicole tries to hide her face in her hoodie, pulling the drawstrings so tightly that only her nose is left exposed. “He’s a junior in Beta. Nicole thinks he’s the best thing since sliced bread.”
“You are the worst,” Nicole says through the fabric of her hoodie. 
“I’ll drink to that,” Seoyoon says, holding up her stemless wine glass Great Gatsby-style. “To Nicole and Kim What’s-his-face!”
“To Nicole and Kim What’s-his-face!”
You all clink glasses, downing your first sips with ease. Tito’s Vodka burns your throat on the way down, definitely not your first choice drink, but it gets the job done and the taste vanishes once you help yourself to some orange juice. 
“I hate that shit,” Seoyoon says as she shakes her head, willing the burn away. “No wonder they gave it to you for free. It sucks.”
“I don’t mind it,” Neha comments, already pouring herself another shot. 
“That’s because you drink anything that people will put in front of you,” Seoyoon points out. 
“I think I might have a bottle of Trader Joe’s wine in my fridge?” You offer up as an alternative. Though, at this point you’re not sure which is the better option. Both are just barely passable for your college-student tastes. You receive a round of enthusiastic nods from everyone else, so you push yourself off of your couch and head towards the kitchen. You fish through the back of your refrigerator until you find the rosé in the far corner, bottle all frosty from sitting in your fridge for too long. You reach your hand around the neck and pull it out, knocking over a small stack of different sauces from takeout places that you’ve collected.  
That’s when you hear the buzzer. 
You ignore it for about five seconds, assuming it might just be for someone else and that they hit your button accidentally, but when it rings again, you freeze. 
“Y/N? You up there?”
“Who’s that?” Seoyoon shouts from your living room. 
“I don’t know!” You tell her. You head towards your own buzzer, pressing it. “Yes, who is this?”
“It’s Hoseok from Beta! Can you let us up? We have something for you!”
Fuck, can’t they just leave you alone for one night? One measly Friday night? Why aren’t they throwing their own party like they do every other day? Why do they have to crash yours?
“It’s a surprise!”
You pull your finger off of the buzzer, turning to the rest of your friends to deliberate. 
“What the hell are you doing? Let them up!” Neha exclaims incredulously, like you’ve gone mad just for wanting to ask them first. 
“It could be a prank!” You remind her. 
“Who cares? They want to come upstairs! Ask him if he’s got any of the other brothers with him,” Neha orders strictly. 
You turn back to the buzzer. “Hoseok, is it just you or did you bring friends?”
“Tae and Yoongi are with me, yeah,” Hoseok returns. 
You turn back to your friends, who are all gesturing wildly for you to unlock your door and let them inside. You sigh. Your friends owe you later. Especially Nicole. 
“Fine, come on up. Leave your shoes outside, please!”
You can hear them before you see them. The walls of your apartment are about as soundproof as paper, allowing their voices to travel down the hallway, laughter and snarky comments echoing throughout the building. You hear them kicking off their shoes outside in the corridor, thuds along the creaky hardwood floor before there’s a knock at your door followed by another familiar chuckle. 
“Boys,” you say in lieu of a proper greeting, because chivalry is dead. On the other side stands Hoseok, Taehyung, and Yoongi, in a perfect little triangle formation, grinning happily at you. Hoseok, front and center, has three pizza boxes stacked on top of one another in his hands. “What’s that?”
“What does it look like?” Yoongi deadpans unhelpfully. You sneer at him. 
“Pizza!” Hoseok exclaims. “We ordered too much for a closed rush event and had some left over. Saw all your lights on so we figured we’d share the wealth!”
You narrow your eyes at him, gaze flickering back to Yoongi, whose expression is doing nothing to ease your worries. “You guys put shit in this, didn’t you?”
Hoseok looks accosted. “Oh my God, no! I swear, totally unopened. I don’t even know what kinds of pizza they are.”
Taehyung leans down to look at the sides of the boxes. “Uh, meat lovers, cheese, and… ew, who ordered Hawaiian?”
“Namjoon, he likes it,” Yoongi answers. 
“Gross.” Taehyung scrunches up his nose. 
“Yeah, I swear we haven’t put anything in them. Just thought we’d bring them over. Y’know. Being neighborly, and all,” Hoseok says, cheerful as always. Behind him, Yoongi is grinning, like he knows something you don’t. “Want them?”
“Yes!” shouts Neha from in your living room, where all your friends aren’t even bothering to pretend that they aren’t listening into the entire conversation. “Do you guys wanna join us? We’re drinking the vodka you left Y/N. And some Trader Joe’s wine.”
You turn around to shake your head jerkily at Neha, but it’s too late, because Hoseok and Taehyung are already making their way inside. 
“Ooh, sounds good! If that’s okay with all of you, since we’re kind of crashing your party.” Hoseok nods enthusiastically. He turns to you, since you’re the host and this is your goddamn apartment that he, Taehyung, and Yoongi are walking into, with a quirked eyebrow. You look back at the rest of your friends, who are already scooting over on the chairs and couches to make room for everyone else. You look back at Nicole, who looks positively frozen as Taehyung sits down next to her with a handsome little grin on his face. And you sigh. 
“Yeah, you are,” you agree, glaring at Yoongi as he traipses into your domain, clearly the haughtiest of the three of them. “But it’s whatever. There’s a lot of vodka and a lot of pizza anyway.”
“Great! Thanks for letting us stay,” Hoseok says, making his way over to the rest of your friends. “Nice of you.”
“Maybe you aren’t as much of a stick in the mud as I thought,” Yoongi muses rudely, voice quiet enough so that only you can hear him as he passes by you, sly smirk sitting devilishly on his lips. 
“Hopefully I can bore you enough into leaving,” you sneer back, narrowed eyes gazing directly at his side profile as you both head back towards your living room, trying to act like you both don’t have beef that’s been simmering between the two of you for the past two years in front of all of your friends. 
By the time you reach the circle of people, the only open spaces left are on the floor on the opposite side of the coffee table, which you and Yoongi begrudgingly take as Hoseok opens the boxes of pizza out in front of you. As you sit down, your knees bump together, making the both of you frown back at each other as you pull yourselves away, ensuring there is at least half a foot of space between the two of you. 
“Ew, who got Hawaiian? That’s the worst pizza,” Nicole says when Hoseok opens up the box.
“I know, right?” Taehyung exclaims, having finally found someone who hates it as much as he has demonstrated so far. 
“I see you’re putting the vodka we gave you to good use,” Yoongi comments snidely as he watches you pour yourself much more than a single shot’s worth into your glass. 
“I’ll need it if I have to spend the rest of the night next to you,” you fire back easily, trying to hide the way you’re already scrunching up your nose as the thought of having to drink all of what is essentially liquid death in a single go. 
Yoongi frowns. “If that’s the case then hand it over, I’d like some too.”
You pass off the handle to him, watch as he too helps himself to a rather generous serving like he’s dreading the passage of this night just as much as you are. Hey, at least there’s one thing that you can agree on. 
“Cheers,” Yoongi says, holding out his cup towards you. 
You huff. “Cheers.”
Your glasses clink together before you both down your drinks, vodka stinging your tongue and throat as it makes its way through your body. Immediately, you are grasping for the orange juice you poured yourself earlier, chasing down the alcohol with something much sweeter. When you turn to see how Yoongi’s faring, he too seems to be barely stomaching it all, having lost the ability to drink like shit and feel fine afterwards anyway. His reaction makes you feel the slightest bit better. 
“Hey, Yoongi, look at this picture Jimin just sent me,” Taehyung says from Yoongi’s other side, holding out his phone between the two of them. You can’t see what they’re looking at from here. 
“Oh, she’s so cute,” Yoongi says, turning all heart eyes the moment he sees whatever it is that’s in front of him. “Honestly, I just want to go home and sleep with her right now.”
“Why don’t you?” You mutter to yourself. Clearly Yoongi has not changed a bit since you last had a proper conversation with him two years ago. The same asshole he’s always been. 
“Because I’m here with you,” Yoongi answers cleanly, sickly sweet smile on his face.
“Never gonna pass up an opportunity to get drunk, huh?” You muse aloud. “What happened to your nightly parties?”
“Didn’t feel like holding one tonight,” Yoongi responds. “Figured you’d be a generous host and invite us to yours.”
“This is not a party,” you hiss. “And you weren’t invited.”
“Yet here I am,” Yoongi says, as if you need reminding. “You should look on the bright side. Maybe we’ll actually get to spend some quality time together.”
You scowl. “No time ever spent with you could be considered quality.”
“You seriously don’t have anything better to do than sit around my coffee table, eating cold pizza and drinking?” The fact that he’s even here in the first place infuriates you beyond belief, but at least you can already feel that buzz in your head, that perfect tipsy haze that will hopefully make this night a little more palatable. 
Yoongi grins at that, face all flushed from the drinks in his system, cheeks a watermelon pink and lips a cherry red. His black hair is pushed back off of his forehead like he’d been brushing his fingers through it all day, sitting in perfect waves atop his head. 
“Oh, Y/N,” He says, voice airy and soft and completely and utterly patronizing, “there’s no place I would rather be than with you.”
You pour yourself another shot. 
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If there’s a silver lining to any of this, it’s that whatever Min Yoongi majors in, it has zero crossover with chemistry. Maybe that’s why you’ve been able to go two relatively uneventful years without having to see him. So you can go to class with the peace of mind that there is zero chance Min Yoongi will be sitting in one of the seats, or standing behind one of the lab tables ready to deliver some terribly snarky remark. 
You actually have no idea what Yoongi’s interests are. Other than drinking and being unbearable, of course. The last few times you’ve seen him, he’s been doing both activities simultaneously. But if you had to take a guess, you would put your money on something in the arts or humanities, something that doesn’t require the same laser precision that science does, something that lets him do as he pleases, invent new ideas and create new things for him to pick apart at the seams. But it’s not as if you’ve given that much thought, or anything. 
The goal, at this point in the semester, is to just go a week without having to see him. Just one. You’ve invested in some pre-owned noise-cancelling headphones from Facebook Marketplace, taken the back way to get to your classes so you don’t have to walk in front of their house, and even bought your groceries in bits and pieces so that none of the brothers will see you struggling with five reusable grocery bags and offer to help. 
But it looks like your Yoongi-less streak will have to wait until next week. 
“Hey, Y/N!” 
Not even your sunglasses and resting bitch face are enough to deter Taehyung from calling out your name with a big old grin on his face, waving his hands excitedly. You knew you shouldn’t have left your headphones at home. Now you can’t even pretend that you didn’t hear him scream out your name from the front yard of the Beta Tau Sigma house. 
“Tae, what’s up?” You say, forcing as natural of a smile onto your face as you can muster.
“You wanna donate to a good cause and plate a Beta?” He asks cheerfully, motioning to the sign next to him. The brothers have someone managed to drive two wooden sticks into the ground in front of the Beta house, holding up a big fabric sign that says, in bright blue capital letters,
and in much smaller, lowercase letters beneath it, 
fundraising for ending violence against women!!!
You scoff. What a philanthropy to be supporting, considering the beliefs of some of the members of this fraternity. You’re not naming names, but one of them rhymes with Spoon-gi. 
“All you have to do is Venmo the frat five dollars and you can pie a Beta of your choosing with this plate covered in whipped cream!” Taehyung says, holding up one such plate. From the looks of it, he’s definitely already been pied at least twice, remnants of cream on the sides of his face and the front of his muscle tank. “For a good cause!”
“You must be really desperate if you’re asking me,” you comment snidely, approaching Taehyung nonetheless because the concept of stuffing a plate of whipped cream in a certain someone’s face sounds enticing, to say the least. 
“We’ve actually already raised over three hundred dollars since we started this morning!” exclaims Taehyung happily. “I just thought I’d ask you since you’re our neighbor and you put up with so much of our shit anyway. You can pie me, I don’t mind!”
You narrow your eyes, deliberating. You’ve spent five dollars on less important things than the Plate a Beta fundraiser. Like a campus raffle for one of those shitty picnic blankets. Or grossly chewy boba. Even a ratty paperback copy of one of the required books you had to read in your freshman year English class. So what’s another five going to do?
“Alright,” you say with a sigh as Taehyung pumps his hand into the air excitedly. 
“Great! You can pretty much pie any one of the active brothers, even if you don’t see them here right now. They’re probably just inside,” Taehyung recites dutifully. He pushes a piece of paper on the fold-out table in front of him towards you. “Here’s a list, if you need—”
“I already know who I’d like,” you interrupt. “Is Yoongi available?”
Taehyung lets out this hyena cackle before grinning back at you. “Why yes, yes he is.” He turns around to shout at Hoseok, who’s leaning against the front door like he’s just waiting to go fetch the next victim of this fundraiser, “Hobi! Go get Yoongi!”
Hoseok flashes a thumbs up towards Taehyung before disappearing into the house, leaving you and Taehyung standing there, waiting awkwardly for his return. 
“Oh, by the way,” Taehyung remembers suddenly, “thanks for letting us stay and drink with you guys a couple weeks ago. It was a lot of fun.”
You purse your lips together and smile, that tense little nod you do when smiling normally is too forward. “No problem, glad you enjoyed yourself. I think my friends had fun, too.”
“Yeah, um, about that,” Taehyung says, scratching at the nape of his neck, “your one friend, Nicole—?”
“Wake up, Yoongi!”
Hoseok’s high-pitched giggle bounces across the open front lawn as he pushes Yoongi out the front door with a rough shove, shutting it behind him so he can’t go back inside. Yoongi tumbles onto the lawn carelessly, almost losing his footing on the house’s foundation, stumbling over his own feet before he finds his ground. He looks like he’s just been woken up, hair all shaggy and clothes all messy. He’s wearing some grey shorts and a white shirt that’s at least three sizes too big, the neckline hanging loosely over his collarbones and shoulder, almost falling off entirely. Yoongi rubs the sleep from his eyes with the back of his hand, looking up drowsily to the fundraiser table. 
And then he sees you. 
You’re grinning beyond belief, unwilling to restrain your excitement at getting to pie him in the face. Sounds like fun, in your opinion. Doesn’t really matter what Yoongi thinks. 
When he meets your eyes, he grins lazily, the corners of his lips turning upwards ever so slightly. 
“What a treat, Y/N,” he muses to you. 
“For me,” you add on crassly. “You look like you just walked off a zombie movie set.”
“Just for you,” Yoongi says. “Who else would I get pied in the face for?”
“Don’t think I’m doing this for you,” you warn harshly as Taehyung hands you the paper plate covered in whipped cream, ordering you both to stand in the designated pie square, demarcated by white spray paint on the grass. “I’m doing this for me. And for women.”
“How noble of you,” Yoongi commends mockingly. 
“I’m such a giver, aren’t I?”
With that, you mash the paper plate into Yoongi’s face without hesitation, making sure to rub it in particularly well before pulling away. Needless to say, Yoongi’s face is covered with the stuff, making him look like the victim of a shaving cream prank gone horribly wrong or horribly right, depending on how you see it. Yoongi wipes away the cream in his eyes before blinking back up at you, forcing a grin. 
“You look even more handsome than normal,” you sneer. “I think it’s because we can’t see your face.”
“It’s an honor to be complimented by you, Y/N,” Yoongi manages to retort out anyway, even as he grabs a nearby towel to begin wiping his face. Y’know, I can think of another scenario where we’re together but you can’t see my face. It happens at nighttime, you see—”
“I better not hear the end of that sentence, Min—”
And for once, by some strange miracle, the gods listen to your plea. 
From practically out of nowhere, Hoseok and two other brothers (Namjoon and Jimin, if you’re remembering correctly) emerge with a gigantic, neon orange cooler filled with presumably water, and dump it on Yoongi’s head before either of you can get another word in. You are, luckily, standing far enough away from him to only get some splashes on your ankles, but that doesn’t spare you in any way from the scene in front of you. 
Yoongi is drenched from head to toe, having just gotten well over several gallons of water poured on top of him football game-style, a rude wake-up call for the man who clearly rolled out of bed five minutes ago. Hair sopping wet, he brushes it out of his face with both of his hands, inadvertently displaying his terribly see-through white shirt in its full glory. The fabric sticks to the skin of his torso, the bulges of his arms, leaving very little to the imagination. You try not to look but where else can your eyes go but the waterlogged boy in front of you, standing in a puddle of water and whipped cream before your gaze. 
You eventually manage to blink hard enough to snap you out of your trance, eyes darting all over the place before they land back on a seething Yoongi, who looks about three steps into the stages of grief. Hoseok and the other two screech before skirting off, out of Yoongi’s reach so he can’t enact any immediate revenge on them. 
Yoongi, left with no other option than to dry off, begins to wring out his hair with the towel from earlier. 
“Like what you see, hmm?” He says, somehow able to bask in your alarm despite being the butt of a very spontaneous prank no less than sixty seconds ago. 
“Yes, I do like practical jokes at your expense, thank you,” you answer cheerfully, knowing damn well that that’s not what Yoongi’s talking about. 
“I’m glad I could be of entertainment to you,” Yoongi says. “You can keep looking, if you want.”
You pretend to dwell on it for a couple seconds before shaking your head. “Actually, I think I’d better start heading out.”
“Aw, come on, Y/N,” Yoongi teases. “You know, I’m gonna need some help cleaning up after this…”
“I don’t think you’ll have any problem finding someone happy to help,” you hiss, already beginning to make your way back to the main road. “Maybe some other time.”
“I’ll hold you to that!” Yoongi calls as you leave the Beta front lawn. You honk out a laugh as you go, shaking your head to yourself. 
Eh. There are worse ways to spend five dollars, you decide.
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Frat parties are beneath you. 
This is what you say to yourself whenever you get that nagging feeling in the back of your head, feel that little pull that invites you back to the sweatiest, grossest, loudest places on campus. You learned your lesson after that night in sophomore year, swore off frat parties and frat brothers themselves, and you never looked back. You are a senior. You are about to graduate and move on from your undergraduate years. Frat parties are beneath you. 
Frat parties are not beneath Nicole. 
Granted, she’s not exactly going so that she can get shitty beer and even shittier gin spilled on her Converse sneakers by freshmen who don’t understand boundaries. She’s going because Taehyung had texted her through Facebook Messenger to come because it would be “a fun night” and Nicole jumped at the chance. Nicole is going for him
So you are going for her. 
Nicole is smart enough to know her drinking limits and avoid putting herself in unsafe situations if she can help it. She also seems to trust Taehyung a fair bit, and while you wouldn’t go as far to let him catch you if you were falling, you know him well enough to reason that he’s probably fine. Emphasis on the word “probably”. You’ve been duped before. You won’t let her make the same mistakes. She’s only one year younger than you, of course, but better to be safe than sorry. 
“No sleeping over,” you mutter as you walk from your apartment to the Beta house, the ground already shaking from the music booming inside. “If you don’t feel like going back to your place then sleep at mine, alright?”
“Yes, mom,” Nicole says with a roll of her eyes as you approach the same freshman from earlier in the year, stuck on door duty for what appears to be the foreseeable future. 
“Know a brother?” He grunts out, just as unhappy as he was the last time you met him. 
“Taehyung invited me,” Nicole says cheerfully. “Hoseok and Yoongi are also here, right?”
Great, now you’ll have to try even harder to avoid Yoongi tonight. If it weren’t for the fact that you are determined to make sure Nicole doesn’t get her night ruined by any assholes, you’d leave immediately.
The boy steps aside, having been given satisfactory enough answers. Funny, how frat parties are supposed to be this selective thing, yet anybody who knows anybody can get in if they try hard enough, and it’s not as if the inside radiates the same exclusivity anyway. Why would you want to get shoved into a dark room with ear-killing music and throat-killing alcohol? 
“Hey, you guys made it!” Taehyung shouts when he sees the two of you, stumbling down from the stairs to greet the two of you, already swirling a half-empty beer bottle between his fingers. “Glad you came. It’s nice to see you.”
“You, too,” Nicole says, grinning wildly. “Thanks for inviting us.”
“Anytime! You know our door’s always open,” Taehyung answers. 
“Yeah, literally,” you mutter to yourself. No wonder it’s so loud. Have they considered shutting the door every now and then? Or is wasting money on air conditioning something they pride themselves on?
“Can I get you guys anything to drink? Beer? Shots? Lemonade? I’d offer the jungle juice but Jimin accidentally put salt in it instead of sugar and it tastes terrible,” Taehyung says, walking you around through a totally unoccupied side passageway you didn’t even realize existed until you land in the kitchen, where all the decent drinks are. 
“Just a beer is fine for me,” Nicole says. 
“Same,” you add on. You’ve had enough shots for the rest of your life. No more. 
Taehyung hands two of you some bottles from the fridge, which is clearly filled with nothing but alcohol. “You wanna come downstairs? We’re playing pool down there. Away from all the noise.”
Nicole turns to you with her eyebrows raised, waiting for your move. 
You shake your head. “Nah, I’m good. I’ll just stay up here and try not to let my ears bleed.” As much as you’d like to get away from the noise, you’ve never been a very good pool player. Besides, you want to look out for Nicole but you don’t want to look after her. She also probably does not want you lingering around her all night like a helicopter parent. “You go ahead, though.”
“You sure? It’s way more fun down there,” Taehyung asks. 
“Maybe I’ll join later. You guys have fun, though. Text me if you need anything, Nicole,” you assure them. 
As they walk away, you can see Nicole mouth the word “thanks” before disappearing into the basement, behind a locked door clearly meant for brothers and special guests only. You make a mental note to check on them in an hour or so, by which point you will undoubtedly be sick of standing in the kitchen anyway and want to head downstairs anyway. 
You settle for leaning against the counter—the same dusty grey granite, the same wobbly cupboard doors as before—and sipping your beer in relative peace, away from all of the noise in the main room two doors over. It’s boring, but you’d rather be unentertained than over-entertained, or entertained by the wrong person. Maybe, if Hoseok is the one who’s curated the nightly Spotify playlist, you can convince him to play some music that you actually like. 
The hour passes by without incident. You spend the better half of it staring at news articles on your phone, because no time is a bad time to be informed, taking small sips of your beer every now and then. It’s pretty good for beer from a frat house’s fridge, quite light and fruity. Taehyung must have saved some for the two of you. You know, you could get used to that kind of special treatment for your occasional frat brother crossover. 
Just as you’re ready to head downstairs, your relative peace and quiet gets rudely interrupted by a drunk freshman, who darts into the kitchen and throws up into the sink before you even realize what’s happening. They stand there, hunched over the sink, for a good thirty seconds. You sigh. You know what that feels like. 
“At least it’s not the floor, right?”
You’re ashamed to say you didn’t even see him coming. Yoongi laughs to himself at his little deja vu moment. 
“Hope your garbage disposal still works,” you comment snidely. 
“Yeah, it should. We just had it fixed a couple months ago. Namjoon accidentally broke a plate in the sink and some pieces of glass ended up shredding the shit out of it, so,” Yoongi tells you. 
“Cool.” It’s not. 
“Didn’t think I’d see you in here again,” Yoongi says as he takes another sip of his own beer, a different draft than yours but smelling just as pungent. 
“I’m here for a friend,” you inform him simply. “She’s downstairs.”
“Nicole, right? Tae mentioned he invited her,” Yoongi says. “Surprised you came along, though.”
“I live the closest,” you say with a bit of a huff. All this just because of your last-minute sublet. Maybe you should have just choked up the extra money and lived on campus. Your life would be so much simpler. “Why are you even up here? Thought you didn’t like all the noise.”
“I was just planning on grabbing another beer,” Yoongi says, holding up his empty bottle. “Then I saw you, and couldn’t resist stopping for a chat.”
“How thoughtful.”
“Oh, come on, Y/N,” Yoongi says, rolling his eyes at your stubbornness. “We’ve been spending a lot more time together lately. That’s gotta count for something, right?”
“You act like one pie in the face and a night in and suddenly we’re best friends,” you point out. 
“I’m just trying to make our senior year enjoyable for the both of us,” Yoongi says, clearly getting a little exasperated. “We’re neighbors, aren’t we? We’re bound to see each other. We have no choice.”
“Yes, we do,” you correct harshly. “We do have a choice. I can choose to talk to you, or not talk to you. I can choose to be next to you, or away from you.”
“You’re talking to me now.” He raises an eyebrow at you matter-of-factly. 
You throw your hands up into the air helplessly, turning on your heel and heading towards the front door. You’ll text Nicole later, make sure she’s still coming over afterwards to spend the night. You sure as hell hope she’s having more fun than you are right now. 
Unsurprisingly, Yoongi follows you outside until you’re standing on the front porch of the Beta house, so that anyone passing by can see the two of you argue with each other at one in the morning like normal, functioning adults. 
“Hit a nerve, did I?” Yoongi calls out, fighting back laughter. 
“You just have to be a big show off, don’t you?” You shout back. “I can’t go one week without you showing up randomly and inserting yourself into my life!”
“You’re the one who came to the Beta party,” Yoongi says. 
You huff. “I didn’t come for you, in case that wasn’t already perfectly clear.”
“And yet here we are anyway,” Yoongi says. 
You cross your arms in front of your chest, feeling your body boil. “Are you just going to stand there and act like a know-it-all, or—?”
“I’m just stating facts here,” Yoongi says defensively. “You’re the one acting like talking to me is the end of the world.”
“That’s because, and maybe this needs to be spelled out for you, we aren’t exactly friends, Yoongi.” You can’t believe you’re actually saying this aloud. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that you and Yoongi aren’t on the same page. Hell, you’re not even reading the same goddamn book. “We may be neighbors, but that does not make us buddies.”
“But we’re acquaintances, aren’t we?” Yoongi asks, and the worst part about the question is how genuine it is. Like Yoongi’s trying to establish some sort of boundary between the two of you. A line so that both of you know what not to cross. “Our friends have crushes on each other. Hoseok thinks you’re the perfect person to deliver leftovers to. And you came to our party tonight.”
You stand there, silent, arms pressed against your torso. 
“Geez, and the crowd goes wild,” Yoongi says. “You don’t even consider us acquaintances? I’m hurt.”
In some ways, Yoongi is right. You have been seeing an awful lot of each other lately, whether you’d like to admit it or not. Before you moved into your spring sublet, it had been two full years since your last proper interaction, and suddenly you’re seeing each other every week like it’s nobody’s business. 
You sigh, shoulders heavy. You don’t feel like arguing with him anymore. Don’t feel like putting yourself through another unbearable exchange with your relationship as the hot button topic. Besides, Yoongi infuriates you but at least he’s not a bad conversationalist. At least you know you’ll always be entertained when he’s around. 
“I’m just keeping my distance,” you tell him sharply. “But if me saying we’re acquaintances will help you sleep better at night, then yeah, I guess we are. I pied you in the face, after all.”
“Something I will never forget,” Yoongi says with a smile. “Getting water dumped on me afterwards mustn't have been too bad for you either, hmm?”
“Oh, shut up,” you say, shaking your head. “You think too highly of yourself.”
“Come on, Y/N, I saw the way you looked at me. You can’t even deny it.” Yoongi’s lips turn up into a knowing smirk, the most irritating kind of them all. 
“I can, and I will,” you say, just as haughtily. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Yoongi lets out a bark of laughter at that, tilting his head back with a smile. “Alright, whatever tickles your pickle. I won’t judge.”
Standing across from him, you purse your lips, fighting the urge to let the corners turn upwards into a smile. Never a dull moment, when you’re with him. 
“You still going home? Or can I convince you to stay a little longer and play some pool downstairs with me?” Yoongi takes a step backwards, towards the front door, that same smirk dancing along his lips. 
You pretend to check the non-existent watch on your wrist, thinking about it for a couple seconds just to stretch out the moment even longer. “Only if you let me win.”
“Oh, Y/N,” Yoongi says, shaking his head fondly as he opens the door for you, stands to the side to let you in first. “Not a chance.”
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Funnily enough, after all you went through that night, you don’t ever hear from Nicole how it went on her end. Granted, you assume it went well, because she would definitely tell you if it didn’t go well, but all you did after the party that night was crash in your apartment without saying a word to each other. You had a good time, surprisingly enough, despite being coerced into playing a couple of games of pool with Yoongi, who absolutely destroyed you because he has a pool table in his basement and you don’t even have a basement. You blamed your loss on the beer, too proud to admit that he’s good at anything, even though you had barely one bottle and it had worn off about an hour in anyway. Still. Yoongi didn’t need to know that. 
Strange, how things have turned out. How one week you’re screaming at Yoongi to shut up or face the wrath of campus police, and another you’re standing opposite him with cue sticks in your hands. Maybe living next to the Beta Tau Sigma house is making you soft for all the brothers. Yikes.
You and Yoongi may never see eye to eye, but when you’re standing in the basement with a billiards table in between the two of you and victory on the line, where else are you supposed to look but him?
Sighing at the peculiar turn of events, you take another sip of your iced coffee as you make your way to the campus library for a good old fashioned study session. You have another inorganic chemistry exam coming up, and you don’t even know what you don’t know. The automatic glass doors open when you step into the library, whooshing to the side as you beeline towards the elevators, hoping to snag a spot on the third floor (the best one, in your opinion) before they’re all full. But you don’t make it.
The elevator’s working fine. It’s Yoongi that distracts you. 
For a second, you don’t even know where his voice is coming from. Your eyes dart around wildly, scanning the tables and desks for that familiar tuft of black hair, until you find Yoongi standing behind the checkout counter, chuckling at your clear inability to identify him. 
“You work here?” You ask, approaching him. He’s got a whole stack of worn books in his hands, biceps bulging out of his muscle tank as he plops them down onto a shelving cart. 
“Volunteer. I just stand here and check out the occasional book,” Yoongi answers. “I saw you and just thought I’d say hi.”
You narrow your eyes in suspicion. “Really?” 
Yoongi laughs. “Okay, I actually had a question.”
You purse your lips but nod the go-ahead anyway. “This better be a real question, and not ‘would you like to sleep with me’ or something.”
“Well, if that’s where your mind is at, then we can arrange something,” Yoongi teases, making you scowl at him. He grins at your reaction, clearly having gotten what he wanted out of you. “Alright, alright, I’m kidding. It’s actually about your friend, Nicole.”
“What about her?” You say, finding yourself getting a little bit protective over her.
“Taehyung has this bonkers huge crush on her. Like, enormous. All we ever talk about is what the next thing is that we can invite her to. It’s getting a little annoying, in a nice way,” Yoongi explains all informatively, shaking his head but looking fond nonetheless. 
You don’t even bother fighting away the smile inching its way across your face. That’s definitely the cutest thing you’ve heard in a long time. Nicole’s usually more reserved about her feelings, but you can just tell that it’s obvious she likes him back. In fact, if you had to describe her current emotions, it would be overarching anxiety that he does not like her the same way she likes him. 
But it sounds like she’s got nothing to worry about. 
“And I wanted to ask you if you could help me set them up?” Yoongi poses. “You know, like matchmaking them. Except they already like each other, so I suppose it’s not really matchmaking…”
“Well, how do I know he’s not going to just use her?” You say, refusing to give in just yet. Taehyung seems like a nice guy but then again, first impressions can be deceiving. 
“What do you mean?” Yoongi furrows his brows at you, like the question you just asked him is the stupidest thing of all. “You know him, he’s the sweetest guy you’ll ever meet. Just look at these texts he sends to me.”
Yoongi holds out his phone for you to read, not even caring if you snoop through his other messages. 
[March 16th, 1:25PM]
Taehyung: OHHHH MY GOD SHE JUST SAID HI TO ME AS SHE WALKED BY Taehyung: SHE’S SO CUTE AHHHHHHHHHHHHH HER LITTLE SMILE Taehyung: i think im going to have a heart attack Taehyung: bruh what if i just proposed like on the spot like right here
Yoongi: you don’t even know your own ring size
[March 18th, 10:03PM]
Taehyung: is it too annoying if we host another party just so she can come over and we can play smash in the basement Taehyung: as in like, super smash bros not just smashing
Yoongi: why don’t you just ask her anyway we don’t need to be throwing a party for her to come you know
Taehyung: yeah but then it’s WEIRD god yoongo keep up
Yoongi: i mean if she likes you back then she’d probably just say yes anyway
Yoongi: you do that even when we are doing stuff
Taehyung: :(
[March 21st, 5:07PM]
Taehyung: hey youre friends with y/n right
Yoongi: well…
Taehyung: do you think you can ask her to ask nicole about me Taehyung: i just wanna know what im working with here
Yoongi: why don’t you just do it
Taehyung: IM TOO SHY
“Yeah,” Yoongi says as you hand his phone back to him, pretty convinced. “So.”
“I see.” You nod firmly. 
“Do you think you can help? We’re throwing another party this weekend, more exclusive than our usuals. Invites only. You and her are welcome to come.”
“You better not take advantage of her or me,” you warn sternly, because even if a smaller-scale party sounds nicer, there’s no telling what the hell could happen. “I’m warning you now, Yoongi.”
“What the heck, of course we’re not gonna do that, geez.” Yoongi puts his hands up in surrender, a little alarmed at your insistence. “Seriously, Y/N. Promise. Taehyung’s a great guy. And I’m not saying that just because. He really is.”
You sigh. Yeah, he is. He’s friendly and happy and funny and respectful. Even you can’t deny that. “Alright. I’ll see if I can get her to go.”
“Awesome, thank you so much,” Yoongi says, looking genuinely grateful. “By the way, I wanted to ask—what made you move next to our house?”
You shrug. “It was the cheapest one bedroom sublet I could find. I figured I’d better take it and just figure out what to do with you guys later on.”
Yoongi chuckles. “Guess we really gave you a run for your money, huh?”
“My freshman year, I lived in between two four-person suites filled with boys. You guys aren’t even at half the level as them,” you say. “Don’t get any ideas, though. I’m a lot less tolerable now than I was back then.”
He laughs at that. “Okay, I’ll take your word for it.”
“What are you doing, huh?” You ask, finding yourself wanting the conversation to continue. “After grad, I mean.”
Yoongi shrugs. “Not sure. I’m majoring in music production but I think I wanna go to grad school, so. We’ll see.”
That answers that. So you were right, after all, about him. 
“That sounds cool. Good for you.”
“What about you? Chem, right?”
You nod. “Unfortunately. I’ve got a job lined up at a research lab in the hospital, so I’ll do that for a bit before seeing what else there is. Just taking things as they come.”
“Research? That sounds like fun,” Yoongi says. 
You hold up your enormous inorganic chemistry textbook, worn thin from use, and sigh. “Yeah, well, I have to pass this stupid class, first.”
“Yikes. Looks rough,” Yoongi winces. “Crazy, isn’t it? How the time flies. I remember sophomore year like it was yesterday.”
So do you. “Yeah. Kind of weird to think that we’re seniors, now. So much has changed.”
Yoongi looks up at you, a little hopeful, a little optimistic, in the smallest, tiniest way. “Has it, though?”
Your eyes widen slightly at the thought. Quickly, you sputter out, “I gotta, go, Yoongi, seriously, I have another big exam coming up—”
“Oh, okay,” he responds just as fast, just as caught-off-guard. “Well, uh, thanks for the help with Tae. Promise he’ll take good care of Nicole.”
You scoff a little, already heading back towards the elevator. “Yeah, as long as he didn’t learn anything from you.”
The elevator door opens ten feet away, another student exiting the library, and you dash in before you have to hear anything else come out of his mouth. Even though you’re pressing the close button, the doors have never shut so slowly. 
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Three hours, thirty-seven texts, and six missed calls. That’s how you’ve spent your night, desperately attempting to contact Nicole after she had informed you this afternoon that Taehyung had invited her to another Beta party and that she was planning on going. Which is cool. You’re not going to bar her from going to places. Nor are you going to chaperone her like an adult on a field trip. You didn’t even feel like accompanying her either, because some nights you’d rather just sit and rewatch old episodes of Brooklyn Nine-Nine in your bed. 
But how hard is it to send one text? Leave a ten-second message? You aren’t looking for an entire recount of her night out. You just want to make sure she’s not dead. Her phone might be, though. 
Perhaps if you loved sleep a little more, or if you cared about your friends a little less, you wouldn’t think too much of it. You would make sure to check on her tomorrow morning and go to sleep like anyone else. But you are not anyone else. You are you, and you live next to the Beta Tau Sigma house. 
This time you don’t even bother telling the boy at the front door the names of all the frat brothers you know. You just shove yourself by him before he even knows what’s going on, sneaking past the groups of people on their way out, laughing and giggling and smelling of nothing but alcohol. You didn’t realize it was already close to three in the morning. Have you really been awake this whole time? You must have dozed off at some point, because you think you can still feel the dried drool at the corner of your lips. 
You’ve never been inside a near-empty frat house. It’s sort of a surreal experience, if you’re being honest. The lights are still off but the music isn’t playing anymore, laptop unplugged from the speakers and sitting, forgotten, on the designated DJ table. The floor is covered in glowsticks and solo cups, a barren wasteland. Some of the brothers have congregated in the kitchen, another is passed out on the dinky leather couch in the hallway, and others are just milling around, too wasted or too tired to bother cleaning up. 
In a way, it feels haunting. Frat houses are almost always filled to the brim, bursting with noise and energy, that seeing it occupied by only its own inhabitants is horror-movie worthy. Makes you think there’s something wrong with the place. 
Yoongi spots you from halfway down the stairs, squinting just to make sure it’s you. You can’t even blame him. You’d be surprised, too. 
“Yoongi,” you say stupidly, feeling a little lost in this wide open landscape. 
“What are you doing here?” He asks as he jogs down the stairs, walking up to stand next to you. 
“Nicole told me she was here and she hasn’t been answering any of my texts, I just wanted to make sure…” You lose your train of thought when you see him come up to you, concern lacing his brows as he blinks at you, eyes wide and cheeks pink. For once he hasn’t got that stupid smug little grin on his face, that devilish glint in his eyes. He just looks… content.
“Nicole? Taehyung walked her home about an hour ago,” he explains simply. “She dropped her phone in the basement toilet so… that’s probably why you haven’t been able to contact her.”
“Oh,” you say stupidly. “Is he back?”
“Yeah, he’s—oh, there he is.” Yoongi points behind you where Taehyung is sitting on the floor by the dining room table, arms wrapped around a pillow, drunk or lovestruck, or both. As the other brothers pass by him, they ruffle his caramel hair and tease him about the lipstick on his face. Ah. 
“Okay,” you acknowledge, suddenly feeling at once very foolish for coming over. It’s so late, and there’s no doubt Yoongi will want to just pass out after this instead of talk to you, and you’ve pretty much just wasted everyone’s time. “Thanks, I guess.”
“Sure. You know Taehyung would never pull something like that, right?” Yoongi asks. 
You scoff a little. “No, but wouldn’t you?”
Yoongi frowns at that, looking too confused for his expression to be fake. “What are you talking about?”
“That night,” you begin. No need to elaborate, you both know exactly which night you’re referring to. 
“What about that night?” It’s clearly a bit of a sore spot for the both of you. 
“Well, we… spent the night together and then the next morning I overheard you talking about me,” you say awkwardly. The truth is that neither of you have really discussed what happened between the two of you since that night, preferring to just shun one another and manifest this evil version of the other in your minds. Maybe you should have, but it’s too late to go back and change that now, so you have no choice but to dredge it up here instead. 
“I wasn’t talking about you,” Yoongi says. “I mean, I was, but that was after you blew me off and refused to answer any of my messages.”
“I blew you off because of what you said about me,” you insist. Ghosting him was not the worst thing you could have done. Back then, you considered it pretty even payback after hearing the things he said. “You said that I was easy, and that—that you wanted to share me with the house.” Even just saying the words brings a vile taste into your mouth. 
Yoongi furrows his brows for a second, trying to recall that morning after, that conversation he had with that brother, before he realizes. “You mean my cat?”
“I had just adopted my cat that morning,” Yoongi elaborates. “I went to the shelter in town and picked her up. It was really easy, and I thought she would become a nice moodmaker for our house.”
“You… you adopted a cat?” You ask again, just for clarification because you can’t actually believe it. Min Yoongi has a cat? 
“Yeah, her name is Miso,” he says. “Wait, did you think I was talking about you?”
“Well…” You trail off, feeling more and more idiotic with every second. “Maybe.”
“Oh my God, Y/N, seriously? I would never say those things about you. About anyone,” Yoongi says like it’s obvious, which, in hindsight, it very much is. 
You throw your hands up in the air. “I didn’t know! That’s what I thought, too, but then I overheard you saying that and I thought you were talking about me and that you were just another asshole looking for a cheap one-night-stand, and I assumed shit. I’m sorry.”
Yoongi doesn’t look mad. He doesn’t even look a little peeved. He just looks helpless, because there’s nothing he can do to change what’s happened between the two of you even if all it really took was just a proper conversation. You, on the other hand, must look like a goddamn fool. A very regretful one, at that. 
He forces out half of a laugh, this soft little noise that makes him shake his head. “It’s okay. I’m sorry, too. Maybe I should have told you I wanted a cat.”
You roll your eyes. “Definitely would have saved us a lot from the last two years.”
He takes a step forward, impossibly closer. “You really thought I just saw you as a one-night-stand?”
“I don’t know…” You twiddle your fingers, eyes gazing downwards at your gross old sneakers as you rock back and forth. “I… didn’t want you to think of me that way.”
“I didn’t,” he assures you, reaching out to lift your chin up, the pads of his fingers pressing against the skin of your jaw, bringing your eyes up to his own. “I wanted something more than that from the moment I saw you.”
“Saw me throwing up in your sink,” you remember fondly. 
“A man’s dream come true,” Yoongi jokes, making you both laugh. “No, I really did. I wanted to go out on dates and hold your hand and kiss you on the benches on campus.”
Well, that’s news to you. 
“Didn’t you want that, too?” A dip into the water. 
You smile softly, gazing at him through your lashes. “Maybe I did.”
And then, a jump. 
“Do you want that, still?”
How could you ever think you’d be able to resist him? How could you ever think that your attraction had faded? Min Yoongi has been next to you ever since that night. You just never realized it until he finally stood in front of you, instead. 
“Maybe I do.”
There, standing in the middle of an empty open room, littered with streamers and empty cups and glowsticks and wet puddles on the floor, he kisses you. Pulls you in like he did that very first night you met, intoxicating and electric. You aren’t drunk, you aren’t dressed all nicely, you are just you, and he is just him. Two years have gone by but the feeling is the same. That warmth that fills you up, the grinning against his lips. Sparks flew then but they are flames now, embers that burn deep within you. 
Before you tumble into his bed that night, Yoongi has to move a certain grey tabby off of his duvet. But once you finally do, it makes you never want to leave. 
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The next morning, you aren’t woken up by an alarm, or the cold air, or even Yoongi himself. Instead, what rouses you is the feeling of little paws on your body, stepping over you like you’re nothing but carpet. 
Miso seems to have decided that you’re quite alright, after careful consideration. Or maybe she just wants someone to get up so she can eat breakfast. Next to you, Yoongi sleeps soundly, little snores leaving his mouth as he curls himself up underneath the sheets. Slowly, you remove yourself from under the covers, sliding your feet off the edge of the bed as Miso comes up to rub against you. 
“You know how much grief you have caused me and him?” You ask her as she meows happily. “If I had just known you existed, we could have all saved so much time.”
From beside you, Yoongi stirs, barely looking at you through his half-lidded eyes, grinning lazily. 
“I was just telling Miso that she’s caused us a lot of angst,” you tell him. 
“Mmm,” Yoongi hums in agreement. He pushes himself upright, the sheets falling to reveal his bare chest and messy hair, tousled and knotted from a night of sleep and a couple hours of pulling on it. Whoops. “But you’re here now, aren’t you?”
“It appears that I am,” you say, smiling down happily at Miso. 
“Hey,” he says, leaning over to give Miso a bit of a pet before turning his gaze towards you. “Kiss me before you leave?”
It sounds so familiar. But what Yoongi doesn’t know is that you aren’t leaving at all. You’ll be next to him for a long time, you hope. No choice in that. 
You raise your eyebrows at him. “What makes you think I’m going anywhere?”
When you press your lips to his once more, you feel a soft head of fur brush against the side of your face. 
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↳ thanks for reading! don’t forget to let me know if you enjoyed it!
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snackhobi · 10 months ago
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min yoongi is the best shot in the business. you’re the best gunsmith in the city and the only person he trusts to programme his tech; to make his gear. 
he likes your work. it’s a shame, then, that he doesn’t like you.
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pairing: yoongi x f!reader / word count: 14.3k / genre + rating: NSFW (18+), cyberpunk!au, smut, frenemies (?) to lovers
warnings/etc: hitman!yoongi. black market dealer/gunsmith!reader. cursing/explicit language. whole lotta tension, sexual and otherwise. mentions of injury/violence. minor character death (no one important, don’t worry, this isn’t an angst fic). brief hurt/comfort. reader has tattoos. sexually explicit content. oral; fingering; multiple orgasms; overstimulation (f). unprotected sex (please take the necessary precautions irl). rough sex?. choking. creampie. brief mention of aftercare. I think that’s everything but please lmk if I missed any!
a/n: thank you SO MUCH to both @hobi-gif​ and @morndas​ for beta reading this and being so supportive, ily both so much and I owe you my life 🤧💕 as always what was meant to be a short fic turned into a huge one. also this is technically for my 1.1k milestone but it’s a billion years late, oops!​
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Yoongi really doesn’t like you.
You’re loud. Cocky. Arrogant. You needle him all the time, dig your fingernails in and squeeze, revelling in the way he sets his jaw, the muted spark of irritation in his eyes. You bat your eyelashes and tilt your head, throw it back whenever you laugh and reveal the easing column of your throat, dragging each interaction out with a kind of sadistic pleasure that has him gritting his teeth. Because you love annoying him, getting under his skin, tapping your fingers against the soft swell of your bottom lip as you eye him up, taking your time before you speak.
Infuriating. You’re infuriating and you know it.
It’s unfortunate, really, because you’re unavoidable. 
Jungkook had asked, once, why Yoongi doesn’t just go elsewhere. They’re more than familiar with the underbelly of this heaving city, underneath all the neon lights and shimmering holograms and towering skyscrapers and legal tech; the scuttling seams of back alley traders and illegal goods, tech or otherwise. There are plenty of black market dealers, after all, plenty of other vendors he could go to to get the equipment he wants. Plenty of other skilled crafters, artificers, artisans, people who would be more than happy to create the things that Yoongi asks for, that he needs. People who can get their hands on anything you want. For a price.
Yoongi’s answer had been short and succinct.
“She’s the best there is,” he’d said, and that had been that.
Because it’s true. You might be exasperating, maddening, laughing in Yoongi’s face where others might cower or genuflect, but no one is as good as you. All of Yoongi’s gear has been crafted by you; each and every single one of his weapons, his tech, the headpiece that fits so perfectly around the back of his skull that Yoongi often forgets that it’s there, hidden in his hair, unfolding across his eyes whenever he lines up a shot to make the kill—there’s evidence of your work across every inch of his body, hidden away under his clothes, day in, day out. Even when he’s not on a contract Yoongi never leaves anything to chance. 
(A walking armoury, Namjoon had called him once.)
(You’d phrased it differently.
You’re always packing, hmm? you’d hummed, rapping your fingernails in a steady beat as you’d leaned back in your chair, smiling with teeth. There was laughter in your words and your gaze, no attempt made to hide your amusement, but after your goading you’d made him a collapsible sword anyway. It’s a beautiful thing, this folding blade, bristling with plasma and energy if Yoongi needs it, lethal and deadly. One of his most prized possessions, something that’s gotten him out of multiple corners, and he owes it—you—his life.)
There’s no one on par with you. You’re a Renaissance woman, a fiercely talented polymath who doesn’t need to rely on anyone else to create the things you create. Low-tech, high-tech, no tech—you make everything from scratch, programme things yourself, hunched over each project in your own workshop with nothing but your mind and your own two hands.
It’s the only reason he puts up with you and your antics, the sharp jibes, the shameless flirting; you’re the most infuriating person he knows, but there’s no one else he would trust with the work that you do.
Which is why Yoongi finds himself here, again and again, as familiar with this studio as you are—he watches you work, sometimes, watches you sketch up blueprints and drag your fingers across your array of displays, your world cast in shifting shades of cyan and electric blue from all the tech in here, humming and alive. He likes to see how his equipment is made, after all. It can mean the difference between life and death. He takes this seriously.
It’s the one time you might be quiet. Might be quiet, because you still talk even when you work; flick your gaze between Yoongi and whatever’s set in front of you, that ever present smile spread across your lips, smug and amused. You’re only silent during the hardest jobs. Like right now, you’re intense and focused, a furrow dug between your brows as you survey his sniper rifle—almost shorn in two. (It had been the only thing to hand when he’d had to block a blow from a guard he’d somehow overlooked, no time to draw any other weapons before they’d started to brawl.)
You’d been unimpressed. You’d raised your eyebrows with all the severity of a disappointed mother, bitten words out at him with molten snideness, dripping heat and snark.
“It’s a gun, Yoongi. A gun. You know, something you shoot with? Pew pew? Blammo? I’m not sure what sort of shields and body armour you’ve seen in the past but this isn’t either of those things. Do you want me to sketch some diagrams up for you? Or maybe I could write you a book. Baby’s First Arsenal, Chapter One: The Difference Between Things That Are Guns And Things That Aren’t. Would that be helpful?”
No one else talks to Yoongi like that. No one else would dare. It’s only a rare few that know his birth name and it’s not often that he hears it, more used to the sound of Agust D falling off people’s lips. But that had been part of your price, part of the agreement when he’d first met you and asked for your services: his real name.
Yoongi had let it wash over him, had endured your tongue-lashing before putting the gun down with a heavy finality and thrust it over at you, tired of all your talk.
“Just fix it,” he’d demanded.
You’d laughed in his face.
“As always, your bedside manner leaves something to be desired,” you’d said, taking the rifle from him.
The D-2 Shadow isn’t just a weapon. It’s a piece of art, clean edges and slick lines, and Yoongi is grateful to have it back in his hands. There’s no other sniper rifle like it, made of super lightweight alloy and easy to handle; thermal scope, enhanced stabilisers for accuracy; superior kinetic coils for better shot penetration. Yoongi had asked for the best and you’d delivered. Gone above and beyond, crafted a weapon the likes of which no one else possesses, modified in ways other people can’t even fathom.
And you’d fixed it when he'd almost let it get destroyed. Made it better than new, even, layered it in more alloy to make it stronger without making it heavier, a new material of your own design. If he hadn’t known you as well as he does he’d have worried that it was beyond repair, knows that other gunsmiths would have taken one look at its crumpled body and shaken their heads, but you hadn’t. 
Of course you hadn’t. You never do.
You charge him a pretty penny for your work, make him pay through the nose for everything he asks of you, but Yoongi is more than willing to do so. More than capable of paying, coffers lined with more money than he might need, one of the best contract killers there is—the real price he pays is with his sanity, worn away each time you open your mouth. He can’t help but rise to your bait, as derisive as you are; it’s only the smallest things, a sharpness to his otherwise even tone, an angry spark in his eyes, but you pick up on it all.
He’s not your only customer. You don’t extend your services to many, only to the people you want to—Yoongi’s not sure what set of harebrained criteria you have that lets you choose who you’ll sell to and who you won’t but he can’t make heads nor tails of it. He knows he’s not part of your clientele because he’s got the credits to pay, nor is it because he’s one of the most highly regarded hitmen in his line of business. 
You don’t just choose people who can afford to pay or people who have a level of power and influence in this dark underworld you inhabit. You really don’t care about those things. You just pick and choose on a whim.
(Once, back when he’d first met you, Yoongi had discovered that you’d concocted an entirely new security system—practically incapable of being hacked, crawling with tech, a level of complexity even the richest elites could barely afford—for some small artist who’d worried that their paintings might get stolen. He was an unknown at the time, this V, squirrelled away in one of the dark corners in the lowest levels of the city, and you’d all but given him some of the best work you’d ever done, undercharged him something chronic.
You’d shrugged when Yoongi had asked why.
“He makes me laugh,” you’d replied.)
Yoongi isn’t your only customer but he’s certainly the only one you seem to treat the way you do. There’s a level of irreverence in everything you do, self-confidence settled across every inch of you like the obnoxious stench of a teenage boy’s body spray, but you seem to take particular pleasure in Yoongi’s displeasure. He’d brought Namjoon along, once, inquiring after an imitation greenhouse, how someone might set up the tech to raise tropical plants that wouldn’t survive otherwise (mostly above board, even; Namjoon might grow illicit plants, poisonous and prohibited, but he likes pretty flowers, too). And there had been none of the mocking that Yoongi receives. None of the wind ups. You’d been pleasant, despite your incessant snark, agreeing to take the job with a smile on your face that Yoongi never gets given.
(It had been infuriating, to know that you’re capable of not being an ass, but you just choose not to be. For fun.)
Yoongi really, really doesn’t like you, but he respects your work. Respects you, even if he’d never admit it out loud.
You keep your word. You don’t supply his competitors, although you claim it’s not loyalty to him and it’s only because they can’t pay as well as he does—winnings go to the highest bidder, you’d said sagely, as obtuse and irritating as always. 
But Yoongi knows other sellers will provide anyone who’s willing to pay, freelancers who peddle their wares regardless of affiliation or alliances. You’re beholden to no one and yet Yoongi knows you would never double cross him. Never supply anyone who challenges his work, even if they have the money, even if he’s on good terms with them (it’s not personal, it’s business; Yoongi has no issue with other hired killers as long as they stay out of his way). He knows he can rely on you, which is something to be treasured in these back-crossing back-stabbing backstreets.
So when he makes his way to your door, the details of a new contract still fresh in his mind, he instantly comes to a stop.
There’s something off. He can tell immediately, years of instinct causing the hairs on the back of his neck to rise, every part of him on edge. Everything looks normal, is normal, but there’s a burning in his gut that has Yoongi’s finger itching for the trigger even though there’s nothing to shoot. 
You’ve granted him the privilege of access to your workshop, to the other rooms, entered the scans of his hand and eye and voice into the security systems, keep him updated on the varying passwords you cycle through, so he can enter whenever he needs to. 
(He’s woken you up on more than one occasion, roused you from sleep for last minute supplies before he leaves for another contract, appearing in the dead of night like a spectre of death, clothing dark and eyes darker, overflowing with weaponry. A looming silhouette edged in strokes of cyan and magenta from the ever present, low-level neon light in your room, so much darker than the bright lights of your workshop. Intimidating. 
And you always just roll your eyes and sigh and tell him to keep a better eye on his cache of equipment and climb out of bed for him. You’re so at odds to him in your sleep rumpled clothing and mussed hair, still unafraid even when he’s fully geared and ready to kill; shirt slipping off your shoulder, swathes of bare skin in the place of Yoongi's all-encompassing outfit, shimmering black light tattoos visible on your legs and arms and bare skin of your collarbones, geometric lines in the palest of blues and greens. You hand over whatever he needs and tell him the creds he owes you.
“I’ve already given you a key to my apartment and you haven’t even taken me for dinner once,” you sigh—dramatic and melodramatic—even as you hand over a bundle of crossbow bolts. The synthesised toxin inside the darts is your own concoction, of course, courtesy of the plant matter provided from Namjoon’s greenhouse.
“I’d literally rather be shot in the head than willingly spend time with you,” he replies.
“You wanna fuck me so bad it makes you look stupid,” you say, and just laugh in the face of his unimpressed deadpan. As insufferable as always.)
So he doesn’t need your permission to enter. He’s silent, light-footed as he makes his way inside, scanning each inch of this familiar interior; nothing’s wrong, not yet, but Yoongi can sense something in the air. Something heavy, settled bitter on his tongue, coating the back of his throat.
And then he walks into your workshop.
You’re meticulous. Even when you’re overrun with gear, with parts that have yet to be used, everything has its place. You prefer paper over datapads, too, tack sheets of designs and notes up on the wall, have clipboards and stacks of sheets set neatly in their place, a throwback to a time before tech ruled everything. Yoongi knows the layout of this room as well as he knows his own home, a mental map of straight lines and unwavering coordinates with you in the centre of it all.
Upheaval. Those neat lines of organised cartography have been pulled apart. Ham-handed work, to be sure, more of a statement than anything else; intent to instil fear rather than to destroy (although, Yoongi sees now that one of the monitors has been smashed, display sparking white and blue as it bleeds out electricity.). Even in the darkness of the room—overhead lights off and only emergency lighting on, painting things in shades of dark crimson and pink—Yoongi can tell that whichever interlopers have done this are already gone. The room is empty.
Then the sound of a clatter breaks the silence and Yoongi’s already got his pistol out, drawn without a thought as he approaches the sound that comes from the back room, fleet-footed and silent as he raises the gun and rounds the corner—
And sees you at the end of the barrel.
There’s a first aid kit on the floor. Packs of medi-gel and rolls of bandages and other supplies scattered around your feet. You haven’t even spotted Yoongi yet, in despair at the mess in front of you; he’s never seen you like this, never seen anything other than your veneer of enraging smugness and never-ending energy.
You flinch even as your head snaps around, eyes wide—but the second you see Yoongi you visibly relax, even though he’s still holding a gun in your direction.
There’s a bruise blossoming across your left cheek.
“Ah, Yoongi.” The smile that paints itself across your lips is almost convincing despite the dark flower that’s unfolding on your skin, blood rising to the surface and painting it in hues of pain; you wince, a little, when the smile makes your wound ache. Soldier onwards as you act as though nothing is wrong. “I know you’re always desperate for my attention but do you mind giving me a second? I’m kind of indisposed at the moment.”
Yoongi’s lips are set in a thin line. He only has one question on his mind.
“Who did this to you?”
Your gaze flickers before you break eye contact, staring at the first aid supplies on the floor. “What, this? Have you never dropped something before?”
Yoongi ignores your deflection. It only takes a few moments to reholster the pistol, to step over to you, to grasp your chin and tilt your face towards him.
“Who did this to you?”
Yoongi’s tone is quiet and low, firm and undeniable. For the first time since he’s met you it seems as though you’re lost for words, lips parted around a silent sound of surprise as you’re subjected to the full force of Yoongi’s gaze, cutting through you; past every layer of self-inflated narcissism you put on, past every deflection you might make.
There's a beat of silence.
And then you slowly but irrevocably fold underneath the weight of his stare.
You let him lead you, sit you down, bowing to his hands and his directions. You’re silent throughout, lips an unfamiliar shape as they’re pulled down into the slightest of frowns. He’s only ever seen you smile, seen you laugh, self-assured. Never like this.
You seem surprised, startled when he sits across from you and cracks open a pack of medi-gel. Yoongi’s surprised too, although he doesn’t show it, lets his instincts take over and settles into auto-pilot as he reaches for your face. He’s never seen your eyes so round, so wide, watching the hand that descends on your cheek with all the single-minded intent of a man about to fillet a fish—careful and practiced but menacing, maybe. (He doesn’t like you but you don’t deserve to have been hurt and Yoongi can’t just stand by and not help.)
And you don’t shy away. You stare at him as he stares at his fingers, layers the gel evenly across the pain of your bruise, cool and soothing.
It’s only when he’s reached for more medi-gel and touched your cheek for the second time that you finally speak.
“It was one of the Tang cousins.”
Yoongi goes still, fingers resting across your skin, slick with purple gel. 
“One of the cousins?”
Yoongi doesn’t like you. But—and God knows what he did wrong in a previous life for this to be true—you’re one of his inner circle, one of the very, very few people he trusts. You’re not friends and he doesn’t like you, but he owes you, owes you a hundred times over, owes you for every successful kill, every silent infiltration, every averted detection. All thanks to your tech and the work you put into it for him. He’s indebted to you.
Yoongi always pays his debts.
“I didn’t even catch his name.” You sound dismissive. Normally you’d laugh, deride the person you’re speaking about, but instead you just sound tired. “One of the low down ones. New kid on the block; someone I didn’t recognise, with some lackeys or similar. Trying to make a name for himself, I think. He demanded that I build weapons for him. I said no.”
The Tang family is a big one, a criminal empire that has its tendrils dug in everywhere. You don’t deal with them, have no interest throwing your lot in with them intentionally or not; it’s a big, formidable family, but it’s not the only one around. You’d be dumb to get involved in that mess of generational, cross-family conflict. You’ll sell things to the highest bidder, shift illicit high-tech stock, build generic modifications that people can buy—but you don’t make bespoke weaponry for just anyone.
You don’t even sell to the heads of the Tang family directly, let alone to some back-alley sewer rat who probably barely has the faintest ties to the family, a single vein of Tang blood in his body, just enough to give him an in.
Whoever this cousin was he must be really fucking stupid to not know that. Stupid to think he could demand anything from you. Stupid to think he could hurt you when you laughed in his face and said no. Anyone with half a brain-cell should know not to fuck with you, know that it’s an honour to even be allowed inside your workshop, that to be told ‘no’ by you is a privilege.
Stupid to think that he wasn’t going to pay for that stupidity.
The pack of medi-gel is empty, the deflated pouch forgotten on Yoongi’s knee as he stares at you. The flecks of biomatter in the gel catch the light, sparkling like glitter in the lavender that’s seeping into your skin; all the surprise is gone from your eyes and instead you’re just watching him, stolid and steady. Analytical.
(You’re smart. Yoongi knows you are. For all that you talk shit and play foolish, he never forgets about that fierce intelligence. Never underestimates you or how perceptive you are. He only wonders what’s on your mind right now; what it is that you see in front of you.)
“Next time don’t let someone in unless you’re certain you’re going to sell to them.”
You scoff in his face. “Alright, Dad. Do you want to update my curfew while you’re at it? Make it ten p.m. instead of eleven?”
Yoongi blinks slowly. You’ve got both eyebrows raised, surveying him with a mixture of amusement and disbelief that he’s trying to tell you what to do (because no one tells you what to do; they wouldn't dare). But you don’t pull away, your knees still touching his, body bowed towards him from when he’d coaxed you closer so he could reach your face—so he knows you don’t mind. Not really.
(Knows you don’t care about anyone’s opinions or rules, only sticking to your own. The fact you’d been shaken from that place of confidence by some thug—even for a moment—doesn’t sit right in Yoongi’s belly. That bitter taste is back in his throat and it’s ice cold, icicles prickling through his blood.)
(He doesn’t like you but you’re one of his people and no one fucks with Yoongi’s people.)
The bruise is still there days later, after you’ve rearranged your workshop back to the way it was, sourced a new monitor to replace the one that was broken. You’re back to smirking, already ready for his request, more bullets for his weapons and super-charged plasma to recharge his sword, but the bruise is a stark reminder of what you’ve been through. So is, too, the new blueprint he spies half finished on your open displays: an automated security system that scans thermal signatures, guns unfolding from the ceiling whenever aggressive movement is detected from an unfamiliar person. Anyone who’s not listed as familiar in the security logs. 
(Yoongi used to wonder about that. Why you didn’t have security mechs set in place, programming their AI to protect you, but you don’t like to use mechs. Don’t like to use them, even if you could afford to build them, because you compare it to forced servitude. You’ve never needed them before now, anyway. Safe in your reputation, knowing that you’re in a position of power, that people come here because they know you’re the best of the best.)
(But it seems like you don’t trust that any more. Don’t feel safe.)
Yoongi keeps as silent as always, bites his tongue when you cut him off mid-sentence with nothing more than a raised finger.
“Ah, ah, ah,” you tut, wagging the finger back and forth like the slow pendulum of a grandfather clock. “No more crafting requests. I’m still working on the concentration mod you asked for and I’ll let you know when it’s ready. I don't rush for anyone. Patience is a virtue, baby. Did no one ever tell you that?”
“Don’t call me baby.”
“Okay, handsome.” Your reply is instant, unruffled, and Yoongi grits his teeth. 
But still. For all that you’re acting like normal, workshop set back into place, white lighting shining overhead, as neat and presentable as always—Yoongi can read uncertainty in the way you move. Discomfort. You don’t feel safe in your own space and it’s obvious, even if you don’t realise it.
“Come back any time,” you say coyly, and Yoongi, as always, ignores you. Transfers the creds he owes you in silence before he takes one last look at the bruise that’s still painted across your skin, dark eyes touching yours for the briefest moment before he turns and leaves.
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For the first time since you met, Yoongi buys from someone who isn’t you.
It’s not bad. Well made, decent tech, Predator pistol sitting easy in his hands when he brings it to the light and watches it unfold from its holstered state, the way plasma bursts to life in the barrel; weaker than bullets but easier to reload in the field. It’s no surprise that the Yeom family gets their stuff sourced from here. The body armour, too, isn’t bad, engraved with the family crest and cast in their colours.
It’s not bad, but it’s not as good as it could be. Not as good as Yoongi needs his tech to be, demands it to be—but quality doesn’t matter. Not today. He has a job to do.
It’s easy to find his mark. Scum gathers in stagnant water, in the dirtiest and dankest places, and this is where Yoongi finds Tang Lee. Finds him spilling beer and money in the backroom of some grimy strip club where the holograms flicker from age and the strippers are tired, trying their best to scrape a living from the seething riverbed of filth that runs underneath the bright neon lights of the skyscrapers in the levels above.
Lee isn’t alone but it’s so easy to take them out it’s laughable, men drunk from cheap alcohol; Yoongi catches one in a chokehold, smashes another’s face into the glass table with enough force it shatters, faces Lee once they’re the only two standing. The music outside is too loud and the room is sound proofed for privacy and so Yoongi isn’t interrupted as he brings Lee to his knees, thrusting his face into a smear of blood that drips from his now-broken nose, courtesy of a quick jab of Yoongi’s right fist.
It’s not a quick kill. It could be. Yoongi could have ended this in moments, caught Lee off guard and ended his miserable life almost effortlessly—but he doesn’t. He takes his time, makes it count, teaches him a lesson, has Lee on his hands and knees as he sobs out apologies and snivels for mercy before he takes the pistol and blows his brains out. Yoongi doesn’t feel sorry for the man, eyes the body impassively, not even worth his disgust—he only feels sorry for whoever finds the chaos of the room and the bodies inside, the distinct plasma burns he purposefully leaves in the wall with the Predator pistol, the entire scene he’s created here: a scuffle gone wrong, fast.
You’re not the only person Tang Lee has crossed but you’ll be the last. Yoongi checks the pulses of the other two men, finds one dead and the other still alive, barely, just like he’d planned—and his work is done. It’s the Yeom family’s problem now, any fall out from Lee’s death pointed at them, a repayment of a slight Lee had made to a Yeom supplier only a few weeks ago. (Yoongi wagers that neither family will care, will draw a veil over this moment and let this settle without raising arms, no one important enough to go to war over.)
He discards the pistol and armour once he’s done, incinerates it all, no interest in keeping subpar equipment. It’s not even worth dismantling for parts. Hoseok finds him in their basement, eyeing the blue flames that lick their way around the discarded armaments; he just watches Yoongi, inscrutable and calm as he eyes the blood on the clothing before it bursts into flames.
“Not a contract,” Hoseok says. (It’s not a question.)
“A job.” Yoongi replies, watches the cloth turn to ash through the thrumming display of the incinerator. “Something that needed to be done.”
He doesn’t tell anyone what he’s done. There’s no point in it. Yoongi decides something needs to be done and he’ll do it, whether that’s building a new chair for Jungkook after he broke his old one or killing a man who hurt you.
The next time he sees you your bruise is practically gone, faded into your skin. You’re intent on something on a monitor but when you notice him you turn, swivelling in your chair in one smooth motion as you lean back and put your hands behind your head, cross one leg over the other, dripping self-satisfaction, your smile sharp and full of teeth.
“Ah, Yoongi.” You look so smug that Yoongi has to resist the urge to roll his eyes. “Welcome, once again, to my laboratory. Is this visit for business or pleasure? Either way, you know I'm happy to oblige.”
“I’m here for the mod you promised me,” he says bluntly, and you just keep smiling, even as you hold out a hand for the sniper rifle, handling the D-2 Shadow with as much reverence as Yoongi does as you affix the mod.
It’s perfect, of course. All that Yoongi asked for and more. The software links with his eyepiece, biometric sensors that help him find his target, software to adjust to his pulse and breathing.
“You can even change the colour of the HUD,” you say, as if it’s some sort of buy-one-get-one-free offer, some fun little feature, rather than another helpful piece of software that you’ve created. Dismissive. An afterthought.
(You act like you take nothing seriously. Yoongi is your stark opposite, weighing everything in his hands and treating it with the level of attention it deserves, intent and focused.)
He’s staring down the scope when you speak once more. Light and easy, for once, rather than loud with your usual exaggerated exuberance or silken with unnecessary suggestiveness.
“I hear that they found a Tang family member dead.”
Yoongi just hums in response. Keeps his eye on the scope, wills the colour from dark green to white using the affinity link he has synced with his headpiece, watches the lines of the heads up display of the scope repaint themselves without even a single flicker, transition smooth and effortless. (Perfection.)
“It seems like the Yeom family did it,” you say, tone still conversational.
“Is that so.” Yoongi sounds disinterested, face impassive as he draws the gun away from his face, eye piece automatically folding away from his eyes. “Can I ask about other mods now that this one is finished?”
One of your brows rises, a perfect curve of discontent. “Say thank you first, Yoongi.”
Yoongi’s eyes cut into yours but you don’t back down, watch his blank face as he eventually says: “Thank you. Now I need more mods.”
You throw your head back as you laugh. “You’re insatiable,” you say, but you don’t say no. “What do you want now?”
(It’s not that you never say no to Yoongi. Because you have, and you do, and you will. But never because you can’t make what he asks for—and only because you refuse to make things that might endanger his safety, illicit bio-mods that other hired hitmen use, things that degrade the body from the inside out.)
Yoongi’s just holstered the Shadow, ready to go, when you speak one final time.
He’s never heard you say his name like that, soft and quiet.
“Thanks.” You’re staring at him, regarding him steadily, solemn in a way that he’s never seen. You’re smiling, as always, but the expression is lightyears away from what Yoongi is used to—just the barest hint of an upturn to your lips.
Yoongi stares back at you. “I don’t know what you’re thanking me for.”
Your smile grows, a warm thing, unfurling like a flower. Almost affectionate. “Sure,” you say. “Of course. Silly me. Slip of the tongue.” And then, as if your brain’s only just caught up with what you just said, the smile turns salacious. “On the note of slipping the tongue—”
Your cascading laughter follows him on his way out, cutting and shining with amusement. 
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Yoongi’s been getting more contracts. He’s finally buckled under Jungkook’s insistent whining and has agreed to get gear for him, too, to train him how to shoot. Hoseok has more than enough contacts in the underworld to get jobs for them both—he’s the most powerful information broker around, after all, sitting in the centre of a web he’s woven after years of work, all that sharpness and darkness hidden behind his deceptively bright smile.
(Yoongi’s lucky to consider him a friend and not an enemy.)
So that’s why he’s here with increasing frequency. That’s why he finds himself at your door more often than not. To get those orders in place, to make sure they’re progressing as fast as they need to.
You never react when Yoongi steps into your workshop. Well, you do, you lean into your hand and smirk at him, pursing your lips around each snide remark, each suggestive comment—but you never question his appearance. You just go with the flow, unbothered by his presence, even when there are other people there—other customers who eye him with unveiled curiosity and confusion (some Yoongi recognises, some he doesn’t, well-known faces and unknowns alike; none of them know who he is, though, unrecognisable as Agust D without his battle gear on). Yoongi keeps a close eye on their stances, any unchecked aggression or hostility towards you. Keeps a watch on the tension of your shoulders and spine, because of… habit. Battle instinct. Nothing else.
“You know my policy, Yoongi.” You’re analysing something in your hand. It looks like an antique spyglass, something from the decades before technology overtook the world, but it’s jammed full of tech; it doesn’t just magnify to a terrifying degree, it also amplifies sound, connected to an earpiece that’s sleek and easy to overlook. ‘A small project’, you’d called it, as if it isn’t something that people would pay a fortune to own. “If I’m making something for someone I have to meet them first. If you want me to make anything for this ‘JK’ then it’s not happening until you bring him here. Just like with your friend RM.”
Yoongi is lolling by your monitors, half-asleep in your chair (which had moulded to the shape of his body the second he sat in it, designed to be too comfortable for its own good). 
“I know you can’t pull yourself away from me,” you continue, glancing up from the scope. “But you have to spend time with your friends sometimes. I know they’re not as pleasing to look at as me—”
You shift the spyglass to one hand and lean your chin on the other, regarding him with sharp eyes and an amused quirk to your lips. “I love that you think you can tell me what to do.”
Yoongi resists the urge to make a noise at the back of his throat, opting to keep mum instead.
He’s too tired to argue with you. He’d come straight after a contract, blood still on the edge of his sleeves (not his), watched the way your eyebrows had risen when you’d casually taken in the state of him before offering to wash his jacket. You know the reality of this world you both inhabit, operating in the shadows, survival paid for in blood; you might not be on the high ground, lining the shot up to take the kill, but you craft the trigger that Yoongi pulls.
(You might be aware of this reality but you’re far removed from it, shaken by violence on your own door. You never should have been faced with it. You’re an inventor; a creator. Not a killer. Not like Yoongi is. He’s not going to let that happen again. He doesn’t like you but you shouldn’t have been subject to pain—shouldn’t still have your motions edged with a held breath, as if you’re waiting for it to repeat itself. 
No matter how well you hide it, Yoongi knows that there's a part of you that's still scared.)
“I know you think you’re too important to need to remember things, but we’ve worked together for long enough that you know that I’d ask to meet JK first, Yoongi,” you say. “Did you really have to come straight after murking someone just to be reminded about that? Not complaining—you know I love seeing that pretty scowl of yours—but I just figured you’d rather be resting right now. Don't tell me the infamous Agust D missed me and decided to come here instead.”
“You were on the way.”
(He’d circled around, taken a longer route, descended into the familiar maze of the lower city. To throw off the scent of any potential pursuers. You just happened to be nearby, pure coincidence and convenience.)
You retract the spyglass, collapsing it in your hands. “Either you leave right now and go to your own place to sleep, or you’re going to sleep in my bed. Your choice.”
(If Yoongi took the time to think about it, really think about it, he’d notice that the words aren’t shrouded in suggestion or insinuation. Your brows are raised and you’re looking at him expectantly, waiting for him to decide what he’s going to do—unimpressed at how tired he is, how he’s come here instead of sliding into his own bed for the rest he so clearly needs.)
Of course, Yoongi leaves. He returns home without his jacket, strips his shirt off as soon as he’s in this safe place, this base, sheds pieces of his body armour as easy as anything (you’d designed it to be lightweight and easy to don and doff, the perfect defence for someone who relied on stealth and speed); he’s just removing the last greave when Hoseok appears, rapping his knuckles against the open door.
“You’re finally back.”
Yoongi looks up. Hoseok is dressed for work, Hope Broker persona in place, tailored suit that sits perfectly with the lines of his body, handsome and stylish and entirely put together. He oozes poise and power. Elegance.
“Yeah.” Yoongi lets the greave drop, silent as it falls to the floor. “Job’s done.”
Hoseok smiles. It’s a genuine one because it’s for Yoongi. “I know,” he says, even though scarcely any time has passed since Yoongi put a bullet in the back of the target’s skull. Nothing happens in this world of theirs without Hoseok finding out about it, always sooner rather than later. “Just wanted to check in and make sure you were okay.”
“All good.” 
“Good.” Hoseok is used to Yoongi’s blunt nature, his short responses when he’s tired. “Get some sleep.”
Hoseok’s elegant even as he adjusts his cufflinks. It’s just the briefest of moments, the crisp edge of his perfectly white sleeve contrasting with the shining silver, the design inlaid in them—but Yoongi recognises that design immediately.
Because it’s yours.
It’s the same emblem on each piece of his gear, small and understated, hidden away, easy to miss—but Yoongi knows it intimately. He doesn’t say anything. Lets Hoseok leave without a word. Each one of the men that Yoongi considers family, the tiny collection of people that stay in this same home as him, know that he only gets equipment sourced from you—but Hoseok had never mentioned that he’s been in contact with you, too. 
It’s not important. Hoseok might be his friend and a staunch ally but there’s plenty that he gets up to that none of the others are privy to, trading information to the highest bidders, head of a huge network that Yoongi can use to his advantage but isn’t technically a part of. The people Hoseok deals with—buys his information and resources from, keeps perfectly balanced in comparison to his own power—is his own business and not Yoongi’s.
Yoongi moves to gather his armour, the hardsuit he wears like a second skin, and spots that insignia that he knows so well branded into it. To have Hoseok wearing it at his wrist—the Hope Broker, renowned trader of secrets—is a statement. You could have made the cufflinks plain and unadorned. But you hadn’t.
When Yoongi climbs into bed that night, he finds that his sleep is restless.
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The smile on your face fades. “You know I don’t talk about business with other customers.”
Yoongi’s staring at you across your workbench, the light from its surface going dim as you take your hands off it, disassembled stun mine forgotten.
No one knows about his genuine friendship with Hoseok, but they do know that Agust D and the Hope Broker have an agreement; a professional working relationship. “I know the Hope Broker,” Yoongi says. 
Your eyebrows rise so far they seem to threaten to ascend into your hairline, you’re so incredulous. “Everyone does. What’s your point? Do you expect me to give you information about everyone you ask about? I get paid to keep people’s privacy, Yoongi. Do you think I sell the information of your equipment, how to dissemble every defence you have? Do you think I give your name out to everyone who asks?”
There’s no touch of amusement to the line of your lips, no sparkling irreverence in your eyes. You’re genuinely displeased.
“He’s wearing your symbol.”
You scoff. “You wear my symbol too. Why, are you jealous? Your armour has exactly the same technology. Better, even, because I can fit more tech in there.”
The cufflinks generate a kinetic barrier, then, a layer of invisible shielding that lays just atop Hoseok’s skin. But no one sees Yoongi’s armour; no one sees the workmanship of your weapons, no one except him. Your insignia isn’t emblazoned on his wrist for all to see.
Yoongi isn’t jealous.
“Hope is a powerful man,” you continue. “Everyone knows that. Even people who haven’t met him know that. Even people who aren’t sure he exists know that. If I want to sell to him then that’s my business.”
Everyone who’s anyone recognises your logo, no matter how rare it is to spot it (you only craft for a select few, after all). And Hoseok’s influence is far reaching and powerful; no one would dare cross him, dare to cross anyone who’s associated with him. 
“I’m looking for a new workshop.” You rise, moving away from your workbench to your monitors, touching a display with your fingers to bring it to life. Ignoring Yoongi’s presence, not even looking at him. “I haven’t got the space to modify the systems in this one as much as I want to. The walls are already full enough as it is. Do you know how hard it is to find somewhere with the specifications I need?”
Yoongi realises, then, why you’re doing this. The bruise is long gone and your skin is unmarred but you still don’t feel safe. You’ve always worked alone. Until now. Now you’re making moves to settle down, settle in, make a statement of allegiance to someone who can offer you a level of protection with their influence.
Someone who can offer you somewhere new, away from this inadequate place you’ve outgrown.
Hoseok laughs lightly when Yoongi asks about it, mentions it in passing as the two of them drink soju side by side, Hoseok in his suit and Yoongi girded in the armour under his unassuming clothes, both in the upper city for work; they stare down at the myriads of tall buildings and huge holo-boards and rainbow array of neon lights, far above the place they call home.
“Oh, yeah,” he says, utterly relaxed (and faintly amused). “I know you respect her work so I thought I’d reach out. I’m surprised she can make the things she does in that tiny workshop. You’re right; she’s very good.”
You are. The next time you meet, you give Yoongi his usual shipment and more besides, more than he’d ordered, reflected in the amount of creds he has to pay—because he won’t be able to just drop in for a while, your workshop dismantled and scraped empty in preparation for the move. Where to, he doesn’t know, but you say you’ll pass on the information once everything is up and running again.
“If you break any of your gear while I’m gone then you’re on your own,” you say. “I’m not shipping anything before my new workshop is finished.”
Two days later, Yoongi spies a new watch on Hoseok’s wrist. It looks low-tech, old style, metal strap and round clock face—but he sees the silhouette of your logo under those ticking hands and knows there’s more tech in there that meets the eye.
He looks away.
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It takes a week for the message to appear, encrypted: your new location. Levels above your former workshop, one of the higher strata of the lower city—still hidden and out of the way but away from the dirt and darkness. 
Yoongi goes. He finds the door panel, scans his palm, leans forward for the light to flit across his eye, murmurs a word, watches the door slide open. He’s already programmed in. New workshop, new security system, but he’s still allowed in, still one of the people you consider familiar, trustworthy. 
(He doesn’t know of anyone else who fits that category. Has only ever seen you manually allow people inside, granting your permission each time, rather than giving them free run of the place. No one has as many complex orders as he does, he’s certain. It’s for ease and practicality’s sake.)
He’s unfamiliar with the layout of this new building, first corridor already longer than he’s used to; he pauses for a moment but then hears something, faint—your laughter. Follows that sound, makes his way forward, through polished corridors with lines of light underfoot, leading him down some stairs and towards the sound of you.
Your new workshop is beautiful. There’s enough room in here for everything, no need for a backroom: a central worktable, benches lining the walls, tech displays built in, everything edged with lighting, dark surfaces shining bright, large floor panels underfoot emitting a low glow. Your former home had been that underground workshop and a locked door to a ladder to your micro apartment up top, tiny kitchen and single bed in a small room with a shower cubicle in the corner. Yoongi already knows that this building is far, far bigger, and you have more space than you’ve ever had before; you’d never been discontent with your smaller home, comfort from familiarity, until that comfort had been stripped from you.
You’re smiling. The snark woven into your words that Yoongi is used to is muted, light comment falling from your lips as you sit on that central table, perched on its edge. And Hoseok, he laughs, grinning so widely his teeth are on show—he’s wearing a suit but his jacket is resting on his shoulders, tie undone and cast around his neck. A stance of relaxation, one Yoongi’s never seen from him, not when he’s working. Not when he’s The Hope Broker and not Hoseok.
He’s still smiling when he notices Yoongi, the two of you looking over when the hitman speaks.
“Didn’t expect to see you here, Hoseok.”
That ever-present smirk freezes on your face for a split second, eyes widening at the sound of Hope’s real name. Hoseok just takes it in stride, his smile not dimming even for a second.
“Hey, Yoongi.” His greeting is as warm as it always is. “Just checking in. Have to make sure everything is up to scratch. What’s the verdict?”
You’ve hidden your surprise, wiped it off your face, eyes on Hoseok as you answer him. “It’s perfect.” A pause. “I take it you two know each other?”
“Sure. Yoongi is an old friend of mine.” Hoseok is still smiling, looking at Yoongi with creased eyes. Unafraid of revealing this information to you, still at ease despite the tension that’s bubbling in the air, Yoongi’s impassive face. Hoseok is always an unshaken pillar of positivity. “I didn’t realise he was coming. Am I interrupting an appointment?”
You stare at Yoongi. “No, you’re not. I wasn’t expecting anyone.”
(You’d sent the message less than an hour ago. Yoongi had taken one look at the address, memorised it, pulled on his jacket and headed out; clearly you hadn’t anticipated how fast his arrival would be.)
“A happy coincidence, then.” Hoseok sounds like he genuinely means it, is pleased to see Yoongi here, his smile unwavering. There’s a languid set to his body, the easing line of his spine, hands in his pockets. A glittering in his eyes. (No one ever gets the drop on Hoseok, never surprises him, catches him off guard, no matter what they do.) “But I’ll let you conduct your business and we can catch up another time.”
He takes a hand out of his pocket as he walks past Yoongi, pats his shoulder amicably. His palm is relaxed against the tense set of Yoongi’s shoulders before he ascends the stairs and disappears out of sight, the sound of his polished shoes fading until he’s gone, one of the monitors on the wall flickering to indicate the front door is shut once more.
You’re still staring at Yoongi. The atmosphere had been heavy, even with Hoseok there—and now that he’s gone there’s nothing to alleviate that pressure, nothing to dissolve the strange twist to the air.
“Who,” you start, measured but sharp, “do you think you are?”
Yoongi returns your stare, looks back at you with his dark eyes. Doesn’t respond to your question; an unnecessary, unprompted thing, razor-edged for a reason he can’t discern. 
“Can’t you hear me?” You slide off the table, stalk towards him. “I said—” you raise a hand— “who? Do? You? Think? You? Are?”
You emphasise each word with a sharp jab to Yoongi’s chest, driving your finger forward with so much force it must hurt. You keep it in place, keep it dug into the centre of his ribcage. There’s no laughter hidden in the corner of your lips. He’s annoyed you again, somehow, a familiar guest turned unwelcome interloper.
“You say that you know Hope and yet I just watched you treat him like dirt.” Your eyes are piercing, cutting through the soft frame of your curled lashes, boring straight into him. “You come into my workshop as if you’re meant to be here; like there’s something you’re owed. Do you want me to treat you like a child, send you to your room? Not let you back in here? Because I will.”
“You sent me your address,” Yoongi points out.
You let out a bark of laughter. “Please.” Your hand drops back to your side and you turn, stepping away. “I’ve sent this address to all my business associates. I can’t sell or buy unless people can find me. You’re the only one who’s taken this as an invitation to just turn up and waltz in. At least when Hope turns up he warns me beforehand. Oh, and he doesn’t say stuff like he’d rather blow his own brains out than be forced to see me. I know you just love being contrary but has it ever occurred to you to be more polite to people? You’d make a terrible waiter. You’d get fired on your first day.”
You’re in front of one of your cabinets. You reach inside for something, hefting it in your hands before returning, handling it in a way that’s completely unceremonious, dropping it to the bench at his side like you want to be rid of it. Like you don’t even want to hand it directly to him, to interact with him. “There. Nothing but a pleasure doing business with you, Yoongi, even if your customer service still needs improving.”
It looks like a flat, hexagonal panel, the same colour and material as his armour. Something to be locked into it, wired in, trailing veins of unattached tech spilling from it. He’s seen you working on this for a while, seen you draw up blueprints with a bruise fresh on your cheek, seen it turned in your hands as that mark had faded and left your skin. 
It’s not something he ordered.
“What is this?”
You wave a dismissive hand. “Auto medi-gel distributor. It syncs with your armour and senses when you’ve been hurt and disperses gel in the affected area. Your armour’s always been too lightweight to have extra mods on but I’ve been working on this for a while.”
It’s an astonishing piece of tech. Usually one that’s reserved for heavier armour, restricting and hard to move in but easier to mod—but this thing is slim, compact, the same technology crammed into a smaller package without losing any of its punch. He doesn’t know what materials you’ve had to use to circumvent this, the level of tech you’ve layered into this, the amount of time and thought you’ve put into this.
“How much is it?”
The wrong thing to say. The smile that spreads itself across your lips is an echo of its usual curve, brittle and flaking around the edges, a baring of teeth.
“It’s a gift, Yoongi. Usually when someone does something for you, you return the favour.” Your lips are still upturned but your eyes are unsmiling even when your tone seems whimsical and light. You’ve got on your usual flippant façade, but there’s a pointed undercurrent to it. “You know, I don’t understand you at all. You remind me that you don’t like me but then you always hang around. You kill someone who threatened me and pretend that you didn’t do it. You say you don’t like me, but I thought you at least respected me, and yet here you are. Lying to me and treating me like I'm a fool.”
“I do respect you,” Yoongi says. 
(Because he does, and as much as he would hate to inflate your ego, he doesn’t shy away from telling the truth.)
“Sure you do.” An unimpressed eye-roll, cutting under his words, knocking his feet out from underneath him. You don’t care to believe him. “This is my fault for not treating you the same as all my other business associates.  Next time you come in you’ll have to have an appointment, just like everyone else. It’ll minimise the amount of time we have to spend together.”
Yoongi doesn’t like you. He finds, though, that he likes the sound of this even less; finds it pulling at his brows, his mouth, impassive expression turned to one of disapproval.
And his mouth opens. The word falls from his lips before he has a chance to think—years of battle intuition, years of following instinct, moving as he needs to in the moment.
A raise of the brows. A purse of the lips. Incredulous. “No?” you parrot it back, mocking. “Oh, okay, sure. Never mind. You’re welcome to come in whenever you want and act like you have free rein of the place. There’s nothing I enjoy more than your scowling presence.”
Sharp tongued, sharp eyed, narrowed at him: a confrontation. For all that you needle him you never mean it, really (even if it’s still infuriating, aggravating). But right now? Right now each of your words is barbed, your sarcasm a defence, an offence. You’re running your mouth not just to rile him, but to ward him away. 
“You’re really not as smart as you think you are, Min Yoongi.” You wield his name like a weapon. “You tell me right now why I should listen to you. What do you come here for? And don’t say it’s for my work because it stopped being just that a long time ago. And if it is just for my work then take it and go. Then I’ll take you off the security system and we’ll only see each other as much as is strictly necessary. In fact, you could pass your orders along via Hope—then we won’t have to even see each other at all. ”
“And then he’ll be the only one allowed free rein?”
It comes out before he’s even really thought about what he’s saying, which isn’t like him at all. Yoongi is two parts: pure, honed instinct, and careful, wary vigilance. He’s not like you, saying the first thing that comes to mind—not normally, anyway—but the words jump from his lips, from some near-silent part of him that balks at the idea. Of Hoseok stepping into your space the way that Yoongi does, appearing without warning, to be greeted with a curled smirk and glittering eyes.
“You’re a fucking idiot if you think that you’re not the only person with security clearance. My God. You’re infuriating. Seriously? I didn’t realise you were genuinely this dense. You’re the only one I’ve ever allowed in without prior agreement.” You emphasise this statement with another jab to his chest, your finger a sharp knife that cuts into him as you stab it forwards.
He catches your wrist. His grasp is firm but there’s no pressure to it; doesn’t squeeze, doesn’t tighten his fingers, just holds you in place. You’re staring at him with a challenge in your eyes, one that he finds himself rising to match, never one to back down.
“Is that so?”
Your hand unfurls, fingers splayed across his chest; he’s still holding your wrist, shifting with your movement. “Don’t be obtuse.” An irritated exhale. “Normally you complain whenever I talk and now you’re trying to get me to repeat myself. Again with the inconsistency, Yoongi. Make up your mind.”
He could do what you do whenever you’re feeling particularly aggravating. Play dumb, ask more questions, drag out the interaction until you’re bordering on snapping—but he doesn’t. He looks at the set of your jaw, the way you’re staring at him. Unflinching. You’ve never been scared of him, and you aren’t now, not with how he’s got a hold of you, how close he is to you.
He toes the line. Shifts closer. Notes the way your pupils dilate, how the tips of your fingers dig into the fabric of his shirt; how the air grows heavier, a frisson of electricity crackling through it. Yoongi doesn’t like you, but he likes that feeling—how the tension in the air shivers from indignation into something different.
Because you’re still staring at him, and there’s still that hard set to your jaw, but there’s not just anger in your eyes. There’s that warm thing he’s grown used to seeing, smouldering in near silence until he’d coaxed it to full flame, thrown gasoline onto the coals when he’d shot plasma into the back of Tang Lee’s skull. He’d protected you even though he hadn’t needed to, doesn’t need to, but does anyway—because he trusts you and there’s no one else he trusts to keep you safe.
And there’s no one else you trust, either.
“You talk too much,” Yoongi says, like he so often does—but there’s no irritation in it, touched instead with a simmering heat, the faintest edge of a bite.
You tilt your head. There’s a provocation etched into the twist of your mouth, the way your lips lift. Because no matter how much you needle him, dig your fingernails into every crack of his armour and twist—no matter how annoying you are, how angry you make him—you know that he’s not mad. Not really. Not in a way that makes you afraid, but in a way that thrills you, makes you want to see him snap, to wipe away that level facade he maintains.
“Maybe you should shut me up, then,” you reply, a murmur. A challenge.
A beat. Yoongi’s fingers tighten around your wrist. A warning.
And in response?
You just smile.
The way your eyes widen just seconds later is delicious, though, when Yoongi lets go of your wrist—because he’s moving faster than you expected. Your surprise melts into delight, a spark of glee that says you’ve gotten exactly what you want when Yoongi threads his fingers in your hair, tilting your head back to bare the column of your throat. He holds you firmly in place, crowds you back against the workbench so hard its edge must be digging almost painfully into your back but not once does that glee dim, written over every line of your smile, eyes bright and teeth sharp.
Yoongi likes to take things slow. There’s the part of him that never steps into a situation without knowing every angle, every escape route, each one of his kills planned meticulously. But, he thinks, the two of you have been waiting long enough, and he’s never been patient around you—has found his composure worn thin faster than anywhere else, by anyone else. It’s this part of him, frayed into non-existence by you, that rises to the surface now, makes him move as quick as he does.
And you respond just the way he knew you would. When he presses his mouth to yours you kiss him back like you have a point to make (you always do), fast and almost reckless, all lips and teeth and tongue. There’s no finesse to it. When he presses his tongue into your mouth you part your lips so prettily, let him take his fill, slide your tongue against his and tilt your head to get even deeper—and just like always, you're vocal, letting out small noises that are caught and muffled in the kiss, lust filled. But when you try to nip at his lip with the edge of your teeth Yoongi tightens his grip in your hair and swallows down your gasp before he pulls away, holding you in place so you can’t chase after his mouth. Your lips are kiss swollen and under the bright lights above they shine, slightly parted, pupils blown as you stare at him. 
(You look good like this.)
Your eyes slide shut when Yoongi lowers his lips to your neck, across your throat. There’s nothing gentle about it. He moves with single-minded intent, lips and teeth harsh against your sensitive skin—and you take it all, little sounds falling from your lips as Yoongi drags his teeth towards the hollow of your neck. And when he takes his hand from your hair, takes both hands and digs his fingers into your waist and lifts you, you go so easily; a mimicry of your earlier position when he’d stepped in, perched on the edge of the table. Legs spread so Yoongi can stand between them. He’d be surprised at how pliant you are if it wasn’t so obvious that this is exactly what you want: lifting your hips so he can strip your lower half bare. 
Your bare thighs press against the surface of the workbench, tech displays coming alive under your body heat. You’ve shrugged your cropped jacket off and you’re just reaching for your top when Yoongi stops you; splays a hand in the centre of your chest and presses you back, slow but undeniable. You’re not the one setting the pace. He is. He’s the one in control, with you spread out in front of him, only a thin layer of fabric keeping you from being completely bare—thin cotton underwear, dark and damp between your legs, betraying your arousal.
“Wet,” Yoongi murmurs.
Your retort stutters on your lips when he drags his fingers upwards over your slit, barely dulled by the material in the way. “No shit,” you say, and then suck in a breath when he presses the pad of his thumb across your clit.
It’s no good, the fact you’re still talking. But that’s okay. Yoongi’s planning on changing that.
It’s lewd, the way your legs are spread, parting further at the urging of his hands. Your hands slide across the bench, papers scattering, palms flat on the work surface and white light shimmering on dark blue in reaction to your touch; an unnecessary distraction that you both ignore. There’s nothing graceful about this, the peel of underwear away from your core, already slick even with the barest of attentions; he drags his fingers down the inside of your thighs, all that soft skin, and then under, urging your hips up and towards his mouth. No foreplay to this foreplay, no dragging out this moment—he bites at that soft skin of your inner thigh, sinks his teeth into it and listens to the way you gasp in surprise—and before you have a moment to ground yourself, he presses his mouth to your cunt.
You’re wet and warm under his tongue and the smell of you surrounds him, musky and heavy, and he feels how your entire body goes tense as you arch your back. He’d normally take his time with this, have you strung out and begging, but he has different plans today—knows exactly what he wants from this, sucking your clit between his lips and feeling your thighs tighten around his head, legs slung over his shoulders as he listens to the way you moan. Each sound shudders out from your mouth like you tried so desperately to keep it in but couldn’t help it. Yoongi loves eating pussy anyway but this is even better, the way all your witty ripostes die in your throat before you can shape them on your lips, turned into breathy gasps instead. 
The taste of you fills his mouth and it’s so fucking good. You’ve been watching him, how his head moves between your legs, but he can tell you’re close; you’ve given up, eyes shut as you lean into the sensation building up in you, and Yoongi thinks he likes you better like this. Forced into speechlessness under his hands and tongue. Your pretty mouth softened from sharpness into urging noises of pleasure. He slides one arm across your stomach and holds you in place, a hard line that you can’t overpower and you’re left squirming in place, hips trying to kick up each time he draws his tongue over your slit, every part of you sloppy with your own arousal and Yoongi’s spit, flushed and lovely. One of your hands is in his hair and you’re pulling, pulling hard, unaware of how tight your grip is as you try to buck your hips and sob. 
You’re so sensitive, and it only takes one, two fingers pressing into you and curling just right as Yoongi slides his tongue over your clit before you’re cumming, hot around his fingers as you come apart all wet and messy. He’s never seen you so undone, back arched as you ride out your orgasm, hair swept away from your forehead as you throw your head back. Keeps his mouth open on you, feels you under his tongue, until you’re flopped on your back and your chest is heaving, legs untensed and loose over his shoulders.
You shift an arm. Your fingers barely brush the medi-gel mod you’d made him, a loose sheet of paper sliding away and joining the others on the floor.
“Just moved in and it’s already a mess,” Yoongi says, and he doesn’t just mean the paper; fingers and chin and mouth covered in your slick, your core soaked. He’s still knuckle deep and when he curls his fingers again your entire body jolts, your mouth parting almost wantonly before you seem to struggle back to reality, surfacing from a haze of arousal and post orgasmic bliss.
“That’s your fault,” you say, voice weaker than usual. “I’ll send you the cleaning bill.”
“Mm. Not my fault you’re a messy girl.”
“Fuck you.” The blunt words are softened by your breathlessness, your bonelessness; the way your breath catches in your throat when he calls you a messy girl, even if you try to hide it. Trying not to let him in on exactly how much power he holds in this moment. 
“I was planning on it,” Yoongi says, as calm as ever, even if arousal is simmering through his veins and gathering in his gut—has been this entire time, the taste of you on his tongue and the heat of you under his lips and the sound of you in his ears. “Want to make your workshop even messier?”
You dig your balls of your feet into his back, legs still over his shoulders. His fingers shift inside you and you shiver. “I don’t think so,” you say. “Bedroom.”
“So you’re giving me a tour, then?”
You don’t dignify him with a response, although the noise you make when he finally pulls his fingers out of you is more than enough to satisfy him. He’s still fully dressed and you’re only half so, and it would be comical if the sight of your bare legs and slick on your inner thighs wasn’t so hot, barefoot on the glowing and pristine (papers notwithstanding) floors as you reach for his hand and lift it to your lips, sucking his fingers into your mouth and licking your arousal off his fingers with your tongue, warm and wet, before you grab his wrist and pull. 
He watches the movement of your hips as you lead him, your bare ass. Shameless as ever. Confident in yourself, even now. It’s not until you’ve stepped over the threshold and into your new bedroom that your tattoos become visible, as bright as the low lights in the room, those geometric lines and stylised circuitry on your legs shifting as you step forwards.
Even with the relative darkness Yoongi immediately notices something. Cast over the back of a chair near the bed, there’s his jacket, blood stains at the edge of the sleeves gone. Cleaned. Yoongi shifts his hand so you don’t have your fingers wrapped around his wrist any more. Instead he’s the one shackling you, holding you in place as you look over your shoulder.
“Were you ever going to return that to me?” He tilts his head at the chair. 
You pause. Glance over. Look back at him, all amusement and provocation, recovered from your earlier breathlessness. “But Yoongi, I get so cold.”
There’s something about the idea of you in his clothes, clothes that you know he’s worn when he’s been getting his hands dirty—he ignores the curl to your lips and moves you towards the bed, ignoring the sound of your self satisfied laughter when he reaches for your shirt and pulls, with you lifting your arms to help him, grinning at him the whole time. Even when he’s thrown your bra aside and kicked his boots off and pushed you onto the mattress, trapped you underneath him, completely naked against his completely clothed body you’re still smiling, like the cat who got the cream.
You’re stunning. There’s no doubt about it. You always have been, annoyingly so, even when Yoongi’s wanted to wring your neck; not just because you’re pretty but because you’re intelligent and confident and in control, staring up at him without a lick of fear or concern, even now. Never with him, never. He can see your tattoos in all their glory, nothing hidden away from his gaze; he sees one he hasn’t been able to see before, a sunflower bursting across your ribcage, curved under the swell of your breast, glowing red and orange in the midst of all your other cyan and teal lines, glowing in the black light. He’s pressing you down, trapped under his body, and you’re just waiting. Waiting and still smiling, smirking, letting him take you in, preening under his attention.
He wants to eat you alive.
So he does just that. Shifts back down the mattress on his knees, keeping his hands on you, pulling his hands down the easing lines of your ribs and waist and hips, before a firm tug has you lifting up—your smug facade shakes when you’re left with only your shoulders and head against the bed, the rest of your body pulled towards Yoongi’s waiting mouth once more, held in place with fingers that dig into your hips, thighs soft against his ears, your hands scrabbling at the linen underneath you when Yoongi’s lips press into the crease of your thigh, off balance.
“Safeword?” He murmurs into your skin, and you pause.
“Hoseok,” you answer, and Yoongi responds by biting into your thigh again, soothing it with his tongue when you squeal.
You’re still wet from before, slick with cum, and Yoongi doesn’t hesitate before he dives back in. He can hear more than he can see the way your fingers curl into your sheets and rumple them in your hands, anchored helplessly into place by Yoongi’s mouth and the fingers cupped under your ass, digging into the soft skin, undignified and at his mercy. 
“Yoongi!” You gasp, almost a whimper as a breath gets caught in your throat. “Y-Yoongi—”
You’re so helpless like this. It’s a little hard for Yoongi to breathe, your legs tightening around him, but it’s worth it for the way he can see you shaking apart. He presses his tongue as deep into you as he can, sucks your swollen pearl between his lips and circles it with his tongue, notices the way you jolt at those wet kisses, still sensitive from before, and he doesn’t let up. Keeps going and going and going until you’re gasping for air, sensations rippling through your body as you buck and writhe; you’re trying to keep yourself together, he can tell, but you’re unravelling, smirk wiped off your face and your mouth in a pretty little circle whenever you choke out oh, oh.
You cum faster than he expects, shoulders lifting away from the mattress as you arch your back so far it must hurt and tighten your legs and he feels the way your pussy throbs under his tongue, practically gushing when you reach your peak. Your eyes are unfocused when they flutter back open but you’re reaching for him, for the waistband of his trousers, trying to touch the hard length of his cock—he’s been ignoring it, how he’s leaked so much precum he can feel how wet it is in his boxer-briefs.
He keeps ignoring it now. He catches your hands, stops you in place, stares you down with an unimpressed tilt to his brows.
“What,” he says levelly, “do you think you’re doing?”
“Want you in my mouth,” you say. You seem almost desperate for it, fingers flexing in his hold, letting your tongue linger against your lips longer than necessary. “I want your cock in my mouth, Yoongi.”
He tightens his grip around your wrists. And then, for the first time all night, he smiles.
You look stunned. Just for a moment. Then you’re squirming in his hold, but you’re trapped, nowhere to go. “What do you mean, no?”
Yoongi’s still smiling, mirroring the self satisfaction that had been written all over your face earlier. “I mean no. You don’t get what you want. You get what you’re given.”
There’s nothing he’d like more than to sink into that wet heat, to see your smart mouth put to good use, lips spread over his cock, but this is better. Seeing the genuine frustration and disbelief written across your features. 
He doesn’t give you time to line up another angered retort on your tongue. Doesn’t give you time to breathe before he’s flipping you over, the wings of your shoulder blades and curve of your spine emphasised by the lines that are traced symmetrically and shining across your skin. They shift when you move, hips lifted from the mattress by Yoongi’s hands, on your hands and knees as he fumbles his waistband and zipper and pulls his cock free. He’s painfully hard, flushed head with precum that beads at the tip, and when he tugs you back he watches the way the head drags across the curve of your ass, leaving a shining line of wetness on your skin.
And when he sinks into you he barely gives you time to adjust, barely has time to adjust himself, to all this hot tight wetness after his cock’s gotten no attention at all—you let out a moan that almost sounds like you’re singing, long and high with pleasure, the slide eased from all your cum.
 You take it so well, always so good to him no matter how irritating you are, so lost in the sensations that you don’t say anything about the hard edges of Yoongi’s clothes whenever he drives his hips forward and it presses into the soft skin of your thighs. It’s messy and choppy and fast and you slump onto your elbows, entire body shaking as you take everything Yoongi is giving you. Caged underneath him when he follows you forwards, presses his front to your back, feels the way the sweat on your skin is caught against the fabric of his clothes. Grinds his hips deep and feels the way you gasp, sucking in a shaking breath, your entire body lost in it. He bites his lip and keeps his own sounds caught behind his teeth, not letting you know how you’re pulling him towards his own edge.
He’s not done with you yet.
Your clit is slick under his touch when he lifts his fingers to touch you, to layer another sensation on top of the cock inside you, and you’re sobbing. You don’t ask him to stop, never know when to quit, face every challenge thrown at you—and Yoongi can tell that you love it even if your body is crying out, that you love this oversensitivity, pulled taut and strung out. You’re beyond speech, words slurred, barely recognisable as his name and pleas of more, please, more. He can feel when you’ve crested the wave of too much sensation and fallen back into that rippling sea of pleasure, and when you cum it’s with a soundless moan, mouth wide open but no noise escaping. No more sharp retorts, no smart words, fucked into incoherency, trembling and quivering as you go tight around him and Yoongi struggles not to lose himself then and there, in your scorching, wet cunt, fluttering around him.
The noise when he pulls out is slick and lewd, just like all the other noises that have been filling the room, the slap of skin on skin temporarily halted when Yoongi rolls you onto your back. There’s sweat beading on your skin, shimmering, tears gathering in the corner of your eyes and glistening like tiny jewels in the multi-coloured low light of this room. Your lips are parted and your gaze is bleary and you’re everything Yoongi has never seen from you before, fuzzy and quiet, entirely pliant. When he reaches for you again, runs his hands over the rise of your hipbones and down the side of your thighs, you whimper.
“One more,” Yoongi says. “One more, you can give me one more.”
You’ve never known when to quit, and now is no different, even if you’re on the verge of being entirely fucked dumb. Those tears pool in your eyes and stream down towards your hairline, but you let Yoongi move you, try to help by lifting your hips but almost too gone to move at all. Yoongi almost cums when he sinks into you, your willing body; he thinks you’ve never looked better than you do now, smelling like sweat and sex and so soft under his hands, taking his cock like you were made for it, and you’re so gorgeous when you’re falling apart. 
The attitude you wear normally—the one that chafes at Yoongi’s nerve-endings—has been entirely wiped away, forced out of you by mindless pleasure. But still, you know what you want, even now, even when you’re barely coherent—Yoongi feels your hand slide across his and pull weakly, guiding it across your chest and up, circling his fingers around your neck.
He swears. Snaps his hips forward hard, watches the way your eyes roll back when he gives an experimental squeeze around your throat. Yoongi’s choked people before, knows exactly how much pressure to give, how much it takes to cut someone’s airways completely or how to just leave them reeling; he lets you linger on the edge of breathlessness, feels the way you go tight around him. When you orgasm it rips through you, your thighs tightening around Yoongi’s hips as you hit your peak and cum hard, and the feeling of it has Yoongi cursing and bending forwards to shove his face in your neck and kiss the salt-sweat taste he finds there as he falls off the edge. He cums wet inside you, keeps rolling his hips through it all, lets his cum mix with yours and watches the way you just keep taking it, even when your whole body is trembling from how much it is.
And when Yoongi calls you a good girl, you don’t snap back like you normally would, don’t deride his praise. You bask in it, as tired as you are, letting out a soft noise when he pulls his softening cock out of you, unbothered by the wet patches on your sheets and how the whole room stinks of sex. When he moves to lift you, to get you clean, you go easily and without argument, every one of your honed edges dulled, and you make no move to sharpen them again, to drag them over Yoongi in the way he’s so familiar with by now. Even when you’ve lifted out of your haze and you’re back in the moment, the way you watch Yoongi is no less calm than normal, but still different.
He’s in the middle of reaching for his boots, discarded on the floor, a discordant note on the clear floor. You’re wearing clean underwear and a loose t-shirt and you’re looking at him with something verging on surprise, like you hadn’t expected to see him moving to pull his shoes back on to leave.
He hadn’t been planning to.
“Just moving them out of the way,” says Yoongi, putting them upright by the base of your chair, and then he makes his way back to you. You don’t attempt to hide your pleasure that he’s listened to you,  pulling him onto the bed despite the fact he’s still dressed.
“I don’t cuddle,” he says, even as you tuck yourself into the crook of his arm, and he shifts to make it more comfortable for you.
You press your face into the hollow of his neck, touch your nose against his throat, breathing in the smell of sweat that still lingers—because you’re shower soft and fresh but he isn’t, and weirdly enough, you seem to enjoy it. Seem to enjoy that contrast, the one that’s always existed between you, Yoongi immersed in blood and sweat and tears while you’re away from it, one degree of separation from it all. “You know, I like it when you do things for me.”
Normally he’d protest, say that he doesn’t do things for you, but the truth is that he does, even if he’s only just admitting it to himself. 
“Like that time you killed someone for me,” you say, and Yoongi’s fingers tighten, soft skin of your waist yielding under his touch.
“I kill a lot of people.”
You let out a laugh against his skin, quietly amused. “Just admit it. You like me, Min Yoongi.”
A pause. 
Then: “Against my better judgement, I do.”
And he does. Even if you’re irritating and maddening, he does like you, and not just because of the work you do for him. He thinks that even if you weren’t so good at your job that he’d find himself here anyway, caught in this push and pull you have, magnetised.
“No need to sound so begrudging,” you say, but there’s no real annoyance behind your words. 
Yoongi finds that he likes that note in your voice, like you’re indulging him and his stubbornness and you’re unmoved by it. He hums in response. Feels the way you shift back, lean on your elbows to look down at him, lips curled up at the corners.
“Kiss me.”
Not a question. A demand. Yoongi stares you down, just for a second, before he lifts a hand and weaves a hand back into your hair, tilting your mouth against his. He can feel your self satisfied smile against his lips and he doesn’t mind it at all, sees it spread across your face when you eventually pull back, all flushed lips and warm eyes.
You’re still sharp, a weapon in your own right, but you willingly hand yourself over to be held in his skilled hands, let yourself be worn smooth by his touch. He weaves his fingers between your own, your palm soft and warm against his, and he likes this. That you’re unafraid of what he is, that the fact he’s a killer isn’t something that scares you or thrills you.
Yoongi likes your work. He likes that he knows he can trust you. He likes that he knows of your loyalty, to the people you choose and to yourself, your unwavering principles, as unpredictable as they might seem. He likes that you’re unashamed to be yourself and to be confident, no matter how people react to that cockiness. 
What he likes even better than all that is this, though: the way you’re pressed against his side, evidence of his touch written into your skin. The feeling of your hand in his. Despite all the odds, all the months of drawn out and simmering exasperation and tension coming to a head like this, Yoongi likes you.
“I’m not going to give you a discount, you know,” you say suddenly, and for the first time since you met, Yoongi allows himself to laugh at you.
“I’d be offended if you did.”
(You’re loud. Cocky. Arrogant. You love to irritate him just for the hell of it, because you think it’s funny and you love knowing that you can rile him up—but he can rile you up too, and you both know it.
Yeah. Yoongi likes you.)
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tagging: @beyoncesdragon @vensulove @gyukult  @swinginpicklesuitcaseapricot @kpopheart2 @loveyoongles @muzikabijou  @katbonv @jaxx-7 @yeojaa
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sunalma · 6 months ago
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​⁀➷。 timeskip! sakusa, osamu, tendou, ushijima, akaashi, suga
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as requested by @japanesevenom + anon!
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​⁀➷。 cw : osamu, ushijima, akaashi and tendou picks you up
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to say that sakusa is stressed now that your pregnancy is coming to an end would be a euphemism. iyou’re just about to climb up a chair to reach the bookshelf when you hear one of its leg snap in half. putting your foot down, you mutter a « fuck! not now... » that is apparently loud enough for sakusa to hear. and when he appears in front of you, he’s holding your jacket, his car keys and the hospital bag that’s been ready for a few weeks now... but he freezes as soon as he sees the look on your face : « oh. i thought you were... », and you decide to finish that sentence for him : « birth? no, i was just trying to- ». but it’s now your turn to stop in mid-sentence in front of his disapproving gaze, « nevermind » you smile innocently before walking up to him, arms stretched out in front of you to wrap around his shoulders, « but it’s good to know you were ready! ». he drops the bag to the floor and a proud smirk tugs on his lips, « as ready as i’ll ever be ».
atsumu will always remember the day his twin caught you cleaning the kitchen shelves on a high chair. they were in a middle of a call when osamu immediately dropped his phone, making the blonde wince in pain as an ear-splitting noise was heard on the other end of the line. « are ya out of yer mind? » osamu exclaimed, wrapping his arms around your legs to pick you up. you quickly objected, « uh- i’m not done cleaning », yet still let him carry you to your bedroom with a grin on your face. « no but yer done scarin’ tha shit outta me », he firmly stated as he put you down on the bed, before laying down next to you to make sure you wouldn’t go anywhere. « didn’t you forget about your brother? » you asked, hearing the muffled voice of atsumu desperately calling for his twin from the phone’s speaker. with a shrug, he answered « i’ll call him back. don’t change tha subject », before pulling you closer to his chest until he was sure that you couldn’t wriggle out of his tight embrace.
when tendou enters the kitchen and sees you standing up on a chair to grab a snack on the shelf, his first reaction is to stay quiet and watch you struggle on your own for a few seconds. but suddenly it hits him that this isn’t exactly a safe position for someone pregnant... and he’s incapable of repressing a shriek, which is so unannounced that it almost makes you lose your balance. but his reflexes are good enough for him to catch you in your fall, not without a terrified look on his face. « that was a very high-pitched scream babe » you giggle once the surprise has passed. putting you down with a light blush tinting his cheeks, he scratches the back of his neck with a smile « well that was a very high chair ». you agree with a nod, before showing him the snack that you managed to grab before falling : « wanna share? ». and he’s quick to pick you back up, this time with a more assured smile « is that even a question, my dear? »
ushijima is so respectful towards you that he tries to never treat you like you’re not as independent as you were before the pregnancy. but seeing you standing up on your kitchen counter is making him reconsider his choice : « are you sure that you don’t need my help? ». still rummaging through the shelves, you answer very naturally « does it look like i need your help, toshi? ». he stays silent for a few seconds, not wanting to bother you even more but still ready to step in at any time... until he loses his patience and finally picks you up by wrapping his arms around your waist. « i’m sorry honey, i have to » he tells you as soon as you start protesting, « you know i could never forgive myself is something happened to you two ». these words make you soften immediately, and realize that you wouldn’t mind it if he kept carrying you for a little bit. gently squishing his cheeks with your palms as he quirks an eyebrow, you drop a kiss on his forehead with a sigh « stop being such a perfect husband, i can’t stay mad at you... »
so absorbed by his work, akaashi doesn’t even realize you’ve turned the tv off and headed to the kitchen. but the sound of a metallic jingling pulls him out of his thoughts in no time. « are you ok? » he asks, already getting his laptop off of his lap. your only answer is a vague and focused ‘mm-mmh’ that is enough to make him walk to the kitchen. but when his eyes lay on you changing the lightbulb of the ceiling light, perched on a chair - he goes from walking to sprinting in half a second to come and hold the chair steady. looking up at you, his eyes are almost pleading : « i know you told me to stop being so overprotective but... can you please get down from there? ...please? before i pass out? ». you roll your eyes with a scoff, but still agree to get down from the chair with the help of his hands holding you by the waist. « i swear i’ll get off your back in 3 months », he promises with a hand on your belly. « no you won’t » you laugh and stand on tiptoe to kiss his lips. both his hands are resting on your belly now, as he admits sheepishly « you’re right, i won’t »
if there’s one thing that suga keeps with him at all times, it’s the piece of paper on which he’s scribbled your doctor’s advice from last appointment. and obviously he uses it every time he wants to prove a point. « honey- i love you more than anything but if you don’t get off that chair right now i won’t hesitate to go over the doctor’s rules a seventh time » he warns you, one hand holding your for balance and the other grasped around the piece of paper. « ok fine! » you immediately give up and get down from the chair, « koushi, i also love you more than anything but if i hear these rules one more time... ». but he shushes you with a finger over your mouth before making you sit down on the chair with a smile : « too late. i’m gonna repeat them anyways ». you let out a desperate groan, but he only sighs with dreamy eyes : « ahh... i’m gonna be the best dad ever... »
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TAGLIST : @toworuu @catwithangerissues @ughgojo @livy384 @k0u-minamo2 @fullsundear @hsjvwq @cubbluv @hiraeth-z @velvetvirgos @kirishimas-manly-eyeliner @47meow @japanesevenom @geektastic84 @noir-blanches-blog @idontlikeyourjob @seiri-ami @atiny-grl-with-luv @admiringlove @nachotrash @kellesvt @aintyourholy @Moonlaeli @catchmewiddershins @duhsies @devilgirlcrybabiey @crystal-lilac @ijustwantfreenetflix @miw0 @maitenight @xomiya @shoyotime @borealis-tristesse @lilliansis @succulentmom @akkeyomi @koifish69 @itachislut
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sakusasdisinfectant · a month ago
Can I have a Haikyuu!! x reader fic where the boys think the reader wants to leave them after a misunderstanding? With Oikawa, Suga, and Kuroo please
Excellent choice of characters :) Masterlist
I'm doing two parts since this one got too long
Cw- arguing, general angst, breakup scares
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Oikawa- You were fed up with your boyfriend. Not only was he spending most of his time practicing, but any time he did get free time he would just hang out with some friends or something of the sort. You had been waiting patiently for him to come home every night, but he had been coming home so late that you just fell asleep without him, and when you woke he would already be gone.
You were lonely. You felt neglected, and any time you by some chance got to spend some time with him, if you tried to broach the subject, he would brush you off, telling you that you're just being paranoid and he spent plenty of time with you.
But when you're anniversary came around and he didn't so much as text you, you decided you'd had enough. Either this gets solved right now, or you had to break up with oikawa.
You sent him a text saying that there was an emergency, and waited for him to come home so that you could talk to him.
A few minutes later you heard the front door open and your boyfriend walked in and spotted you on the couch. He sat down next to you.
"What's wrong?" He asked.
You thought of how you should say it without him getting mad.
"I just- um, I feel like we haven't been spending a lot of time together, and I was wondering why that was." You waited anxiously for his response.
"Did you really make me come home early just for that?" Tooru asked. "You being lonely isn't my fault. Would you get over yourself?"
You felt frustration start to bubble up in your chest. "What is that even supposed to mean? I just wanna spend some time with you, Tooru, I'm not asking for a lot here! It just feels like you don't even care anymore."
"Yeah? Well maybe I don't. Maybe I'm tired of everything always being about you. I have things to do too, y/n, volleyball is more important."
"Why would you say that?" You felt hot tears roll down your face.
"Because I need to be better and the only way to get better is to practice. You being clingy isn't my fault."
"Asking for the bare minimum isn't being clingy, Tooru, it's being human!" You shouted.
"Why are you even so mad about this?"
Maybe I wouldn't be if you just spent some time with me! Our anniversary was yesterday, Tooru. Did you even remember?" Your voice broke. "I just- i can't keep doing this."
You stood up from the couch and went to your bedroom, slamming the door shut behind you. You were beyond frustrated. You just wanted to spend some time with Tooru, but for him to just brush off your feelings and yell at you for nothing...
You needed to leave. You packed a suitcase and sent a quick text to a friend telling them you were staying over at their place before slipping some shoes on and heading into the living room.
"Where are you going?" You heard your boyfriend say. He was still sitting on the couch where you left him.
"I need some time away from you, Tooru. Away from feeling lonely and neglected and not even having my own boyfriend care at all." You felt more tired than anything.
"You can't just leave! I'm sorry I forgot our anniversary, it won't happen again!"
You wouldn't have it. "Just give me some time to think about everything." You walked out the door, leaving your boyfriend behind for the time being.
But would you come back?
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You go to the grocery store and buy the ingredients that you need to make the desert and come home to make it. An hour later, you're in your car with the food and almost speeding to the school where he teaches so that you'll get there in time.
Suga- While your boyfriend was at work, you decided that it would be a good idea to surprise him with his favorite desert. You know how hard he's been working, and this might lift his spirits a little.
Once you're there, you sign in and head towards the teacher's break room, knowing that that's where Koushi eats his lunch.
What you didn't expect, however, was to see your boyfriend sitting next to one of the female teachers and laughing, obviously very happy.
When was the last time you had seen him laugh? You'd tried, but it was mostly in vain. Maybe he just spent all his energy with the girl sitting next to him, too tired when he comes home to-
"Y/n?" You heard a voice say. You hadn't even realized you'd spaced out.
"What are you doing here?" Koushi stood up and started walking towards you. You panicked, shoving the bag with the desert into his arms before saying, "um- I made this for you, I know it's your favorite."
He smiled at you. "Thank you, y/n. Do you wanna come eat it with me?"
"No, no that's fine. I have to go, bye Koushi!" You all but sprinted out of the room, not even giving him a goodbye kiss like you always, always do. That's when he knew something was wrong.
When he came home from work, tired as usual, he called out for you while taking his shoes off. When he didn’t get an answer, he went looking for you.
“Honey? You heard him say. You snuggled deeper into your blankets, hoping he wouldn’t see you.
“Oh, there you are.” You heard him walk to the side of the bed that you were facing.
“Y/n? What’s wrong, and I know you’re not asleep, so don’t pretend you are.” He kneeled down beside the bed. You shrugged.
“Come on, baby, you know you can tell me anything,” he pressed.
“Do you like her?” You asked softly.
“That girl you were with,” you answered.
“Of course not, why would you even think that?” He asked.
“It just made me uncomfortable seeing you with her. You were laughing, Koushi, how long has it been since I’ve made you laugh? Do I even make you happy anymore?” Your voice broke while you tried your best not to cry.
“She doesn’t mean anything to me honey, she’s just a friend.”
“You’re avoiding the other question. Do you still wanna be with me?”
You heard him sigh before standing up. “I don’t know,” he answered honestly. That was all you needed. you stood up and went to your closet, taking out the bag of essentials you had packed before putting some shoes and a jacket on.
“Where are you going?” You heard your boyfriend ask. You turned around to face him, looking him in the eye for the first time since he had come home.
Kuroo- You were putting in so, so much effort into a relationship that you were starting to think was completely one-sided, and it was exhausting. You picked up after your boyfriend, made food that you know he likes even if you don’t like it, planned all the dates- only for him to cancel most of them, just- you were just getting so frustrated.
“A hotel. I know you’re tired, but I’m tired too, Koushi, and it hurts that you don’t even see it. I think we need a break.” He didn’t stop you as you walked out the door, even though he wanted to desperately, he had to respect your wishes.
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And it wasn’t like he wasn’t there, besides the dates that he cancelled, but it felt like he wasn’t. When you were tired from work and came home wanting only the comfort of Tetsurou’s arms and he just shrugged you away to go play some games online with Kenma, you were tired. When it was time to go to sleep and he slept with his back to you, you were tired. When you to finally got to spend some personal time with him watching a movie and he refused to sit close to you, you were tired.
But you were done with being tired. After he cancelled yet another date after you had waited for him at the restaurant for hours, you’d had the last straw.
During your silent drive home, you tried to think of what to say. You didn’t want to break up with Tetsurou, you loved him, so much. But you couldn’t keep doing this. 
You pulled up to your apartment, expecting your boyfriend to be online again, but he wasn’t anywhere in the apartment. You checked your phone to see a message from him.
Tetsu- Going to hang out with some friends, don’t wait up for me. Love you
He had cancelled your date to go hang out with other people. Other people that weren’t you. You hadn’t even noticed you started crying until you saw a teardrop fall onto your phone screen.
Where were you? When he had checked his phone, Tetsurou had gotten a message from you saying, ‘Out with some friends. Don’t wait up for me.’
He was getting a taste of his own medicine. He deserved it, of course he did. He knew that he was neglecting you, but he thought that it was okay since you had never said anything about it. But of course he was wrong.
You were ignoring his calls, too. It was 3am now and he still couldn’t sleep. What had he done?
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bbytetsu · a year ago
warnings: NSFW. mentions of vaginal sex, anal, menstruation, blowjobs, fingering, nipple play, car sex. plus swearing and a lot of secondhand embarrassment
author’s note: this is just a lil fun brain dump because i KNOW that for all the filthy smut we have on the boys, we need a lil laugh too <3
kuroo: ceo of lubing it up but one time his dick slipped and went in your ASS instead. you blacked out and couldn’t sit down for a week. 
kenma: greasy ass mf. it used to be ABSOLUTELY unbearable to suck his dick because he doesn’t wash well around there. like is something fermenting in his pubic hairs? kombucha? you’ll never know. 
akaashi: learned to dirty talk by stumbling across smut online and so he was a lil too poetic for his own good. cue the “i’m going to insert my thick juicy cock into your core now.” oops!
bokuto: thought queefs were farts for the longest time. the first time you queefed, he jokingly suggested that maybe you shouldn’t have ate all that chipotle by yourself. the second time, he pulled out to tell you he wouldn’t be mad if you had to take a shit right now.
atsumu: you once got your period in the middle of sex and he was like “oh shit, guess my dick’s just too big 😏 🤫 you okay, though?” I SWEAR-
osamu: he forgets to tell you that the walls are thin in his shared apartment so right as you’re about to climax, his twin goes screaming “TELL THEM TO KEEP IT DOWN OVER THERE, ‘SAMU!” also, he didn’t know how to play with your boobs for the longest time. he’d just pinch your nipples and that’d be it. 
suna: didn’t understand the concept of aftercare. after having sex, he’d either fall asleep immediately or just get up to play nba 2k (butt ass naked, too!) without saying a word. 
sakusa: assumes that vaginas are supposed to smell like vanilla and flowers, so the first time he goes down on you he asks you why your pussy smells like that. pussy pass REVOKED. 
oikawa: this cocky lil bitch. once asked if you would "die for his dick.” it was a bit much so you said no. he pretended not to hear you.
iwaizumi: for your anniversary, he sprinkled some flower petals in the room and put up a big bouquet of flowers on his nightstand. he ended up triggering your pollen allergy. you half sneezed half moaned through sex, but it was a cute gesture!
kunimi: used to suck at fingering, sorry. he’d just stick his fingers in your pussy  and leave it there like he was waiting to perform a jutsu in your coochie 
mattsun: you’re giving him that double twisty gawk gawk when you decide hm! let’s switch things up a little. so you move your mouth down to his balls and start licking them. he forgot to tell you that his balls are ticklish beforehand and KNEES you in the face.
makki: it’s not just a moment, it’s the whole thing. he wants to have car sex soooo bad but he drives a such small car like a honda fit. you have to roll down the backseat window and stick your head out in doggy position so the two of you can fit 💀
ushijima: for someone who grunts a lot while playing volleyball, it’s weird how silent, i mean DEAD SILENT, he’d be while having sex. and he can’t take a hint so you had to tell him straight up that you felt like you were fucking a serial killer
tendou: shot cum into his own EYE. god it hurts thinking about this but basically he thought he was done cumming, he was just casually inspecting his dick, and then there’s an unexpected squirt!
nishinoya: used to be lil too aggressive on your clit. he’d be biting on it like a rabid dog 😭 but when you tell him to be gentler, it’s too soft. we appreciate the enthusiasm though, he’ll eat you out while swinging his legs in the air!
tanaka: he tries to list out nintendo characters in his head during sex so he doesn’t cum too fast, but “waluigi” once slipped out of his mouth while he was cumming. cuddles after sex have never been more awkward!!
asahi: just couldn’t spank you for the longest time. he is a gentle giant after all, but if you asked to get your hair pulled or ass smacked like he’d give u that weak shit... like where’s all the power, ace?
daichi: keeps asking if you’ve cum yet as if he’s tryna manifest your orgasm!! who is gonna tell this man that you can’t cum from just penetration? you finally decide enough is enough and show him the way to your clit 
suga: this one time, his mom kept calling him like every!! 3!! minutes!! and being the mama’s boy that he is, he ends up excusing himself to pick up the phone. andddd later you find out it wasn’t even about anything important 🙄
futakuchi: his first time with you, he nuts too quickly, which completely destroys his pride. he tells you he needs a moment and leaves to take a walk...
terushima: he has the WORST sex playlist. like he’s pretty smooth otherwise, you’ll be in his bed raring to go until he starts playing his shitty soundcloud rapper "remember the times we had. the times you and me had” r&b playlist. and even worse it’s full of ADS 😭
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joheunsaram · 2 months ago
No Rebounds (myg) - masterlist
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Summary- A look into you and Yoongi rediscovering why you fell in love and trying to save your marriage.
word count- 16k (COMPLETE)
pairing- husband!Yoongi x reader
rating- R
genre- marriage!au, angst, fluff, smut
warnings- talks of infidelity (but no infidelity), depression, infertility, overworking, hospital visits, unsupportive parents, financial issues, talks of divorce, explicit smut, miscommunications, therapy
updates- weekly (wed at 7pm EST unless I forget)
a.n- Welcome to my first drabble series where I basically make OC and Yoongi cry. Tbh it wasn’t started with the intention to be this angsty but as I planned it out it’s gotten that way. I hope you like this!
Got questions about the series, or want to be on the taglist? Send me an ask! 💕
1 - Rusty Hoops (angst, fluff)
2 - Rings (angst, fluff)
3 - Mother (angst)
4 - Making Out (angst, fluff)
5 - Tough Treatments (angst)
6 - Say No (angst, fluff)
7 - Slow Dance (fluff, angst)
8 - Date Night (fluff)
9 - I Will Always Love You (fluff, angst, smut)
10 - Better (fluff, smut)
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neoheros · 2 months ago
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the turnout was overwhelmingly amazing and we appreciate this SO SO much. whilst the contest doesn’t actually close for another 12 hours, we’ve combined here all the entries that have already been submitted !!
please Please check them all out, they’re all extremely wonderful !!
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akaashi’s proposal by @kairakeiji
23 and married by @superhero--imagines
the struggles of being married 25 by @atsuimiya
miya atsumu is a loud person. by @wynihu
laundry days by @mimi-cee-hq
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kids crazy in love by @venusskies-writing
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1:02 AM by @yutari
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window buddy by @perruvianily
to start a year by @whistlingwillows
strains of love by @babysbreath
after dark by @snailfinger
11:59 PM by @miyarins
majime kimura @gwiezdny--plomien
2:38 AM by @eowynix
stupid by @hankuto
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grocery shopping by @terrakiyo
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harmony over silence by @perruvianily
married at 22 by @ria-aaa
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mascara lines by @najvochka
you are the sun and i am your moon by @ven7s
strawberries and stars by @weewoo186
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A/Ns :
— if you submitted an entry for the contest and weren’t included in this post please message me or @coophi to fix it !!
— fics submitted later tonight will still be added in the masterlist just to make sure the september 30th deadline isn’t excluding anyone from other timezones !!
— announcement of winners will be posted last week of october!
THANK YOU SO MUCH !!! this was insanely amazing to host and i cannot wait to read through all of them !!!
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taesinferno · 2 months ago
⇢ part 2
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⍣ SUMMARY you're grounded, but you and Yoongi find ways around it.
⍣ PAIRING dad's best friend!yoongi × reader
⍣ WARNINGS 20+ audience, legal age gap, predatory, voyuerism, exhibitionism, phone sex, nipple play, m! & f! masturbation, dirty talk + this yoongi...
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♡ prev
"And you can't come over because...?" His deep voice rumbled through your phone's speaker.
"I'm grounded."
Yoongi bit back a chuckle, but a small smile graced his features nonetheless. You were still young, sometimes he forgot. Still a new adult living in your parent's house. Still subjected to rules and curfews, still got grounded. It was moments like this that made Yoongi feel like he was too old for you. And then, you'd start talking in that sugar sweet voice, and he'd fall right back into your embrace, feeling more alive than ever.
"Well, you have been stressing your dad out lately." Yoongi informed you. As if you didn't know. "That stunt you pulled, jacking his car keys, didn't help his high blood pressure."
"I didn't call you to talk about my dad," came your curt reply. He could almost hear your scowl through the phone. Of course. Princess wanted something, and by god was he going to give it to you. At least, if he was going to fuck his best friend's daughter, though, he could ease his concience by vouching for him sometimes.
Yoongi chuckled. "Then what did you call to talk about?"
"Hm," you purred, the sound of your nails thrumming on the table coming through the phone. "Are you in your room?"
Yoongi looked over at his window. The one that directly mirrored yours. "Yes."
"Go over to the window."
He didn't know what he was expecting when he pulled back his curtains. He supposed he should've expected it, should've gotten used to your antics by then. But, Yoongi was an old soul at heart. So his eyebrows still shot up when he approached the window just to find you at yours. Wearing, what he thought, was the scantiliest piece of lingerie you could find.
Was that the one you'd bought with his credit card last week, when you'd taken it for a ride while he was working? He couldn't keep up. He just gave you free rein. He trusted you, and besides, it's not like he couldn't afford it. Keeping a habit like you wasn't cheap. But Yoongi was loaded, and ready to make it rain on your pretty ass.
"Do you like it?" Your voice dripping in honey as you batted your eyelashes. Your hand ran down your body as you turned, bending over slightly to show him the way the fabric stretched over your perky ass. Yoongi shook his head as a degenerate smirk spread over his lips. You were a force to be reckoned with.
"Very much, princess." His tongue pressed into his cheek. He could already feel his jeans tightening, his hand flying down to palm himself through the fabric. "Why don't you show me whats underneath?
"Uh uh." You tsked, playfully covering your body with your arms as you shook your head. "Not yet. Patience, Yoongi."
Yoongi never thought he'd be in the position of a horny teenage boy again. But here you are, teasing the desperate right out of him. Making him itch for the climax of the night, his hands dying to relieve himself as he watched you.
But Yoongi wasn't a teenage boy. He was a grown ass man. So he made himself comfortable on the edge of his bed with a front-row seat to your evening show. Leaning back and anticipating what you had in store for him.
Your fluffy pink curtains lined the window, your fairy lights in the background twinkling, illuminating your scandalous figure. If anyone so much as walked between the two houses and looked up, they'd witness the entire scene; the two of you, facing off, in what was about to turn into extremely compromising positions.
People might have a lot to say about that on its own. But the fact that Yoongi was so much older than you? He knew how it looked from the outside. A grown man jerking off to a college girl while she changed in her bedroom. It looked dirty, painted him in the most villanous of lights. But you didn't care about any of that. So neither did he.
"Don't take your eyes off me." You commanded poutingly, putting the phone on speaker and placing it on the table as you shrugged off the matching robe that came with your lingerie, the straps of your bra following closely behind.
"Oh, don't worry baby. I won't."
He couldn't take your eyes off you if he wanted to. Watched the way your perky breasts bounced with every move. You ran your hands down your body, imagining his hands on you instead. He could see you touch your hardening nipples, knew from memory how sensitive you were there. He was right. He could hear your slight whimpers through the phone as you teased yourself, saw how you pinched the small bud in between your fingers. Fuck.
Yoongi's belt was off in seconds, his hands quickly moving over his zipper to free himself. He could almost feel your supple skin, your responsive body under his touch. The way you'd arch your back slightly as he wrapped his mouth around your tits, swirling his tongue over your nipples. His eyes were laser focused on you and your ministrations. "You're doing so good, princess. Fuck. Play with them just like that."
"They're so hard, Yoongi. I'll bet you could make me cum just like this." You whined, your own fantasy fueling your desire. You could just imagine it—Yoongi's hands, playing with your nipples. Sucking on them without a single touch to your pussy. You're absolutely convinced you'd be gushing on his hand in minutes if he wanted you to.
Yoongi let out a groan. He stored the idea away for another time. Next time. He promised himself. "I will, baby. Why don't you show me what you got underneath that pretty lace for now?"
You obliged, moving your hand down to touch yourself over your panties. Your legs spread wide open to give him a good view as you pushed your panties to one side. "I'm all wet." You whined. "See?"
He could see your glistening cunt from here. His thumb brushed over his sensitive tip as he stroked himself lazily. Fuck, he needed more.
"What should I do, Yoongi?" Your sweet voice begged for direction, fluttering lashes obscenely visible through your window.
"I want you to play with that pretty pussy and ruin those panties. Can you do that for me?" You nodded as you moaned at his words, eagerly awaiting further instructions. "Two fingers in your mouth. Good. Now make sure to suck them like you do mine."
He watched you stick two of your own fingers into your mouth, swallowing them down like you always did his. You moaned out as you shoved them deeper in, pretending like they were his long, pretty fingers. Coating them properly, swirling your tongue around them like they were ice cream. Yoongi's hand moved faster over his dick.
"Now, touch yourself. Just like that. Spread those folds so I can see."
You heeded his every command, listened as he told you to touch your clit, ruin yourself, fuck yourself on your own fingers. Your tiny mewls and whines paired with the way your head was thrown back as you spread your juices arounds your folds, begging for more of his voice, for him to talk to you as you imagined his fingers instead.
"It doesn't feel as good as you." You cried, eyes pinned to him as you spread yourself open in front of the window. All for him.
"I know baby. It's okay. You'll have my hands on you soon." He reassured, deep voice slightly breaking towards the end of his sentence as he neared his peak. "Why don't you put those fingers in, baby. How many can you take?"
You shivered as you dipped two fingers in at once, your sopping hole taking them easily. You picked up the phone with your other hand, bringing the receiver close to your pussy. "Can you hear how wet I am for you?"
Yoongi groaned at the squelching sounds coming from his speaker, your breathy pants now farther away as you held the phone to your core. "Fuck. Put another finger in." He demanded, hungrily watching your every move as his hand moved faster and faster over his cock.
"Yes sir." You cried out as you added not one, but two more. Making it a total of four fingers in your cunt. You could hear the string of curses Yoongi let out as he watched you struggling to fuck yourself on your fingers.
"I didn't know you could do that." His raspy voice came on the line, the tell-tale sign of him almost at his end. If you listened hard enough, you could hear his hands moving over his cock, the skin-on-skin contact making you long for it. Wishing he was putting his dick into one of your holes instead.
"Only when I think of you." You barely made out, holding on to the edge of your desk as an attempt keep yourself steady.
How you managed to reduce him to a horny teenage boy was beyond him. He couldn't believe he was having phone sex with you right now, getting so excited about watching you through your window, rather than going out and finding somebody his age to actually fuck, who didn't have curfews and rules to follow. He could've just gone to the local bar, instead of making himself wait to touch you, until whenever you were un-grounded. Rather, he was here, watching the ways your eyes screwed shut, the way your body shook under your pressure, the sounds that emitted from both your cunt and your mouth. Getting himself off to the promise of you.
Yoongi convinced himself it had nothing to with age and everything to do with efficiency. You were here, and he was lonely. Rather, you were a few hundred feet away, and he was jacking off to you. But he thought that was easier than having to go out and find someone new. At least, he tried to convince himself. As he watched you fuck your tight pussy, imagining the way you would feel around him, the way you would use up all his energy and make him feel alive again, the way you'd look up to him with big trusting eyes as he stole you away from all those boys your age. He knew he was a despicable man.
"Oh—Yoongi. I c-can't. I'm cumming! Please—please can I cum?" Your sobs came through his phone loud and clear. You looked so wrecked on the other side of the window so thoroughly ruined. Just with the thought of him. How could he deny you, when you stuffed yourself with four fingers just for him?
"Go on, princess. Cum for me."
Your entire body shook with pleasure as your orgasm overtook you. Your sweet, drawn-out moan as your arousal gushed out, coating your fingers and your panties. Yoongi wasn't far behind, letting go with a loud growl. He barely had a moment to breath, before there was noise over his speaker, like the phone falling out of your hand.
"Shit—Dad I'm changing! Don't come in!"
He could hear you call out to your door, a slightly panicked look in your eye as you turned around to make sure he wasn't entering. "I have to go." Your rushed words came through the speaker before you hung up, pulling your curtains closed and hiding you from his view.
Yoongi laid back on his bed, lazy smile on his face. At least your dad waited until after he emptied his balls, though. Shout out.
[wedding drabble]
♡ next
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⍣ want more dilf content? click here!
m.list | kofi | series m.list
Copyright © 2021, taesinferno | tumblr | no reposts, translations, copies, etc.
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alpacaparkaseok · 2 months ago
Golden Hour
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In which Yoongi is the boy you’ve friend-zoned for years and you finally realize that he’s all you want.
→ Yoongi x reader
→ super short word count lol, SFW, fluff, f2l
→ a/n: thank you guys for all the love and patience. I know I’ve been so slow updating recently :(( but you guys are seriously the best and so I wanted to give you a lil drabble to show you I’m still here and I appreciate you :)
It was golden hour when you realized you must have been in love with him for a long, long time. 
The sun was hitting the dust particles in your living room just right. You watched them over the spine of your book, caught up again in that endless debate with yourself: should you be disgusted over the sheer amount of dust floating in the air (there’s no doubt you’re inhaling them with every breath), or should you be amazed at the way they’re floating in mid-air?
You opened your mouth to bring your thoughts to the attention of your best friend, idol, and rapper extraordinaire Min Yoongi, when it hit you like a ton of bricks.
The sunlight glinted off of his silver hair (he just got it dyed, you’re absolutely in love with it), giving him an ethereal glow. He sat perfectly still at your wobbly kitchen table, sighing softly before turning the page of his book. 
Seated on your couch, you had a perfect view of the man. There was something about the way he appeared so at ease in your kitchen, home alone with you, that made your breath catch in your throat. 
Suddenly the only thought in your mind was how you wanted to see him sitting at your kitchen table for the rest of your life. Grumpy, content, disheveled or dressed to the nines; you didn’t care. 
You just wanted him. 
So when Yoongi feels your eyes on his and slowly lifts his gaze to meet yours, you find yourself at a loss for words. 
He doesn’t say anything. Just watches you with a strangely solemn look as you get up from the couch and make your way over to the table. Your book hangs loosely from your fingers as you lay it across from him and quietly pull out a chair. 
Yoongi’s eyes never leave yours as you seat yourself across from him. Sunlight slashes across your line of sight, dousing him in an angelic glow. 
Cheeks heating, you wonder for a moment if he can see right through you. Perhaps if you ignore the flutter in your chest, it’ll go away.
A few agonizing seconds pass before Yoongi’s speak, soft and low. 
“Took you long enough.”
Glancing up at him, you see the way his eyes sparkle at you. In that moment, you both know he’s referring to so much more than your moving to sit closer to him. 
Biting down a smile, you bury your nose in your book even as a small thrill zips through your body at the feel of Yoongi nudging your foot with his own. 
“Don’t patronize me, Min.”
He snorts softly before returning to his book. “I wouldn’t dream of it, jagiya.”
You stare holes into your book, softly mouthing the pet name at the inked pages with a silly smile. 
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celestial-moonlight · 3 days ago
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Inspired by Tim Burton’s - Corpse Bride
“His happily ever after had been erased as easily as the words he once put on paper, but now he had you to help him to write it all over again.”
𝑮𝒆𝒏𝒓𝒆: Yandere, angst, Historical
𝑷𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈: Yoongi X (f) Reader, Side Pairing: Seokjin X (f) Reader
𝑾𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔: Death, Implied death, historical gender roles, forced marriage, unintentional marriage, delusional behaviour, “kidnapping,” brief smut, murder, delusional behaviour, manipulation… Yoongi just loves, love 🥺
𝑾𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝑪𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕: 6.6K
“Can a heart still break once it stops beating?”
The wedding had been set for Christmas Eve.
In just two short days, your life of solitude would end and you would be trapped within a marriage with a man you hardly knew. Kim Seokjin; the son of the most wealthy family in your secluded town, had been on the radar of every eligible bachelorette in town. And you certainly couldn’t blame them. Seokjin was perceived to be a proper gentleman, raised to be full of benevolence. If his charming persona wasn’t already hard enough to not fall for, then his devastatingly handsome face sure was.
It wasn’t that you held hatred or disgust for the man. It was just the premise as to why it had to be him that you could not accept him. Your family had run into a bit of financial trouble after a few failed investments. Your father being a long time friend of Seokjin’s own, had used you as a pawn in order to save your family from poverty.
Now that your own pride had taken a hit, you could barely be in the same room as Seokjin without the overwhelming feelings of pure shame and embarrassment. Nonetheless, you still loved your father dearly, even after his poor decision making. Perhaps he didn’t deserve your forgiveness, but family comes first and you especially couldn’t bare the image of your own mother starving and ending up on the streets begging for nourishment.
So you would do what every good daughter would: give herself up to a stranger and only hope for the best. In this day and age, there was very little that a woman could do outside of getting married.
Now as you stared down at your vows, the neat handwriting illuminated by soft candlelight, you couldn’t wash away the gnawing feeling of hopelessness. These written words were meant to be said from one soulmate to the other, and not meant to be thrown around so carelessly. They were a symbol of an unbreakble bond between two people who put each other first above the world.
But for you, it was for wealth, status, and pure desperation. You felt guilty for Seokjin as well, as a good son he does what his father wishes of him. But without even hearing the words, you knew he didn’t want this just as much as you. The usually bright spirited man became quiet around you, and very few words were often spoken if they did not pertain to the wedding arrangements. In fact, it must have been at least a good week since you had last spoken to your fiancé. But since the wedding rehearsal was tomorrow, there was nowhere to run or avoid each other any longer.
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You stared straight ahead at the mahogany doors before you. You could hear the muttering of the priest pestering the pianist to play the Wedding March in the correct time signature. This wedding had to be perfect as it was set to be the largest event the town has seen in years.
A chilly draft wafts through the chapel where you and Seokjin stood in awkward silence while waiting for your cue to enter.
You feel yourself shiver, wrapping your arms around yourself and attempting to play it off as admiring the architecture of the building. However, it hadn’t gone unnoticed by your husband-to-be.
“Here” he says simply before you felt the weight of his coat on your shoulders. You turn slightly towards him, taking notice of how well his dressshirt fit over his broad shoulders and slender torso. You quickly thank him before the atmosphere turned back to the cold and mildly uncomfortable place that it had been only moments prior.
However, this time it thankfully hadn’t lasted long before you could hear music play, and as rehearsed you felt Seokjin grab your left hand and hold it so that your hands were held parallel to your shoulder. Despite this, he still refused to look at you. It made your heart sink at the revelation that he could very well despise you. Not to mention how dull and loveless your marriage was bound to be at this rate.
Therefore, the familiar tune sounded more like a death march as it drones lowly in your ears. You stared ahead, ignoring the looks from both your and Seokjin’s family. With every step you felt that much heavier, you couldn’t think nor breathe. You weren’t even sure that your feet continued moving until the priest gestured for you to stop at the alter.
Set up behind him were three different candles, only the middle one had been lit. “After I give my speech” his hoarse voice begins. “I will have Seokjin approach the alter, grab, and light his candle while repeating his vows” he gestures to the setup behind him before Seokjin steps up.
Three steps.
You remember. Three steps. No more or less.
You watch as he picks up a tall candle, the clearly overly rehearsed vows falling mechanically out of his lips are just loud enough that the room would be able to hear. Before you know it he gently nudges you forward to do the same when you hadn’t immediately moved forward. With shaky steps you approach the table as well.
“Three child! Only three steps!” You wince as the priest scolds you. You apologize in a small voice, frowning at the disproving scoff from Seokjin’s mother in the background.
“W-with this candle” your voice wavers and you shake your head, realizing you were already wrong.
“With this hand I will lift your sorrows” your eyes trained onto the flame of the candle as you brought your own wick closer to it.
“Your cup will never be empty f-for” you sigh seeing as it fails to catch flame “for I will be your wine” every word stung your heart, it felt as if you lost control of your own mouth- you couldn’t even recognize your own voice. This was all so wrong. Was this really the life you wanted to pursue? As a woman, the worst thing you could do was dare to dream.
And yet here you were.
You had to get out of here, at least somewhere where you would be able to catch your breath and pull yourself together.
Hand shaking, the beeswax candle falls onto the table with a thump that echos through the silent church. You could hear the annoyance in the voices of all the attendees. But you didn’t care.
Swiftly turning, you dashed down the isle before anyone could stop you. Once outside you ran without thought. The further away you were, the more air returned to your lungs.
You had only realized how dark it had gotten once you collapsed onto a stump where it was obvious that a mighty tree once stemmed from. You were panting heavily, teeth chattering, and feet numb. You unconsciously pull Seokjin’s coat on in futile combat against the frosty evening air.
And for a while you merely sat and caught your breath as you gathered your thoughts together. You knew you were bound to apologize when you returned. Possibly on your knees in front of Seokjin’s family for your unprofessional behaviour. But that was the least of your worries. You had made a real fool out of yourself. What did those empty words really mean anyways? Maybe the power they truly held is what had scared you. Or maybe it was because of the look in Seokjin’s eyes as he let the words fall out of his mouth without even a hint of emotion. It was very clear that neither of you wanted this but what could you do? Run away and leave your family to starve? What kind of child would you become?
The jacket you had accidentally stolen suddenly felt constricting, but if you took it off you were bound to freeze out here. After a series of shivers run up your spine, you realize that you really should be getting back. Standing up, an overbearing urge to scream forces its way up your throat and before you knew it your high pitch is startling a murder of crows perched on the high branches of snow-frosted evergreen trees. You could hear their caws to each other and the rapid beating of their wings that syncopated with your heartbeat. For a moment you envied them, wishing you too could just fly away from your turmoils. They looked so free as they circled in the sky, at least they offered you a brief tranquil moment of hope which allowed for you to slowly raise yourself up and out of the snow.
You decided now you would take your time walking back into town. Giving yourself the extra time to think was but all you could really do. The more you thought about your little fit, the more disgusted you became with yourself. Why did it matter anymore? you had to accept that you weren’t fortunate enough to experience true love.
You smirk, amused with how pathetic you were. Those stupid words meant to confess your undying devotion to each other were mere fickle things. It was no wonder how so many marriages ended up failing and instead becoming nothing more then a burden to those within it.
Therefore, You found it appropriate to mock them instead.
“With this hand I will lift your sorrows” you exasperate every word, voice dripping in sarcasm while slipping the ring off from your finger and turning towards a ficticious lover beside you.
“Your cup will never be empty for I will be your wine” you giggled to yourself, likely looking similar to an escaped asylum patient.
“With this candle I will light your way through the darkness” you spun around, eyeing a particular root which faintly resembles the likes of a finger. You shook your head as you approached it.
“With this ring” you whisper into the cold air “I ask you to be mine” and with that you slipped it onto the root, staring blankly at it for a moment before raising your hand to retrieve it. However, a gust of wind momentarily interrupts you. It wasn’t like anything you ever heard before. It sounded as if it was an echo, and somewhere distorted in it was the sound of sobbing. Just before you could move, the ground beneath you begins to shake. You let out a cry of shock before attempting to run away.
But as you turn however, something lands and grips your ankle, before it pulls you back onto the ground. Much to your horror you realized that it was that same root which now clutched your limb with great strength. All the air was trapped in your lungs and all you could do was watch as the mysterious root grew and grew until dare you say... it morphed into something more human-like. Whatever this was continued to grow until you could make out what appeared to be a man staring down at you. You were so captivated that you didn’t even notice you were free to flee once more.
You felt your jaw drop. Whatever he was, surely didn’t seem to be alive. His skin was abnormally pale, almost as if it had a faint blue tint to it. His dull eyes were sunken, dark circles beneath them made him look as if he hadn’t slept in weeks. His body itself was thin and lanky, but he himself was not overly tall. The suit he was clad in looked dated, dusty, and slightly torn, but it fit him perfectly. You could see the remains of a wilted red rose clipped to his pocket.
It must have been a ghost… or perhaps a zombie?
Suddenly it dawns on you.
He was a corpse.
And as he holds out a hand of particularly bony fingers towards you, a shriek finally falls from your lips.
Scrambling to your feet, you slip and slide in your attempts to run from him. You weren’t sure that you were going in the right direction, but at this point you didn’t care. As long as he wasn’t following you, that was all you wanted. Unfortunately every time you turned around, he was there. His legs moved but something about his motion was so mystical. It looked as though he had been floating which only made your heart pound harder.
How was this possible? It couldn’t have been because of the ring could it? He had looked like a groom…Why? Who was he? And what did he want?
With all these questions and more filling your head, you fail to see a block of black ice.
With a painful thud you land on your back, your vision spinning and turning blurry as all the air left your lungs. From the feeling of the stone bricks below you, you recognized that you must have been on the bridge that connected the town to the forest.
Suddenly you feel a presence beside you and you inaudibly gasp once you became face to face with the corpse again. Only this time he looked much less intimidating and instead a little more concerned?
“You should be careful, my dear” his surprisingly soothing voice scolds you “you know there’s snow and ice everywhere, why did you run?”
You didn’t answer him. You couldn’t. All thoughts left your brain when you looked into those dark, lifeless eyes. He chuckles warmly at you, leaning down and picking you up with surprising ease into his thin arms. You were shaking violently, but your limbs wouldn’t listen to you. His equally pale fingers run a line down your cold cheek, his eyes focused on your lips.
“May I finally kiss my bride?”
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Min Yoongi had been a solitary man for most of his adult life. He liked it this way. Growing up, he was an only child and by the time he was twenty, both of his parents had passed due to a plague that rampaged through the town. He being their primary caregiver, and had always wondered how he himself hadn’t contracted it. And because of that, he could never conclude if he had been lucky or not.
Nevertheless, because of his pre-existing love for literature, he became a poet in order to deal with his grief and then there was of course, the factor of making some form of living. His parents leaving him behind only their little cabin and twenty-five dollars to their names. He had sold his poems in town, and luckily many of the (especially single) ladies enjoyed listening to his words and payed him for his time. And although he was by no means ever rolling in silver, he somehow made enough to live comfortably.
One day a certain woman had caught his eye during one of his weekly readings in the town square. Her eyes were what attracted him first, they shone so brightly that the sun must have been envious. The smile she always had on her porcelain face was enough to cure the hardest of days. She was always there, no matter how small or large his crowd was he could never take his eyes off her. So when he finally worked the courage up to court her, it wasn’t of any surprise that she was the daughter of a wealthy merchant. She had always left the biggest kudos in his earning basket. Not that he cared however, he was happy with anyone who was willing to just listen to the words he worked night and day on during sessions that were usually assisted by soft candlelight and an occasional shot or two of whiskey.
His earnings had just merely been a pleasant plus side.
He had fallen for her so quickly. His hands could hardly keep up with the pace of his thoughts that would beg to be put on paper. His poems turned into songs of love and admiration, and while the other women liked to imagine that it was them he was talking about, only she knew the truth.
After a short few months of dating he couldn’t take his hearts desires any longer and asked her to be his wife. He knew he couldn’t offer her much but he hoped his love would be enough.
And it was.
He was ecstatic. Despite her parents hesitancy to accept him. For these two love birds, nothing was going to stop them from giving their all to each other.
Their wedding was set for Christmas Eve, an intimate gathering in the towns square was where they decided it would take place as of course, it was where fate had initially brought them together. However, he soon found that writing his vows had been the hardest task that he had ever taken on. How could he put into words the unexplainable affections that he felt for her?
Somehow he did it, and now with just moments to go until they became one, he rehearsed them once more. A knock on his door made his heart flutter, seeing the love of his life as a vision in white was a sight he waited for so long to see.
But it never quite came.
Instead of his blushing bride, he was met with a ruthless blow to the face which knocked him over instantaneously. Multiple grasps on his arms dragged him from the cabin as someone mutters incoherent slang words that were undeniably directed towards him. There had been a quaint stream by his house which quite often had supplied the perfect background ambiance for his passion.
He was dropped suddenly just beside the flowing water but it wasn’t long before he was gripped by his collar and staring into the depths of a very angry man. “So you’re the penniless bastard that has taken my love from me?” He spits on Yoongis face, looking more like a dog than a human. Yoongi tried to pry himself away, but the mans accomplices would assault his body with kicks or punches every time he did so. This went on until he didn’t have much energy left.
The man clicks his tongue “I’m not going to waste my time with lowlife such as yourself, she. is. mine. She always has been, and with you gone I’ll make sure of it”
With that he is thrown face first into the water and held down until his lungs became full of it. Who would have thought that he’d die by what originally gave him life?
It takes but five minutes until his struggling body falls limp in their grasps, and all that was left was the body of a man whose happy ending was stolen.
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Head and heart still pounding, you feel his cold lips brush against yours. Your blurry vision made the world out to be a swirling palette of colours, as if time itself had sped up. You closed your eyes, hoping for this to be a bad dream and that when you awoke you would be snuggled in your bed at home.
When you opened your eyes again you were. Well, sort of. It seemed to be night time, a few candles were lit and left in the windowsill. The room smelled of mold and pine. And you could hear the faint sound of running water as the sound drifts through the walls. A weight is lifted from you, and you realize that he was still beside you.
“We’re home” he says simply, guiding you towards a small bed in the corner. He sits down and begins to take off his jacket just as you stare at him in fear and disbelief. “W-who are you?” You gulp, pushing yourself into the furthest corner from him.
“W-where are we? Why did you bring me here?” He shushes you softly as he sits beside you.
“I accepted” he gives you a gummy smile “I am your husband of course”
You narrow your eyes. “Accepted what? I haven’t even met you before!” A sudden burst of courage shoots through you as you finally find your voice.
“You said the vows” he shows you his hand and somehow the ring was back on his finger. You patted your pockets, and to no surprise it wasn’t there.
“Where did you get that?”
He chuckles “so full of questions, aren’t you?”
He sighs “I believe your exact words just so happened to be wedding must’ve hit your head pretty hard my dear” he pouts moving his unnaturally bony fingers back towards you.
You instinctively flinch away.
Wedding vows... the ring... “You- you were the root?”
“Corpse actually” He corrects you.
“I believe there has been a misunderstanding... those vows w-weren’t meant for you” you could see his eyes flicker with a hint of sadness before returning back to the lifeless sunken orbs you were used to.
“Regardless” his expression falters again.
“You still placed it on my finger and as the tradition states; we will soon become bound together” it wasn’t hard to tell that you were going to be in trouble if you couldn’t get yourself out of this rather unique situation. It seemed like everything you did, was the wrong choice. At one moment you were about to marry a man who wanted nothing to do with you, and the next you were sat beside the corpse of a groom who wanted far too much.
“I truly apologize for the inconvenience, but you must understand that I’m already betrothed to another”
Somehow his expression grows more grim than before. Well that explained the ill-fitting jacket on your shoulders.
“I see” he trails off, his eyes flickering to the only source of light in the room.
“And do you-“ the word becomes stuck in his throat for a moment. “Do you love him?” He asks.
Your eyes remain low, unable to properly answer him.
If you said yes, perhaps he would leave you alone. And yet…
“I suppose I may grow to” you finally say.
“Grow to?” He reiterates quizzically.
“Do people not marry out of love anymore?”
“Not exactly” you deadpan, growing restless on the thin padding of the cot.
“I’m afraid that I’m just a chip to a game in which my father lost” you sigh, unsure as to why you were revealing such personal information to the stranger.
“Women aren’t exactly born to dream in this age, we do what is expected. Nothing more or less”
“But what if a woman were a dream to another?” The corpse asks “What if that woman became all that mattered to someone else?”
He began to reminisce on his sweet Adeline, completely ignoring the underlying message you tried to pass on.
“Are you assuming that love is enough to keep people together?” You ask bitterly. You’ve seen the way your mother acted towards your father, any speck of love that she might have held towards him at one time was no longer there. And yet she stayed, having no other choice other than being the good submissive she tried to hard to get you to be.
“Love is worthless”
“Is it?” Yoongi’s expression gradually contorts into one of anger. Here, still with a beating heart, you had the opportunity to find love, and you thought of it like the dirt beneath your feet?
“For a long time, love served as my life’s purpose- I thought about it, I wrote about it, I lived it!” He was seething, far too caught up in his untimely death to consider the way you may feel.
“And then I had it taken away!”
With every word his growly voice grew darker. Truth be told, this was the first time he ever truly frightened you. He was towering over you and you could see little black bugs escaping from from his ears and scuttling down his arms.
You felt like vomiting.
Getting up in a flash you pushed him away in order to flee. Outside had looked similar enough, in fact that same bridge was right in front of you. The strange thing was that light didn’t seem to exist anymore. The sky looked like an inky black void, candles were placed along the paths and hung from trees. But the world just felt as if it were paused, with no external movement such as wind. It wasn’t exactly cold nor warm either, perhaps the best way to explain it was slightly humid. At first the only thing you could really hear was the distant sound of church bells, their pitch sounded low and dull, and more like a warning of peril.
And yet you followed the sound, curiosity overtaking from fear. Along the way you had bypassed many people, or perhaps some of the beings could be better classified as things? Many had offered you a warm welcome with actions such as a courteous nod while they twirled a lace parasol, while another finely dressed gentlemen had tipped their hat off to you, uttering a few words of gibberish as he passed you.
Every so often the sound of mischievous laughter zooms past you before the apparitions of two young children giggle at your expression; which must have been complete and utter surprise.
Regardless, they had all held one thing in common; and that was the faint blue glow in which they emitted while gliding through the dark streets, never making any other sound beneath their feet.
You figured that this had to be some form of purgatory.
Your walk ends up bringing you towards the towns plaza... or at least that is what it appeared to be. Directly behind the gazebo in the middle of the square was the same chapel where you had humiliated yourself earlier that day. The doors were open and you could faintly make out words spoken by the figures inside. From where you stood at the doorway you could see three people who looked long passed any sign of life. Their appearances reminded you of the man who brought you to this mysterious place: deathly pale with skeleton-esc figures, and sunken eyes that stared into each other’s as if they could still convey the same feelings they had in life.
You watched wordlessly as the bride and groom slowly leaned into each other before their blue tinted lips met in a kiss to seal their matrimony.
In that moment you could feel a bony arm wrap around your side, which makes you stiffen.
“This could be us very soon... I think we should confirm it in a more formal setting”
Despite his statement and your previous suspicions, the only question that you could come up with was:
“What is this place?”
“The afterlife” he responds much too simply as if he didn’t just casually tell you that you were no longer among the living.
“I’m dead?” You blurt dumbly. Making another gummy smile apprear on his face.
“Not quite, we have to wait for the ceremony to make it official”
You stared at him in disbelief.
Him, taking notice of your confusion explains further.
“When we become wed down here, the wine toast will go a little differently” he points to two silver chalices placed upon a table.
You watch as the couple elegantly raises a toast to each other before taking mouthfuls of a rich dark liquid. Suddenly a ray of light engulfs the couple and in a blink you watch in awe as a string of butterflies suddenly appear out of thin air and gracefully land upon them. Gradually the figures of the bride and groom begin to rise and disappear, leaving behind two lilac coloured butterflies in their wake.
“Because you are not fully deceased, the wine will take your life” he whispers right into your ear. You could feel his cold lips graze the shell which makes you shiver.
“And then we can be together forever”
That made you push him away again.
“Can’t you understand that I am not meant to be yours?”
His eyes soften.
“It doesn’t make sense, I-I don’t know even know your name!” you exasperated.
“Min Yoongi” he merely replies, much to your frustration.
“Why are you even here Yoongi?” You ask, hoping for some answers that may help you out of this place.
“You look like a groom...where is your bride?”
He swiftly turns away from you. Raising a hand to cover his eyes in attempt to stop any tears from filling them. It must have been decades by now and yet the pain never quite left.
He waits until he feels his voice will no longer quiver.
“I was murdered on my wedding day” he deadpans, with his body still turned away from you. You observe his expression turn solemn and his arms fall limp and hang by his side. In that moment you figured that you had accidentally struck a deep wound in him.
“I’m sor-“
“It doesn’t matter anymore” he cuts you off quickly as he stomps back towards you.
“I have you now”
Half expecting to be harshly grabbed, imagine your surprise when he gently takes hold of one of your hands instead. You could feel his fingers intertwine with yours.
“Let me show you something”
Merely a few steps away from the chapel he brings you into the gazebo in the middle of the quare. This time there is a comfortable looking chair sat in front of a podium. Yoongi leads you to the chair and sits you down before making his way behind the podium. You could see a couple pieces of paper stacked neatly on top of it. The overly frilly handwriting looked beautifully dated. And you could see a large stain of black ink on the bottom right hand corner of the front page.
Yoongi picks up the papers in his trembling hands. His eyes filling with emotion and admiration as he read over the words that were, at one time, meant for the love of his life. But now he knew that you putting that ring on his finger had been no accident at all, YOU were his second chance at true love. You just didn’t know it yet.
In a desperate effort, he thought that he could attempt to swoon you like he had to the other women so many years ago.
“Y/N” he begins, his voice sounding the most warm and sincere that it ever had.
“Until a man knows love, he doesn’t know life. Until he knows companionship, he only knows loneliness, and until I had you, I didn’t know me. I didn’t know what I needed until I was given you, I felt like the earth without the warmth of the sun, the moon without her stars, and a body without a beating heart-“
You weren’t sure how long you sat there listening, but when he had finished you were left in tears. Your heart and stomach fluttered like the butterflies you had witnessed a while ago. These were the kind of words that you had always wanted someone to be able to say sincerely to you. These were the words of someone so wholeheartedly in love, his voice had practically dripped with such an unbelievably fiery passion.
“So I take you today, now and forever, to not only become my wife; but my reason. The very answer to what the meaning of life is”
He had embodied the term love in those very moments, but your heart began to sink when you realized that those words were not for you.
You were not who he had in mind when he wrote such pure poetry, although in this moment you sure wished you had been.
Sadly, you had to face the facts. You could not allow yourself but especially him to live with the lie that he would truly be happy with anyone who is not his true love.
You looked up at with sad eyes but a reassuring smile. “I cannot replace her Yoongi” you whispered, trying to hide your sadness.
“You deserve to be with her” you got up and walked towards him. “Yoongi, you need to let me go so you can find her... you deserve to be with your inspiration that we both know I won’t be able to replicate” you picked your words as carefully as you could, hoping he could understand.
“Yoongi.. this is proof that I am not meant to be yours” you pointed down to the paper “you can’t tell me that it is me you pictured when you read them”
When you looked up again you saw him staring blankly right into your eyes.
“You wish to return?” He asks softly.
“I think it would be for the best” you nodded.
Yoongi was not delusional. He was not about to let go of his second chance. In such a short amount of time he has found himself a new inspiration. With you by his side he knew he could return to doing what he was best at.
But if you wanted reality then it is what you would get... well the truth anyway. He would make you see why you were meant to stay with him. The fact he let you keep the jacket that belonged to another man so long, has sparked a fire of jealousy in his non-beating heart. He decided that You deserved to see the truth. He knew what was happening on the surface and he would expose the ugly truth to you. He would love you. He would take care of you. All that he had to do now was prove it to you.
“If going back to the surface would make you happy” he sighs in faux defeat.
“I will take you back”
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He took you back up with far less fight then you thought it would take. When you reopened your eyes from the dizzying journey back to the land of the living, you were relieved to see everything just as you remembered it.
“Thank you for understanding Yoongi” you gently took his hands and gave them a reassuring squeeze. “I wish you all the best in finding your true love”
When he didn’t look back at you this time, you had to admit you felt a slight twinge of hurt. Although you did feel guilty for leaving the poor corpse, you knew this was the right choice.
As you waved goodbye, you couldn’t help but feel a little sad, nor could you resist the urge to look back every so often as his ever shrinking figure remained standing motionlessly until it was completely out of your sight.
However, unbeknownst to you he was not planning on leaving alone. Weather you knew it or not he would be there in the shadows, following you wherever you went. He was going to have you see the truth all by yourself, only to show up like a hero in the aftermath once you are bound to be too vulnerable to be left alone.
And then he would take you, and make you his completely. Until then he watched patiently as you re-entered the chapel. Ready to catch you when you inevitably fall.
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Inside the small foyer of a candlelit church you furrow your eyebrows, thinking that your ears must’ve mistaken you.
What you heard was not sounds of worship. No, this was much too erotic.
It was a repetitive sound, accompanied by others that were more or less hushed. They were sounds that could only be made by two people driven by the sin of lust.
You abruptly push open the doors only to be met with the sight of two scarcely clothed people laying in the last pew to your left.
With just a glimpse of his pushed back hair, you recognized one of the sinners to be none other than your fiancé.
“S-seokjin-ahh!” You cringe with the sudden moan of the blonde-haired whore beneath him, who is soon pacified with his lips placed against hers.
Some part of you knife however, that this was bound to become a dirty secret within the marriage that you were forced into. Perhaps you should just accept it now before getting any of your hopes up.
But then you look to the front of the chapel and your blood runs cold.
You rush up to the front where your picture sits framed beside a few lone candles. Some flowers had been placed around it as well. It seemed as though it had been set up to be a mourning ceremony rather then a wedding.
And yet Seokjin had dared to make love to someone else in your absence.
You felt sick. It was like they didn’t even notice that you had came in.
You fall to your knees. Your head clutched in your hands as you suffered a pain that could only be caused by a truly broken heart.
You wished death would just take you now.
Just then the doors are slammed open again with so much force that half of the candles had burnt out with the exposure to such frigid air.
Even the couple startle and end up stopping their actions.
“W-what was that?” The woman sits up, clutching the cheap material of her dress to her upper body.
It doesn’t take long before the couple had abandoned the chapel, much too concerned with the possibility of being caught above anything else.
And then he appears at the entrance, this time holding a chalice full of unidentifiable liquid.
“Are you alright?” Yoongi asks as he swiftly approaches you.
Well, you were perceived to be “dead,” your fiancé obviously held little to no sorrow for you, and to make matters worse; your own family was no where to be seen.
So in other words; things were far from being alright.
But you merely you shake your head.
Although Yoongi may not have been alive, he sure cared for you as though he was.
He sits down beside where you had collapsed on the steps of the alter, one of his fingers catching a tear falling from your eye.
You grip his hand. “Please Yoongi” you beg
“take me with you”
And indeed he would.
“I would love nothing more” he says and picks you up as he, himself stands.
“But first I need you to do one thing so we can remain together” he brings the cup of dark liquid to you.
“Look into my eyes and repeat after me” he says warmly, holding one of your hands in his own.
“With this hand I will lift your sorrows”
After this, your voice is no longer your own.
“Your cup will never be empty for I will be your wine” his thumb strokes up and down your hand comfortingly.
“With this candle I will light your way in the darkness.”
Something cold is then slipped onto your finger.
“With this ring” you both synchronize.
“I ask you to be mine”
He brings the cup to your lips and pours the liquid into your mouth.
Your death is not as peaceful as he would like. Nothing could prepare him to hold your convulsing form and watch as the life left your eyes. All he could do was hold you as it went down, pressing his lips back against your forehead until you finally lay limp to rest before he took you home.
Sure, he may have warped reality and he could say that it was solely to protect you from an unfulfilling life. In reality however, he was more selfish than he wanted to admit. His happily ever after had been erased like the words he once put on paper, but now he had you to help him to write it all over again.
He looks around the church once more before disappearing with his new wife. The wisp of air left behind had blown out the remainder of candles sat by your framed photo, and thus plunges the chapel into a cold, still darkness.
Happy Holidays Everyone! 🎄🎅
Maybe let me know what you think? 👉🏻👈🏻
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risjime · 8 months ago
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♡ 𝚖𝚞𝚕𝚝𝚒 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚛 𝚡 𝚐𝚗!𝚛
♡ 𝚌𝚠: 𝚜𝚞𝚐𝚐𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚟𝚎
❧ smooth n effortless driving (yk, uses the palm of their hand to steer, that type of thing): tsuki, ennoshita, daichi, UKAI, oikawa, iwaizumi, mattsun, kuroo, kenma (setter + gamer hands? a sight to see), akaashi, ushijima, semi, SUNA, osamu, aran, SAKUSA (and he wears black gloves while doing so omg)
❧ stretch while standing, nd then you can see their v-line: kageyama, TANAKA, suga, daichi, ukai, oikawa (he’d catch you staring and tease you lmao), iwaizumi, KYOTANI, bokuto, ushijima, tendou, semi, suna, ATSUMU (then he’ll wipe his chin w his shirt, pls)
❧ hold your thigh while driving: tanaka, DAICHI, ukai, iwaizumi, MATTSUN, kyotani, KUROO, lev, bokuto, semi, suna, osamu, terushima
❧ make a sex playlist nd it’s hella good: yamaguchi, TSUKI (he’s always listening to music ofc he would), ennoshita, suga, OIKAWA, SEMI (naturally, maybe a song or two of his own), osamu, ARAN
❧ do Things™︎ with you while on call/gaming w their friends n they get away with it: hinata (struggles to stay quiet but would), daichi, ukai, kuroo, KENMA (seasoned pro), mattsun, akaashi (wouldn’t initiate it, but would go along w it), suna, OSAMU
❧ make breakfast for the two of you in the morning, wearing (only) an apron while doing so: hinata, ASAHI, daichi, UKAI, iwaizumi (a vision), ushijima, tendou, kita, OSAMU (again, naturally), atsumu, terushima
❧ smooth n effortless driving, BUT they almost accidentally drive into a curb: kageyama, noya, tanaka, asahi (he’d get shy), lev, bokuto, goshiki, atsumu
❧ stretch while standing, nd yes the v-line, BUT they accidentally hit something or make a mess of some sort: hinata, noya, asahi, lev, iwaizumi (but only if it’s a tight shirt bc he’d end up ripping it fhdhdj), ushijima (he’s just so big n tall pls)
❧ hold your thigh while driving, BUT they miss completely when they go to grab it: kageyama, yamaguchi (he’d just get nervous abt it), noya, akaashi (also just the nerves), goshiki
❧ make a sex playlist, BUT it’s not good: kageyama, daichi, kuroo, kenma, ushijima, tendou, suna, atsumu, sakusa
❧ do Things™︎ while on call/gaming w friends, BUT they get caught: bokuto, oikawa, iwaizumi (he’d really try), bokuto, tendou (it’d be on purpose), terushima, atsumu
❧ make breakfast for the two of you in the morning, wearing an apron while doing so, BUT making an absolute mess in the process: kageyama, bokuto, oikawa, semi (he’d really try his best)
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masterlist | taglist
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© risjime | do not repost! reblogs are appreciated ♡
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devilsamu · a year ago
maybe, thoughts on suga, and fucking his baby dumb? filling her with cum over and over even through his own sensitivity? 🥺👉👈
c/w: f. reader; dumbification; breeding kink; overstim; creampie(s)
suga thinks there’s nothing prettier than the sight of you cock-drunk // eyes rolling n your mouth hanging open // cute little tongue lolling as you go dumb around his pretty dick // how could he not want to stuff you? // over n over until you’re just his stupid little cum dump?
his cock twitches at the sight of your gaping little hole, fucked raw and stretched. the two loads he’s pumped into you drip down your slit, puddling sticky on the sheets.
it stings when he taps the head of his cock against your puffy clit, watching with a devious grin as you squirm from the borderline torture, so sensitive and twitchy. it stirs something feral in him, quickly sliding back into your drooling cunt.
the slap of his balls against your ass is obscene — wet and lewd now with his cum coating them. his dick aches, slit swollen and an angry shade of red, as he tries vainly to cum one last time in you.
he’s not going to stop. not until it’s physically impossible for him to pump anymore into your messy, used cunt.
“there’s my good girl. that’s what you want isn’t it? want me to fill you up-” he breaks off with a low hiss, “fuck- again, don’t you, pretty thing.”
and he knows exactly what he’s doing, the meanie, pushing down on your tummy so he can feel the bump of his cock as he fucks his cum back into you.
the forceful press of his palm has you feeling him in your guts, the close drag along your walls making your head float that much higher. you’re so completely full of him — his dumb little baby full of his cum. <//3
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lamourche · 14 days ago
Best Served Cold | MYG
Teaser - opening scene
Pairing: Yoongi x reader
Tags: mafia!au, arranged marriage!au, slow burn, eventual smut, eventual happy ending, eventual R rated violence. The most possessive Yoongi I’ve written I think.
a/n: Here is a short teaser for my new Yoongi fic. I’ve got almost 20k written, and I think it will be about 25k in the end. Going to post it all in one go. Still hoping to post by Christmas if things are going well!
Yoongi shielded his eyes from the glare of the flames. Smoke coated his throat, and he panted for breath. Belatedly, as he lay on the wet pavement, he realized that this Molotov cocktail, this cheap-ass, bargain basement intimidation tactic currently burning through his bar was a plan to intimidate him.  First he was annoyed, now he was fucking pissed.
“Boss,” Jungkook called. “Where are you?”
“In the alley.” Yoongi’s voice was unrecognizable. He hacked until his lungs burned.
Jungkook stepped carefully over the debris as he made his way to the other man. “Hoseok said the Kwons might give us trouble.”  
“Thanks, Jungkook, that’s really helpful.”
Jungkook raised an eyebrow, as if to say ‘you know I’m right.’
“I know you’re right. I could just use a little time before the ‘I told you so.’”
Jungkook shrugged.
Always helpful, that kid.
“You think Namjoon will front you anymore money?”
Really fucking helpful.
“No, I don’t.” Yoongi knew the mid-level boss was struggling to maintain this territory for Seokjin. Seokjin was so far above Yoongi, he wasn’t sure he could pick the man out of a crowd. He sure as fuck never met the man.  This waterfront location, the small inroads into the neighboring gang’s territory, were far, far beneath the boss’s notice. Namjoon barely paid attention to Yoongi, and he paid the man a generous cut. Namjoon was making a name for himself, and Yoongi knew that his small establishment wouldn’t be a priority for anyone with Namjoon’s ambition. The Min name still meant something to Namjoon, though. It burned Yoongi hotter than his bar currently going up into flames that his father’s name got him this squandered opportunity.
Yoongi and Jungkook shielded their eyes as the fire reached the bar back. An explosion took out the remainder of the place that hadn’t already been burned. Yoongi heard the sound of the firetrucks approaching. At least he wouldn’t have to worry about the fire spreading beyond his own building. Mary and her girls, he knew, wouldn’t appreciate the five am wakeup fire.  They should just be heading to bed at this time.
“This is a dumb question but . . .,” Jungkook said. “Do you have insurance?”
“That is a dumb question, Jungkook,” Yoongi said.  
“Even so.”
“No, I don’t have insurance.”
“What are you going to do?”
He sure as fuck wasn’t about to concede in this little turf war to the Kwons.  This shitty waterfront location, a small establishment where Yoongi planned to fund some card games, make some money selling cheap alcohol and earn enough to help his father was as ambitious as he got these days.  He wasn’t ready to let it go. Yoongi’s reckless youth might have been fun, but he had little to show for it. Everything he owned in the world but the clothes on his back was currently in flames. He also wasn’t ready to pay his debt to Namjoon in blood.
“Yoongi, what the fuck are you going to do?”
“I’m going to make a deal with the devil, Jungkook.”
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