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#yoongi smut
njssi · 2 years ago
| kiss land | masterlist
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↥  not really into kisses leading into nothing
│ this masterlist will contain links and detailed information about all the fics in the series   │ it will be updated periodically and accordingly │ a teaser will be released before every story, announcing the release date and other relevant information
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Welcome to Kiss land, where all kisses lead where you want them to.
→ pairings: ot7 x reader (separately for each story)
→ genre: smut, fluff, angst, pwp
→ warnings will be added for each part as it's posted
→ est. total word count: 50k+
↳ coming summer 2019, after Muster, release dates will be announced as I finish writing
✝ Proceed with caution ✝
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↳ greengreengreen
⇻ pairing: taehyung x reader ⇻ genre: smut, non!idol au ⇻ some warnings: big dick!Tae, first time together, vague drugs description, weed and vaping (yes, it's inspired by the vape disaster at the end of 2k18), etc ⇻ synopsis: taehyung's crush has grown exponentially ever since he met you and when opportunity finally arises for something, anything to happen, he takes it without any second thoughts, his mind clouded with need; oh, if only yoongi had stayed at the party longer.
↳ song: Chase Atlantic - greengreengreen
⇻ teaser ⇻ read here (released August 28th 2019)
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↳ young god
⇻ pairing: jungkook x reader ⇻ genre: smut, non!idol au, brother's best friend au ⇻ warnings: dom/sub themes, too much dirty talk, degradation, choking, hair pulling, spanking, oral sex (m receiving), etc ⇻ synopsis: for you, he had always been your brother's little best friend, adorable little Ggukie, the one kid with big sparkly eyes full of wonder and the prettiest smile. and then he wasn't all that small and adorable anymore, and he was determined to teach you how you needed to treat him from then on, even when you were supposed to be off limits.
↳ song: Halsey - Young God
⇻  teaser ⇻  read here (released February 1st 2020)
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↳ tell your friends
⇻ pairing: namjoon x reader ⇻ genre: smut, tutor!Namjoon ⇻ warnings: (too) big dick!Namjoon, tutor x student relationship, degradation, v rough sex, table sex, laptop death, unprotected sex, dirty talk, fingering (f), praise kink, size kink, etc ⇻ synopsis: skipping a tutoring session ahead of an important exam just to get dick is probably the worst decision you could have made on a Friday night, especially when your tutor is more than willing to help with both of your issues.
↳ song: The Weeknd - Tell your friends
⇻ coming soon
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↳ why stop now?
⇻ pairing: taehyung x reader x yoongi; yoongi x reader, taehyung x reader, taegi; ⇻ genre: smut, non!idol au ⇻ warnings: threesome, oral sex (m&f receiving, m&f giving), dirty talk, use and mentions of drugs and alcohol, etc ⇻ synopsis: your just established relationship seems to be crumbling down for taehyung when the man he assumes to be your boyfriend interrupts his confession, but things turn for the unexpected when yoongi has a surprise for the both of you.
↳ song: Chase Atlantic - Why stop now
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↳ catch me prayin’
⇻ pairing: hoseok x reader ⇻ genre: cop!Hoseok, smut, non!idol au ⇻ warnings: a v intense blowjob, dom/sub themes, degradation, dirty talk, choking, hair pulling, spanking, oral sex (f receiving), public sex, exhibitionism, mentions of prostitution, use of safeword, etc ⇻ synopsis: seeing hoseok come to the club right after getting off duty was a common sight, but what was less common was the beautiful female on his arm and his apparent interest in her. of course, that never stopped you from getting what you want, you why would it now?
↳ song: Chase Atlantic - Devilish
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↳ fallingforyou
⇻ pairing: seokjin x reader ⇻ genre: smut, non!idol au, best friend au ⇻ warnings: drunk sex, fluffy emotional smut, angst ⇻ synopsis: getting over relationships sometimes leads us to poor decisions, which is what you always did after a break up. Luckily, seokjin was always there for you, heart, soul and body, ready to give you everything you needed in order to feel better.
↳ song: The 1975 - fallingforyou
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↳ half past five
⇻ pairing: jimin x reader ⇻ genre: smut, non!idol au, ex boyfriend jimin ⇻ warnings: soft smut, cheating, slight manipulation, etc (many more) ⇻ synopsis: he knows he should say no, he knows he shouldn’t come, he knows it’s wrong, but every time you call, he drops everything and everyone. and he knows you’re not good for him but he can’t stay away.
↳ song: The Weeknd - The Hills
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↳ but i love it
⇻ pairing: yoongi x reader ⇻ genre: smut, producer!yoongi ⇻ warnings: cockwarming, teasing, public sex, exhibitionism ⇻ synopsis: being bored and forcing a visit upon yoongi who’s spending the night at the studio seemed like a good idea when you left your house in the middle of the night, but you only get needier once you get there and he denies you of what you’d been asking for. which only means you have to take it.
↳ song: The Weeknd - Stargirl Intermission ft. Lana del Rey
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12K notes · View notes
junqkook · 2 years ago
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— there are hidden places scattered around the earth, unbeknownst to human eyes. however, in the midst of a heat wave unlike any other, a select few humans manage to find their ways to these pockets of the world shadowed alongside their own.
— all of the works shown are part of the heatwave project with the @btssmutclub summer project.
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↳ read here | written by @nambewb 
pairing; seokjin/reader genre; warlock au, smut
— you promised me seven years of freedom on earth! — yeah i promised you seven years of freedom...from me.
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↳ read here | written by @hoseokiehopie
pairing; hoseok/reader genre; mermaid au, smut
— he told you to make a wish; but there was nothing you could wish for that was better than him.
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↳ read here | written by @junqkook
pairing; jungkook/reader genre; faerie au, smut
— an antidote is made from its poison; and his touch would be yours.
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— SATIATE (m.)
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↳ read here | written by @writingsofmyimagination
pairing; jimin/reader genre; vampire au, smut
— the policy says you can’t feed on humans that work here, no restrictions on fucking them.
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↳ read here | written by @nambewb
pairing; namjoon/reader genre; hamadryad au, smut
— to fulfill your needs was the least he could do for you saving his life.
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↳ read here | written by @hoseokiehopie
pairing; yoongi/reader genre; reaper au, smut
— a reaper was never meant to fall in love with a marked soul; so why did it feel so right saving yours?
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↳ read here | written by @junqkook
pairing; taehyung/reader genre; werewolf au, smut
— only a fool would trust a beast, and that’s what you were; a fool.
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all rights reserved | do not repost | these works are the intellectual property of each author tagged; the reposting/modifying in any form on any medium is strictly not allowed.
11K notes · View notes
httpjeon · a year ago
— club ardor masterlist
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ot7/reader | smut, fluff, angst | fake dating!au, date-for-hire!au
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ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ: a new dating service opened up in seoul. it’s rumored to be exclusive to the rich and elite. the most enticing part of the agency is its seven dreamy bachelors. for a small price, you get to be with the man of your dreams. only for a night.
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ᴄʟᴜʙ ᴀʀᴅᴏʀ: 𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐍 ᴜᴘᴅᴀᴛᴇᴅ: 𝟐/𝟏𝟒/𝟐𝟎
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— date for hire: the boyfriend type
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kim namjoon/reader | fluff, smut
synopsis: club ardor holds a special raffle for a free night with a man who will supposedly be the boyfriend of your dreams. you definitely don’t expect to win.
what to expect: the boyfriend service offers an ideal boyfriend companion. namjoon will take you on a date in a believable boyfriend scene.
*perfect for beginners just starting out in the dating-for-hire service!
— read here
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— date for hire: the romantic
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MINE FOR TODAY — coming february 16, 2020
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kim seokjin/reader | fluff, smut, angst
synopsis: deciding to snag a date with a bachelor while an incredible deal is going on, you wind up with every waking moment being plagued with the thought of seokjin. there’s just something about him that you can’t let go.
what to expect: if you’re a hopeless romantic, Seokjin is perfect for you! expect the ideal love and romance it seems only girls in fiction get to experience! it’s hard not to fall in love with this handsome man.
— read here
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— date for hire: the cold type
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HIGH HOPES — coming soon
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min yoongi/reader | fluff, smut, angst
synopsis: you meet a kind man at the cafe you work at and he leaves a card for a “free date” with yoongi from club ardor.
what to expect: sometimes a man just has a way of making you feel small, like you want to open his shell and make him love you. yoongi’s a hard case to crack. his sharp gaze will leave your cheeks burning.
— read here
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— date for hire: the playboy
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ONLY ONCE — coming soon
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jeon jungkook/reader | fluff, smut, angst | college!au
synopsis: jungkook’s scenes are legendary for being hard — some women can’t even get through it. you’re convinced to take the date with him, completely unaware of what you’re getting yourself into.
what to expect: if you like the chase, jungkook is perfect for you. in a perfectly cultivated scene, you’ll feel the competition of trying to win the heart of a seemingly unattainable man.
* recommended for a girl with thick skin.
— read here
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— date for hire: the soft type
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SOFT LAUGHTER — coming soon
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jung hoseok/reader | fluff, smut | neighbor!au
synopsis: after an ugly breakup with your (ex) boyfriend, who leaves you insecure and hurt, you find a free voucher for a night with “the soft type” from club ardor.
what to expect: hoseok has a way of bringing brightness and happiness to those around him. if you find yourself in need of a man who will make you feel like the center of the universe, call on him!
— read here
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— date for hire: the bad boy
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SEOUL RUSH — coming soon
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park jimin/reader | smut, angst | street racer!au
synopsis: wanting to spice up your suffocating lifestyle, you decide to try a night with jimin of club ardor — a man notorious for his adrenaline-run life.
what to expect: if you have a need for excitement, jimin will certainly give you a rush. scenes with him are exhilarating and wild. he’ll have your heart racing and leave your body wanting more.
— read here
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— date for hire: the alpha male
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YOU MAKE ME WANNA — coming soon
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kim taehyung/reader | fluff, smut | rich!au
synopsis: you meet the most exquisite man you’d ever seen in your life. he leaves you breathless and wanting more. when you gather the courage to ask for his number, he gives you a strange card with instructions instead.
what to expect: scenes with taehyung are intense. his controlling hands and deep voice leave you bending to his will. don’t let your eyes wander, he’s more than willing to show everyone you’re his.
* best suited for experienced clients
— read here
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©  httpjeon 2019. do not repost, modify, or translate.
10K notes · View notes
lavishedinjimin · 8 months ago
kinky hours masterlist
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— all drabbles are 18+. for adults, by adults, about adults. all are for f.readers!
— since 2020. 
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Sorted from newest to oldest
criminal!jk x officer!reader/kidnapped/imagine butter era jk’s concept photo vr.2
brat tamer jungkook/punishes reader for being a spoiled brat lol
sub!jungkook is tied up/giving him oral/tracing his arm tats with your tongue
ex-bf jungkook/argument turns into hate sex/reader cheated on namjoon lmao
hand kink/making origamis with daddy!jk/gagging
single dad jk/apologizing that he fucked you too hard/babysitter reader
crybaby™ jk x reader but OC uses her safeword
daddy jk takes care of you after not having sex for weeks
he finds out that you’re a Little/daddy!jk
cumming inside you without protection/creampie kink
eating you out with whipped cream
dom!jk/dirty talk/window sex
reader squirts and jungkook’s “give me more”
atgggth™ jk/eating pussy/whiny reader
jk fucks you while standing
spitting in mouth/overwhelmed reader
dom!jk/bratty reader
crybaby!jk/anal play with sub reader/ddlg 
jungkook finding your moans adorable
softdom!jk/rainy ambience/dirty talk/cuddling 
chubby reader/rough sex/praise
horny jk comes home while you’re cooking
crybaby™ jk/reader wearing cat ears and tail
riding jk’s thigh while spooning
overstimulation/clit torture/squirting
dom!jk pinning you down as he fucks you
daddy jk and his corruption kink
soft jk but reader wants it harder, hmmppp >:(
clit overstim/tied to the bed
hard dom jk/rough sex/jk fucks reader ‘inhumanly fast’...haha
passionate sex/lotus position
jk fucks reader gently and deeply™
ddlg/first time riding dom!jk/praise
blowjob while on the phone/punishment/degradration/jk meanie 
hard dom!jk/humiliation/subspace/big dick jk haha
reader does jk’s makeup as she rides his cock
daddy!jk/small reader/praise kink/size kink/wearing his baggy shirt
daddy!jk is handcuffed to the bed by babygirl  
dom!jk is jealous so he gives you hickeys
slapping/spitting in reader’s mouth/degradation/rough/choking
jk catches reader humping her pillow with his jumper on
punk jk fucks reader on her parents’ bed
crybaby™ jk and his love for eating pussy/spitting/descriptive
thigh riding/degradation/choking/spanking/hair pulling/whatever
overstimulation/reader tells jk to stop but he doesn’t listen
cockwarming/”move and i’ll take my fucking cock out of you”
punishing you in front of the members/degradation
dom jk fucks you mercilessly in front of a mirror/rough
having your first time with dom!jk
jk comes home to reader fucking herself/punishment/size kink/daddy
fucking you roughly while the members are around
dom jk/cocky jungkook energy/slow down by chase atlantic/descriptive
cockwarming :D
punishing you after you came without his permission
reader says she’s ‘too heavy’ but jk proves her wrong/against the wall
jungkook trying his spanking kink out on you
holding your thighs while he eats your cunt
dom!jk manhandles reader/virgin kink
tae walking in on you riding jungkook’s thigh
crybaby™ jk/reader got her nipples pierced/descriptive
bad boy™ tae gives you hickeys in public/possessive tae
dom!tae/mutual masturbation/voyeurism
werewolf!tae asking you to run because you disobeyed him
lactation kink/slight mommy kink
pushing your head against a pillow bc you’re too loud
sweet hot tub sex
taehyung uses his ties to play with you
reader cheats on jk while fucking taehyung
mutual masturbation but ends up fucking anyway lol
ddlg taehyung/size kink
bad boy™ taehyung teachers reader how to blow
the start of bad boy™ tae x young reader ;)
movie date with a remote control vibrator/dirty talk
dom!tae/nipple play/hand kink
tae fucks you while you’re asleep/spooning
ddlg/tae is jealous of you spending your time with other guys
cockwarming while he’s gaming
soft dom!tae/praise kink
bratty reader/rough/pissed from all the dating rumors
tae makes you wear a ball gag
taehyung fucks you in a pool
getting heated with tae in the pool
ceo!taehyung/secret relationship/some spanking
fucking you sensually while Singularity plays in the background
tae x reader x namjoon/impreg kink/who can get her pregnant first
tae walking in on you riding jungkook’s thigh
dom!jimin corruption kink/condescension/jimin and his kendo agenda
jimin edges you with a bluetooth vibrator in public 
making fun of jimin’s small hands until he shuts you up 
cockwarming with jimin while he works out
jimin releasing his pent-up stress on you
sub!jimin x sub! reader x dom!namjoon
softdom!jimin/swallowing his spit/praise kink
poly dom!jimin x dom!yoongi x sub!reader
truth or dare/bts taunting jimin that he can’t make his gf cum
softdom!jimin/cocky/reader says he’s the biggest she’s ever had
softdom!jimin/readers sits on his lap and he bounces her up and down
dom!jimin/use of vibrator/edging/denial/squirting
jimin and his corruption kink/small!reader
jimin makes you sit on his face for being bratty
hard dom!hobi/pissed off that you accidentally said his name instead of ‘daddy’ during sex
hobi getting annoyed that you keep moving during oral
werewolf hoseok in heat/mentions of impreg/slight blood mentions
tattooed hobi x curvy reader/praise kink/loving degradation
daddy hoseok/trying to get his attention while he’s on the phone
softdom!hobi/fucking you in front of the practice room’s mirror
masochistic hobi punishing reader
wolf namjoon x bunny hybrid reader/bunny gets lost in the forest o_o
dom!namjoon uses a spreader bar on you/squirting/degradation
giving joon oral under the desk bc he’s stressed from working
dom!namjoon x sub!reader x dom!yoongi/spitting kink/spanking
daddy namjoon fucks you while you’re both high/marijuana intake
namjoon spits in your mouth/wall fucking
sub!jimin x sub! reader x dom!namjoon
namjoon and creampie... yum
namjoon punishing reader/overstim/degradation
softdom!namjoon/size kink!!
daddy!joon babies reader to be intimate with him 
edging with joonie and his babygirl
sucking him off while he’s on vlive
servant namjoon x princess reader/bending her over the desk
tae x reader x namjoon/impreg kink/who can get her pregnant first
PUBLIC. BUS. SEX./cockwarming & grinding/slight exhibitionism/honestly this is just so hot
distracted by his hands/fingering you against his piano/hand kink
sitting on yoongi’s face + overstim
pet play/kitten play with yoongi
innocent s/o never masturbated before/virgin reader/size kink
dom!yoongi x sub!reader x dom!namjoon/spitting kink/spanking
breeding kink/pregnancy kink
poly dom!jimin x dom!yoongi x sub!reader
hard dom yoongi
hand kink omfg
dom!yoongi/bondage/using a dildo on you
yoongi shows off his tongue technology/cunnilingus 
reader wears vibrating panties in public
yoga with seokjin/ahh yes, the downward dog/cunnilingus
dom!seokjin fucking you in front of a mirror
ball worship!!
lactation kink with seokjin aaahhhh
teasing seokjin until he snaps/big cock seokjin agenda
dry humping/cumming in his pants
daddy seokjin takes care of you after weeks of not having sex
asking jin if he can choke you
10K notes · View notes
sopeverse · 2 years ago
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updated: 26/06/21
(m): mature content 
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puns by @heartkook
strawberry roses by @peekaboongi (m)
the stranger by @btssmutgalore (m)
washing machine by @btssmutgalore (m)
off limits by @floralseokjin (m)
father of six by @army-author
happy kitty by @jincherie
currents by @yeoldontknow (m)
petals by @bloomsuga (m)
sweeter temptation by @yminie (m)
minx by @bangtangurlarmy (m)
dear ophelia by @noir0neko (m)
roomie by @hobibliophile (m)
a lullaby on canvas by @jincherie (m)
a mans treasure by @koophoriia (m)
choking gold by @submissive-bangtan (m)
good for me by @ppersonna​ (m)
last november by @kithtaehyung​ (m)
letting you go by @honeyj00ns​
opaline moon by @missgeniality​ (m)
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the early shift: first sip by @hobidreams (m)
snowdrop by @submissive-bangtan (m)
makeshift chemistry by @jungblue (m)
what you did last summer by @winetae (m)
off the deep end by @boymeetsweevil (m)
heavy suga by @kinktae (m)
soul bound by @luffles424 (m)
this is sigma by @prolixitae (m)
helping hands by @btsiguess (m)
aidoneus, my love by @seokoloqy (m)
bad boys bring it to you by @yuengi (m)
rings by @mygsii (m)
moonlit throne by @hobidreams (m)
play me like a melody by @borathae (m)
in a dream you touched me by @borathae (m)
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hot rod by @kinktae (m)
no rest for the wicked by @seokoloqy (m)
blue kiss by @minflix
let’s put on a show by @readyplayerhobi (m)
studio by @joonbird (m)
sonic rain by @jungblue (m)
fake love by @aquaminwrites (m)
heat by @writtenyoongi (m)
far away by @bangtanprincesss
daddy’s little peanut by @readyplayerhobi
forever or never by @readyplayerhobi​ (m)
coffee run by @jjungkookislife (m)
love ; always by @yeoldontknow​ (m)
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burst by @littlemisskookie (m)
all night by @ironicarmy (m)
holy by @benexolence (m)
falling storms by @seokjincoffee
overhear by @hvllevator
the rich man’s crochet club by @kpopfanfictrash (m)
obligated by @underthejoon (m)
suitor by @nottojay (m)
1-year anniversary by @johobi (m)
baby, you’re wondrous by @ditzymax (m)
a weekend on jeju by @inkjam-moon (m)
the making of: love by @inkjam-moon (m)
rental by @moononthejoon (m)
boiling point by @btsiguess (m)
quiet, sweetheart by @kookscrescent (m)
partners by @btssmutgalore
headliner by @bangtanwhatif​
take it off by @ddaenysus​ (m)
tear by @ddaenysus​ (m)
dirrty by @egoist-joon​ (m)
heated by @joonsgalore​ (m)
break up with your girlfriend by @flytomyjoon​ (m)
implications by @namgee​
out of my league by @ppersonna​ (m)
empiricism by @joonscore​
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little girl by @lavishedinjimin (m)
spell bound by @minflix (m)
wasted times by @kpurereactions (m)
side to side by @forgottenpasta (m)
soliloquy by @kinktae
star light, star bright by @readyplayerhobi (m)
charity by @inkjam-moon (m)
battle of brains by @cupofteaguk (m)
boss witch by @submissive-bangtan (m)
drunken mistakes by @kimnjss​ (m)
exposure by @dreamyjoons​ (m)
our ‘get along’ shirt by @dreamyjoons​ (m)
secret by @ephemeralkookie​ (m)
kiss me by @cutechim​ (m)
cherry flavoured by @ppersonna​ (m)
my muse by @xiaokoo​ (m)
picking petals by @cutechim​ (m)
jagged by @opaljm​ (m)
all into you by @taegularities​ (m)
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of lace and lust by @hobidreams (m)
much better by @minflix (m)
beastly gods by @lemonjoonah (m)
love, guaranteed by @gukyi
paper cranes by @aquaminwrites (m)
the only one by @jjungkookislife​ (m)
the definition of art by @tipsydipsydo (m)
couldn’t care less by @bangtanwhatif
scene by @1997jk (m)
i’ll show you by @evilkookie (m)
ravenous by @junqkook​ (m)
if you need me by @minsprings​ (m)
devil in me by @jjkxla​ (m)
the snow king by @bloomsuga​ (m)
definition of love by @taegularities​ (m)
payback’s a bliss by @jinned​ (m)
gold rush by @ditttiii​ (m)
play date by @onherwings​ (m)
a lover’s howl by @inkedtae​ (m)
work out for me by @jiminssthetic​ (m)
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angel in the darkness by @icyhobi (m)
in a while by @bangtanwhatif
chasing buses by @bangtanwhatif
you’ve got mail by @minyoongijjangjjangmanboongboong
do you want me (dead?) by @gukyi
worth the wait by @sketchguk (m)
rigor mortis by @readyplayerhobi (m)
dom by @maliby (m)
arachne-boy by @kinktae
bitchin’ by @kinktae (m)
attention by @btees (m)
after i left you by @latetaektalk
bewitched by @jjkxla (m)
cotten candle by @jjkxla (m)
get even by @egoist-joon (m)
get wet! by @diortae (m)
rottenfolk by @junqkook (m)
something new by @minlucent​ (m)
the swan’s death by @jjkxla​ (m)
quiet, baby by @bratkook​ (m)
broken dreams by @ddaenysus​
lilies by @dewykth​ (m)
the art of boxing by @seokiie​ (m)
never let you go by @yeojaa​ (m)
down the rabbit hole by @jjkxla​ (m)
concrete king by @bratkook​ (m)
hot boy bummer by @jungkxook​ (m)
hair dye by @mercurygguk​ (m)
ancient history by @moononthejoon​ (m)
kissin’ on my tattoos by @papillonsgf​ (m)
out of the blue by @jungkxook​ (m)
the secret beneath our stars by @onherwings​ (m)
another taste by @bratkook​ (m)
black market baked goods by @chaangbin​ (m)
valentine’s date by @ephemeralkookie​ (m)
drivers license by @jtrbluv​
make it go away by @ddaechwita​​
haze by @yyooni​ (m)
waste it on me by @ddaechwita​ (m)
crazy over you by @jimidol​ (m)
get a roof by @intokook​
the road to radiant by @sunshinekims​ (m)
mask by @dulcetvk​ (m)
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peppermint mocha by @pasteljeon (m)
home by @bangtanprincesss
sunday by @forgottenpasta (m)
fortuna by @readyplayerhobi (m)
sharing is caring by @littlemisskookie (m)
under the same sun by @floralseokjin (m)
esurient by @yminie (m)
miss communication by @dovechim (m)
disobedience by @tipsydipsydo (m)
a piece of you by @httpjeon (m)
spice up your life by @egoist-joon​ (m)
tea party by @jjkxla​ (m)
ruin you by @taegularities​ (m)
9K notes · View notes
kinktae · 2 years ago
bitchin’ || (M)
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The 80s were a time of choices. Which perm was right for you? What color neon would you wear next? None of these choices, however, were more questionable than a certain deal you made with Jeon Jungkook.
pairing: fratboy!jungkook x reader
word count: 4.8k
genre: 1980s au, eventual smut, e2l
warnings: multiple smut scenes, science talk, banter, jealousy, alcohol & LOTS of colorful 80s slang lmao
A/N: Bitchin’ is a multichapter fic, surprise!! This fic was inspired by To All The Boys I’ve Loved Before. Thank you to @junqkook for letting me use her likeness and helping me with Yara’s character overall.
01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | 07 | 08 | 09 | 10
12:16 pm.
The time on the clock was glaring at you, a silent caution that today's lab was going to totally suck.
You could feel irritation start to eat away at you. You and your best friend, Yara, had a deal. She would show up to the dissection today and, in exchange, you would gladly do all the work. But given that class would start in four minutes, you had a sneaking suspicion that Yara was going to in fact skip class after all.
You let your chin sink down into the comfort of your open palm, eyes flickering once again towards the black and white clock that was perched up above the classroom's blackboard. Usually, you could hear each small tick of time, but seeing as this lab was more exciting, every student in the room was currently chatting amongst their peers, covering the clock's sound.
You considered for a moment making conversation with your professor. That idea was quickly squashed once you realized that he too was preoccupied – his attention set on the clock as well, allowing the minute hand to make its final journey before beginning the class.
Suddenly, you realized that not only had Yara left you alone, but she had also left you without a partner to do the dissection. You glanced around the room, frowning as you saw that every other table was evenly numbered, meaning you would be forced to join a random pair to make a group of three.
"Good afternoon, everyone." Mr. Kim began, pausing to take a swig from his coffee mug. "I hope everyone read the email I sent out yesterday in regards to proper attire. If anyone isn't wearing actual shoes, then I suggest you beat it unless you're particularly amped at the idea of losing a toe when someone accidentally drops their scalpel."
A few isolated giggles rang out, but no one made any move to leave.
"No one? Radical. Feet are gross anyway–"
The sound of the classroom door suddenly being pushed open stole away everyone's attention. The late boy that walked in froze momentarily, clearly not expecting all eyes to fall onto him, but quickly regained his composure as he flashed a smile.
"Sorry I'm late, Seokjin." He apologized lazily.
"Better late than never, Jeon." Mr. Kim acknowledged briefly, raising an eyebrow. "Although, if you call me Seokjin again then you'll be the next thing I have the class dissect."
The threat was empty and pulled a shared laugh from the students, including the one it was directed at.
You hardly had time to laugh yourself because before you knew it, the boy was headed towards your table.
Not wanting to hold eye contact with the tardy student as he made his way over, you let your stare fall onto your lap. The worn-out denim of your jeans wasn't distraction enough from the sound of the boy taking a seat beside you, his bag being thrown carelessly onto the floor.
Glancing at him from the corner of your eyes, you watched as he began to rummage through it.
Jeon Jungkook.
You had recognized him the moment he had stepped in; the two of you had attended the same high school after all. Not that he knew that. You were reasonably sure that the two of you never crossed paths back then. Well, unless you count the time him and his asshole friends tore down the pep rally banners you and the party planning committee had spent so much time on.
You were well aware of the fact that he was in this class as well, but this was by far the closest you had ever physically come to him.
Jungkook was the kind of guy people noticed– muscular build, dark, messy hair with an attractive smile. Not that any of that interested you, of course. As far as you were concerned, he was still the same disruptive tool that he was in high school
Oh, god. Please don't let him be your partner.
"Take a picture, it'll last longer." Jungkook spoke suddenly, heat rocketing through your body as you realized you had yet to pull your eyes off of him.
"S-Sorry!" You stuttered out, turning in your seat so that he couldn't meet your eyes, horrified that he had caught you staring at him so openly.
Jungkook clearly didn't think much of it your total social faux pas, as a boyish laugh escaped him.
"Don't sweat it." He shrugged, dropping a sheet of paper and a pen in front of him. "I'm Jeon Jungkook, by the way."
"Yep." You nodded absentmindedly.
He seemed taken aback at your response, noticeably confused. A nervous giggle escaped you, realizing how incapable of communicating you had become.
"Uh! I just meant–– I know who you are. We, like, went to high school together." You admitted, leg bouncing anxiously under the table. "I'm Y/N."
Jungkook cocked his head, clearly surprised. "Oh shit, did we?"
You let out a noise of confirmation.
Mr. Seokjin suddenly began speaking to the class, and you turned your attention to your professor as he started to introduce the lab.
"Who was in your circle?" Jungkook asked as if he didn't even hear his professor speaking.
You offered him a sparing glance, "What?"
"Like your friend group. You had friends, right?" Jungkook teased.
"Yes, I had friends." A serious tone on your tongue, trying to somehow still listen to what your professor was saying while Jungkook conversed with you. "I just… don't think you'd know of any of them."
Jungkook seemed unsatisfied with your response, his eyebrows furrowing.
"Did you do something? Like were you on any teams or anything?"
For a moment, you contemplated telling Jungkook to bag his face, that you were actually trying to hear what Mr. Kim was saying as you genuinely cared about passing this class. But seeing as he was sitting beside you, it was probably best not to piss him off.
"Well," You began cautiously, keeping your voice low, "I was a member of mathletes–"
Jungkook cut you off immediately.
"Woah, hold on. Mathletes? Like math?"
You turned towards him, fighting back the urge to roll your eyes. You weren't at all surprised by his reaction. You couldn't imagine someone like Jungkook who spent the majority of high school cracking out jokes from the back of the classroom giving a single shit about academics.
"Yes, like math. I was also in our marching band." You offered as if that would make any difference to him.
"So... you were a loser. Gotcha." He mused, causing you to frown slightly.
Alright, asshole...
"No." You countered calmly, trying not to reveal how offended you were. "We just had different interests."
"Like totally different." He grinned stupidly.
"Yep." You responded dryly, turning away from the dark-haired boy. You were also student body treasurer, but frankly, you no longer cared enough to tell him that. Your self-esteem wasn't fragile enough to be shattered by some asswipe calling you a loser, but it certainly didn't feel good.
"Alright, so with that said, go ahead and pair up. Coats and goggles are in the back of the room. Don't let me catch you doing anything stupid and have fun." Mr. Seokjin's words caught your attention, luring out another sigh from you.
Sliding off your stool, you tried your best to avoid the stare that Jungkook was pressing against your skull, walking into the crowd of chatting students who were making their way over towards the back. Surely he had friends in this class that he could partner up with. You'll just join someone else's group.
You were just beginning to button up your white lab coat when a towering presence made its way over to you.
"So, nerd." Jungkook's voice called out, reaching around you for a lab coat. "Are we doing this thing or what?"
'Or what.' You could feel yourself wanting to answer back almost immediately.
You turned away from Jungkook to glance over the room, feeling your shoulders sink as you realized everyone was partnered and you were undoubtedly stuck with him.
Jungkook stood there, an amused look on his face as you gave him a skeptical one as if measuring him up.
"Fine." You answered begrudgingly, grabbing a pair of goggles of their rack. "But I'm taking the lead on the dissection. You can take notes and observe what we find."
Just because you were agreeing to partner up with him didn't mean you were willing to sacrifice your lab grade. And if Jungkook didn't like that then… well… he could go find someone else to annoy all class.
At your words, Jungkook let out a laugh of surprise, clearly not expecting such an authoritative tone.
"Damn, you got it, Captain. The geek ship is all yours." He joked cheekily, holding a hand to his head as if saluting you.
You sent him a tight-lipped smile, already collecting a few choice words you'd be gifting Yara the second you saw her.
"God, gag me with a spoon." You grimaced, a foul odor attacking your nose as you bent over to get closer to the preserved frog you had laid out on your tray. You picked up the scalpel, trying to prepare yourself for the first cut mentally.
Jungkook's eyes flicked towards the creature before letting out a noise of awe.
"Oh, gnarly! One of its eyes is stuck open!"
"Don't say tell me that as I'm about to cut into it!" You squeaked out, gripping your blade. "That's not exactly a comforting observation as I'm about to expose its insides. Besides, I need you taking this seriously."
Jungkook raised his hands up by his chest, waving them defensively.
"Sorry, sorry. Happy cutting." He apologized, resting his chin in his palm.
The dissection wasn't particularly hard, in fact, if it had gone as you envisioned it – you cutting and describing what you saw with Jungkook writing down notes – you imagined it would go by rather quickly. Unfortunately for you, Jungkook had a constant need for small talk and very little desire to help get this lab completed quickly.
"Let's give him a name." He called out after maybe two minutes of uninterrupted silence.
Jungkook tutted in disappointment, "Why not?"
"It's dead, Jungkook." You reasoned.
"Doesn't mean he can't have a name." He pointed out. "I'm gonna call him Bernie."
You shut your eyes, stilling yourself as took in a deep breath.
"Jungkook... please. I'm just trying to do this lab. For the both of us." You responded, pulling away from the dead frog.
"And I'm trying to pass the time. For the both of us." He mocked, an attractive albeit irritating smile on his mouth.
You set down the cutting utensil, letting the metal clang against the tray, your temper finally catching up with you.
"Has anyone ever told you you're kind of insufferable?" You said pointedly.
You weren't usually this outwardly direct to people you hardly knew, but holy cow something about this kid pushed every single damn one of your buttons.
Annoyingly, Jungkook didn't even seem to notice your change in tone, a laugh escaping him.
"Well, you certainly wouldn't be the first. Definitely the first of your social status, though." He smirked. You let out an exasperated huff.
"What the hell is your damage?" You snapped.
"What do you mean?"
"I know a loser like me probably isn't your usual company and that you clearly don't give a shit about the fact that this lab is worth twenty percent of our grade but I do. All I want is to get this lab done so we can get the hell out of each others' hair. So if you have a problem with me or something that you want to get off your chest, speak now."
There were a few silent beats where the two of you just stared at each other, Jungkook looking pensive while your chest rose and fell slowly as you tried to control your angry breaths.
"Okay." He spoke finally, catching you off guard.
"My girlfriend left me for another guy today. It's why I was late. I'm just trying to get my mind off shit, I guess. I'm sorry I keep calling you names, that's just how I joke around with my friends. It probably doesn't translate well with strangers who don't know me. So, I'm sorry. I'll stop." He explained softly, a foreign expression on his face.
You blinked.
"Oh. Uh, well... Apology accepted." You replied, awkwardly.
When you had gone on your little rant, you had been hoping that it would make Jungkook feel just uneasy enough to shut up and focus on the lab. You weren't expecting anything of substance to leave his mouth, so you really had no idea where to go from here. Especially with the way he was looking at you like you had just kicked him.
"I'm sorry... about your girlfriend."
Jungkook shrugged, "Shit happens."
"Did you, like, know the guy?" You asked cautiously in a weak attempt to comfort him.
"Yeah, he's one of my brothers." He nodded.
"She left you for your brother?!" You exclaimed, your jaw all but dropping. Immediately, Jungkook flinched, eyes flickering across the room where a couple of students had turned towards the two of you in interest.
"Pipe down, okay? I don't need everyone knowing my business, damn." He frowned, throwing you a glare.
"Sorry, I'm just... that's gonna be one awkward family dinner." You scrunched your nose.
"What? Oh no, not my actual brother. He's in the same fraternity as me. Frat brother." Jungkook clarified.
"Ohhh." You nodded.
His... fraternity brother. Of course.
You bit down on your lip.
Jungkook eyed you for a moment before letting out a sigh. "Go ahead."
"What?" You cocked your head in fake confusion.
"I already know what you're thinking."
"What am I thinking?"
"You're thinking that me being in a frat just confirmed the fact that you think I'm some sort of meathead." He continued, rolling his eyes.
A sharp laugh fell through your lips and Jungkook's eyes widened at the sound. It was the first time he had made you laugh, he realized.
"Psshh, not even." You lied through your teeth, trying and failing to suppress your smile.
"Even." He countered, playfulness in his tone. The both of you held each others' eyes for a moment, mutual grins exchanged.
"Anyway, I'm sure she'll be back soon enough." He continued calmly.
"Oh, so you're gonna try and win her back?" You asked.
"Hm? Nah, we've always been on and off, she'll come back eventually."
You frowned, "And you're okay with that?"
You weren't typically one to judge others' love lives given how you currently didn't have one, but you couldn't help but marvel at Jungkook's words. He shrugged in response.
You shifted uncomfortably, "Have you considered moving on? Or at least doing something to get her actually to stay with you?"
"Like what?" Jungkook laughed, clearly not taking you seriously.
Great question. You weren't particularly skilled with knowledge when it came to romantic relationships; you had only ever had one boyfriend, and while it was fairly serious, things had ended amicably enough.
You thought back to your sisters at that moment. The twins were older than you and had both gone through a significant number of breakups. When the three of you were growing up, they usually relied on one another when it came to boy troubles, but that didn't mean you didn't get an earful late at night. Your bedroom shared a wall with theirs and, well, Rosa and Lia had always been loud people after all.
"Give her a reason to regret letting you go... become a better man and whatnot." You responded after some contemplation. "Show her what she's missing."
"Oh, she knows exactly what she's missing." Jungkook smirked, eyes flickering towards the front of his jeans. "Why do you think she keeps coming back?"
You blinked.
"I think I just threw up in my mouth."
"Dick this good doesn't come around that often." He continued seriously, wagging his pointer finger from side to side.
"Incredible. I just did it again." You deadpanned, causing Jungkook to snort.
"Seriously? I'm what's grossing you out in this scenario?" He mused, looking down at the frog you were previously dissecting. You let out a hum, nodding.
"As much as I appreciate the 411 on your dick, I've got a layer of fascia to cut through."
"Fine. Why don't you try and make conversation then, since your baggin' on everything I bring up?"
"I don't have anything to talk about." You shrugged, moving over to the frog, beginning to cut.
Jungkook raised an eyebrow, "Really? Nothing exciting happening in your life?"
"Yes, actually. I just located Bernie's trachea." You revealed. Jungkook walked over to your end of the table, eyes wide with disbelief as he leaned in for a closer look.
Your eyes widened as his shoulder brushed itself against yours, his sudden proximity unexpected.
He smelled like cologne, clearly wearing enough to make itself known past the stench of formaldehyde and you found yourself taking a step back, slightly flustered.
Sure, Jungkook was just a dumb frat boy, but he was an attractive one and it was just a little bit daunting.
You watched his profile as he marveled at the revealed insides of the frog, even reaching for a pair of forceps to pull back the flap of skin to get a better look.
"Actually, there is something I'm excited about."
"If it's his heart, I'm already one step ahead of you." He quipped back, not looking up from the frog. You shook your head.
"I want to throw an event on campus."
Jungkook's eyes flickering towards you was your cue to continue talking.
"It's to encourage more women to pursue careers in science and engineering. I've planned the whole thing and even made flyers."
"Well… it's no frog heart but that's certainly something." Jungkook smiled, causing your heart to pound.
You nodded, suddenly growing excited.
"All I need a sponsor. I can't afford to throw it myself– not to mention the fact that I'm not even sure people would even show up. I just think there are so many opportunities in STEM fields that more girls would thrive in if they were just encouraged enough." You continued, eyebrows furrowing as you began to think.
"Do you know that just a few years ago we made the first-ever artificial heart. A heart, Jungkook; a man got to live an additional one hundred and twelve days even though his original heart was nearly ripped to shreds. And just a few months ago, a child was born through gestational surrogacy. The woman who birthed her was literally just a human surrogate, she didn't pass down any DNA to the child. None! I mean, babies can be born from Petri dishes! We are literally changing the boundaries of fertility and sterility as we know it!"
Jungkook was grinning as he watched you speak. He couldn't help it. Here you were, decked out in your lab coat and goggles, scalpel in hand as you rambled on about science. It was kind of endearing, he noted... in a dorky way, at least.
"So, uh, yeah. Sorry, I just…" You came back down to earth eventually, noting the way he was staring at you with amusement. You hadn't meant to get so caught up in your thoughts. "I realize that probably isn't as exciting to everyone as it is to me. That was my attempt at making conversation."
Jungkook had a dumb look on his face, and you weren't surprised at all with his reply.
"You know... I bet there's someone out there that finds all your science talk really hot."
You let out a deep sigh, shoulders slumping down in defeat.
"Not everything is about sex, you know."
"No, but everything interesting is." He grinned lopsidedly.
Jungkook had this unusually natural composure about him. As if he could shrug off any inconvenience with one stupid smile.
How frustrating. It made it increasingly difficult for you to stay mad at him for very long.
"Come on, meathead. Let's get this over with." You rolled your eyes, nudging your shoulder into his muscular one.
"Y/N!" Jungkook's voice called out, halting you mid-stride.
You let out a sigh, forcing a smile onto your face as you turned around, watching as an expectant looking Jungkook jogged over to you, his hair bouncing with every step.
"Hey," He breathed out as he reached you, "you left so fast I didn't get a chance to say goodbye."
Yeah, and you thought you had gotten away with it too.
Jungkook wasn't a bad kid; he was funny and didn't take things too seriously– even if those qualities about him were slightly frustrating. No, Jungkook was alright you supposed, but that didn't mean the two of you were suddenly best friends. You didn't care much for formalities, especially when all you wanted to do was go back to your dorm, shower, and take a nap.
"Oh, right. Sorry." You recognized, adjusting the strap of your bag over your shoulder.
Jungkook merely smiled at you, and you wondered if he was gonna say anything else. Realizing that he wasn't, you pressed your lips together awkwardly.
"Well... bye." You nodded stiffly, already moving to turn and make your exit. A warm hand wrapping around your wrist stopped you from getting any further, however.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa!"
You stared down at where Jungkook's fingers touched your skin, your eyes wide in surprise. He must have noticed the way your body tensed because he let go of you as quickly as he grabbed you.
"I've, uh, actually got something I want to talk to you about." He grinned sheepishly, the same hand coming up to rub at the back of his neck.
You cleared your throat, pushing down the way your stomach was doing nervous flips, unfortunately, affected by the unexpected skinship. You tilted your chin up silently, urging Jungkook to continue.
"This is gonna sound sudden... and I know you don't really know me..." Jungkook began, causing your stomach to drop in horror.
Oh, God. Was... Was Jeon Jungkook going to ask you out?
"Spit it out, Jeon." You ordered, voice spiked high as your nerves began to rack.
"Would you mind dating me to make my girlfriend jealous?"
You blinked dryly, taking a moment to replay in your head just exactly what Jungkook had asked of you.
Okay... so not quite the love confession you were anticipating...
"Would I mind– What?" You gaped in disbelief.
"It wouldn't be for, like, too long. Probably just for a party or two." Jungkook shrugged as if anything he was saying was making any sense.
You shook your head, "Wait– Seriously, time out. What on earth are you asking me right now?"
Jungkook slipped both his hands into his jacket, which you had only just now taken a moment to admire. It was a brown leather bomber jacket with a few military patches sewn into the sleeves that you assumed must have come with the jacket as Jungkook didn't seem like the crafty type. Most of all, it looked warm and it reminded you that every second you stood here talking to Jungkook was a second you could be spending warm in your dorm under your covers.
"I was thinking about what you said. About showing my ex what she's missing." He explained.
"And you thought that was me auctioning myself off to be your fake girlfriend?" You laughed.
"Look, I know her, okay? If she were to think that you and I were a thing, she'd want to get back together."
You let out a sigh. This relationship of Jungkook's was revealing itself to be suckier and suckier as time went on.
"Why me?" You pressed. "I don't even know who your girlfriend is and I doubt she knows me. Is she in a sorority by chance?"
"Well, yeah–"
"Great! Get with one of her sorority sisters then. Give her a taste of her own medicine." You actually weren't usually one to promote revenge but, hell, if it meant it would get Jungkook off your ass then you were all for it.
"No can do. It's gotta be someone new and that Kiri doesn't know otherwise she won't care." Jungkook tutted.
"I'm not following." You admitted, truly not understanding why Jungkook was asking you of all people. You had only spent two hours with the guy. What about you in a lab coat and reeking of formaldehyde had told him that you were fake girlfriend material?
Jungkook suddenly took a look around and you followed suit, growing even more confused when Jungkook stepped closer and dropped his voice low.
"Kiri... she's president of her sorority; pretty, social, popular, you feel me? If I get someone like her then it just looks like I'm trying to replace her. But if I get–"
"If you say 'someone like you' as in implying I am neither of those things, I'll sock you in the nose." You scoffed, crossing your arms over your chest.
"–someone smart and independent, things that she's not, then she'll think I'm trying to forget her, which is what will get her attention. She'll be pissed, it's perfect." The dark-haired boy concluded, looking smug as if he had said something profound.
"Wow, you really are prince charming." You mused dryly. "Well, sorry to burst your bubble but I have no interest in being used as a pawn in your love game so..."
"You wouldn't be a pawn." Jungkook shook his head. "You'd be rewarded for your services–"
"Isn't that prostitution?" You cut off cheekily, causing Jungkook to roll his eyes.
"–I can help you fund your event." He continued.
At his words, you froze. Your head cocked to the side cautiously as you stared back at him, trying to decipher his sincerity.
"You can?"
Finally. This was the first time Jungkook could tell he had actually piqued your interest enough to really listen to him.
"Beta Tau Sigma. Our frat gets a monetary grant every semester in exchange for helping out in the community and helping fund an event for education sure would make us look damn good. While I'm not on the finance committee, one of my closest brothers is and I can totally pitch hosting your event to him."
"Holy shit..." You breathed out quietly, his words clearly making an impression on you.
If Beta Tau Sigma were to sponsor your event, not only could you afford to throw it but there was a real chance that people would actually come. Greek life was everything to your university and there weren't many significant school events that a frat or sorority wasn't behind.
Hold on. Why were you seriously considering this right now?
"But, I mean, you don't want to get involved in my love life, right? It's cool. See you next class, Y/N."
Jungkook shrugged coolly, spinning on his heel as he began to walk away, dismissing you with a simple gesture of a hand.
Your mind was racing. You had poured so much time into planning this event... Could the solution to finally getting it standing on its own two feet be found in some cocky frat boy? Was your pride that dismissable that you'd pretend to date him just to get what you wanted?
"Jungkook!" Was your inner conflict's final decision.
The boy paused his motions, his knowing smirk hidden as he had his back towards you.
"Hm?" He feigned innocence as he turned to face you.
"If you can seriously get your frat to sponsor my event, then..."
You took a step towards him, words trailing off.
Jungkook took a moment to look you up and down. You were dressed in jeans and a black knit sweater, the outline of a small kitten embroidered on it with white thread. It was an amusing juxtaposition given the nature of your personality.
Your hands were clenched into small fists, a shining, determined gleam in your ardent eyes.
"Then?" He mused smugly.
"Then I'll be the most bitchin' fake girlfriend you've ever had." You declared, a wide grin crawling along the length of your mouth.
Jungkook said nothing at first, just staring at you in silent reverence. He knew he hardly knew you but something about the resolve in your tone had him believing every word.
He extended a hand out towards you, catching you by surprise.
"So, do we have a deal? Partners?" There was mischievous timber to his words, the kind that made you feel as if this would all later come back to bite you in the ass.
Pushing that pestering thought away, you took his hand into yours, holding his eyes as you gave it a firm shake.
10K notes · View notes
hobidreams · 11 months ago
Right Here, Right Now {M}
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what if little Red wants to get eaten by the big bad wolves?
pairing: rapline x reader genre: smut, pwp, humor words: 8k contains: werewolf au, college au, massive 🍆s, knotting, oral (f & m), dirty talk, too much talk about bulges, a bit of a breeding kink, double penetration, humor, it’s me so they’re still kinda sweet, not actually a fairytale au a/n: my brain decided it was time to (temporarily) throw all plot out the window & indulge in some pure filth. i have no excuses. enjoy!!
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Whoever invented sweatpants, specifically the light grey ones (Emile Camuset), can fuck right off. Do not pass go. Do not collect $200. Fuck right off. Because if it weren’t for him, you wouldn’t be sitting here under your best friend’s arm, trying your best not to stare at the bulge that seems determined to steal your attention.
What is wrong with you? They’re literally just a pair of pants but for some reason, they fit Namjoon in the most devastating of ways. Usually, you can survive when he’s next to you in lecture since he prefers to wear those baggy tees that hide anything too dangerous, but now? When he’s lounging on the sofa, shirt casually hiked up a few inches to reveal just a sliver of belly and the dark, printed band of his CK boxers? You are weak. So, so weak.
You shouldn’t have demanded he hang out with you today when you showed up at his rented townhouse without notice. Should’ve just stayed at home to celebrate the end of the winter finals season, but all those late nights got to your brain and the only thought on your mind twenty minutes ago after a single mind-cleansing shower was that you wanted to snuggle. And being a werewolf, Namjoon always runs hot.
Relax, you tell yourself. Stop wondering how thick he must be to make that bulge even when he’s not turned on.
But that backfires, obviously, and now you’re just thinking about how big that bulge could get. How big you could make that bulge get. It wouldn’t be difficult. Just a drag of your fingers across the surface, a light rake of your nails. Maybe if you sat in his lap, or accidentally fell into it… Oh god. You almost got carried away. You scrunch your face up and try to think about innocent things like cheesecake, shoes, calculus. Anything but the monster in Namjoon’s pants.
All of a sudden, said tempter leans down, his nose brushing against your forehead. You try not to jump as he asks, “did you put on some new perfume?”
“No?” You reply, trying not to focus on how he continues to sniff you, brushing it off as one of his wolf traits. But today he’s really going at it, easing you further so he can trace the slope of your jaw. “Um, Joon, what’re you…”
“Smells so good…” Namjoon’s low voice has gotten even lower, dropping down to a register that makes your stomach clench.
Now he’s nibbling at the softness of your neck, dragging his lips across the expanse of skin. Just teasing still, but enough to start that heat in your veins. You kind of wish he would suck harder, leave a mark behind. Then you have to swallow a whine when he does just that, a sharp sting that he soothes over with a hot tongue before leaving another just below your collarbone. Careful not to use his teeth all the while. You’re starting to feel like jelly, dissolving under his touch.
He’s done this once before. The first time you met Namjoon and his roommates at someone’s house party about year ago, you’d done some decently steamy petting before a drunk frat boy threw up on him and ruined the moment. Since you got along so well after that, you just kind of wordlessly decided to be friends (admittedly very close friends…) and nobody’s made a move to change things since. Since, well, now.
“Joon, buddy, what’re you doing…” You mutter, trying so hard not to groan. “Why are you acting like this?” Not that you want him to stop, especially when that bulge just keeps getting closer and closer. Even though you really should pump the brakes, for the sake of both of you after whatever lust haze fades. It takes all of your willpower to put a hand on his chest and push him lightly back. “Joon. What’s up?”
Yep, it was a total mistake to look him in the eyes like this when his dark irises are flecked with gold, glazed over with desire. Strands of dishevelled black hair falling over his forehead. Still, it’s better than looking at other things, especially since you can tell in your peripheral vision that ‘other things’ have… grown a bit in the last few seconds.
“Joon. What’s up?” You repeat firmly.
He blinks, hard.
“What… What day is it?” You pull out your phone and show him the calendar. He stares at it, eyes narrowing as he does some mental calculations. “Oh, fuck.”
“…I’m so sorry.” Namjoon pulls away from you, and you instantly miss his warmth. “All of that… was my pre-heat. I must have gotten too caught up in finals to remember. I shouldn’t have let you come in. I’m really sorry.”
“No, Joonie, it’s… It’s okay.” More than okay, but you keep that to yourself. Namjoon’s told you before that werewolves get their heat (thankfully) only once a year, usually during the winter, but he hasn’t talked about it much since. “It’s my fault. I didn’t know pre-heat was a thing.”
“It basically just means we get hornier than usual. Not as bad as full heat though, of course.”
“Is that even possible? You’re literally always horny.” You roll your eyes, thinking about the few times you’ve caught him watching porn over the year.
He quirks an eyebrow. “I mean normally I’m not going around licking you, am I?” His biceps flex when he crosses his arms. Lord have mercy. “But seriously, I’m sorry. It was inappropriate of me.”
“Don’t be. It, uh, wasn’t all that bad.” You’re putting it mildly. You are definitely several degrees warmer, your panties a bit stickier.
“No?” Namjoon smirks, and you think maybe the bulge in his sweats twitches.
You probably shouldn’t provoke the wolf further, huh?
“Yeah.” You turn on your front camera, staring at the mark that blossoms on your skin. “It looks good on me, don’t you think?” Your voice is nothing but a tease as you wonder if he’ll play along.
Namjoon growls at the back of his throat. You’re not imagining it; his cock definitely jerks slightly this time. “Would look better with a few more.” His jaw is set, his tongue poking a cheek. The look on his face is very clearly challenging you, testing you to see if you’re just playing or serious.
“Mhm.” You shift and before you can think better of it, slip your thick, crimson cardigan off to reveal the thin shirt you’re wearing beneath. “It would.”
The couch creaks as Namjoon leans forward, close enough to inhale another whiff of your scent. “You sure?” The gold in his eyes is becoming more pronounced – a promising shimmer.
You’re hoisted up off the sofa in Namjoon’s arms, his full mouth capturing yours. He gives a few brief kisses before his tongue is tracing your lips, begging you to open. You taste the coffee he’d been drinking before your Netflix session turned into Netflix and chill, and lean in for more. Trusting him to not drop you, to give you what you want.
Namjoon instinctively feels his way around the room, rushing up the stairs, practically breaking open the door to his room. He tosses you onto the double bed, his dim bedside light already on so there’s no doubt in both of your minds of what’s about to happen, and with who. You’re still shivering thinking about how easily he carried you all the way here.
Standing before you, he’s certainly tenting those sweatpants now, the imprint of his cock so obvious you wonder if he’s wearing any underwear at all. Or if he’s just that big. Both? You lick your lips appreciatively at the thought. Maybe Emile Camuset has some rights after all.
But it seems Namjoon has other thoughts in mind as he joins you on the sheets, mouth finding yours again as he starts peeling off your leggings. Has got his fingers hooked in the side of your panties too, getting rid of them in one go. “Your smell, fuck. I’m gonna lose my mind,” he groans against your lips as he throws the clothes somewhere, then returns to making good on his promise to leave more marks. “Bet you’re so wet.”
“Mhmm,” you murmur, feeling his bulge press against your body and you want nothing more than to grind up on it. Especially when he pressures your clit in a way that makes you think he might be the devil instead of wolf. Any other time, you’d want to make him cream these pants just because you can, but you want him too badly inside you right now. You need to know exactly how he’d fit inside you, how he’d force you to stretch.
“Gotta prep you first, babe.”
“Nooooo.” You twist your hands in his shirt as he dips two fingers to your clit and rubs. You practically arch off the bed with how indulgent and fresh the pleasure that punches through you is. “Don’t want to wait.” You are aware that you don’t sound very convincing when you fall apart with every time he pushes harder on your clit, undulating his hand to enact some damn magic on you that has sparks bursting everywhere.
“It’ll hurt otherwise.”
You force his eyes to yours. “And?”
He’s about to snap back with something just as clever when—
“Dude, you gotta close your door so the smell—”
At the familiar voice, you automatically throw a glance to the door and by a bizarre twist of chance, lock eyes with Jung Hoseok. And if that wasn’t enough, you see Min Yoongi coming right up behind him. Namjoon’s two roommates. Your friends.
Wait. They’re both werewolves too. Which means… Oh shit. They’re probably both in, or close to, pre-heat too. Which is why the smell (of your arousal! The thought of your desire floating so obviously through the entire house makes you feel just a tiny bit embarrassed, but mostly kind of proud) bothered them.
Hoseok’s jaw couldn’t get more unhinged if he tried. Yoongi just looks somewhat amused.
“Namjoon, we had a deal!” Hoseok cries, shoving open the door all the way as if he hadn’t just been complaining about the exact opposite.
“I’m surprised he lasted this long, honestly.”
“Shit,” Namjoon says.
“Deal? What? What’s going on?” You sit up, so confused that you forget your friends are seeing your bare crotch for the first time. “Namjoon?” You look at him for explanation.
“We, um.” He looks sheepish, one of his dimples appearing as he gives a small, apologetic smile. “We had a deal that none of us would make a move on you.”
“… What.”
“It was after Seokjin’s party!” Namjoon says, as if that makes things even a smidgen clearer.
“Basically, we all wanted to ask you out,” Yoongi cuts in. “But couldn’t decide who.”
“All… three of you?” You blink, a slight breeze making you realize just how exposed you are. You snap your legs together. What the actual hell is happening right now.
Hoseok nods. “I never told you, but we met once at the freshman orientation all those years ago. And when I saw you again at Jin’s party… yeah.”
“I had Music 100 with you,” Yoongi says, a palm pressed to the back of his neck. “Class ended before I worked up the guts to even talk to you.”
“So. You decided that… None of you…”
“It was the only fair way?” Namjoon says, as if he is doubting literally everything about that agreement right now, like he should. So this is why he suddenly became all platonic after that party? “We love having you around too much to fuck it up.”
“Except we find you like this. What the hell, man?” Hoseok whirls on Namjoon, a pout on his lips. He looks like he’s trying very hard not to breathe too deeply right now, a hand on the hips of his… god he’s wearing sweats too. Light grey, and somewhat tight around his legs. Is the universe out to punish you today?
“Things just happened! I didn’t realize it was time for our pre-heat and she came over and she smelled so good and…”
“You shouldn’t have let her in,” Yoongi snaps. “You know what it gets like. What were you going to do after, with her scent all over the house? We could smell it from the front door the second we walked in. It’s why this.” Yoongi breaks off to gesture at his pants, black jeans that aren’t any better at hiding the bulge that strains against the zipper. That’s because of you? You snap your eyes to Hobi. He’s not doing any better, the sweatpants freely exposing him. You swallow, thinking you could put those cocks to good use.
Look, you’re not blind. So, you’ve ogled your friends a few times before in the past, explaining it to yourself that you were just looking, so it was totally okay. But now to know that they were (are?) interested in you too? That they’re sporting hard-ons due to your wet lust? You’re getting yourself worked up more and more.
Namjoon frowns. “I’m sorry, hyung! At least you know how hard it was for me to resist.”
“Hey.” You snap before either of them respond, deciding you’ve had enough of this. “Not to interrupt but, is someone gonna fuck me?”
All three men turn to you.
What’ve you got to lose? You let your bare legs part slightly, really giving them something to look at. You can see the exact moment your scent hits them, stronger than ever. Something dark and hungry shifts into their eyes. Goosebumps scatter on your skin.
Hoseok clears his throat. “If—If it can’t be none of us, then…”
“Then it’s all of us,” Yoongi finishes.
“Are you alright with that?” Namjoon’s question is directed at you, who has just become aware that you may have gotten yourself into something deeper than intended. But you have never been one to run with your tail between your legs.
“What’re you waiting for?” You say, words brimming with a confidence you really only feel about half of as you watch the men absorb your words. For a second, you’re afraid that they’ll call your bluff. Then the shirts start coming off and you stop thinking logically altogether.
You’ve seen all three of these guys shirtless, most notably after a wet t-shirt contest generously sponsored by your drunk ass when you threw a full tub of water over them and screamed “ICE BUCKET CHALLENGE” like it was 2014. But you’ve never seen them shirtless before you’re about to have sex. It’s a different experience entirely, watching the tops hit the floor to join your leggings and all that skin, oh my god, all that skin. Hoseok’s got that dancer’s body, lean and tan and delicious, while Namjoon is just so big from that well-spent time at the gym. Yoongi’s been joining him there lately, and holy fuck is it working, by the definition and minor bulk on his chest. You’re about half a second away from chanting take it off! as their fingers flit to their waistbands.
“Wait, we still have to prep you,” Namjoon says, making the other two pause too.
“Do it with your pants off,” you practically whine. You have to see. You’ve been denied for too long, even if you weren’t aware of how much until about a minute ago.
“Needy, are we?” Yoongi says, his voice so controlled you might as well be asking him to pass you the remote. But you can see how his teeth sink into his lower lip.
“What do you think?” You spread your legs more. This time, you dip two fingers shallowly between your folds, gathering a bit of slick. This, you hold out to them, beckoning just the once.
It’s enough.
“Careful, princess.” Hoseok bares his teeth as he yanks his sweats down and his cock springs free, slapping against his stomach. Holy shit. The head is so red, dark and swollen where it weeps precum from the tip. But the length. The length! He’ll fill you up and then some. You won’t be walking easily tomorrow, that’s for sure.
Yoongi’s zipper claims your attention next. Your eyes widen when he works the tight jeans down his legs and wonder how he ever hid that thing around you because it is mouth-watering. So long, a bit on the skinnier side but still bigger than any human man you’ve ever seen. So damn pretty too, just waiting to be touched. The prominent vein running along the shaft definitely needs to be traced with your tongue.
And Namjoon. The man that started this all in the first place. He throws those accursed sweatpants aside and you make a mental note to burn them because you never want anything hiding such a cock from you again. The smooth, elongated curve… That dark patch of hair near the base… You’re pretty sure your fingers won’t be meeting when you wrap around the thing, as turgid as it is, and you’re so ready to try.
“Are—Are you clean?” You manage to ask, surprising even yourself with the rationale. Do they even make condoms that big anyway?
They all nod.
Looks like you’re not finding out about the condoms tonight. “Me too.”
Hoseok takes a step forward, his eyes now practically almost all golden. “You want us to take you raw?”
“If you want.”
“If I—” Namjoon starts, only to be cut off by his own snarl. “You, babe, you are trouble.”
You should really keep your mouth in check. It’ll get you in hot water one day, but for now, it’s getting you a god damn foursome. “Thought you were supposed to be the big bad wolves.”
Your shirt is ripped off, flying towards the closet door with a loud smack. Yoongi’s the one responsible, bending over you instantly to mouth at the bare nipples he exposed. (Did you really come here to a house with three wolves with no bra on? Finals really did a number on your sanity.) He sucks a peak between his lips, the noise lewd and loud as the other two round on you.
“You taste incredible... So sweet,” Yoongi praises, reluctantly leaving one breast to latch onto the other, rocking you up into him so he can get more. He sucks harder when you moan, then he has to release you to gasp when you put a hand on his dick. You don’t move though. Just sit there, marvelling at the girth, the weight of it in your palm. You make the mistake of looking him in the eyes, the complete desire in his stare making you leak a bit more. All three wolves register the new arousal, sniffing the air as if it’s their favorite meal.
“Don’t forget about us,” Namjoon says as he puts a knee on the bed, making it bend to his weight. He pulls one of your legs to him, kissing a trail down your thigh until he’s reached a softness he wants to mark. His dick leaves light trails of pre-cum all over your skin, but you don’t care, not when you shift your calf to brush against the head and he shivers.
While he’s doing that, Hoseok kneels between your legs, staring intently at the apex of your thighs. He’s mesmerized by the slick that paints itself across your lips, more oozing from you with each flick of Yoongi’s tongue.
“Waiting for an invitation, Hobi?” You purposefully clench your core, hoping he can see how ready you are.
“Isn’t that the polite thing to do?” He grins, ever the jokester as he lowers himself, back muscles rippling all the way down.
“Don’t want you to be polite right no—haah...!” The sound is embarrassingly needy, pulled from your mouth by Hoseok’s tongue licking a fat stripe down your clit. You’re the one who insisted on dropping the civility and now you reap the harvest when he starts eating you out in a way that makes you think no one has ever done it properly before. His tongue rolls against you, drawing out a flurry of curses that melt into moans and make your muscles tense up in half a second. Hoseok keeps you surprised with what he’s going to do next, able to switch between teasing nibbles to an onslaught of laps with ease. And when he curls the tip of his tongue between your folds? You all but lose your mind.
“Shit, look at you.” Namjoon’s got a hand around his own dick, the fingers having the audacity to look small when compared to that girth. You want to ask him to send you a video of him jerking off later, just for your own keepsake.
“Should’ve done this a long time ago,” Yoongi groans when you squeeze on his frenulum, thumb pressing into the spot that makes him get somehow harder. “Tempting me every time you walked around here smelling so fuckable.” He takes your mouth, tongue flitting in for deep kisses that make your bones turn to jelly.
Hoseok’s long fingers had been stroking the side of your cunt lips and you hiss, bucking when you feel him push in. Two right off the bat because he seems to know you relish the sharp jolt of pleasure and he’s right. It doesn’t take long for it to settle down into pleasure, especially as he curls into your sweet spot, enough pressure to make your legs full on shake. You’ll cum if he keeps this up. You’ll cum if he drops his mouth back to your clit like he is now, eyes still kept up to watch you shiver. Fuck, Hoseok, fuck, you think deliriously as the hand on Yoongi’s dick goes faster.
Right when you’re about to tip over into that realm of no return, Hoseok pulls his fingers back, a move that makes you whine like you’re the one about to go into heat. You think he might be giving Namjoon an opportunity, but instead his fingers settle distinctly downward. “This okay?” He asks, blowing a hot breath across your clit as he touches the rim of your ass.
“Yes, yes, yes,” you gasp, pretty sure you’d even give him the numbers to your credit card right now if he asked. You’re no stranger to anal, a fact you are forever thankful for because there would be no way this would be happening if this was your first.
“Hyung. Lube.” A tiny bottle from Namjoon’s nightstand comes flying at Hoseok. He catches it without even looking up, uncapping it with one hand. (This action is more arousing than you’d care to admit. Not that you have to, with three wolf noses twitching at the fresh arousal.) “Gonna be cold,” he warns, pouring a healthy amount on his fingers.
“Ugh, warm me up then!”
They all chuckle at the desperation in your voice as you release the crumpled bedsheets to cover Namjoon’s hand with your own, comically small in comparison. He shifts closer, stops moving and lets you stroke him in tandem with Yoongi’s dick for about five seconds before your brain malfunctions and everything stops.
Yes, that’s Hoseok’s tongue at your hole. No, you’ve never done that before.
It is so wet and hot and he goes at it unabashedly, open mouthed French kissing as you squirm and feel like maybe you’ll explode with pleasure any second now. The heat swirling in your body feels just as much beast as them. Then Yoongi reaches down to cover your clit and he starts rubbing and you actually cum before you even know it.
“H-Holy shit,” you sputter out as the throbbing starts, first in your cunt then petering out across your entire body as you clench around (sadly) nothing, bucking your hips up to push your ass further into Hoseok’s face.
He just takes the opportunity to work the first finger in you. You might just cry.
Your body feels like it’s pulled taut, a bolt of electricity stretched out to delirium as Hoseok strokes in, softening you up over and over. And that’s what gets you every time you think about it – this is just a precursor for his ridiculous cock. Then Namjoon reaches down and plunges two fingers back in your cunt.
“Y-You, oh god, y-you’re… Oh…” You hate them. You hate them but you love them, and you are just a mess on Namjoon’s sheets with two sets of fingers pumping relentlessly inside your needy walls. They drink it all up, baring their teeth as they snarl with desire. From the few glimpses you manage to catch, Hoseok’s cock is angry as he grinds it into the sheets, wanting friction.
“Princess likes having her holes full,” Hoseok says, his voice still slyly teasing even with a finger, oh now it’s two, in your ass.
“Princess wants a cock,” you shoot back, even though your voice quivers with the pleasure, the remaining pulses that vibrate in your system.
“Got one right here,” Yoongi drawls as he shifts forward, pulling your hand from him. His eyes flash amber as he looks down at you. He would be scarily intimidating from this angle if you didn’t already know how soft he is for you. Soft or not though, he still intends to fuck your throat. “Be a good girl and open up.”
You open up wide, even sticking your tongue out. The sight makes him groan, and that just makes you wetter. Then he straight up gasps when you wrap your lips around his dick, going hard right from the start, lusting after that slightly salty taste. He’s so big it makes your jaw ache, but you keep going, using a hand to guide him further down. You watch how his cheeks gradually grow redder and redder as he bares his canines, sinking them down into his lip.
“Fuck, you guys need to feel her t-tongue,” Yoongi stutters out, his hips matching that rhythm as he pushes further in. Your gag reflex is a bit of a bitch, but you’re determined not to listen to her tonight as you take him. Yoongi curses more when you audibly gag around him but keep him shoved deep anyway. “Good fucking girl, damn...”
“I’d rather feel her pussy right now,” Namjoon says casually, though both he and Hoseok are intently watching the show. Somewhere along the way, Hoseok urged a third finger into your ass and Namjoon did the same in your cunt, and all of a sudden you want more than you have ever asked for in this lifetime. This is your once chance, and you’re not about to lose it.
“Thnn do eet—” You manage around the shaft, words coming out garbled but the meaning clear. “Both—”
Hoseok gives you a smirk so filthy you mentally store it into your spank bank for later. “Alright, princess. You begged us for it.” He curls in you one last time, purposefully catching on your rim on the way out to make you groan.
You gleefully lift your hips and let Hoseok slide beneath you, his big hands sprawled across your waist and not about to let go any time soon. That makes the perfect space for Namjoon to advance in front, shifting around Hoseok’s legs until they’re both poised and ready to take you.
“You first,” Namjoon says, courteous to his hyung even though his eyes devour the glisten of your cunt lips, the debauched sheen that says how starved you are to be fucked. You hope he’ll never forget this night, because you know you certainly won’t.
You’re so far gone, you don’t even feel embarrassed at the ridiculously needy moan that escapes you when you feel the tip of Hoseok’s bare cock at your hole. “Good?” He asks, giving a few shallow thrusts that only serve to work you up further.
“About to be better,” you quip back. You can hear his wide smile in the short laugh that follows. But for all your big talk, a werewolf’s cock is nothing to sneer at and when he pushes the head inside you, tears drip from your eyes from the stretch. “Oh fffffuck,” you groan, forgetting to lick Yoongi from the way Hoseok’s dick demands your attention. The first minute is all pain even though you’re soft and prepped for him, but he slows down for you, waits for your breaths to even out before he feeds you the next inch.
Namjoon strokes your inner thighs like he’s trying to calm you down, but the action only does the opposite. Your entire body feels electric, sparks bursting beneath your skin as Hoseok’s dick fills you out, forcing you to become pliant around the sheer girth. Yoongi’s hand brushes hair away from your face, a juxtaposingly gentle action compared to the greedy way your hole contracts around the cock.
And when Hoseok gets all the way in, balls pressed against your skin, you think you might never breathe again. But then it gets only easier from there. Especially when he pulls back just to fuck back in, grinding into you as you sputter a mix of curses and moans. “Again,” you gasp, and he’s more than happy to do so, giving you a stroke that makes your stomach tighten and pleasure radiate.
It’s a few blissful minutes later that Namjoon asks, “are you ready for the second? Or is that too much?” He sounds breathless himself as he eyes your cunt and how it leaks arousal, just waiting for him. But he doesn’t want to hurt you. Never does.
You blow out a heavy breath.
“G-Give it to me.” You are not a quitter. You asked for this, and you’re going to take it, if only to prove to yourself that you can.
“You’re amazing, you know?” Namjoon marvels as he shuffles closer, his cock wrapped in his hand, the thick erection still so imposing. But he’s given himself a generous dose of lube to help ease the slide, even though your pussy is basically drooling.
You manage to laugh even as Hoseok fucks another groan from you. “Oh, I know.”
Then, possibly for the first time in your life, you shut up as Namjoon snaps his hips for the first thrust.
Oh god.
Oh god, what are you doing. You are so in over your head, you realize as Namjoon’s cock pushes into your cunt and you think you might actually break or tear something. You can say with absolute certainty you have never been so full in your life, not even after that all-you-can-eat barbeque fest with the boys, when you were determined to get every penny’s worth of your precious $12.95.
Namjoon’s weight bears down on you, pushing you into Hoseok’s bare (and firm, very, very firm) chest even as he pauses to let you breathe. “Still okay?”
“Just… Just need a sec,” you say, even though he’s not helping one bit, looking so handsome from this angle. There’s no way around it – he’s just massive, and you think you might cry, half from the pressure, half from sheer pleasure. Not even your biggest dildo can compare, and you’ve had some pretty wild nights with that thing. Not to mention the dick in your other hole, unrelenting as Hoseok grunts against your shoulder whenever you tighten involuntarily around him. But you’ll get through it, for the bliss that awaits on the other side is undoubtedly worth the wait.
“You’re so hot,” Yoongi suddenly blurts out from above you. “Sorry. I just. Yeah,” he mumbles when you look at him with an amused grin. “I’ve thought about this a lot.”
“And is it everything you ever dreamed of?” You tease in your best cheesy rom-com voice, successfully distracted from the soreness as you coax Namjoon in for another solid inch with a clench of your walls. You even manage to put your mouth back on Yoongi’s pretty length so you can hear him choke on a moan.
“D-Damn straight,” he says, a thumb rubbing fondly across your cheek as you suck generously on the head, where he seems to be most sensitive.
When Namjoon works another few inches into you, you genuinely think there might be no end to his dick. That he’ll still be giving it to you by the time winter break is over, and then you’ll have to explain to your parents exactly why you’re on academic probation. But then he eases two fingers over your clit, massaging with exactly enough pressure to make you whine around Yoongi’s cock and you think eh, you could take a gap year.
“Oh, fuck,” Namjoon gasps from above, voice much too deep to be any kind of decent, “your pussy is incredible.” He’s sweating hard, drops sliding off his smooth skin as he fights back every instinct to just slam himself all the way inside.
Hoseok seems to notice how he struggles to keep his balance because he reaches for your clit instead, taking over so Namjoon can focus. The way Hoseok touches you is nothing short of a massive tease, flitting between paces, never giving you enough to let you cum. You get an inkling that you won’t be hitting a peak until they’re both nestled as deeply as they can be inside you and that thought alone tugs you a bit frustratingly closer.
It’s when Namjoon finally hilts himself in you and they both give their first thrusts with a brutal sort of synergy that something gets a little darker, a little more desperate between all of you. Maybe it’s because you lose control of your voice, the moans and squeals forced out of you as they grind their hips against your body, and then Yoongi starts to fuck your mouth in earnest. Pleasure is hot, hot, hot as you feel the slide of every bit of solid cock into your starved body and all you can do is accept.
It’s probably a good thing they’re not in full heat. One would be a handful but all three? The bed frame is already shaking like it’s going to give out. Your body rivals the quivering, your muscles unused to such work as you hold your spread legs wide and beg them not to give out.
Namjoon grunts as he latches onto one of your nipples, careful to keep his canines out of it as he laps a hot tongue across the peak. “Gonna… fuck you full of cum, babe.” You don’t think you’ll ever forget the timbre of it, the way it rumbles through your veins.
“Do it, Joon. Stuff me,” you gasp, pulling off Yoongi for a brief breather with a trail of saliva following his dick to your lip.
Yoongi’s eyes flash even more brilliant gold at the sight. “A good little bitch for us,” he mutters, only continuing when you respond to the curse with a moan. “Look at the way you move those hips. Like you wanna be bred.”
“I do, I do,” you whine through the ache in your jaw. They all know about your IUD but you’re happy to indulge in this fantasy anyway, a kink probably brought on by their coming heat. You actually manage to shift yourself down further on both cocks at the thought of being that full of their cum. “Wanna feel… fuck… how much you stretch me out tomorrow.”
“You will,” Hoseok hums aside your ear before catching the shell between his sharp teeth. “You’ll get addicted to the way we fuck you.” He rolls his hips in time with your needy thrusts and is that just you, or did his cock just get even bigger?
Still, you gasp out a laugh, hand tightening around the arm he’s got wrapped around your waist. “A-Already am, Hobi.”
That earns you a laugh of his own, a heartwarming sound that turns lethal when combined with the renewed vigor with which he toys with your clit. You must get tighter instantly because Namjoon grunts out a few curses and Hoseok’s moans soar in pitch. You’re close again; they must know it because they start going faster and faster and holy shit, wait, that’s too much, too hard, too deep—
“Fuck!” You throw your head back, sweat glittering on your skin as you hit another orgasm, this one every bit as powerful as the first. But you’re given exactly three seconds to savor the feeling when a pressure starts to invade your lower hole, one more intense than anything you’ve experienced thus far. “What the fuck…?”
“Shit, sorry, sorry, I’m—oh fuck, princess—I c-can’t stop—the way you’re squeezing me—” Hoseok gasps his apologies but he doesn’t really sound sorry at all because the words are sandwiched between the filthiest moans you have ever heard from him as the stretch grows exponentially.
You are no longer tearing up but instead just crying as the excruciating pain rips through you and you think that you can’t take this, you were right, you’re in too deep. But there’s no backing out now, not when hot cum shoots right into the deepest part of you and Hoseok has devolved to full-on growls. The sounds are feral, ripped right from his throat as he laps roughly at the nape of your neck again and again, teasing the points of his canines but not daring to claim you in front of his brothers.
“Oh baby, you take his knot so well,” Yoongi groans, his cock leaking pre-cum as he squeezes the head, pinching himself to stave off orgasm. “Perfect for us. So fucking perfect.” You whine as Yoongi leans down, slipping his agile tongue into your mouth to work you through the knotting and the pulses from your own peak.
You wipe a few tears from your eyes when you finally feel yourself come back down to earth. “I-Is it gonna last a while…?” You manage to utter as the initial shock starts to wear off, the pain still present but no longer impossible. Or maybe that’s the effect of Yoongi’s mouth and the way he bites at your lips, making you want to forget the world entirely.
“Twenty… minutes,” Namjoon grunts as Hoseok’s sticky cum continues to flood you. He’s slowed down but by no means has he stopped, even when you’re sure he can feel the excess seed leak unabashedly from your hole onto the bedsheets.
“Feels so good in you,” Hoseok purrs, grabbing handfuls of your boobs as he kisses everywhere he can reach. “My princess. Taking all of me.” He can’t stop muttering praises, his voice oscillating between low and high as he settles into a comfortable position to ride out the next twenty minutes. Despite yourself, you feel that bliss sparking from the fingers that pinch your nipples as he kneads you.
Soon enough, Namjoon starts to ramp up again, seemingly unable to hold off anymore. And before long, you feel his hips start to stutter in that same breathless way, going deeper and deeper into your cunt, the blunt head kissing your cervix with every thrust. Paired with the knot, it’s a dizzying experience that says fuck it to the tightrope between pleasure and pain and just embodies them both to the extreme.
“Close,” he grits out. “Close, baby. Gonna paint this pussy white.”
“W-Wait. Joon, don’t—” You have to pause for a groan when Namjoon’s crotch grinds against your oversensitive clit, “d-don’t knot me though.”
“Why… Why not,” Namjoon pants, looking like that is the absolute last thing in the world that he wanted to hear.
You look towards the man at your side, the one whose cock is slathered shiny with your spit. “Cause… I want Yoongi to have a turn.”
Namjoon looks at Yoongi too, communicating silently with heated eyes. Three seconds tick by. You feel every damn moment with the cocks still hot and thick in your holes before Namjoon finally nods. Pulls out just enough so that the knot doesn’t catch, but that certainly doesn’t mean the length is any less imposing as he fucks it back into you, intent on hitting the climax that just slipped away from him. Oh, and he still manages to hit your needy cervix anyway, though not as brutally as before. All you can do is cling to his sweaty back, your nails scratching lightly across his broadness.
You soon learn that Joon during orgasm may not as loud as Hobi, but it’s every bit as sexy. He grunts, scrunching up his face into a fierce look as his nostrils flare. He leans down to capture your nipple again, his control over his own actions barely there as he clamps down. Leaves another few marks of his conquering where his mouth lands. His thrusts are so rough they hurt, but he still manages to keep the knot away as promised, even as cum splatters into your walls, the first pump already so much but it just keeps coming.
“Joon, oh w-wow,” you pant as another burst of cum explodes against your core, and you have never been more thankful that you’re able to take them bare. Hoseok gives a whine as you must clamp around his sensitive dick, but it’s not like you have any say in how you react to this bliss.
“Take it all, beautiful.” Namjoon manages to smile, dimpling his cheeks. It’s a few tense seconds longer before he finally draws himself back, looking highly satisfied with himself as he lifts your butt as much as possible to help keep his cum in. “Hyung is right. You’re so hot.” He gives a throaty laugh as Yoongi fondly glares at him.
You smirk as you bring Yoongi’s dick to your mouth for one last messy kiss before urging him down to take Namjoon’s place.
“Are you going to be okay though?” Yoongi asks even though he’s settling between your spread thighs. His eyes are trained on how a few drops of cum trickle from your cunt as you inhale deeply; the cream spills out over Hoseok’s balls, his knot as inflated as before, though you’ve grown a bit more used to the stretch. “It’s not too much?”
“Yoongi.” You give him a look, which you know is your best pleading face. It works when you want him to accompany you on a late-night junk food run, and it’s going to work now. “Cum in me.”
Well. That does it. Yoongi grabs the base of his cock for leverage and pushes right into Namjoon’s seed. Feels it splash around his shaft with each thrust, making everything sloppy and slippery. All four of you make some sort of moan at the ridiculously filthy sound, the wet schlick of euphoria slamming into you as he goes hard from the start.
You didn’t think you had another orgasm left in you but the way Yoongi slams into your cunt makes you question just about everything. You must have done a good job with your mouth because he’s not playing around, licking his bottom lip as he looks down his nose at you, fucked out beneath him yet taking him whole anyway. It’s all just wet, and while a smaller cock would be drowned by the sheer amount of cum, Yoongi’s is too imposing not to give you devastating friction.
His thumbs dimple your butt as he grabs a handful, squeezing just hard enough for you to feel a sweet soreness. His eyes widen a fraction at the whimper that escapes you before lust rushes in, darker than before. Then his palm slams down onto your right cheek in time with a particularly harsh thrust and you fall apart just a bit, throwing your head back onto Hoseok’s shoulder.
“Got you,” Hoseok growls as he holds your weight up. “You like that, hm?”
“Y-Yeah…” No point in denying it when you sound as wild as this.
“Do it again, hyung.” Namjoon’s got a fistful of bedsheets in his hand, his softening cock giving a subtle jerk of interest anyway.
The next spank is enough to ruin you.
It's a rough slap, one that pushes your limits when there's already two dicks inside you but you take it, you take it anyway and feel the bliss make your toes curl. You've always known Yoongi's hands were something magic by the way he plays the piano, but you never imagined he would be making you sing like this. He matches you with a bass line of guttural groans and raspy pants that you think you will never be able to unhear. Not that you’d ever want to. And that goes for all of them and the symphony they’ve treated you to tonight.
Neither you or Yoongi last much longer. Not when Hoseok reaches for your clit again while Namjoon steals your mouth and you end up squeezing Yoongi so hard you’re milking his cock while his hands cinch around your waist. While the climax isn’t as powerful as the first two, the real pleasure is watching the normally-so-composed Yoongi fall apart with his head bowed, his tongue caught between his teeth.
You realize a bit too late what Yoongi intends when he stops pulling out as much and instead grinds against your skin. Just like before, though a few inches higher now, you feel that overwhelming tension of a knot rip through you, bulging, stretching your walls until you whimper and proceed to give out completely. Surrender to the wolves, and let them take care of you with fond whispers and massages from their limber fingers as Yoongi mixes his cum with Joon’s inside the heat of your sodden cunt.
“Good girl,” Yoongi soothes as he settles his arms on both sides of you, his weight resting lightly on yours to ride out the inflation. “Our good girl.” He licks at your collarbone, hot and wet.
To say you are sated would be a gross understatement.
An indeterminate amount of time later, after the knots slowly abate and the still very formidable cocks are eased out of you, you somehow manage to get to your feet. You stumble on very shaky legs to the washroom to pee, cum pooling down your thighs to make an absolute mess that the boys help clean off you with some towels, dampened with warm water. After, you all but collapse back into the bed with their bare bodies framing you in.
“Wanna stay over,” you mumble, nuzzling into Hoseok’s chest as Yoongi wraps an arm around you from the other side. You could save hundreds on heating through the winter if you could just cuddle with them full time.
From behind Hoseok, Namjoon frowns. “I mean, you can, but I don’t know when our heats will start...”
Yoongi presses a kiss to your jaw. “We seriously don’t want to hurt you. It can get... intense.”
You are unfettered as you yawn and settle further into the bed. Pretty much nothing (not even the return of the McRib™) could get you to move right now, so you just mumble, “that’s tomorrow’s problem.” And then you let yourself drift off with a grin on your slightly swollen lips.
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Tomorrow, you wake up sane enough to realize that no, you will really not survive another round with the boys, judging by the satisfying soreness radiating throughout your entire body. And by the way their eyes keep flashing between flecks of gold, you really shouldn’t stay any longer unless you’re prepared for round two (and three, four, and five…)
Though they’re slightly hazy still, the boys call you an uber. They get you some water, help you down the stairs, and see you off with gentle pats of your ass and kisses over the bruises on your neck.
“Love ya,” Namjoon murmurs, rubbing your back one last time on the front stoop.
Yoongi reluctantly lets go of your hand, while Hoseok gives you a soft hug. “Come back after. We’ll get fries.”
You smile at them as the car pulls away, with just a twinge of regret that you couldn’t witness the glory that must be their heats. But it’s okay.
You’ll just have to work up to it.
8K notes · View notes
gamerguk · 2 years ago
too hot to sleep. (m)
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# pairing. fiancé!yoongi x reader
# genre. established relationship au, humor, fluff, smut.
# word count. 2.4k
# warning(s). fluff, reader doesn’t like cats yoongi’s cat, smut [marriage kink(?), unprotected kitchen sex, small hint of yoongi having a possession kink]. \\ will be edited at a later time so my apologizes for any mistakes
# a/n. this was originally supposed to be a drabble but i liked the prompt a this is the cute fluffy version but i’m also MAYBE gonna write a uh...rougher version. i tried to write an impreg kink since that shit is mad hot but it wasn’t working out for me :(
↳ summary. “ Umm can’t wait to get rawed in our kitchen when I’m living with the love of my life ” *soft ver.*
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“You never listen to me,” you whisper to your fiancé’s sleeping figure, “I ask you to pick up the air conditioner on your way home from work,” you shove his shoulder in an attempt to wake him up, “but instead, you buy a new bed for your demon cat.”
Yoongi stirs in his sleep, turning himself to face the bedroom window. You can’t help but get annoyed at the fact even when he’s sleeping, your fiancé barely istens to you. Every ounce of annoyance fades away the moment you hear the soft sound of Yoongi smacking his lips together, a habit he developed whenever he was in the midst of a deep sleep. Even unconscious, he was still the cutest thing you had ever seen.
But, nevertheless, it was too hot for you to sleep. Your growling stomach also proves you’re otherwise too hungry to sleep as well.
Slowly and quietly, you retreat to the apartment’s tiny kitchen, striding past the various wedding decor that consumed your home in hopes Yoongi bought enough food for you to prepare a late-night snack. 
He didn’t, of course, so you’re left to scrape up anything you’re able to find within the fridge and kitchen cabinets. Your struggle meal consists of bread, butter, and what you can only hope isn’t a few expired slice of American cheese. The only reasonable meal you’re able to make with these few ingredients is a grilled cheese sandwich, not that you’re complaining.
The only thing you do complain about is Yoongi’s cat, Pearl, hopping on the counter and knocking the loaf of bread to the marble floor. Watching the bread fall to the floor startles you, speaking that you hadn’t even known Pearl had woken up and followed you out of the bedroom.
You wave your hand at Pearl, as if you were swatting away a nuisance fly, “Get off of my counter, lazy.”
Pearl ignores you, getting more comfortable on the counter before closing her eyes. As silly as it may sound, you sometimes you feel as though you’re at a constant war with the feline; like she was competing for the role of being the number one woman in Yoongi’s life. You really can’t blame her much. Though, her attendance at your wedding (per Yoongi’s request) shall tell her who the true winner is.
“Fine. If you’re not gonna move then I’m gonna...” you’re careful to grab Pearl’s torso, not wanting to startle her enough to accidentally break something. You aren’t surprised when she makes no effort in making herself lighter to carry and instead drifts off to sleep. “...then I’m gonna let you just stay here.”
Everyone in this apartment loved to ignore you.
Still, there are other things more important than arguing with a sleeping cat at two in the morning.
Drawing your attention back to the task at hand, you put the stove on low heat before grabbing a pan from the cupboard and setting it on one of the burners. Grabbing a knife from the wooden block, you slice off a piece of butter and stir it in the pan, watching it dissolve and make the pan slippery.
Pearl meows as a way to tell you you’re being too loud and she’s trying to sleep, you blow a raspberry and tell her to get a job.
The literal cat-fighting has your bedroom door opening, Yoongi had finally woken up. 
You’re facing the stove with your back facing him, so he takes the opportunity to rest his chin on your shoulder, raking his hands up your shirt and giving your breasts a small squeeze. “Guess who.”
You take the slices of white bread and carefully lay them side by side on the sizzling frying pan, “The ghost that haunts this apartment.”
With closed eyes, Yoongi chuckles, his laugh causing your shoulders to vibrate. “I sure hope he or she doesn’t like you that much. By the way, were you just telling Pearl to get a job?”
You aren’t even the slightest bit embarrassed that he heard your dispute with the animal, he was used to it by now. “If Pearl thinks she can live here rent-free and tell me to shut up while being job-less, she has another thing coming.”
“Ah, go easy on her,” Yoongi brings one had down to your waist, the other reaches over to scratch Pearl’s chin, “she’s my good girl — you both are.” He sighs through his nose, moving hair out of the way to plant a kiss on your neck.
“You both are,” you mock in a voice that sounds nothing like his own, “the worst days of her life were when you met me and when you proposed; please get her off of the counter.”
“You heard her,” Yoongi gently pats Pearl’s bottom, coaxing her to hop off, “up, up, up.” She does as told, of course; you roll your eyes.
“Why’re you up?”
“I can’t sleep, it feels like hell in this apartment,” you answer, using a metal spatula to flip both slices of bread on the pan.
“Oh, I’ll pick up the a.c. tomorrow, I promise.”
“Uh-huh, sure.”
It falls silent, but not awkward. You assume Yoongi is still somewhat tired; the boner pressing into your ass tells you otherwise. It’s early, both of you are still weak after having such a long day. You don’t want any teasing to lead to something that can’t be finished. “Yoongi, don’t—”
“I’m not doing anything,” he interrupts in a mumble, “just wanna talk. What’re you making?”
“Grilled cheese,” you try your best to focus on the food in front of you. Yoongi presses against your backside harder than before. You convince yourself it’s unintentional, but Yoongi knows exactly what he was doing.
“Why do you cook the bread longer?”
“Because I like the edges burnt.”
“Well, I don’t.”
“Good thing this isn’t for you then, yeah?” You turn your head slightly, enough to press a kiss on his forehead.
Yoongi grunts like an ungrateful child who doesn’t get their way, burying his face in the crook of your neck and using his teeth to nip at a sensitive area. You unwillingly toss your head to the side, giving him more access to your bare skin before coming to your senses and re-focusing on your food. “Make me one?” he questions.
“Maybe if you picked up the air conditioner like I asked you to...” 
Yoongi hums, a hint of laughter laced with his tone. “Maybe there’s something else I can offer you in return.” The sudden husk in his voice as you raising a brow, intrigued at what he was planning on offering. 
“Is that so?”
“Mm-hm,” he hums, moving his hands to your front, lifting your shirt up slightly as his index finger settles between the waistband of your panties and the area right below your belly button. “Yoongi, I’m trying to cook.”
“Okay...and...?” his finger continues its path downwards, you find yourself turning the stove down to an even lower heat than before. “What, I’m not allowed to touch you while you cook?”
He slips is finger in between your folds, moving around in teasingly slow circles. His boner is still pressed right up against your ass, seemingly get harder as seconds pass. “Not down there, Yoongi.”
“Why shouldn’t I? This,” he suddenly slides his index finger into your entrance, giving you no warning or seconds to prepare. The action had caused the metal spatula you once held drop to the floor, your fingers now gripping onto the marble counter, Yoongi chuckles at how quickly he managed to get a reaction out of you. 
“ mine anyway, you said so yourself” he continues. Yoongi’s breath was hot against your neck, his deep and lustful voice and the things they were saying only making you crave him more than you already did.
Yoongi’s words slip into the back of your mind once you’re starting to feel the pleasure caused by his finger alone. He notices how silent you are, barely letting out a moan as he slips in a second finger, making no effort to slow down the increasing pace he was thrusting them at. “Why’re you quiet now? Cat got your tongue?”
“Don’t mention that fucking cat.”
“Sorry,” he really isn’t, though. He loved to work you up like this, especially considering how easy it was. It was selfish in his case, seeing you even the slightest but frustrated was such a big turn on for him. In all honestly, he could name all the times he started pointless arguments just to end it with angry, passionate sex.
Yoongi rubs the pad of his thumb against your clit, all while his two fingers are still pumping. You’re so slick and wet around him, making it easier for him to quicken his pace; your eyes shut, mouth falling slightly open and a lustful gasp leaving you when he does. He curls his fingers, in that way where they hit your g-spot perfectly. You gasp at the feeling, and whine when Yoongi ruts his cock against your ass.
“Oh, fuck,” you mewl.
“God, I can’t get enough of you. I swear, we’re gonna fuck everyday once we get married.”
The moan you let out causes Yoongi to grin, moving his left hand up and under your shirt to grab one of your breast; squeezing a lot harder than before, this time rolling your nipple between his thumb and index finger. “Mm-hm,” he hums, “gonna put a ring on that finger, then put my fingers inside of you.”
You really could come right now, then Yoongi would put his cock in you and you’d come again; but, you don’t want to come twice in a row. It’d only make you tried and weak, and, truth be told, you’re still hungry.
“Fuck me.”
“You have such a bad mouth,” he teases, “just talk nice and I’ll give you whatever you want, _____.”
You sigh, “Please, fuck me. Want you to fill me up,” you sound so desperate, neither you or Yoongi seem to mind. He responds to your words, pulling his fingers out of you immediately, you nearly groan at the feeling of sudden emptiness.
Yoongi raises his hand to your sight of view, separating his fingers to make a V shape, completely in awe of how soaked you’ve made his fingers. “Open,” he says, and you do as told. He inserts them quickly, thumb underneath your jaw as if he was holding your head in place. Your tongue laps around his middle and index until you’ve successfully rid them of your juices. 
Yoongi releases his fingers from your mouth, using his own to tug down his pajama pants and boxers enough to free his cock. The two of already know he won’t last long, but he’s way too hard to not even give it a chance.
He pushes your cotton underwear down a bit, grinning when you bend over slightly to give him a better view of your ass. He takes his cock in his hand, pumping himself a few times, watching pre-cum ooze from his practicality swollen tip. “Ready?” he asks, teasingly rubbing his head against your folds. It takes everything in you power to not back yourself onto him.
“Y—oh, fuck,” you moan. Barely giving you time to answer, Yoongi can’t help his impatient tendencies and was already easing his tip into your pussy. He swears at the feeling of you already starting to clench around him. It takes a few moments until he’s fully inside of you, not daring to move because of how wrapped around him. Truly, he could stay in the position forever.
But, he wasn’t in the mood to do cock warming. And he lets you know that with a sudden thrust that has you bent over the counter. You can’t say it doesn’t feel good, but it was surely unexpected considering how tired you assumed Yoongi would be.
A few more slow thrusts later and Yoongi’s finally moving at his desired pace, his large hands firmly gripping your waist. He presses his forehead against your shoulder, already feeling his orgasm approaching — he just knows he won’t be able to hold on longer.
“Baby, I’m—”
“Shit, Yoongi, I’m gonna come,” you interrupt. He’s glad you’re on the same page.
“Hold on just a little bit longer,” he says. Though it’s a demand, it comes out as a question you don’t mind saying yes to.
He’s groaning into your neck now, pressing harsh kisses against it and definitely leaving marks. When he closes his eyes shut, he feels completely wrapped up with pleasure and feels bad for neglecting your clit. He decides he’ll make it up to you later by going down on you. Right now, he feels way to good and won’t be able to focus on anything else.
His high is approaching and he knows yours is too just by the way your moans have increased in volume. “Oh fuckfuckfuck...fuck,” seems to be the warning that he’s going to come, and he does, filling you up completely. Your own orgasm happens seconds later and has you seeing stars.
The two of you are stood panting in silence for a minute, Yoongi still buried deep inside of you. He places a sloppy, open-mouth kiss alongside your neck, giving you various praises of how good you are to him.
“I love you,” he says, readjusting your panties before fixing himself properly. 
“And I love you,” you turn around to kiss him, to which he groans into and pulls you in closer. “Now go pee,” he pulls away, giving your ass a small tap, “I’ll watch the food.”
Yoongi does as promised as you walk towards your bathroom. “You got a text!” you yell on the way there.
Confused as to who would be texting him at such an hour, Yoongi strides into the bedroom and snatches his phone from the nightstand.
hobi [ 2:44 am ]: u know the walls in this building are thin, why would u subject me to your porn re-enactments 
“It’s just Hobi,” Yoongi informs you, smiling away at the text as he replies.
yoongi [ 2:44 am ]: oops
yoongi [ 2:44 am ]: lol
yoongi [ 2:45 am ]: we’ll try to be more quiet next time
“Is he RSVP-ing for the wedding?”
“I’ll ask.”
yoongi [ 2:46 am ]: are u coming to the wedding btw?
hobi [ 2:50 am ]: pull another stunt like this and i won’t even show up to ur funeral
hobi [ 2:51 am ]: on a completely unrelated note, put me down for the chicken
hobi [ 2:51 am ]: also, what kind of toasters do u guys like?
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suga-kookiemonster · a year ago
want a taste? | myg
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part of the you never shop alone (ynsa) collab with @underthejoon and @kpopfanfictrash, based on this post!
summary⇢ pretzel pro. most skillful tongue in the food court world. allegedly. that’s what yoongi keeps telling you, anyway. of course, you’re reasonably skeptical of his claims—but if there’s one thing that motivates the notoriously-lethargic man, it’s proving skeptics wrong. pairing⇢ yoongi/reader word count⇢ 18.3k 😱😱😭😭😭 rating⇢ 18+ genre⇢ smut | humor | friends to lovers | shopping mall!au  warnings⇢ oral (female receiving), fingering, overstimulation, dirty talk, inappropriate and semi-public canoodling, very brief mention of suicide and depression (because this is a yoongific), taehyung is yoongi’s biggest fan but oc is coming for him lbrh 😌
a/n⇢ everybody thank @underthejoon for this gorgeous header 💖💖
THIS TOOK ME SO FUCKING LONG, i have NEVER written anything this long without splitting it up before in my entire life, omg. writing something this long in one go honestly made me wanna pull my hair out lmao. but we here!! we made it and it’s done and i hope you enjoy it 😩😭💕 mood for this fic is this song. HAPPY BIRTHDAY YOONGI, ILY 🤧💖
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A wave of exhaustion rolls over you as you stand in front of one of the mall’s many entrances. You are, in fact, exhausted, grad school and its many requirements taking a toll on your body, but what you feel now, now that you’ve made the conscious decision to pile even more on top of your heaping plate—what you feel now is a different type of tired. A kind of tired that promises to nestle deep in your bones, promises to linger.
It almost makes you want to turn around. Almost makes you walk right back to your car and fire up the engine, turning your radio all the way up so it’s easy to ignore the ominous rattling you’ve been hearing lately.
But unfortunately, no matter how loud you turn up the volume, the screaming of your bank account won’t be drowned out. So here you are.
It’s easy, your friend Mariah had promised you. I mean, it is retail, but. The hours are pretty flexible and the job itself is pretty relaxed. And so she put in a good word for you, and next thing you know, you’re here. Standing in front of your local mall.
You sigh, attempting to smooth out tension from your brow with your fingers. This would cut into what little free time you have in your schedule, but the tiny stipend you get from teaching doesn’t cover much, and extra income really would be nice for your peace of mind. So, resolve strengthened, you push through the doors.
It’s a strange thing, being here so early. You are one of the only people trudging your way over the gleaming tiles, most of the shops still dark and blocked by their chain-link gates. But you purposely arrived a little earlier than you needed to, mind set on finding more caffeine to inject into your bloodstream. That’s one thing that you refuse to bend on—if a ridiculously-priced coffee is what you need to physically and mentally get through the day, then you are going to pay for it. Besides, isn't that why you had agreed to this job in the first place? So something as small and necessary as a cup of coffee won’t break the bank?
Still, as you turn the corner, you quickly realize that the universe isn’t on your side—won’t allow you to have this single, reasonable mercy. The line to Java Joe’s, the mall’s resident cafe, is snaking out the door, and your heart sinks. There’s no way you will be able to wait for your order without being late for your first day on the job.
You groan, inwardly hoping that this isn’t a sign from the universe that you’re making a dumb ass life decision. Not a big deal, you tell yourself, turning on your heel and heading for the food court instead. Surely some other restaurant has coffee on their menu in a fruitless attempt to steal Java Joe’s business. Surely.
But today is apparently a day your luck is shit. To your continued irritation, the only things open at this time of day are the Auntie Anne’s, and, bizarrely, a rather sketchy gyro place. One look at the gyro place has your asshole clenching reflexively in fear.
Auntie Anne’s it is, then.
You walk up to the counter, rightfully grumpy because now you’ll have to get a fucking lemonade or something. Spend the next few hours jonesing for caffeine and pretending like the universe doesn’t hate you. But what you’re not expecting is for the cashier to be just as grumpy.
He’s clad in his Auntie Anne’s best—blue tshirt under a branded apron— and the way his bleached-blond hair is messily stuffed under the visor hides his eyes from you a bit. Still, there is nothing to disguise the clear way his mouth settles into a scowl as soon as you approach.
“I don’t know him,” he tells you flatly.
You blink. “Sorry, what?”
“The guy who sent you,” he deadpans, completely unamused. Frankly, so are you. “I don’t know him.”
“Neither do I,” you reply, brow furrowing in bafflement. What, is he expecting a hitman or something? Should you step to the side to give the sniper a clear shot? “No one sent me. I just wanted to purchase a questionable meal.”
He looks you over for a moment, weighing the validity of your claims. You must pass his scrutiny, because he visibly drops his guard, posture sinking into a bit more of a slouch, lips quirking into a small, apologetic smile. “Ah, sorry about that. What can I get you?” Gone is the irritated, slightly-intimidating edge to his tone, deep voice now laced with an obvious, falsely-friendly customer service lilt.
“Can I get a cinnamon sugar?”
“Sure. Pretzel or nuggets?”
You watch him as he reaches for your requested snack. You’re tired, but you find yourself intrigued by him anyway, your sleep-deprived brain reluctant to let your previous exchange pass so easily. “So. Who did you think had sent me?”
He looks mildly embarrassed at his mistake. “My roommate,” he acquiesces, putting your pretzel in a bag, handing it to you, and ringing it up at the register. “He does stupid shit sometimes. Lately he’s been using me for pretzel clout and telling pretty girls that I’ll give them free stuff.” Your body tingles at his implied remark that you’re pretty, but either he doesn’t notice he said it or he doesn’t care, as he keeps right on muttering to himself. “As if that’s going to get them to date him.”
“I don’t know,” you say, lips quirked in amusement. “A free pretzel sounds date-worthy in my book.”
“Yeah, well.” His lips quirk too. “Don’t tell him that—he’s irritating enough as it is. Any dips? A beverage?”
“No, just the pretzel is fine.”
You pay and thank him, choosing to take a seat at a table not too far away to eat your makeshift breakfast. You have a little bit of time before the start of your shift, so you spend it scrolling Twitter and licking sugar from your fingertips.
A few more people cycle through the food court, but it’s relatively quiet this early in the morning, and you finish up without being interrupted, balling up your trash and tossing it into the garbage. The Claire’s storefront faces directly out to the food court, so it’s an extremely short walk to your new job. You pass the cashier again on your way out, but this time, he’s further in the kitchen, using the lull to prep for the influx of customers that is sure to come. Your eyes linger a bit on the almost elegant way his surprisingly-large hands roll out and separate the dough, but you turn away without thinking much of it.
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“Thank god you’re here,” Raquel squeals. She’s visibly younger than you—and clearly a morning person. To be honest, she’s exactly who you would expect to work at Claire’s—chipper, bubbly, and genuinely excited to help you find the perfect glitter nail polish or flower crown. You muster up the energy to send her a small smile, unwilling to rain on her parade with the skepticism of someone who has been tainted by adulthood and forced responsibility. Her time will come soon enough. “My schedule this semester is a bit heavier on early classes, so I’m excited to have someone to cover morning shifts.” She pauses, as if she’s afraid of scaring you off. “Not that you’d only do mornings! It’d just be nice to spread them out, is all.”
“No problem,” you assure her. “Mornings tend to work better for me anyway.” That would give you enough time to complete some of your own assignments once you got home.
Raquel, your friend Mariah’s cousin, is actually your new manager. While most people cycle in and out of mall jobs, she’s worked at Claire’s since she was in high school, and her tenure has by default somehow moved her a little bit further up the totem pole than you. Mariah suggested the position to you because it's a chill job where more times than not, you’d be allowed to catch up on your reading whenever it’s a little slow. It seemed like the perfect solution for your little time, little cash problem.
So you bite your tongue as Raquel keeps chattering, and from what she's saying, your job seems relatively simple. She tells you about the current in-store deals (which you're pretty sure are always the "deals" three low-quality things and get a fourth low-quality thing of equal or lesser value sounds just like when you used to shop here, years and years ago). She shows you how to use the register, and she hands you a packet that details how to use the piercing gun ("There's a video I’ll have you watch that'll help, and then we'll whip out the foam ear for practice!"). But mostly, your first shift is filled with necessary clerical paperwork and shadowing your new boss.
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Your next few shifts at the mall are markedly unremarkable.
The first one is another early shift, and you're smart enough to pad in enough time to get a proper coffee this time. You almost regret it, coming face to face with one of the most attractive men you have ever seen in your life and rendered embarrassingly mute for a solid couple seconds before he smiles a knowing, boxy smile and asks for your order with a wink. (His coworker, unamused, rolls her eyes at his antics.)
The two shifts after that are both late shifts, which are a bit annoying schedule-wise, but you work around them.
It's another week and a half before you run into Pretzel Boy again.
By law, you’re entitled to a thirty-minute lunch break, and your first two shifts you spend it in the food court, too easily distracted by the bustling people around you to truly relax or pay attention to the assigned reading you brought with you. By the time the third one rolls around, you’ve learned your lesson. You roam the halls instead, easily blending in with the midday shoppers and familiarizing yourself with the floor plan. This is how you find the set of paid massage chairs, hidden in a corner that used to house a Carson’s and a Payless. A corner occupied by department stores that went bankrupt means there is little to no foot traffic—and that this, therefore, is the perfect place to sneak in a power nap.
It’s during your fourth shift, just as you’re closing your eyes in that deserted hallway, starting to melt into the leather seat, that the blond cashier makes a reappearance.
You jump a bit, weary body startled from its powering down at the sign of a potential threat. You open your eyes blearily, only to be met by who you immediately recognize as the dude who sold you a soft pretzel last week.
His Auntie Anne’s shirt is gray today, and now that he’s not behind a counter, nor wearing his apron, you can see that he’s wearing slim-fit jeans too. The two of you lock eyes, but you only observe him for a moment before you’re shutting your own again, deeming him relatively harmless and hoping he’ll go away.
“What are you doing here?”
“Sleeping,” you answer shortly.
“This is my spot,” he drawls, tone markedly reasonable. As if he harbors no ill will for you encroaching on his space, because you didn’t know better.
Except now you do, and you don’t give a shit.
“Oh, I’m sorry. I guess I missed the sign,” you deadpan, resisting the urge to let out a frustrated noise. You are too fucking tired for this. “There’s a whole other chair, my guy. You’re welcome to it.”
He doesn’t answer you, and, though your eyes are still closed, you find yourself focused entirely on him. Ears trained in his direction, curious what he’s going to do. For a few moments, you’re left in complete silence, and you wonder if he had simply turned around and left you to your own devices. But then you hear a heavy sigh. Rustling as the leather seat next to you is disturbed.
You peek from between your lashes to confirm your suspicions. Pretzel Boy is in the massage chair next to yours, mere feet away. Eyes closed, arms crossed over his chest.
“I thought you were sleeping,” he says, voice startling you. His eyes are still closed, but you dart yours away in surprise.
You consider not responding, pretending you are asleep already, but you know he’ll never buy it. Not many people can fall asleep that quickly. “I-I am.”
You turn away from him, squeezing your eyes shut again. But, though you are still as tired as you were when you sat down a few minutes ago, you find yourself unable to properly tip yourself over into dreamland, too aware of the body next to you. Pretzel Boy seems to have no such hangups, another peek at him minutes into your shared silence producing him, body relaxed, head rolled comfortably into the leather.
You sit there, essentially doing no more than resting your eyes, until the alarm on your phone signals the end of your break. Your companion stirs too, but you don’t feel too bad about disturbing him, as his break is surely up too.
Without giving him a passing glance, you slip from your seat and trudge back to Claire’s.
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A bizarre pattern is formed after that.
The two of you don’t always share a shift, but Pretzel Boy is often scheduled mornings, just like you, so you see him around at least once a week. And, after your first massage chair encounter, it becomes almost a sort of unspoken agreement between the two of you that your breaks will be spent, in relative silence, side by side.
During the break of your next morning shift, you find him already in his designated seat. He nods at you in greeting, and you give him a small smile back, settling into the chair beside him. Once again, neither of you says very much, and Pretzel Boy, just like last time, quickly falls asleep.
Despite the lethargy in your limbs, this time isn’t much different than last—you sit there, eyes closed, but unable to sleep. With no distractions, your mind roams as the minutes tick by, pondering why you are still awake. Is it the public location? The man asleep next to you? You peek at him, a small smile tugging at your lips from how his face is surprisingly round and cherubic in his slumber, his mouth slack. His hair is a bit tousled—likely disturbed originally by his uniform visor when he took it off—and blond bangs are mussed over dark eyebrows that pinch a little as he sleeps.
You wonder how he's able to fall asleep so easily when you can’t seem to do the same. You wonder what he dreams about. What his story is. Why he's so tired, like you.
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Weeks of this goes by before it occurs to you, one night while you’re catching up on reading and sprinkling shredded cheese into your mouth—because you’re kinda hungry but that’s the only thing in your fridge that currently speaks to you—that you don't even know his name.
Surely his birth certificate does not say that his given name is Pretzel. Surely. (Though, if it does, he’s certainly found the perfect career.)
But in your defense, neither of you has ever bothered to break the companionable silence too much—both of you too busy trying to get time away from rude customers and the constant hustle and bustle—so it has just never occurred to you to ask! Honestly, you haven't really felt the urge to know before now, but at this point, it seems extremely bizarre to spend a decent amount of time with someone without even getting their name, whether that time is mostly spent unconscious or not. Resolutely, you decide to bring it up the next time your breaks collide.
But it turns out, you don't even have to wait that long.
While you've been making sure to stop by each shift for your necessary coffee, one morning you find yourself also craving the sugary dough whose scent permanently permeates the air of the entire second floor of the mall. You’ve stopped by Auntie Anne’s a handful of times over the weeks, but with your shift varying—random times on random days—your newfound nap buddy is never there when you buy your pretzel. Today, however, you show up, intending to get a little snack before your early shift, and find him behind the register again.
He straightens a bit when he sees you approach, but you find yourself too bewildered by something else to notice.
Usually this early, the mall is quiet—the annoyingly-pleasant elevator music that often plays over the loudspeakers doesn’t usually get switched on until around 1:30 or so (even though, with all the people filling the hallways and chattering as they shopped, it was hard to hear). Today, however, there is distinct bass booming from Auntie Anne’s. You hear the person on the track threaten to turn your girl into a supersoaker, and your brows reach for your hairline as you approach the register. “...Are you guys really allowed to play this?” you ask in wonder, a surprised laugh slipping past your lips.
Pretzel Boy’s coworker, Lindsay, is busy Windexing the glass of the display. She was actually one of the first fellow employees to introduce themselves to you, sometimes popping into Claire’s to say hi because she’s good friends with Raquel. Now, she shakes her head, inclining it towards her coworker in explanation. “He somehow convinced our manager Sejin to let him play it. But only during the first few hours of the morning shift.” She rolls her eyes. “The only people here this early are the elderly speedwalkers, and they can’t hear it anyway.”
“Convinced Sejin to let him play what?” you ask, amused. Your eyes slide to the man in front of you. “What are we listening to?"
"Oh god, don't encourage him," Lindsay moans, but it's too late. He smirks, leans over the counter a little and further in your direction. “Yoongi, please no.”
The blond cashier—Yoongi, apparently—ignores her. “My mixtape,” he tells you with a straight face, and you’re only just able to swallow down your reflexive incredulous laughter when you realize that he’s serious.
“Your mixtape,” you repeat, quirking an eyebrow.
“Well, parts of it anyway. It’s still a work in progress.” Your befuddled stare only evokes an amused quirk of his lips. “What, did you think my passion was selling pretzel dogs? I’m only here to tide me over until my music takes off. In all honesty, I’m a little surprised you haven’t heard it yet. I’m kind of a big deal around these parts.”
Lindsay rolls her eyes so hard, you’re pretty sure you can actually hear them rotating in her skull. You can’t help the puff of laughter that escapes your lips now. “And by these parts,” you clarify, “you’re referring to our place of employment. The local mall.”
“I have a pretty decent online following too,” Yoongi mumbles. The shape of his mouth is almost reminiscent of a pout, and you’re openly smiling at him now. He reaches into his back pocket and produces his phone. “What’s your number?”
“Why?” you ask, amused.
“I’m going to send you the link.”
“…To your mixtape.”
He’s amused too. You can tell. “Why do you keep saying it like that?”
“No reason,” you reply airily, cocking your head in thought for a moment before giving him your number out of nothing but pure curiosity.
Lindsay shakes her head at you. “Oh, you’ve done it now.”
Yoongi pays her no attention—a dynamic you’re starting to realize is the usual for them. He types out a message, and you feel a responding vibration in your purse. “That’s the link to my Soundcloud. Let me know what you think.”
The Yoongi on the speakers is boasting about getting to lick up all the cream, and you’d bet money it’s not the kind you put in your coffee. What you think, indeed. “Are you sure the speedwalkers can’t hear this?” you ask incredulously.
“Positive,” he answers, and his smile would be kinda cute if you hadn’t just become recently aware of just how filthy his mouth can get.
…Who are you kidding? That doesn’t detract from his attractiveness at all. An attractiveness that you have always been too tired to properly pay attention to, but now is impossible to ignore. You clear your throat. “Anyway. Can I get a cinnamon sugar please?”
“Pretzel or nuggets?”
It’s not until you’re sitting down at a table feet away, scarfing down your makeshift breakfast that you bother to read his text.
[10:37am] Unknown Hey, _____, it’s Yoongi
[10:37am] Unknown Lmk what you think! 😉
You look up at him on reflex. He and Lindsay are chatting, Yoongi dumping more mix into the lemonade machine.
He is more observant than you, you realize then. Before this, you had barely exchanged more than two words with the man. And yet—
You wipe your mouth, hiding the way your lips inch into a smile behind a napkin.  
He’s somehow learned your name before you’ve learned his.
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The next week goes by quickly, school taking up so much of your attention that mixtapes are the last thing on your mind. It isn’t until one day, as you’re getting back into your car, that you happen to spot Yoongi across the parking lot and remember the link waiting patiently for you on your phone.
You forgot your headphones in the Claire’s backroom the day before, and were completely unwilling to wait the two days until your next shift to retrieve them. So, since the mall is on your way to campus anyway, you stop by. It’s simply intended to be an in and out situation—you don’t even give Momo, who is manning the store today, the proper opportunity to be her bubbly, talkative self. In and out, and you’re unlocking your car when you notice Yoongi.
He’s getting out of the passenger side of a car, in conversation with the tall, dark-haired driver. He doesn’t see you, too busy narrowing his eyes at his companion in irritation. He says something, too quietly for you to hear over the distance, before a sudden yell of “You’ll all be sorry!” startles you a bit. The other man just laughs, giving him a consoling pat on the back as the two of them trudge towards the building.
Huh. That was the most emotion you have ever seen him show. Well, except for when he had been telling you about his—
Shit, his mixtape! It’s not like he’s not going to follow up on it. You get in your car, turning the key in the ignition as you think. In theory, you can just lie and say that you listened to it, give him some bullshit answer. But to be’re curious. Curious about this man who talks big game and isn’t above rolling soft pretzels for his craft.
And that’s exactly why, that night, after you’re back home and huddled on your couch for the foreseeable future, you click on the link.
Agust D—whatever that means. Yoongi’s face stares back at you, and when you tap the icon to blow it up a bit more, you come to the conclusion that he somehow looks different than how you’re used to seeing him under the florescent mall lighting. Harder, more intimidating.
He had said it was a work in progress, but there are already a good four songs available to stream, the one entitled SuperSoaker making you shake your head in amused recognition. Still, you make sure to pop in your headphones so you will be able to make a proper judgment.
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You had been right in your assumption. Yoongi finds you almost immediately.
Today, you’re scheduled to close. You’re a little irritated by it, because closing means you have to show up in the middle of the afternoon and that you don’t get to leave until at least an hour after the mall doors are locked, because you have to get the store in order for the next day. But Raquel has been super generous and has kept to her word—most of your shifts are morning ones—so you can’t fault her too much for having you close occasionally.
You’re in the food court, chowing down on a pizza slice from Sbarro before your shift. This is where Yoongi finds you. He apparently had a morning shift today, as he’s already in his apron and was half-heartedly handing out samples to food court passersby when you first arrived. He’s still holding the tray of pretzel bites when he approaches your table, which is a bit too far from the pretzel shop for it to be happenstance.
“Want a taste?” he asks casually, holding the tray out to you. You take one, lips quirked in the knowledge of what you know is coming.
“So,” he drawls. “Did you listen to it?”
You think about teasing him—playing coy, asking him to clarify, dragging the whole thing out—but you decide instead to just give him a slow nod as you chew. Mmm, almond. “I did.”
“And?” His dark eyes study you, curious but relaxed. As if he’s used to getting one answer, and he’s comfortable that you will be giving him the same. “What’d you think? Be honest.”
“Honest, huh?” You look to the ceiling in thought, pondering your phrasing. “It was…it was fine. You’re talented—it’ll make you a lot of money.”
“Fine?” An eyebrow raises, incredulously, prompting you to elaborate.
“Yes, fine. If you’re trying to make music for Instagram thots to have on repeat, then you’ve definitely succeeded.”
He had asked you to be honest, though even as the words left your mouth, you were sure he would be offended. But Yoongi surprises you by cracking a smile. He sets the tray down on the table and reaches for the chair across from you, turning it around so he can sit down, arms crossed over the back. “Instagram thots?”
You shrug, taking another bite of pizza. “Or for all of Thotdom, if you want me to get technical. You know Thottimus Prime? That one dude from Foot Locker downstairs?”
“Hobi?” Yoongi huffs out what sounds suspiciously like a laugh. “Yeah.”
“He really likes it, doesn’t he?”
His lips quirk, and that is all the answer you need.
“I rest my case.” Yoongi laughs outright then, smile wide and gummy, and you realize that he might not be as sensitive to criticism as you had feared. “Like I said, there is a definite market for that, and it will make you a lot of money.”
“But?” he prods.
“But…it won’t hold anyone’s attention for very long. You’ll probably end up regurgitating variations of the same song over and over and none of them will leave a lasting impression.”
“Why do you say that?” When you shift in your seat at the question, Yoongi pins you with a focused stare that makes it expressly clear that he is genuinely interested in your answer.
So you decide to freely give it.
“You’re not really saying anything. People nowadays forget the roots, forget that rap is actually an artform. Rap is poetry, and rappers should be poets.” You take a sip from your drink, the liquid low enough that your straw makes an obnoxious noise as air passes through it.  “You definitely have the lyricism and flow down, without question. But you’re not really doing anything with it.”
Yoongi isn’t smiling anymore, face slowly smoothing out as he considers you. “Can you elaborate?”
For a moment, you worry again about how much criticism he’s willing to hear. But he doesn’t seem angry—merely seems to be weighing your words. So you choose not to hold back, using your fingers to count off rappers universally considered great. “Biggie, Tupac, Nas, Kendrick, Cole, Wayne. Em, Jay, Lupe—even Kanye before he got stuck in the Sunken Place. Do they all have songs about pussy? Yes, yes they do. But what sets them apart from other artists in the industry is that they can all be considered true poets. They are master storytellers, lyricists who wrote their own material and used their 16 bars to make us give a shit about what they were saying. Made us shake our asses for sure, but also actually think. Made us care. They told their hardships, led us on a journey through their truths. Through their families’ truths, their communities’ truths. Their ancestors’ truths. Hip hop is all about speaking your truth.” You shrug. “Who are you, Yoongi? What is your truth? What do you know? This tape tells me that you know pussy, but hopefully that’s not all you know. Because a lot of other people also know pussy, and a hot beat can only get you so far.” A pause. “Your beats are hot, by the way. Pure fire. Clappin’ Cheeks is gonna go hard in the club.”
Yoongi doesn’t say anything. Just sits there in his Auntie Anne’s visor and apron and stares at you. It makes you bite your lip, coming to the self-conscious realization that you had gone off on a rant. You clear your throat, if only to fill the silence. “So...yeah. I thought your mixtape was fine.”
He still doesn’t say anything, eyes widening slightly. As if seeing you for the first time. For a few moments, he merely observes you silently, tilting his head in thought. But then, a slow smile spreads across his face. “Huh. That was brutal.”
“I—I didn’t say what you had was bad!” you cut in, feeling kind of shitty for raining all over his parade. “Just that you might want to add in a few songs to round it out as a whole.”
“No, don’t try to soften it. You said what you meant and meant what you said. I asked for honesty and I got it—that’s kind of refreshing.”
“...I’m glad you think so.”
“Yeah.” He nods, and you feel like it’s more to himself than to you. He stands, turns the chair back the right way around. “Hey, I gotta get rid of everything on this tray or Brandon will narc on me to Sejin.”
You follow his line of sight to his coworker for the day, eyes darting to the two of you suspiciously as he rings up a customer.
“You wouldn’t happen to want twenty-seven samples, would you?”
A smile touches your lips. You shake your head.
“Then I gotta go. I just got morning speaker privileges, and I’d like to keep them.” He picks up his tray easily, and moves to walk away before pausing to look back over his shoulder at you. “See you around?”
Of course he will. The two of you work in the same mall, are stationed mere feet from each other. Often break around the same time, and spend it side by side. Still, the question makes something soft and small bloom in your stomach.
“Yeah. See you.”
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After that, something is different.
Now, you find yourself strangely no longer dreading coming to work. Instead, you’re starting to soften to your circumstance, not as guarded. More open to reciprocating when Momo goes on one of her chatty monologues as the two of you close up shop. To engaging in small talk with Taehyung, the friendly barista who has long since memorized your order and, if he’s not on register duty, starts making it as soon as he sees you.
To catching yourself looking for Yoongi, eyes automatically roving over the food court whenever you have a shift, in search of his familiar mop of blond hair and slow smile. To not thinking twice when he sometimes roams over to chat with you while you scarf down lunch before a shift.
No longer do you simply clock in and clock out; now, you’re present. And it’s not a quick change. No, it happens so gradually that you can’t really pinpoint the exact moment you stopped seeing this place as cruel and unusual punishment.
One day, to your surprise, the alarm on your phone jolts both of you awake from your nap, and you fumble for the device, completely disoriented. This is the first time that you’re actually able to do what you had intended weeks ago—fall asleep—and you’re baffled that you finally have. Confused as to why you’re all of a sudden able to. It’s almost as if your always-racing brain has finally calmed—has finally accepted Yoongi’s presence, has finally accepted that you’re no longer in danger—and can relax.
He blinks slowly for a few moments, but he’s much quicker to consciousness than you are, and he shoots you a gummy grin when he sees that you have to wipe at your mouth.
"Shut up," you grumble, reaching for your things.
"I didn't say anything," he replies, voice gravely with sleep.
Usually, one of you wakes before the other—and leaves before the other too. This time, Yoongi pauses while you gather your things, and the two of you walk back together. Still in companionable silence, but, unlike previous times, it's side by side. No longer simply strangers who are forced to share prime napping real estate, but instead acquaintances who are comfortable in doing so.
When you finally near the food court, you both hesitate—just slightly, just enough for your eyes to meet. You shift.
Yoongi turns left into the food court, away from you, and leaves you looking at his back. But to your surprise, he raises a hand in goodbye. "See you around."
"See you," you acknowledge. Claire’s is feet away. You turn right.
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You’re in the food court again. For some reason, today you had woken up early, but you suspected the culprit to be your slow-rising anxiety over an upcoming test. So, you figured, since your bed didn’t have the best track record of helping you study, you might as well just arrive to work a little early. Sip on your coffee and quiz yourself before your shift. You knew Yoongi might appear, and he does.
He’s raising a curious eyebrow at you at the number of books you have crowded on the table, but just as he opens his mouth again, an arm is thrown over his shoulder, and there’s someone behind him.
“Yoongi, who’s this?” asks the most beautiful man you have ever seen in your life. You’re trying really hard not to stare, but in all honesty, you’re baffled how the universe could have allowed one person to look so good.
Yoongi lets out a sigh, and the taller man only smiles wider in response. “This is _____,” the blond grumbles. “And _____, this is Seokjin, my—”
“Fishing buddy?” Seokjin supplies helpfully. “Emergency contact? Bestest friend?”
“…roommate,” Yoongi finishes, eyes rolling to the ceiling.
You purse your lips, trying not to laugh. “Nice to meet you, Seokjin.”
He gives you a small bow. “Likewise, milady.”
“For fuck’s sake.” Yoongi sends him a flat stare. “I thought you said you had to get back to Bertha.”
Seokjin waves a hand, unconcerned. “I will, in a minute. So.” He looks between the two of you, smirking. “How do you guys know each other?”
“We sleep together,” Yoongi says, and you immediately feel the heat creep up your neck at his boldness.
“We nap at the same time,” you correct quickly. “Occasionally. In adjacent, but separate massage chairs.”
The brunette looks like the cat who ate the canary. “Interestingggg.”
You blink. “Um—”
“Weren’t you going to brainstorm the details for that app idea you had?” Yoongi is as subtle as a sledgehammer, and you can’t help but snort at that. Still, your interest is piqued.
“App?” you ask curiously. “You make apps?”
Seokjin smiles a genuine smile, and your breath catches at the beautiful sight. “That’s definitely the endgoal. But right now I’m mulling over a couple ideas. Listen to this one! Came to me in the shower this morning. Most good ideas usually do, am I right?”
“Seokjin,” Yoongi huffs.
“Lights Out, an app that tells you exactly how much you need of whatever you’re drinking in order to get happily tipsy, casually drunk, or stupidly blackout. Without alcohol poisoning, of course.”
“That sounds…” you pause. “Like multiple lawsuits waiting to happen.”
“I know, I know, I still have to work out the kinks. But I really think that one could be a contender!”
“Whatever you say,” Yoongi deadpans.
The two of them share a long look, having some sort of silent conversation. You clear your throat awkwardly.
“Fine. I see where I’m not wanted. I’ll go,” Seokjin sniffs. “But only because I want to practice my routine one more time.”
You blink. “Routine?”
Seokjin opens his mouth again, but Yoongi sets a hand on your shoulder. You startle a bit, surprised at the contact. “Shhh...Just let him go.”
You both watch him leave, laughing obnoxiously as he goes. You turn to Yoongi slyly. “He seems nice.”
He rolls his eyes, choosing to ignore you. “What are you reading?”
“Just some research papers. I was trying to study for a test, but to be honest…now I’m a bit too afraid of what Seokjin’s gonna unleash onto society to focus.”
“He talks a lot, but he’s harmless,” he dismisses easily, much more interested in you. “You’re still in school?”
“Unfortunately,” you gripe. “I made the dumbass decision to go back. Getting a Master’s in sociology that I’m not really sure what I want to do with it yet. But I’m leaning towards social work.”
“Really?” He’s surprised, you can tell. Surprised and curious. And you don’t blame him—this is not a field in which you’ll be treated to sparkles or rainbows or even decent pay for what you’ll be subjecting yourself to. But it’s always been hard to explain that smothering feeling you get in your chest whenever you watch the news.
Still, you try.
“It’s just...this world is burning. It’s burning, and as a society, we’re the ones who lit the match, and we’re standing around idly and watching the fire spread. Watching other people suffer, watching them lose everything in that fire. And I just…I wanna do something. I wanna help. So I figured the best way to do that would be to understand why we struck the match in the first place. What caused all this, what really makes society tick. And then…then maybe I can help smother the flames. Help those who have been burned and protect those who haven’t yet.”
Yoongi tilts his head as he looks at you, lips quirking. “You just keep the surprises coming, huh.”
“Nothing.” He shakes his head. “So is that why you’re always so tired all the time? Just casually getting a Master’s degree?”
“Yeah, real casual.” A small smile touches your lips, flattered at his implied praise. “What’s your excuse? You look like you got four hours of sleep last night.”
“I only got two, so thanks for the compliment,” Yoongi replies. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone, tapping on the screen as he roots around for his earbuds. He hands both to you. “I was working on this.”
Raising an eyebrow, you dutifully put the earbuds in your ears.
After you had been so brutally honest over the songs on his Soundcloud, Yoongi has been asking you listen to some of the beats he’s been working on, curious about your opinion. Trusting that you wouldn’t blow smoke up his ass, but that you would also freely tell him what was working. And you don’t mind at all, because you hadn’t been lying before—his beats are fire.
(“I can tell that you have great taste,” he had shrugged when you had asked him about it. “Here, listen to this one. I’m trying to decide if the triplets on the hi-hat at the end are too much.”)
Now, when you press play, you can’t help but let out a long exhale. “Those 808s,” you moan to yourself. But Yoongi, watching you carefully for any and all reactions, grins gummily in response. After a few moments, you see his lips moving, and reluctantly stop the track.
“That good, huh?”
“...Yes,” you admit, holding the phone out to him.
“I’ll put that in the yes pile then.” He reaches for the phone, glancing at it when the movement causes the screen to illuminate. He frowns. “I...My shift’s about to start, and I gotta go roll out the dough. See you later?”
“Yeah,” you reply, biting your lip to subdue the smile threatening to take over your face. “Yeah, see you later.”
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The rest of the day is a bit slow, only a handful of girls walking in, and even fewer actually buying anything. It’s a bit of a relief, as that means you have even more of an opportunity to study for your looming exam, the raised walls of the register desk obscuring your scattered papers. It isn’t until you hear footsteps much heavier than your usual clientele that you look up.
There’s a man here. Not unusual—sometimes dads are dragged inside by their daughters, or come in of their own volition in search of the perfect sparkly gift. This guy seems a bit on the young side, but it’s his tight tshirt branded with the logo of the gym on the mall’s lower level that cements your suspicions.
He’s tall, and when he approaches you, you’re forced to look up to meet his large, doe-like eyes.
“Can I help you?” you ask, sliding your assigned reading out of the way. He smiles at you, a friendly, boyish smile that masks his true intentions for a solid two seconds before he leans on the counter, closer to you.
“I heard they hired someone new.” His smile widens.
Oh lord, here we go. He’s hot, you’ll give him that. But he also doesn’t look like the sharpest tool in the shed, and you’re not particularly interested in getting hit on at your workplace—where you technically aren’t supposed to cuss him out, if need be.
“Yeah,” you reply, tone neutrally-friendly. Deciding to give him the benefit of the doubt. “I started a few weeks ago?”
“Cool! I just hadn’t seen you around, so I wanted to introduce myself. I’m Jungkook,” he tells you, pausing pointedly as if that means something to you. He leans closer, still at a distance that can be considered acceptable, though he’s certainly toeing the line. “I work at the gym downstairs.”
“You don’t say.” You never would have guessed, what with the branded tee and the way he looks one exhale away from hulking out of it.
Jungkook notices your accidental attention to his chest and pointedly flexes his pecs. His arms flex too. His shirt screams bloody murder.
You look back up at his face, raising an eyebrow. He’s smug, clearly used to that type of attention and more than happy to bask in it. Honestly, you can’t help but be amused by such a textbook, primitive display of machismo, and you bite down a smile.
“You know, you haven’t told me your name,” he flirts. “Since we’re getting to know each other.”
You tap your nametag pointedly. “Is there anything I can help you with, Jungkook? If not, I have to get back to work.”
He grins. “No one’s here but me, though.”
“You and that giant ego.”
“Ouch,” he laughs. He tilts his head in thought. “Hmm. Well, what if I want to get pierced? Could you help me with that?”
You blink, not expecting that. He’s got a good amount of jewelry trailing up his ears already, and he points to an untouched stretch of cartilage.
What the hell?
“...You heard me say that I literally just started a few weeks ago, right?” You eye him suspiciously, your confusion making you immediately throw everything your employee handbook taught you out the window.
“And you still want to do it? Even though I can see you have multiple piercings and I know you’re fully aware that you should really be getting pierced by a professional piercer with a needle, and not me and this gun.”
“Yeah.” God, his teeth are a touch too big for his mouth, and fuck if it isn’t endearing. “Can you help me?”
“...Sure,” you shrug. Hey, it's his body.
You pull out the binder of earrings, ready to show him all of the options, but he merely gives an uninterested tap to a blue butterfly stud on the first page. “Okay, then,” you blink. “Have a seat over there. Let me set up.”
Jungkook looks rather ridiculous in your opinion, his giant, muscly man body squishing on the small stool that is usually occupied by nine-year-olds. You can’t help but exhale laughter through your nose as you approach him, setting your tools on the counter beside you. What makes it funnier to you is that pretty much everyone can see what’s going on, because, in an effort to bring more foot traffic into the store, corporate felt it best to put piercing stations right by the window, so all passersby could get a front row seat. As it is, there aren’t that many people walking past today, though from here you can see Yoongi staring at you from his spot in the Auntie Anne’s kitchen.
God, you hope this situation looks as ridiculous as you think it does.
You give him a salute in greeting before turning your complete attention back to your customer. You pick up a marker and lean closer to Jungkook, carefully placing a small dot on the unmarked skin of his left ear that he had pointed out earlier. You feel him still at your proximity, but you’re backing away before he can get too used to it, handing him a mirror. “How’s the placement?”
He barely glances at it, eyes drifting back to your face. “Looks great.”
“Great.” You shake your head, but dutifully snap on gloves and reach for your gun, focused completely on getting an accurate shot. “Don’t move.”
“So. _____,” he murmurs, only partially attempting to heed your warning. “That’s a pretty name.”
You huff out a small laugh, amazed at his tenacity. “You’re really gonna get slick with me when I have a piercing gun in my hand?”
Jungkook smirks. “I love a woman in power.”
You roll your eyes, pulling the trigger. The earring pushes through the cartilage of his ear, and he only flinches a little. “Yeah, okay, Casanova,” you snort. “That’ll be forty bucks. Here’s your complimentary cleaning solution. Don’t fiddle with the piercing or it’ll get infected.”
He takes it from you, but he frowns, following you back to the register. “...You don’t really seem to be into this.”
“Into what?” you ask distractedly as you try to remember the correct code to punch into the register. “You, or the whole piercing thing? Because you’d be right on both accounts.”
“Fucking Hobi,” he mutters, and you look up at him, question unspoken. Now he looks a little embarrassed, ears red in areas you never touched. “He told me—never mind.”
You want to press him on it, but decide that by the way he’s now averting his eyes, he’s unlikely to elaborate. So you shrug, accepting his credit card and handing him the aftercare instructions. “Do you have any other questions? You know, ones related to the piercing you just got.”
The butterfly piercing which, by all definition, should have made him look silly, but instead somehow raises his hotness level by a noticeable amount. Life really is unfair, isn’t it.
“No.” He smiles again, but it is much smaller than the others. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, Jungkook. Have a great day!”
He leaves, your bizarre encounter ending just as bizarrely as it had begun. But it seems the surprises keep coming, because not minutes after, Yoongi walks into your store next.
“What are you doing here?” you ask, pushing your reading aside again. “I thought we weren’t going on break for another fifteen minutes.” You still have to wait for Raquel to come in—though someone is always working in the backroom, shifts for the front of the store overlap so the store will never be left unattended.
Yoongi shrugs, his stride towards you the epitome of cool and nonchalance. Well, as cool as he can look while wearing an apron with a pretzel embroidered on it. He leans against the counter, avoiding your gaze. “I took it a little early. Who was that?”
You tilt your head, wondering where he’s going with this. “Who, the guy who just left? Jungkook. Apparently works at the gym downstairs.”
“Huh. Thought so.” His tongue pokes through his cheek, then disappears. “You should be careful around guys like him.”
What. Is that really what all this is about? Your eyebrows raise incredulously, a snort escaping you. “Like you’re any better, Mr. Tongue Technology. I think I’ll be just fine.”
He turns to you properly then, holds up placating hands. “Listen, I’m just speaking facts. Not trying to get into your pants. Unlike Jungkook.”
“You’re not trying to get into my pants,” you repeat disbelievingly, lips quirked in amusement.
Yoongi smirks. “I never try to get into anyone’s pants. I merely accept invitations.”
You can’t help but laugh at that, shaking your head. “Yeah, okay, whatever you say, hotshot. To what do I owe your presence in my lovely place of employment? Do you actually need anything? Or did you just come here to scare off the gym rats?”
“For your information,” he sniffs. “I’m here to make a purchase.”
“You wanna buy something.” You look around pointedly at all the pink, glittery merchandise stamped with variations of Girls Rule! “Here?”
“Is that judgment I hear in your tone?”
“Oh no. I just never pegged you for the type to buy a hat with an attached unicorn horn.” You pause, giving him a quick look-over. “But you know what? Now, I can kinda see it.”
“I don’t want a unicorn hat,” Yoongi deadpans. “I want friendship bracelets.”
“Friendship bracelets?” You slide off your stool, intrigued. “Well, our friendship jewelry is over here.”
He follows you to the display. There are bracelets, but also a nice variety of necklaces and keychains. Yoongi still seems dead set on bracelets though, fingering through some brightly-colored rubber ones before he pauses on a much classier-looking set (if you can call anything in Claire’s classy).
The bracelets each have a silver chain and half of the same heart charm, the words Best Friends Forever split between the halves. There’s also a disgustingly cute animal charm hanging from each bracelet, but that only seems to draw the blond man in more. He rifles through the whole stack before he slides out a pink set from the middle.
“I’ll take the cat and the llama.”
“Weirdly enough, that’s an alpaca,” you tell him. “Not that you can really tell, because it’s made of plastic. But that’s what comes up in the system when I ring it up.”
Yoongi grins at this bizarre fun fact. “I’ll take the cat and the alpaca then.”
“You just want the one? Just so you know, if you buy three, you get the fourth one free.”
“Why would I want three more sets?” he scoffs. “Who even has that many friends?”
“…A lot of people, believe it or not.”
“Why would I waste extra money trying to get a ‘free’ item that I likely just paid for twice over? Might as well just buy the damn unicorn hat.”
“Our hats are currently BOGO,” you inform him helpfully.
“I don’t want the unicorn hat,” he huffs rather irritably, and you try not to be endeared by the small pout of his lips.
“Suit yourself,” you say with a shrug, moving back to the register. You pause to look back at him over your shoulder. “Sure I can’t interest you in a sparkly rainbow scepter?”
He pretends to think about it. “You drive a hard bargain. But no.”
“Let me know if you change your mind,” you say as you start to ring up his purchase. You give him a conspiratorial wink. “I can give you my employee discount.”
“Can’t you give it to me now?”
“No. I’ll only do it for the scepter.” You pause. “Or the unicorn hat.”
“Why are you so focused on that hat?”
“I think it’ll look cute on you.”
The look he gives you is wholly unamused. You force down a laugh. “No.”
“Well,” you sniff, “since you clearly have zero regard for fashion, that’ll be full-price.”
“I thought we were friends,” he pouts, dutifully slipping his card out of his wallet.
Something warm blooms in your chest at the words, and you clear your throat. “Really?” you tease, tone deceptively innocent. “Is this bracelet for me?”
He pauses, considering his options. “ you want it to be?”
“God no,” you laugh. “But knowing you were willing to give it to me is enough. So I guess we’re friends.”
He offers you a slow smile, and you can’t help but return it.
“So that discount—”
“Not a chance, buddy.”
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Something shifts between you after that.
It’s barely noticeable—so minute that you wonder if you’re the only one who feels it. Yoongi doesn’t really act much differently towards you, still joining you at the massage chairs whenever you both have the morning shift. But at the same time, it is different.
There’s an unspoken assumption that you’ll spend your breaks together if you can, and though your nap sessions used to be more or less coincidental, now, you both somehow know each other’s work schedules. And you casually plan around them.
Even when you’re on different shifts, you somehow manage to seek each other out. Yoongi likes to pretend to buss relatively-clean tables in your vicinity when you’re studying in the food court just so he can give his two cents about whatever social construct you’re raging about that week. And you like to pretend you can actually study in a crowded food court, solely so he can come over and pretend to buss tables.
Because there’s no denying it at this point. You most definitely have a crush on him.
You’re not quite sure when your feelings bloomed, but you’re also not surprised that they did. You would think that him being a whole ass Soundcloud rapper who works at a pretzel stand and promotes his music to anyone who will listen would turn you off—and it would, on paper. But the kicker is that Yoongi is a relatively quiet and extremely chill person. You are well-aware that stress can make you rather intense at times, but Yoongi doesn’t seem put-off by this at all, often actively seeking you out. He is a great listener, and has calmly talked you down on multiple occasions from slowly-mounting, caffeine-and-anxiety-fueled meltdowns over your thesis. He is also the type to really consider his words carefully before he says them, a trait that you would never expect from someone whose mouth —according to his music—is absolutely filthy. But whenever he listens to your sleep-deprived rants, you can see the wheels turning behind his eyes, thoughts lining up properly before he voices them. And his dry humor always manages to make you smile, even on your shittiest of days.
Despite the fact that he often whines about how tired he is or how soft pretzels are stupid or how somebody forgot to include mustard on the list of supplies they were running low on, so now he’ll have to spend the next week constantly explaining to people that he is out of mustard—despite all that, you see him clearly. No amount of complaining on his part can disguise the fact that he’s an extremely hard-worker—a hustler—and you have no doubt that he’s going to succeed in whatever he puts his mind to. He’s a living, breathing example of always being sure to look beneath the surface.
And you have a crush.
For now, you see no reason to act on it. He hasn’t given off any solid vibes that he would be open to you acting on it, or even like you to. So for now, you are content with simply being fond.
You can’t help but be fond even when he pauses in handing you your pretzel to straight up cackle, attention solely on the sudden commotion happening just outside the food court. You follow his line of sight, and above the crowds of nosy onlookers, you can distinctly see a dark-haired man leaping into the air. Having some sort of contest with an equally-scrambling woman over who can catch an erratically-flying toy helicopter. There’s intelligible shouting, and then they both chase the drone out of view.
“What the...” you blink, baffled. “Yoongi, wasn’t that your best friend?”
He’s still chuckling lowly, even as he shakes his head. “I don’t claim that guy.”
“You are literally wearing one half of the friendship bracelets you bought for him a couple weeks ago.”
And? he challenges you with a quirk of an eyebrow. He makes no move to obscure the cat bracelet on his wrist as he hands you your pretzel. “Want any dips?”
“Yeah, mustard.”
He huffs out a laugh. “You got jokes, huh? Cute.”
You ignore the fluttering.
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You’re on break, scarfing down a Subway sandwich and scrolling Twitter, when he walks up to you. A noise of surprise leaves your throat as you take out your headphones, confused. “Hey. What are you doing here?” you ask, carefully swallowing. “You’re not scheduled today.”
Yoongi looks different when he’s not wearing his uniform. His bleached hair is still mussed, but the way his bangs messily fall seems more the distracted work of his hands than his visor. He’s dressed in head-to-toe black, simply in a zipup hoodie and jeans. He shifts his weight from foot to foot, hands deep in his pockets, and clears his throat.
“I know you’re off for the rest of the week. And I was in the area so...”
You raise an eyebrow at his mumbling, at the way he can’t quite meet your eye. Is that pink dusted across his cheeks? What can he possibly have to say that couldn’t wait until next week? He could have even simply texted you. “Is your phone broken?”
“No, I just…” He lets out a visible exhale. “I wanted you to listen to something.”
Oh, so that’s it. Yoongi gets like this sometimes when he’s working on something that he’s excited about. But his vibe’s a little off as he pulls out the chair next to yours and hands you his phone. It’s almost as if he’s…
Your eyes widen at this revelation. Yoongi has never been nervous to show you his work before. No, he has always been cocky, at times a little subdued if he wasn’t sure if a part was working. But he has always been sure in himself, in his abilities. This is new territory.
You glance down at the screen, interest piqued.
The Last.mp3
“Sure,” you murmur, more to yourself than to him. You put the earbuds in your ears and tap the play button.
The dragging beat pulls you in immediately, everything around you fading away as Yoongi’s raspy vocals swallow everything. At first your brows pinch a bit in thought as you listen—this is so completely different from everything else that he’s shown you that you’re trying to make sense of where the song is going. But it’s not long until the Yoongi on the track tells you.
The doctor asks me if I’ve ever tried to kill myself. I answer without any hesitation that I have.
Your eyes snap up to him in shock, taken completely off-guard. You find him already looking back at you. The restless way his fingers tap the tabletop tells you he’s wary of your reaction. But the determined look in his eye tells you he’s not the least bit ashamed.
Your lips part, but you’re quickly drawn further into the song as it continues.
As time goes by, I feel like I’m turning into a monster.
If my misfortune is your happiness, I’ll happily stay unfortunate.
You can’t help it—emotion builds, rising in your chest, getting caught in your throat. By the time the song hits its crescendo and cuts out, you’re struggling to blink tears from your eyes, willing them not to fall. You sit there in silence for an extra minute, trying to corral your emotions into something manageable, until finally, with a shuddery exhale, you slowly pull the earbuds out one by one.
Yoongi watches you carefully, shuffles in his seat while he waits for you to find words. His nervousness means he finds them before you do. “You asked me what my truth was.”
“What?” you say faintly, voice thick.
“Before. You said I needed to speak my truth. You asked who I was.” You must be making a worrying expression, because he immediately holds up reassuring hands. “It’s okay—I’m in a much better place now. But you asked who I was…that was me.”
You’re overwhelmed. The song is beautiful—so full of heart and pain and grit and raw honesty, and it knocks the breath clean out of you. It’s as if Yoongi has given you himself in song form, has just laid it all out there. And you feel honored and humbled that he has chosen to share this with you.
“It’s perfect,” you finally push out. “This’s perfect, Yoongi. And I know it doesn’t fit with your other songs, but it would seriously be a disservice to yourself to not include it on your mixtape. I”
Yoongi’s posture immediately relaxes. He smiles a shy smile at your praise, ducks his head a bit to hide it. “I’ve been working on some other songs too,” he informs you. “To help round out the project, like you suggested. But this is the first one that’s presentable.”
The two of you sit quietly for a few moments, not really looking at each other. Your thumb lightly trails along the edge of the phone. You exhale.
“Do you mind if I listen to it again?”
When Yoongi smiles at you this time, you can’t help but smile back.      
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One of the things you find interesting about working at the mall is that, despite being decently-sized and staffed almost entirely by part-time employees, everyone seems to know everyone else (or, at the very least, know of them). You expected to become familiar with the other Claire’s employees, to maybe branch out and be friendly with a few of the stores closest to you. Befriending Yoongi was a pleasant surprise, but seeing as everyone is essentially using these jobs as a necessary means to an end, you never expected anyone to actually socialize with anyone else outside of the building. Soon enough, you find out this apparently isn’t the case.
Kim Taehyung works at Java Joe’s, the mall’s resident café. Kim Taehyung is also one of the friendliest humans on the planet, the definition of a social butterfly. So, seeing as everyone and their mother has come into Java Joe’s at some point, it’s safe to say that Taehyung knows—and is on good terms with—pretty much everyone who works in the mall. This is probably why, when he decides to throw a party, he thinks nothing of inviting pretty much everyone.
He catches you one day, at Java Joe’s right on time to get some much-needed caffeine before a shift. He smiles at you when you enter, but his attention is quickly stolen by an exchange happening between his coworker and the girl you’ve heard works at Kay Jewelers. (From your one and only interaction with her, you’ve deduced that she’s a bitch.)
“A grande Pink Drink,” you hear the Kay’s Bitch say.
You can practically see a vein pop out of the poor cashier’s forehead. “For the last time,” she says through teeth clenched into a semblance of a smile. “This is not a Starbucks.”
“It’s okay,” Taehyung calls, sending the Kay’s Bitch a wink. “I can still make it. Just ring it up for a large latte with soy.”
The Kay’s Bitch looks at the female cashier smugly before turning to bat her eyelashes at Taehyung. “Thank you, Tae,” she says, voice sickeningly sweet.
“Anytime, gorgeous.”
The female cashier visibly fumes, but doesn’t say anything, just punches some buttons on the register and waits for the Kay’s Bitch to swipe her card and move down the counter. She still manages to put on her best customer-service face when you step up. “Hey, ____. What can I get you?”
“I actually want a large latte, please. But vanilla.”
“No problem.”
You notice Taehyung hand the Kay’s Bitch her drink, and she smiles coyly at him. “See you on Saturday, Tae.”
“Yeah, see you!”
You pay, scooting down closer to Taehyung, where you’ll be able to pick up your order. You were the last person in line, so the cashier scoots down too, livid.
“Taehyung. Why do you insist on continuing to undermine me!? We aren’t a fucking Starbucks!”
“You know I didn’t mean it like that,” he whines, turning away from the milk he’s steaming to send her a pleading look. “It’s just easier.”
“I don’t care if it’s easier,” she fumes. “If you would just stop making these drinks for people, they’d stop asking!”
“She wouldn’t,” he points out. “And this way, she goes away faster.”
She bites her lip at that, likely realizing the validity in his claim, but turns away from him, arms crossed. “Yeah, okay. Whatever.”
Taehyung pouts, sending her multiple glances even as he finishes up your drink. “If it makes you feel better,” he continues, “we don’t carry any of that strawberry acai mix you need for the drink, so I just squeeze in a Kool-Aid Jammer every time she orders it. Cherry.”
His coworker fights down a smile, clearly still trying to be mad. “Why do you have a usable supply of Kool-Aid Jammers?”
“They really hit the spot with Panda Express,” he informs her as she shakes her head. The little bell above the door that leads to the parking lot dings, and she moves back to the register to greet the new customers. Taehyung’s eyes trail after her, locked on her form for a second too long before he turns away.
“Dude.” You finally speak up, having silently watched the entire interaction. “You’ve got it bad.”
“I know,” Tae replies miserably, handing you your completed latte.  “I’m trying. But she won’t believe me. It’s like talking to a brick wall.” He pauses, suddenly remembering something. “Hey, are you off on Saturday?”
You mentally pull up your work schedule. “I have a morning shift, why?”
“There’s gonna be a party at my place Saturday night,” he says loudly. You gather that he wants his coworker to hear. You’re pretty sure even the middle-aged lady who works at that one weird store at the end of the hallway that exclusively sells robotic dogs hears him. “You should definitely stop by! Great tunes, free booze—everything you could want.”
The Kay’s Bitch is invited too, you realize. He must be inviting the whole mall. But the smile he sends you is genuine, so you can tell he hasn’t offered you a pity invite—though you’re not sure you can say the same for the girl to who he just sold an overpriced Kool-Aid Jammer.
“You know what? I’ve been kind of stressed lately,” you say. “I think I will.”
Taehyung grins, and his mouth is an endearing square. “Great! It starts at 9, but come whenever.”
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It’s a good thing that you ended up making your coffee a large today—work ends up being absolutely nonstop. Raquel had warned you ahead of time that today was going to be nuts—two birthday parties means both you and Momo had been scheduled for the register during the same time slot to accommodate. But for some reason, you hadn’t expected it to be this bad. Clearly, you were naive.
You barely have enough time to breathe, let alone take a break, and it’s an hour after you were supposed to meet Yoongi that you see him simply walking into your store, a bag and lemonade in hand.
You’re in the middle of ringing up a customer so he casually waits for you to finish. From her spot at the piercing station, you see Momo send you an astonished look, eyes darting between you.
The customer leaves, and Yoongi steps up to the register. “I’m sorry,” you tell him, frazzled. “Shit, did you text me? I haven’t been able to look at my phone—”
“It’s okay,” he interrupts, holding the bag towards you. The heavenly scent of cinnamony dough wafts out. “I figured you might be hungry. They’re really making you work for your fifty cents an hour, huh?”
There’s only one mom and daughter left in the store, and Momo has them covered, so you feel no shame in breaking a piece of pretzel off and stuffing it into your mouth, a little groan rumbling in your throat. Yoongi’s lips twitch in response. “We had two birthday parties today,” you tell him around the buttery dough. “Did you know that you can host your birthday party at Claire’s? Neither did I. But I damn sure learned today. When I had two. Two, Yoongi.”
Yoongi just lets you complain, though it goes without saying that your job is pretty chill 98% of the time and Auntie Anne’s undoubtedly gets more foot traffic than you do. But a one-minute exchange doesn’t compare to having to deal with large groups of preteens for hours on end. You are exhausted, and your cheeks hurt from all the fake smiling you’ve been forced to do to sell more overpriced jewelry.
“Hey.” You suddenly remember the conversation you had this morning. “Did you hear Taehyung’s having a party?”
He rolls his eyes. “He’s only told me about five times.”
“Huh.” You pull off another pretzel piece and pop it in your mouth, sucking the sugar from your fingertips. You don’t notice Yoongi’s eyes follow the motion. “He must like you more than me—he’s only told me once.” You chew in thought. “But I guess I technically haven’t seen him in a few days, so maybe that’s why...anyway, I think I’m gonna go.”
You see him open this mouth to respond, but your conversation is derailed by a sudden, high-pitched voice.
“Mommy! Is that DJ Flossy Gloss?”
Yoongi stiffens.
“DJ Flossy Gloss,” you repeat slowly, looking between the blond man and the little girl who has just finished getting her ears pierced. “…You know her?”
Yoongi blinks, refusing to turn around. “Who?”
The little girl tugs on her mother’s arm, trying to get her attention while her eyes stay firmly in your direction. You incline your head. “That little girl ten feet away and pointing at you.”
“What little girl,” he deadpans easily. You snort out a laugh, intrigued by his bizarre behavior, but he pays you no mind. “I should go—I told Lindsay I’d only be a few. But make sure you take your break, okay? Don’t let those bastards trick you into working for free. They legally owe you one.”
Your heart warms at his obvious concern over you. “Will do. Thanks for the pretzel.”
As he walks out, the little girl waves excitedly at him. He shyly waves back before, looking over his shoulder and realizing you’re still watching, ducking out of the store.
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(Later, when you pass Seokjin’s kiosk on your way to the bathroom, you decide to pause.
“Hey,” you say, making him look up from the notepad that he is presumably using to take inventory. He’s been kind of sulking around ever since that day he fell into the fountain, but lately he’s seemed to be getting back to his friendly self. “Quick question: who is DJ Flossy Gloss?”
For a second, you assume someone is washing windows nearby. But then you realize that the noise is coming from Seokjin and he’s laughing. Dear god is that bizarre.
“Yoongi’s second gig is deejaying,” he informs you, clearly delighted to be able to relay this information to you. “He goes by DJ Flossy Gloss. Mostly does Kidz Bop mixes for birthday parties and bat mitzvahs.”
That...was unexpected. Unexpected and wholesome, and a smile stretches across your face and mirrors Seokjin’s. He raises his hand to wave at someone over your shoulder, and when you turn your head to look, there’s Yoongi. Too far away to hear what the two of you are talking about, but able to glare at you suspiciously from where he’s rolling out dough.
“Good to know,” you smirk. Seokjin waggles his fingers at his roommate tauntingly.)
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When your Uber stops in front of the building, you can’t help but triple-check the address that Taehyung had given you. Because the apartment building is nice, and there’s no fucking way that Java Joe’s pays that much—and if they do, well, shit.
You might need to see if they’re hiring.
The sparkling tiles of the lobby (because yes, Taehyung’s building has a lobby with sparkling tiles. And a doorman. What.) lead you to the elevators, which you dutifully take to the 14th floor. The door to the apartment is unlocked, which is just as well, because even though you’ve shown up at 9:30, the party is clearly already in full-swing, the bass from the music thrumming through the hallway walls. When you swing the door open, the music only gets louder and clearer, mixed with the sounds of laughter and intelligible chattering.
As you expected from downstairs, the apartment is big, with an open floorplan that allows you to see from the living room to the kitchen to the balcony, and people are slowly starting to fill every inch. Just that easily, the mystery of how Taehyung was able to invite damn near the whole fucking mall has been solved. You hover a bit near the entrance, recognizing that one dude that you’re pretty sure works at The Gap as he passes by you but still feeling a bit out of place amongst all the people you don’t know.
Fuck, you should have pregamed before this.
While most people are too busy chatting and drinking to notice or care about you standing there like an idiot, your dawdling does end up attracting attention. A man sidles over, and in the back of your mind, you think you may have seen him hanging around Java Joe’s during your coffee runs before your morning shift.
“Hi,” he says, and his eyes turn into half-moons when he smiles at you. Yup. Definitely should have pregamed. “I’m Jimin! Tae’s roommate.”
“_____—nice to meet you.” Your eyes scan the room. “You guys have a really nice place.”
“Thanks,” he smiles. “You work in the mall, right? Where?”
“Whew. So you definitely can use a drink,” he says knowingly, placing a light hand on your shoulder to guide you further into the apartment. “Come on, I’ll show you where everything is.”
Jimin leads you through the clusters of people, and from over by the speakers, Taehyung waves at you excitedly. You send him a smile and a much more reserved wave back, continuing to follow his roommate straight into the kitchen, where bottles litter the countertop.
“What’s your poison?” he asks. “We have hard liquor and mixers here and beers in the fridge.”
“I’m kind of a ‘drinks whole bottles of cheap wine in one sitting’ type of girl,” you inform him, and he lets out a bubbly laugh that entices a laugh out of you, too. You wonder if you should keep it to yourself that you’re not joking, but the opportunity to fess up passes when Jimin bends down and opens a cabinet door, procuring a bottle of wine for you. When he waves it teasingly at you, you can see that it is not of the cheap variety.
“How’s this?” He saucily waggles his eyebrows, taking a few seconds to expertly uncork the bottle before pushing it into your hands before you can react. He pulls the proper glass from one of his cabinets. “There you go—you’re all set!”
“_____! You came!” a familiar voice says, and there is Momo, grinning happily at you. “I wasn’t sure you would!” She has clearly already had a drink or two, somehow even more giggly than usual. Still, in the spirit of all fun parties with free alcohol, she doesn’t hesitate to make a beeline for the Costco-sized vodka bottle next to you, starting to mix herself another one.
“Well, I was off today so.” You shrug easily. “Taehyung asked me and I figured why not.”
“I’m gonna keep being the gracious host,” Jimin tells you with a wink. “But there’s another bottle down there if you want one. Have fun, okay?” You nod, and he moves to mingle with the other guests now that you’re no longer alone and boozeless.
When her beverage is liquored up to her satisfaction, Momo moves a bit closer to you so you can hear her over the music. “This place is crazy, right? Do you think Tae is secretly a millionaire and only works at the mall for funsies?”
“If that’s the case, I think I need to start chatting him up more. Maybe he’ll find paying off my student loans just as fun.” You pour yourself a glass of wine, setting the bottle on the counter directly behind you. That was for you, and you were sure that if you dropped your guard, it would be emptied by other partygoers in an instant.
The two of you chat a bit more—or, at least, Momo does, and you nod your head to indicate that you’re listening. One thing about Momo is that she can talk your ear clean off, which is certainly helpful when she’s trying to make a sale, but not so much when you’re just trying to drink and vibe. She chatters on long enough for you to finish your glass of wine and pour another one.
“Hey, what’s the deal with you and that pretzel guy?” Momo asks suddenly, the keywords making you stop zoning out and snap to attention. She takes a noisy slurp from her cup. “You know, the blond one who’s always giving you eyes?”
You clear your throat, a bit startled at the unexpected question. Your insides are warm, and you’re not sure if it’s solely because of the wine. “We’re friends,” you concede. “And, for the record, Yoongi does not give me eyes.”
“Ehhh, he totally does. He’s even doing it right now.”
You blink in surprise, head whipping around to scan the room for familiar bleached hair. You don’t have to look very far—he’s near the doorway to the kitchen, coming towards you. Or the alcohol, and therefore you. His tshirt once again betrays his affinity for black, but this time, he pairs it with jeans that are ripped at the knees and an olive-green jacket.
Yoongi slows when he approaches you, casually stuffing his hands into the pockets of said jacket. “Hey.”
“Hey,” you reply, a bit breathily.
“Hi!” Momo cuts in cheerily, slurping loudly from her cup. You sigh internally, unconsciously taking a rather large swallow of your drink as Yoongi greets your mouthy coworker.
His eyes catch the action, lips twitching amusedly. “What you got there?”
“Some sort of fancy wine that Tae’s roommate gave me. It’s pretty good.” You pause. “Want some? We can share if you want.”
The gleam in his eye tells you his interest is piqued. But that doesn’t prepare you for the feeling of his fingers ghosting over yours as he guides your glass closer to him. The move is so unexpected that you don’t let go, don’t refuse the question in his gaze, so it’s both of you who tip the liquid into his mouth. Your eyes lock for a moment that feels much longer than it probably is, and when Yoongi finally lets go, his lips are stained a delectable berry.
The alcohol has already loosened you up, has knocked down a few mental barriers, so it is easy for the thought of licking the color off him to flit through your mind, uninhibited. You shake it away, clear your throat. “Good, right?”
“Yeah,” he says, smiling at you. “Good.” He doesn’t bother looking for a real glass, like yours—just reaches for one of the plastic ones on the counter next to you and tips it in your direction for you to fill. It’s only then that you remember that the two of you are not alone, but it appears Momo had wandered off while you were resisting the urge to jump the man in front of you. So now you are.
“Did you just get here?” you ask, giving him a healthy pour that empties the rest of the bottle.
”Yeah.” He takes a sip from his cup.
“I’m surprised to see you, to be honest. This doesn’t really feel like your scene.”
Yoongi huffs out a laugh. “Doesn’t feel like yours, either.”
“Hey, that’s not true!” You point a saucy finger at him. “Anywhere where there’s free wine is definitely my scene.”
“Mine too,” he counters. “Want me to show up to an event? Have alcohol and or puppies.”
The visual of Min Yoongi, self-proclaimed hardcore rapper, showing up somewhere with the hope of playing with puppies has you laughing out loud. But all the time you’ve spent with him has already alerted you to the fact that his hard persona is all a front. Beneath his rather stoic exterior is a soft-spoken man who gets sparkly-eyed at puppies and makes playlists for little kids and enjoys napping and a good merlot.
“Why are you laughing at me?” he whines, but he’s laughing too, despite his supposed irritation with you. “Everybody loves puppies! And if they don’t, they’re lying.”
“That’s true,” you concede.
A random dude approaches the two of you, stumbling towards the alcohol, and Yoongi steps out of the way, and therefore a bit closer to you. You look up at him, raising an amused eyebrow at the annoyed look on his face, but Yoongi waits until the guy makes his drink and leaves again to answer your unspoken question.
“Can’t fucking stand that guy,” he mutters. He hasn’t stepped back, and you’re fully aware of it.
“Why, what’d he do? I’ve literally never seen him before in my life.”
“Count yourself lucky. He works at Abercrombie downstairs, so that should give you a good sense of what he’s like.”
“You can’t judge people based on where they ended up working,” you point out with a laugh.
“Pretty sure in this case you definitely can.”
The two of you stay there a while, in your own little bubble, sipping on wine and lowkey gossiping about other mall employees, many of whom happen to be at the very same party. And that bubble is only broken by a familiar beat thumping through the speakers. You both turn to the living room in recognition, the excited shouts coming from the partygoers making you let out a put-upon sigh while Yoongi shoots you a cocky grin.
“What’s the matter?” he asks smugly. And he has every right to be smug—that’s his song Taehyung is currently and enthusiastically rapping along to from on top of the coffee table. “Really gonna act like you don’t like it?”
“I never said I didn’t like it,” you sniff. But your heart isn’t in upkeeping your disinterested facade, and the alcohol has you fighting the upturn of your lips. “I just don’t understand why everybody gets so hype over this track when Clappin’ Cheeks is clearly superior.”
Yoongi opens his mouth, but whatever he says is completely drowned out by Taehyung’s loud, echoing voice gleefully saying, “Turned your girl into a supersoaker, them panties now Niagara Falls!”
Dear lord, where in the hell did that man get a microphone?
You can’t help it—you burst out laughing at the ridiculousness of it all, and though he tries to fight it, Yoongi ultimately joins you, your hilarity contagious.
“Look at you! Big man on campus,” you tease. Your cheeks hurt from smiling so hard. “Causing impromptu karaoke sessions and making all the bitches wet.”
The blond doesn’t say anything right away, simply smirking at you. Then, his head tilts to the side, considering you. “You know, you always do that.”
“Do what?”
“Make some sly insinuation that I’m overhyping my skills.” His tongue rolls playfully in his cheek. “That’s slander.”
You huff out a laugh. “Is it now?”
“It is,” he insists. “You have no idea whether I’m lying or not. You’re hurting my brand.”
“I guess you’re right,” you agree with a shrug. “I don’t know.”
A beat passes. Two. Then, he moves imperceptibly closer to you. Imperceptible, but...
You notice.
“You could,” he says casually.
He’s not speaking particularly loudly, his tone the same as if he’s merely talking about the weather, but your body vibrates all the same. SuperSoaker has since morphed into some other song that neither of you pays any attention to, eyes locked solidly on each other.
Everything is technically the same between you. Everything is still light and friendly and teasing. But—
There is a difference, and you both feel it.  
Liquor has you bold, a challenging eyebrow raising. “Is that an offer?”
He’s just as bold. “It’s always been an offer.”
You shift towards him, and he takes it as the invitation it is, pushing more solidly into your space. You step backwards, allowing him to crowd you against the kitchen counter. Your cups have long been forgotten, leaving his hands free to lightly grip the countertop behind you, caging you in with his body. You look up at him expectantly, heart hammering in your ears.
This close, you can feel the heat radiating off him. You’re able to count each of his eyelashes, able to see the way his pupils expand as he regards you. The way his tongue dips out to wet his lips, drawing your gaze.
Those lips get closer and closer, the anticipation causing your breath to unconsciously still. And then they finally meet yours—softly at first, warm. Eager, but hesitant, as if expecting you to pull away. And, of course, you don’t. So they get more insistent, pressing against you more securely. And when Yoongi brings that infamous tongue into the mix, a slow swipe against your lips asking for entrance, you easily grant it.
His breath is hot when he exhales against you, and the flavor of the wine you’ve both been drinking lingers between you. When you introduce your tongue to his, it’s extremely easy to forget your surroundings, to forget that an apartment full of people can easily look over and see the two of you. Everything around you fades out, and all you can focus on is Yoongi Yoongi Yoongi, can only focus on the way the wet heat of his mouth makes you want to press yourself impossibly closer to him, the way it drags a quiet, but needy, moan from you.
The sound makes him freeze, pulling back. Your eyes flutter open at the loss of him—when they had closed, you have no idea—and, unthinkingly, your lips chase his. But even as he relents a bit, gifting you with additional, more chaste pecks, he is still determined to leave the comfort of your mouth.
You blink up at him, dazed and confused. He has not stepped back, has not restored the respectable distance between you. No, he still traps you with his body, with his burning gaze.
“Still think I’ve been lying?” he asks, and his voice is low and raspy. Your thighs squeeze together in response.
“I don’t know,” you say breathily. “I can’t quite tell. That could have been a fluke.”
His lips quirk. His eyes are blown. “A fluke?”
“Yeah.” You swallow, the liquid courage coursing through your veins coaxing your next words out. He’s bold, but so are you. “I think I’ll need more evidence.”
Yoongi doesn’t respond—not verbally, anyway. He merely looks at you, his gaze burning impossibly hotter, growing impossibly darker. His exhale is audible when he finally pulls away from you, and you’re not even given a moment to miss him before he’s reaching for your hand and tugging you away.
The wine has you properly tipsy but it’s him who has you drunk—the lingering ghost of his expert tongue, the easy way his fingers slot between yours making you float. More than happy to follow him wherever he may take you.
There are more people in the room than the last time you checked, but no one pays the two of you any attention as Yoongi snakes you through the crowd, everyone too intoxicated and in their own world. He leads you down a relatively-deserted hallway, the first two doors he attempts to open locked. Third time’s the charm—that handle turns obediently, allowing him to pull you into a small bathroom.
Yoongi kicks the door shut without looking, distractedly turns the lock. His eyes almost look completely black under the florescent lighting. Hungry. And a thrill shoots through you as he backs you up against the sink, long fingers sliding along your waist.
“Up,” he says huskily, and you blink dazedly at him for a second, only realizing what he means when his hands grasp you more securely and your feet leave the ground, your ass now resting on the countertop. Your knees part reflexively for him, and he pushes forward into the space, only having to lean down a bit to lick into your awaiting mouth.
This is different from when you were in the kitchen. Urgency blooms within you this time, eager hands scrabbling for his hair, trying to get as close as possible. Despite your clear impatience, Yoongi chooses not match your blazing flames, instead preferring a more languid slide, a more slow burn. An exasperated whine escapes you, and you can feel him smile against you in response.
“What’s the matter?” His thumbs rub slow circles into your waist, and you noticeably shudder. “Still not convinced?”
“Yoongi,” you groan, frustrated.
He shushes you, one of his hands moving to your thigh, and, when you make no move to stop him, up your skirt.
You inhale sharply at the feeling of him on your bare skin, body reflexively encouraging him with a jerk of your hips forward, his knuckles brushing the side of your core. Yoongi smirks, and you can’t even be too embarrassed by your purely instinctual actions when he looks at you like that. Like you’re slowly making him lose his cool, slowly making him succumb to his more primal instincts too.
His fingers touch you properly, then. Solidly pressing against you through your now-damp underwear, ghosting around your clit. You rut against him, whining into his mouth, and Yoongi inhales, clearly done teasing when he pulls away from you and drops to his knees.
You blink down at him, breathless at the sight of him. Blond strands in proper disarray, thanks to you. His hands move a determined, focused glide up your legs, starting at your knees and headed right for the prize, pushing your skirt out of the way, curving around your thighs. Lips swollen, thanks to you. You let out a surprised noise when he pulls you closer to the edge by your ass, gaze moving from between your legs, from what you know must be a visible dark patch on your panties, to your face.
Eyes blown, thanks to you.
“Yoongi,” you murmur, and he answers with a crooked finger, effectively pulling your panties to the side and properly revealing you to his feasting eyes. You resist the urge to squirm at his hot breath misting over you, right where you need him most, but you can’t help the way you grip the edge of the counter in anticipation.
Any humor fades from his face then, expression steeling over in lust and concentration. Yoongi leans forward, his nose brushing against you, and when you shiver, he follows it with a wide swipe of his tongue that has you shuttering out a moan. He hums in answer, shifting your legs over his shoulders so he can get as close as possible, hot tongue lapping at your slick folds before his mouth travels up to suckle on your clit.
“Shit,” you groan, the quiet exclamation extending several syllables as you start to grind down on his face. One of your hands moving to properly hold your panties out of the way for him, giving him better access. The other holding on to the countertop for dear life, keeping you somewhat balanced as you start to slump against the mirror behind you, ass sliding forward in an instinctual effort to get closer to his delicious stimulation.
He has not been lying. You know now—now that he’s nibbling and licking and sucking, now that he’s eating you like a starved man seeing his first meal in months—you know now that Yoongi has every right to be cocky, that he most certainly can back up his claims. Your thighs shake in evidence of this, your breath hollows, and you have to bite down on your lip to smother some of the noise threatening to escape you. The speed at which he’s unraveling you would be embarrassing if you weren’t so busy enjoying it.
It’s right as your eyes are starting to roll back that someone bangs on the door, startling you so much that you immediately try to sit up, arm partially stumbling into the sink in the process. Yoongi pauses, but otherwise doesn’t react. He keeps nipping at you, unbothered. Another bang has you most definitely bothered, and him mildly irritated.
“Occupied,” he says gruffly, moving to continue where he left off. But you push him away, scrambling to a more upright position. He looks at you in confusion. “What?”
Your slick is glistening across his mouth and chin, and you immediately clench at the sight. Still, you hurriedly push your skirt down, hopping off the counter. “Someone’s outside.”
“So?” Yoongi scoffs. “They can wait. I’m not finished. I won’t be remotely done with you until you cum on my face.”
Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. Your thighs squeeze together, arousal flashing through you like lightning. Still, you somehow manage to stick to your guns. “You can finish,” you say breathlessly. “Let’s just get out of here.”
Your suggestion appeases him, a pleased smile crossing his face before being obscured when he casually wipes away the remnants of you with the back of his hand. He opens the door, and a tall, peach-haired man is standing on the other side. You huddle a bit behind Yoongi, embarrassed.
“Hey Joon,” Yoongi says casually.
Joon is not amused. “Fucking really, man?”
“All yours,” the blond shrugs, a hand at the small of your back leading you through the doorway and around the intruder. You hear the taller man muttering to himself, but Yoongi continues to push further into the hallway until you’re alone again. “Don’t worry about him. He’s been kind of a piss baby lately,” he tells you, pulling out his phone and presumably checking whatever notification prompted him to do so. He looks back up at you. “Okay if we go to your place?”
“Yes, come on, let’s go.” You’re too worked up to think straight, not caring that he immediately shoots you a cocky grin at your flustered answer. All you can think about is how badly you need to cum on his face, like he wants you to.
Yoongi types on his phone for a few moments, and then he slides it back into his pocket. “Let’s go.”
Now that he’s had his hands on you, he can’t seem to keep them off. On your lower back, guiding you out of the party. Drifting teasingly lower in the elevator, curving over your ass as you wait for your Uber to pull up. Casually resting on your thigh the whole car ride, his thumb rubbing absent circles into the skin and sending jolts of electricity straight to your core.
This is his brand of foreplay, there’s no doubt in your mind. An extension of before. You had been dangerously close to orgasm in that bathroom, and though neither of you says it, you both are fully aware. Now, he’s actively edging you while pretending he’s not. Two seconds from ripping the clothes off you while pretending he’s not, making small talk with the driver with a tick in his jaw, unable to help repeatedly roving his dark, dark eyes over you.
You breathe out a sigh of relief when you finally reach your apartment, sure that you’re going to combust at any moment. In your opinion, it takes much too long for you to scramble out of the car and climb the two flights of stairs. You’re all too aware of the man shadowing you, body on high-alert. You fumble for your keys, so wired that you almost drop them multiple times while unlocking your door.
Yoongi waits until the two of you are inside and you’re tossing said keys onto your bedroom dresser to touch you again. His hands slide around your middle from behind, and this time, there is nothing teasing about him. No, instead, he makes his intentions expressly clear when a hand wanders down, breaching the waistband of your skirt.
You gasp, your legs almost giving out at the feeling of him firmly cupping you. Ass pressing solidly into him as he drags his fingers back up, one of them playfully tapping your clit. You let out a loud moan, jerking in his hold, and it makes you both pause. Surprised by the strength of your reaction.
Yoongi is the first to move, this time rubbing delicious circles that result in shuddering breaths from you. “You’re so responsive, baby,” he murmurs approvingly into your ear, nipping at the cartilage. His fingers glide over you, spreading your essence up and down your folds. Making everything nice and slick. “Are you always this sensitive? Or is it just me?”
“Y-You,” you exhale, hips swiveling restlessly. Grinding down hard into his hand, against the noticeable bulge in his pants. “Yoongi…shit.”
He cusses under his breath, his steady ministrations rapidly building the heat within you to a roaring flame ready to explode any second. But just when you’re about to start seeing stars, he’s gone from the heat of your underwear, gone from behind you. You whip around, frazzled.
“I told you,” he says thickly, shrugging out of his jacket and tossing it uncaringly to the floor. Impatiently pulling his shirt over his head and giving it the same treatment. “I need you to cum on my tongue. Think you can do that?”
You’re silent, momentarily distracted by the expanse of his newly-revealed skin, the dusk of his pebbled nipples. But your brain catches up to his question and you’re nodding, scrambling to remove your own clothes. Shirt pulled overhead, skirt pushed over your ass. Underwear hastily discarded.
Yoongi watches you with eyes blown out and lips slightly-parted. “Get on the bed,” he instructs huskily, already moving to join you as you hurriedly do what he says. You scoot back on the mattress to make room, and he crawls toward you, advancing almost as if he’s a predator and you’re set to be his dinner.
Which, you suppose, you are.
A thrill goes through you when his hands return to your knees, thumbs circling the skin before gentle pressure pulls them apart. He groans, zeroing in immediately on the mess he’s made of your cunt.
“Look at you,” he breathes. “All wet and swollen for me.”
“Yeah,” you reply with a huff, officially done with the games. You need to cum, and you need to cum now. “What are you going to do about it?”
Yoongi responds with an audible exhale, lifting your feet off the bed and subsequently causing you to fall on your back. You let out a yelp of surprise, but he ignores you, pushing on your knees again until they fold against your chest. “I’ve been telling you what I’m going to do,” he says gruffly, raising a dark eyebrow. “Haven’t you been paying attention?”
“Yoongi, come on—”
The introduction of a finger has you cutting yourself off with a gasp. The position he’s forced you into means the digit hits deep, pushing eye-rolling sparks into the softness of you.
Yoongi shoots you a cocky grin. “Hmm?”
“Ungh.” Unable to form proper words when one finger becomes two, stretching you deliciously and dragging against that usually-elusive spot. “Fuckkk…”
“Were you saying something?” he continues to goad, leaning down to suck on your clit, his fingers never stopping their pumping. Tongue flattening, whipping his head back and forth like a dog.
It’s too much. You’ve been edged for too long and it’s all fantastically too much, your hands flying down to tangle in his blond mane, not entirely sure whether to hold him to you or push him away. Settling instead for tightly gripping the strands as if they’re the only thing that can tether you to reality. Your walls pulse around his digits and Yoongi looks up at you in response, expression utterly feral.
“That’s it. Fucking drown me baby,” he growls. Wrist snapping against you as he doubles his efforts. Raising his voice to be heard over the obscene squelching and your increasingly-louder cries. “Come on, gonna be a good girl for me? Gonna soak through the sheets?”
You can only whine in answer, hips restlessly jutting further into his hand before you’re finally thrown off the precipice. Pussy clamping down, hard. Broken sobs erupting from your throat.
“There you go,” he moans, hand pounding you through it as you wail. “Ah, look at that. Guess I was wrong. You’re a creamer, not a squirter. Even better.” He leans back in to lap up the fruits of his efforts and you jolt, sensitive and delirious.
“Ba—by,” you gasp, hands scrabbling to push him away. But Yoongi pays you no mind, continuing to suckle on your clit and make you tremor. “No…no more,” you plead. “Cock.”
He pauses then, looks up from where he has made himself comfortable between your thighs.
“I want your cock,” you try again. Mentally proud of yourself for coming across more coherent. “Want your cock so fucking bad—”
Yoongi scoots away from you immediately. “And you’re gonna get it,” he hisses, hurried hands unbuttoning his jeans. “I can eat that pussy all fucking night, but if you want my cock, you’re gonna get it. Fuck.” Said cock springs free when he pushes his pants down his legs, the head already weeping and angry. He wraps a hand around himself, cussing under his breath through a couple pumps, and your pussy flutters in anticipation. “Don’t move, baby. Stay just like that for me.”
You eagerly do as he says, knees obediently pulled to your chest, dripping cunt on full display for his wild, feasting eyes. And feast he does, never looking away from you, even as he pulls his wallet out of his pants and roots around for a condom.  
You only have to wait a few moments for him to rip open the procured foil packet, a few more for him to slip the rubber over himself. He returns to you, eagerly crowding into your space. Fitting between your knees, hovering over you. His rock-hard member slips over you and you both groan at the feeling, a shiver going through you at the overstimulation.
“Don’t tease,” you breathe, enjoying it nonetheless as he slowly rocks into you, sliding himself through your slippery folds.
“I would never,” he smirks. Continuing to tease. But he captures your lips as he does, leisurely slipping his tongue inside. And on the next upstroke, he lines himself up properly with your clenching hole, slipping inside there too.
The intrusion makes you gasp into his mouth, eyes rolling at the divine stretch.
“Shit,” he exhales, gritting his teeth. Pushing further and further in until he’s fully-sheathed in you. Deep, deep. Shifting his hips a bit and starting a steady grind.
“Oh my god…”
“How are you still this fucking tight, shit, shit—”
He’s silenced when your tongue scrambles for his and he eagerly meets you halfway. He’s close—his chest knocks into your knees, arms on either side of your head, and your arms loop around his neck, ensuring that as much of his sweaty skin touches yours as possible.
The leisurely pumping of his hips steadily gets more and more rough the longer he goes on. Less and less controlled. It’s only after a particularly hard thrust knocks all breath out of you that it starts to dawn on you. Yoongi has been actively working you up all night, but as he pounds into you, his balls slapping against your ass, your kiss nothing more than the brushing of teeth at this point—
You realize that you have been unknowingly doing the same.
Just like with his fingers, this position ensures that he’s able to plunge into you, able to set the softest, most sensitive parts of you alight. But his cock is much bigger than fingers, much thicker, and therefore this way it is able to scrape against your spongy nerves with near-devastating accuracy.  
Yoongi notices your mounting distress, leans back to observe the twisted agony on your face. “Gonna cream again?” he demands. Voice deep, deep. Just like his cock. “Gonna cream all over this dick?”
“Yes,” you gasp, breath hollowing. “Yes, yesyesyes—”
Somehow, you cum even harder this time, which you hadn’t realized was even possible. It hits you like a freight train, a high-pitched noise ringing through your ears that you only belatedly realize is being made by you. You clamp down so hard on Yoongi that he has no choice but to follow you, giving you a few more ferocious strokes before he shudders, releasing into the condom with a long groan.
The two of you lie there, still joined and exhausted, forehead to forehead. It is with great effort that Yoongi pushes his weary body off of you, slips out and leaves you still hollow and wanting. Your stare at the ceiling, dazed. Spots dancing across your vision and sweat cooling against your skin.
You hear him toss the condom in the trash, and then he’s back. Yoongi crawls onto the bed next to you and guides you onto your side, an arm pulling you into his chest. The big spoon to your little spoon.
You have to clear your throat in order to speak. “Okay, you’ve convinced me,” you pretend to sigh, breaking the silence. “Carry on with your obnoxious but factual bragging, oh Master of the Tongue.”
He laughs, his arms tightening a bit more around you. A beat, two, and then you feel him exhale. “I like you,” he murmurs against the back of your neck.
You still, not quite sure you have heard him right. Convinced that your enamored and thoroughly-sexed brain has projected onto him. But when your silence causes him to shift nervously behind you, you decide to take that leap of faith. “I like you too,” you reply shyly.
You feel him smile against you, and you’re smiling too, elation bubbling up within you.
“I like you a lot,” Yoongi decides to clarify.
You turn in his hold so you can see him properly. For a few seconds, you merely study him. Try to memorize the soft way he’s looking at you, clear affection in his satiated eyes, his flushed cheeks. You sling a leg over his hip, card a hand through his sweaty blond bangs. “I like you a lot too, DJ Flossy Gloss.”
He can’t help but huff out a laugh at the unexpected jibe. “So damn disrespectful. You’re lucky I like you.”
“A lot,” you tag on helpfully.
Yoongi’s hand slowly ghosts down your back, your ass, then creeps up again. You hum. “A lot,” he easily agrees.
You’re both quiet then, content to breathe each other’s air and share each other’s balmy heat. His eyes flutter shut, and you burrow your face further into his neck.
“…Enough to wear the unicorn hat?”
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⇢collab masterlist | my masterlist
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kosmosguk · a year ago
Lineage (M)
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Pairing: Duke Yoongi x Princess Reader
Word Count: 6.7K
Summary: When an engagement locks you, the 8th and forgotten princess, to the duke infamous for his cruelty, you find yourself counting the days until your inevitable death. It’s terrifying to think of your end, but when you arrive at his territory, you realize there’s a more morbid reason behind your marriage, and that the duke is much worse than the rumors have painted him out to be.
Warnings:  HEAVY yandere themes, mentions of gore and death, near-death experiences, obsessive behaviors, manipulation, dubcon smut (reader is a virgin, fingering, unprotected sex), 18+, explicit language
A/N: Part 1 of Lineage! Took 3 months, a messy outline, and 2 drafts that I decided I hated halfway through writing and deleted before starting over to finish one part. Tags of people who replied to the preview will be added in a reblog. Thank you for everyone who has been waiting and has shown support for the preview of Lineage and my writing account overall! This is inspired by the multitude of Korean webnovels I’ve been reading during quarantine. If you like it, please leave a comment because I will cry out of joy and this took me a WHILE to get out of the drafts. Enjoy!
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 |
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‘‘Duke,’’ the king’s teeth chattered in terror as he spoke, his voice low. “What have you come to visit me for?”
Yoongi closed his eyes briefly as if he was in thought. Normally, he’d be furious at the lack of efficiency, but something stopped him from simply slicing the fool’s head off with his sword. After all, there was a much more important matter at hand that he needed to deal with.
‘‘My king, you do,’’ Yoongi spoke slowly,’’ remember our deal, don’t you? I win the war against the bordering kingdom and give you a considerable sum, and you…’’
Yoongi directed a pointed look at the king, and the king flinched before hurrying over to his desk. He fumbled around with the papers on it, even knocking down a stack of sealed and stamped documents with his shaking elbows, before extracting a small silver-framed portrait.
Yoongi could see the tremor in the man’s hands as he handed him the portrait, but Yoongi only exhaled softly, almost as if he was relieved, as he took hold of the small painted picture.
Pretty long-lashed eyes that warmly sparkled despite paint being the only medium used, curved lips like budding flowers, and silky tresses that swooped past her delicate shoulders. The maiden etched into the canvas was not known as a beauty compared to her extravagantly dressed older sisters, but to Yoongi, she was worth much more than the other princesses combined. Yoongi gripped the portrait a little tighter, his hands slightly clammy.
‘‘You wanted the 8th princess, Princess [Y/N], as your bride,’’ the ruler before him sputtered. “As soon as you’re ready, I will have the engagement officially announced.”
Yoongi broke out of his reverie and tucked the portrait into the pocket of his coat before getting up from his seat. ‘’Thank you, my King. I will never forget the kindness you have bestowed upon the House of Min.’’
As Yoongi was about to open the door, the king called out once again.
‘‘Duke Min, if I may ask, why do you have so much interest in the 8th princess? I would have never thought she would suit your preferences. If you wanted, you could have the crown princess. Her beauty is known even in distant lands, and she is skilled—”
Yoongi coldly smiled at the pathetically shivering man, interrupting him sharply,’’ Do not interfere in personal matters, my King. Long live the Sun of the Kingdom.’’
The door clicked shut behind him, and the king sagged further into his extravagantly plush ruby couch. For the first time in his greedy life, the king truly felt sympathy for the young princess he had just sold to the notoriously named Duke of Hell.
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You kneaded the dough of the bread firmly down onto the table, flour sticking to the crevices in your palms. The harvest had been plentiful that year, although many of the lands surrounding the kingdom had been ravaged by war, and the small palace, which was more like a shack than anything else compared to the palaces of your older siblings, you had in the royal territory was fortunate enough to receive a small portion of the year’s yield.
You had to be quick about kneading the dough. The weather in the kingdom had been warming up as the seasons changed, and if you dawdled, the dough would stick to the table and you’d spend the next half hour trying to scrape it off the wooden surface. You could feel the sun’s warmth on your back, and you hummed a pleasant melody as you kept working.
There were footsteps outside of your palace, a sharp knock on the door, and you paused. It was strange; no one really visited your palace other than the occasional maid, and their visits had dwindled down to barely showing up after they realized how insignificant your position was in the palace. But the maids never knocked; they always burst in, throwing down a basket of food before running off without so much a word.
Could the person outside be lost?
You hastily grabbed a piece of fabric, tying it around your neck to obstruct the view of your collarbone; this had become a habit you developed when you had been taken to the palace in order to hide the strange mark on your clavicle. You hastily pushed open the door, your fingers still crusted with flour-covered dough. The person outside was dressed in the garbs of a messenger, but you noticed that he looked and acted much too elegant to be in the role of a servant; perhaps he had been more blessed with good looks and manners but had no fortune in status, you mused to yourself. 
You must have looked more like a maid than a princess because the messenger in front of the door took one look at you and asked,’’ Could you bring me the 8th princess? I carry a message from the palace.”
You smiled pleasantly. “Sir, you’re speaking to her. Are you lost, perhaps? The crown princess’s palace is down the road, and if you take a left, you’ll be right there.’’
The messenger blinked in surprise, his mouth falling open slightly, and he practically trembled as he realized his mistake. “No, this is a message for you! I’m so sorry, Your Highness; please punish this lowly servant for making such a—!”
You shook your head good-naturedly; you were no tyrant after all, having been born more like your mother, a noble of lower class who, albeit poor, was much more noble than those of higher ranking, than your father, the king. That was a fact that you took pride in.
“What message do you come to bring me? No one quite visits this palace,’’ you questioned.
“Your Highness, the 8th Princess of this Kingdom, I pass a message from the Duke of the House of Min to you. Your marriage has been agreed upon by His Majesty, King [L/N]. The Duke requests that you move into his estate as soon as you can so the preparations for marriage can be efficiently arranged and completed,’’ the messenger spoke.
Your smile stiffened, the edges of your lips curved awkwardly as you took in the message with wide eyes. “My marriage?’’ you managed to keep the tremble away from your voice as you asked the question.
“The Duke himself has personally requested of the king that he be bestowed your hand in marriage, Your Highness. He expects you to be done packing anything you find essential from your home by the morning of tomorrow. The wedding will be held the day after you move into his home.’’
You nearly sputtered in shock at the words of the messenger drifted in one ear and out the other, barely registering properly in your incredulous mind. “The wedding?! Isn’t that too soon? The engagement period usually lasts for at least a few months!’’
The messenger tried to smile, as if comforting the shock-stricken you, and he slowly spoke, hesitating,’’ The duke values efficiency above all else. Might I be so bold to say something? Princess...I’m sure you’ve heard the rumors about the Duke. May they be either bad or good, please keep in mind one thing: you’ll be safe in his estate. He will protect you well. Good day, Your Highness. I wish you good fortune in your marriage to the Duke.’’
The messenger turned and was about to walk away when you called out,” Can I at least know your name?’’
The messenger turned back around, his eyes wide with surprise. Those of the nobility class never asked a lowly servant their name; names were symbols of rank in the upper classes, and thus the nobility did not care much about names when those names marked the identity of the lower classes. You were different from the other nobles. You looked and spoke just like her; no wonder the Duke was so fond of you.
“My name, Your Highness?’’ his voice hesitated as he spoke, his eyes wide in surprise,’’ Namjoon.’’
“Namjoon,’’ you breathed out, your lips that had been strained in an unnatural, forced smile spread into a genuine smile,’’ Thank you.’’
The nobility never thanked a servant, nor did they smile at them with such warmth. To a servant, a lack of punishment was enough.
Namjoon nodded and left your palace. When he was free from view of you and anyone else lurking around your palace, the ground underneath his feet turned an inky black, swirling like an abyss that was ready to swallow him up. Namjoon took one final glance at your palace, his previously dark eyes glowing an ominous red, and his lips that had been shyly smiling at you twisted into a smirk, flashing off two indents in his cheeks. He could see why the Duke, a man so devoid of warmth and humanity that he was a clear reflection of the demonic blood running in his veins, took such interest in you; you were interesting.  Something about you drew him in; was it the kindness you showed, or was it just how hungry your smell made him feel? Whatever it was, Namjoon was sure of one thing: the Prophecy was to be fulfilled. Yoongi would make sure of it, after all.
Namjoon vanished from sight, swallowed up in the black that had dyed the soil in dark wisps of air, and the only trace of him left was a sharp acrid scent of smoke.
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You closed the door, your hands trembling as you went back to kneading the bread dough. The warmth of the afternoon sun seemed like a chill on your back now as you prodded and shaped the dough into loaves. Since you were to leave the next morning, it seemed like a waste to bake bread; it wasn’t like you were to eat all of them by the time the dawn came. You would go into the city later after they finished baking and give them out; after your marriage to the duke, you were certain that you would receive no more chances to dress up in the garments of a maid and sneak out into the city.
It was unfortunate, was it not? To go from being the daughter of a lowly noble, one who had unfortunately caught the attention of a tyrannical king and ran away from him to the woods only to be caught and killed, to the forgotten but trapped 8th princess to something to be sold off for the selfish gain of another. You were like a lamb going to the slaughter, desperate to live but powerless.
The Duke was notorious for many things, the kinds of things that were gossiped by maids passing by your palace and left goosebumps prickled on your skin. He was a man who killed as easily as he found it to breathe, a man whose very name was used by the children as a way to scare each other. You were certain that you would be no exception to his murderous rage. 
After you returned from the city, barely being able to take in the last wisps of life outside of the cage you had been forced in, and packed your remaining items into a small bag, you fell into an uneasy sleep. In your dream, you saw shadowy figures. They screamed and yelled, and you could only stand there as cold metal pierced your body through the collarbone. It hurt so much; it felt like agony ripping away at your skin, and you could feel your own blood rush down your weakening frame. You woke up before the day came to life, your body wracked in a cold sweat that left your eyes wide open in the pitch black of the night.
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The carriage of the House of Duke came right as the light of dawn broke upon the horizon, sending splatters of rosy pink and gold light onto the sky’s canvas. You were drowned in the dappling shades of the new day as you handed the bag to the driver, who remained silent after a formal greeting. You took one final look at the building you had spent half of your life in, watching with unblinking eyes as the home that you had spent many lonely days in disappeared from view.
How were you supposed to feel? There was no jittery high of happiness that came from being married, something that was common throughout the romantic novels you had bought from the city; there was only a foreboding sense of doom. Would the Duke kill you once you stepped off the carriage, or would he enjoy the game of hunting and wait?
Although the House of Min had an estate in the capital of the Kingdom near the palace, the Duke preferred living a secluded life away from the tiring politics of the capital. You understood him on that. The ride was not long to the territory, however; the rich could afford paying to use the small portal stones to travel, which were remnants from the times that there had been magic and gods in the world. What would have been a trip lasting two weeks was narrowed down to a trip of 9 hours.
You arrived at the territory in the early afternoon, your body sore from having remained seating for such an extended period of time; you only had two breaks throughout the trip, one to empty your bladder and another to eat a small lunch at an inn. As you stepped from the carriage down to the ground in front of the manor, your mouth dropped in shock at the size of the Duke’s land. The wealth of the Duke was vast but to see it in person was astonishing. You recalled the trip through his territory; as the magical portal had been on the cusp of his territory and the outer lands, the trip to his estate from that magical portal had taken a solid 2 hours of your trip.
The land for just his estate was large; you could not see the edge of the estate’s land that you had previously entered in earlier. His main manor building loomed above you like a fortress, spiraling black buildings and shadowy crevices, and you felt a wave of anxiety rise in your throat. The manor of the Duke was more like a fortress with its sturdy, impenetrable walls and dark atmosphere. A chill ran down your spine, prickling goosebumps on your otherwise smooth skin, as your eyes scanned the buildings on the estate. There was only one word that could properly describe them: ominous.
Even the atmosphere of the maids lined up in front of you in greeting had you unconsciously tensing, your jaw clenched slightly. You could see their eyes; they were haunting in the way they were so devoid of emotion. You were familiar with how maids were like; they always had some form of emotion in their eyes: either a sickly sweetness as they itched for favor or a mocking expression that didn’t conceal their spite. You fought back a shiver when you heard them open their mouths, their voices in perfect unison as they spoke.
“Welcome, Your Highness, to the Estate of the House of Min. We look forward to serving you from now and into the future.’’  
Three of the maids stepped forward, their steps aligned perfectly and their bows matching. They dipped their heads, and one of them spoke. She looked middle-aged, older than the other maids, but the look on her face matched theirs.
“We will be the main maids serving you. I am the head maid of the manor. As the future Duchess of the House of Min, everyone at the manor is at your service. The Duke will—.’’
She paused; you heard a crunching of something underfoot in the silence of the courtyard. Was it stone? The smile that you had forced on your face froze, uncomfortably stiff.
“Welcome, my fiancé,’’ you heard a voice call out. The voice unnerved you more than the expressionless looks on the maids had; it sounded cordial and low, pleasant to the ears even. If your ears had been untrained to the sounds of the nobility, you might even have mistaken it for affection, but you knew that there was no true emotion in the voice, or at least that’s what you assumed. No warm voice could make you feel so terrified after all. You, however, didn’t notice the brief look of shock in the staff in front of you; never, in the whole time they had been serving the Duke, had he sounded so gentle.
You looked toward the sound, your fear cleanly masked by your frozen smile; after being mocked by the queen, concubines, and their children as a child with lowly blood, you were good at training your expressions. The more you squirmed, the sicker the nobles’ expressions got, which is why you spent your later years at the palace hiding away in your palace, hoping that you would continue to be forgotten. The Duke was no exception to this; if you crumbled before him, he was sure to crush you under his polished shoe. You couldn’t die yet. You had not much to live for, that you admit, but the core essence of humanity was its desire to survive. To live.
The Duke stood before you. His demeanor was elegant, but you could sense an imposing aura radiating from him. He was good-looking, though; from the rumors you had heard from passing maids, you envisioned a hideous monster with sharp teeth and claws for hands who would rip out your throat for breathing too loudly. He looked like a statue delicately carved by an artist with his smooth, white skin, like alabaster and marble, and sharp, handsome features. His nose slanted gorgeously, his jawline was strong, and his lips were softly curved.
But the most distinct feature of his were his eyes. They were shaped elegantly, curving in a refined shape, but it was the color that left your feet glued to the ground. You had heard the rumors but seeing it in person was another ordeal. His eyes were a vibrant shade of crimson, the color of freshly spilled blood, and there was an eerie depth to them. They were, you recalled, the eyes of the devil. A chilling thought came to your mind as you stared into his eyes. They were the same color as the mark on your neck. You unconsciously tightened your fingertips around the scarf you had carefully looped around your neck.
“What has your mind so distracted?’’ the Duke smiled, but although you should have felt calmed by the sight, his smile unnerved you for some reason,’’ Everything has been properly arranged for our wedding tomorrow, if that is what you are scared of. If you desire, you may look over the plans and arrange it however you like.’’
The Duke had walked closer to you when you hadn’t been paying attention, and you flinched when he reached out towards you, his fingertips brushing the side of your cheek affectionately. Your heartbeat raced in your chest; however, instead of the giddy heart thrumming that was depicted in romantic novels, your heartbeat racing was purely because of anxiety. The presence of the Duke made you feel like a small prey in front of the menacing gaze of an apex predator. Would he snap your head off? Twist your delicate neck in his hands?
He took his touch away from your cheek as your thoughts raced, his fingers snagging into your scarf accidentally. The scarf fell down to the ground, and his eyes widened in glee slightly. Your hand flew to your clavicle, covering the mark there. You didn’t know why, but something in your gut told you to not let him near the mark. His eyes glowed for a split second, the color of a polished ruby glistening in light, before dimming back to their normal color; you blinked rapidly, wondering if you had imagined the change.
“My deepest apologizes, Your Highness. You must be exhausted from your trip. We don’t want you too tired for our wedding. Your maids will take you to the room you will be staying in tonight,’’ the Duke smiled politely once again, hesitantly stepping back, his composure poised,’’ I am looking forward to our union. Rest up. I have a meeting later, so unfortunately, we won’t be sharing a meal tonight.’’
He turned to leave, his eyes lingering on your collarbone, and you stayed glued to the ground, your hand still covering your mark. The head maid reached out with another scarf in her hands, and you took it, your fingers trembling slightly, before wrapping it around your neck. You knotted it two more times than usual this time, your eyes trained on the Duke’s retreating back.
You did not notice it at the time, your mind too busy wandering in your thoughts, but the previously emotionless expressions on the maids’ faces flickered with fear before quickly shifting back. As you turned your gaze back towards them, you mused to yourself once more. How odd was it that their expressions had not changed even once?
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The room you were staying in was lovely; of course, that was to be expected from one of the top noble families in the kingdom, if not the whole land. Billowy drapes hung from vast windows, detailed gold embroidery sparkling in the brightening sunlight, and there were expensive pieces of furniture adorning the large room. The price of one of the candlesticks would be enough to cover the expenses of a peasant family for a year.
You had an unrestful sleep; nightmares plagued your dreams once again. They were more vivid this time, and you could still feel the agony of cold metal piercing through your soft flesh. The mark on your collarbone seemed to throb and burn against your skin, and you dragged your nails against it, trying to quell the itching sting. You somehow fell asleep once more, and when you woke up, the dreams had vanished from your mind, and the only remnants of your nightmares was a clammy coldness that lingered on your body and red lines on your mark from your nails.
You heard a knock on the door.
“Your Highness, may we come in? We will be preparing you for the wedding,’’ you recognized the voice of the head maid.
You inhaled a deep breath, trying to recover from your body’s cold sweat and slow the frantic pounding of your heart before calling out calmly,’’ Come in.’’
The maids came in, walking in calmly with their hands full of items.
The head maid was the one who had spoken outside, and as she walked near you, you held out a wary hand.
“If you are to serve me, I must know your name,’’ you spoke, trying to put on the dignified airs that was similar to the queen, or your stepmother, though you refused to refer to her with that title.
“My name, Your Highness?’’ the head maid looked taken aback, her eyes on the floor,’’ I’m sorry, but the names of servants are an insignificant thing to be known in this household. I only go by my position, here, as head maid. If you wish to know my name to have me punished, please just ask for the head maid to be punished.’’
You could tell that this was some unspoken rule and forced down the part of you that wished to rebel and find her name. If you were to pressure her over something so mild, unpleasant rumors would spring forth. 
You followed their directions silently as they prepared you, and you ate small bites of the meal they had laid out when you had completed your morning routine. They then changed you into your wedding garment, tying up the corset around your torso so tightly that you could barely breathe when they were done. You could feel their gazes lingering on the mark you had on your collarbone; you were used to the looks, the mockery and the disdain, but their gazes were different. Was it curiosity? Hell, admiration? Or perhaps, fear?
Hours stretched and passed as they worked on your hair and makeup. Your scalp and skin were prodded at by them as they worked to prepare you. When they were finally done, you caught sight of yourself in the mirror and was left breathless at your reflection.
Your hair had been coiled up in an elaborate up-do and decorated with sparkling hair pieces that weighed down your head. The dress was made by one of the capital’s top designers and fit you perfectly, as if the measurements of your body were known by the Duke’s Household down to a tee; it showed off your neck and the mark on your neck, and when you had asked to find something to cover the mark up, the maids shook their heads.
“The Duke wishes for this style of dress; unfortunately, nothing can be used to cover up your neck properly, and the dress can not be changed,’’ the head maid told you.
The dress, other than expose society’s stigma imprinted upon your flesh, was gorgeous. It was a pure white, sparkling with small pieces of carefully cut diamond, and tastefully accentuated by delicately beaded pearls. It wrapped around your torso and flared out into wide, layered skirts, a style that was extremely trendy in the capital. You looked stunning in the dress.
The maids had done extremely well on your makeup too; your skin glowed and was soft like a baby, and your lips were reddened to the color of cherries. Your cheeks were reddened as well, a blush delicately touching your cheeks. You looked ethereal, like a mystical being descending upon earth, though you embarrassingly believed that it was rather conceited of you to think that.
The head butler—you vaguely remembered him from the staff yesterday, although he had not spoken a word to you after the initial greeting—guided you to a carriage silently after politely greeting you, which led down to the church building in which you were to be married in.
Your fingers twisted in your fine white skirts as the rush of anxiety churned in your gut; you were grateful that your breakfast had been light, or else you would have hurled it all over the floor of the carriage.
You somehow managed to keep it together, even when you stepped down from the carriage. You even managed to keep your composure together as you walked towards the Duke, standing in front of the church, with the Kingdom’s Priest standing behind him. The church was filled to the brim with people, mostly nobles who vied for some connection with the Duke. You could even see the King in the front, watching you with eyes that told you not to mess your marriage up.
You even managed to keep it together underneath the burning sting of the Duke’s eyes as the Priest recited aloud the vows of marriage. You gazed back into the Duke’s eyes, watching the reflection of the sunset’s lights glow in their cold depths as the priest concluded the ceremony.
“May this couple’s union, placed together by the holy goddess of creation that had formed the earth, be a blessing upon the Kingdom.’’
You felt the mark on your collarbone throb slightly, a dull ache, but, in that moment, you had believed it to be a part of the bone-aching exhaustion that had settled deep into your body’s marrow.
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The first duty of marriage was the consummation of it. You were aware of what went on, having ventured off into the city and gotten your hands onto romance novels that had their fair share of obscene scenes, but to be experiencing it firsthand, that was something that terrified you. The pain of having your virginity taken had been described in detail in the novels, and you could feel a pit of nerves form as the maids led you to get prepared for your first night as a married couple.
The maids bathed you, as the head maid crooned to you low in your ear the duty you were to fulfill. They rubbed fragrant rose oils into your skin, as the head maid repeated over and over the instructions and her condolences for the night, and dressed you in a nightgown—it was a soft, clear pink that scandalously showed off your figure—that was more like an undergarment than anything.
Then, the maids led you to the room you were to share with your husband. As the head maid was about to open the door, she spoke one last time,’’ Duchess, I have done my best to inform you of your first night. May the fortune of the goddess of creation bless you upon your first night as the Duke’s wife.’’
The room was dark when you stepped in, and it would have been pitch black had it not been for the wispy pale rays of moonlight glowing through the large glass windows. This room, through your adjusting vision, was certainly much more beautiful and elegant than the room you had used for your temporary one-night stay. You saw the Duke standing in front of one of the windows, his eyes on you, unnervingly unblinking. Although his gaze remained eerie, you could not deny the ethereal beauty that radiated off of him as he watched you with ruby eyes.
As you were admiring his looks, you noticed that he had taken steps forward before pausing before you. His eyes looked at yours before roaming your body, and you noticed that there was an almost carnal hunger glowing in his crimson-red eyes. He looked starving, and you realized, unconsciously wrapping your arms around your body, that you were the meal he was to satiate his hunger with.
You could not help but flinch when the Duke pulled you forward into his arms and kissed you, his lips harsh against your own as he stole your breath from your lungs. His teeth snagged into your bottom lip, digging into it. There was nothing gentle in the kiss; nothing sweet and romantically sentimental like what had been described in romance novels.
His hands, the palms roughened from his days on the battlefield, caressed your body, slipping underneath your night gown. You gasped breathlessly against his mouth at the cool touch on your warm body, a sound that was swallowed up by his lips as his tongue delved into your mouth, and you clung onto the thin fabric of his night clothes.
“D-duke,’’ you managed to breath out shakily when he finally broke away from this kiss. You were about to say something more, but the sight of your lips, bruised and swollen from the Duke’s harsh kiss caused his eyes to darken in lust.
“When you are with just me, call me Yoongi,’’ he rasped, and the sound of his voice near your ear caused pleasurable shivers to travel down your spine. You felt something wet between your legs, and your cheeks flushed in shyness, your eyes widening in embarrassment. That look of pure innocence seemed to cause something in the infamously cool-headed Duke to snap. Yoongi’s actions were more hurried as he practically tore the dainty dress from your body, and the breath in your chest was knocked out as you were thrown onto the large bed.
His touch felt like it was burning against your body as it touched you in intimate ways. You tried to block his touch anxiously, but he simply brushed off your hands as if you had no strength; against his overpowering strength, you were utterly weak. You closed your eyes anxiously when you felt him suck bruises into your neck and then on your breasts, leaving bite marks blooming on your quivering skin like roses on silk, but you felt a sharp ache in your jaw as he grabbed your chin harshly and lifted your head to face him.
“Look at me. I want you to witness your first night with me, my beloved wife.’’
His voice was sharp despite the pained rasp coating its tone, radiating with an authority so powerful that you found yourself snapping open your eyes to look at him in mute shock. In the dim lighting of the night, with only the ghosts of the moon to leave a sheen of waning light on his handsome face, the Duke—no, Yoongi—looked lethal.
Your mouth fell open in a wide o-shape when his touch brushed down your soft breasts to your stomach and then finally to the most intimate spot on your body. His index finger swirled around your bud, sparking little shocks down your spine before venturing lower. His first finger stretched your walls, going deep into the sacred garden that had been guarded since you had been born, and you could only pant helplessly. There was a buzz in your head, something heady that you couldn’t quite put your finger on, as Yoongi touched places deep within you.
He added another finger and the another, and your mind spun as your walls stretched and clung onto his fingers. You clutched onto his clothes tighter, holding your breath, as he explored your walls. He dragged his fingers out, his movements slow and gentle, before he slammed them viciously into you; you choked on a sound that was a mix between a gasp and a moan. He repeated the movements until you were writhing under his touch before pulling his fingers out of you. His fingers were drenched in a honey-like substance, and you, with your ears burning, watched as he sucked on his fingers.
“My beloved wife, my goddess,’’ Yoongi’s voice sounded ragged, as if he was about to fall apart, and his fingers, sticky with dried saliva and your essence, curled up under his garments and peeled them off,’’ I can’t wait any longer.’’
“W-wait,’’ you stuttered out pathetically as he pushed something firm but soft and undeniably hot against your garden. Yoongi paid no heed to your word as he pushed into your walls mercilessly without so much a pause, and your heart raced as you realized what was invading your innocence. There was a throbbing agony as he got deeper and deeper, a feeling that was much more painful than his fingers had been. You clung onto his shoulders when he finally stopped moving in, tears building up in your eyes and dripping down your cheeks. When the head maid and your romance novels had talked about the pain, they had described the pain as fleeting, a sharp pinch that faded away quickly. This was different; you could feel your lower regions burning in agony as they stretched and trembled around Yoongi’s length.
At the sight of your tears, the look on Yoongi’s face was practically feral. Without waiting for you to get accustomed to the feeling of your purity being torn apart, Yoongi pulled out and slammed back in, his hips setting a tormenting pace that made you squeal in pain.
“Please pull out; oh my God,’’ you gasped out, your nails digging into his skin,’’ It hurts, it hurts so bad.’’  
Yoongi let out a grunt in response, his breath choppy as he forced his voice from his throat. “The pain will go away soon. If we don’t fulfill our first duty of marriage, then the marriage will be considered void by law. Do you want that? The next man the King marries you to…’’
Yoongi’s eyes turned deadly, as if the thought of another man even touching you set him on a murderous outrage, and you trembled at the idea. The next man would undeniably be a portly, greasy lower noble, who would take you as his concubine as your purity had already been taken by the Duke. Your future children would be spat on by those around them, an experience that you had gone through but would never wish on your children.
Yoongi spoke again, a question this time. “Will you endure the temporary pain, or will you refuse and endure a much more lasting pain as someone who lost her purity but did not fulfill her first duty?’’
You could feel him inside you, pulsing and twitching, and you swallowed your nerves. Although Yoongi had worded it as a choice, you knew it was not. It was anything but. You already knew the decision you had to take before he finished asking.
“Please,’’ you begged, softening your voice in order to incite some pity from this brute of a man,’’ Be more gentle?’’
His lips twisted into a carnivorous smile, something that caught you off guard and left you in a short daze, and his only answer was him pulling out of you before pushing back in. The pain was rough at first, but you could tell that the Duke had taken into consideration your plea, at least he did so at first. When the first pricks of pleasure sparked in your gut, your head slammed back and you moaned before panting out a shameless,’’ Duke, Yoongi, please, faster.’’
You looked ravishing in this state; marks littered on your soft skin, and your face in an arousing expression with your swollen lips parted open in shaky breaths and your eyes glazed in desire. You looked like the embodiment of sin itself against the pure white sheets of the bed. The constraints that Yoongi had placed on himself snapped, his hips slamming against you hard, an erotic sound of the clapping of skin echoing in the night, that left your skin feeling heated and flushed. You only mewled in response as he began to pound into your body. He was animalistic, the cold airs he had been encased in dropped as a rosy flush tinted his pale marble face. You felt like you were being intoxicated by the sensations of pleasure and sin.
He pushed in even deeper than before, and you felt an uncomfortable pain as his length pushed against your cervix. Your air left your lungs at the feeling, and your nails dug even further into the Duke’s broad shoulders, leaving drops of blood in its wake. The Duke didn’t even flinch at the pain, burying his head into your shoulder to let out an almost growl-like noise. You were so fucking tight; it was like you were squeezing around him, refusing to let him go.
You felt sensitive, your nerves heightened as the whirl of pleasure building in your gut climbed. Your eyes remained wide open, your dizzy mind remembering the Duke’s earlier command, and your back arched slightly as a wave of pleasure crashed into you. Your vision went blurry as you crashed into your first climax; you were coming, tightening around him so hard that your mind went completely blank.
You could feel Yoongi’s teeth sink into your collarbone, a flash of white digging into your red mark, and the pain coupled with the pleasure cascading onto your limp body caused you to let out a lewd choked moan. Yoongi slammed into you, his pace steady and stable as his breath grew more erratic, before he pushed deep into you, a groan pulling out deep from his chest. You felt something hot spill into the depths of your body, and your fingers and toes twitched at the feeling.
You were exhausted as he pulled out of you. He was still painfully hard, but you were so tired, and the lull of sleep was so tempting. Your vision blurred, and your eyes drooped shut as you fell into an unconscious state, ignoring the pulsing sting of your collarbone. The last thing you saw before you were swept up in a rush of sleep was a flash of red eyes, the look of them so vivid against the darkness of the deep night, and Yoongi licking off droplets of your blood off of his lips, his lips curved up in a menacing smile.
“Goodnight, my beloved wife,’’ Yoongi spoke out into the silence, his fingers reaching out to entwine themselves into strands of your hair,’’ May the dreams that reach you be a blessing.’’
He brought up a stand of your hair to his lips, his lips touching it tenderly.
“And may our marriage bring us both fortune beyond what humanity can perceive, my Goddess.’’
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A/N: if you want to be tagged in the next part, please reply with a 👑! And if you liked the story, please leave a comment or a review! Thank you so much for being here for my writing journey :) I’ll do my best to keep improving.
Part 2
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kinktae · a year ago
bitchin’ || pt. 5 (M)
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The 80s were a time of choices. Which perm was right for you? What color neon would you wear next? None of these choices, however, were more questionable than a certain deal you made with Jeon Jungkook.
pairing: fratboy!jungkook x reader
word count: 6k
genre: 1980s au, eventual smut, e2l
warnings: drunk sex, sober sex, fingering, handjob, sum tongue dick action, y/n has her first orgasm lol & JK getting a FAT ego about it
A/N: This fic was inspired by To All The Boys I’ve Loved Before. Thank you to @junqkook for letting me use her likeness!
01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | 07 | 08 | 09 | 10
“Man, I wish microwaveable popcorn was a thing when we were kids. Remember what a pain it was to make popcorn over the stove?”
You and Jungkook were sat up against the side of his bed, a bag of popcorn in between you.
“I once set an entire pot of kernels on fire when I was ten. The whole stovetop just whooshed into flames.”
You nodded at Jungkook’s words, “You know, that really doesn’t surprise me.”
“Yeah?” Jungkook laughed.
“I always figured you were a chaotic child,” You mused, taking a swig from the bottle of vodka, “my question is… why were you allowed to use the stovetop unsupervised at ten years old? Where were your parents?”
“Lawyer parents, remember? I did whatever the hell I wanted.”
You frowned, “Well, what happened? Did you burn the house down?”
Jungkook took this moment to grab the bottle from you, taking a sip of his own.
“Hmm? Oh no, the maid just put it out, and I went upstairs to play Atari or something.” He shrugged. You rolled your eyes.
“You rich kids are annoying.”
Jungkook merely flashed you a smile, popping a kernel into his mouth as he chewed it languidly.
“Did you know that Francis Crick and James Watson didn’t actually discover the double helix shape of DNA?” You brought up suddenly, eyes wide.
“What?” Was all Jungkook could reply, too drunk to understand the sudden turn the conversation had taken.
“Yeah! They actually based their findings on a colleague's. Rosalind Franklin. Her images are what revealed DNA to be in the shape of a helix.”
Jungkook’s said nothing, his eyes quietly resting on you, clearly intoxicated.
You quirked up an eyebrow, “What?”
“Nothing you’re just… so lame.” He observed.
“No, no, no. Lame but, like, in a cool way.”
“Was that meant to be a compliment? Because I’m still offended.” You deadpanned.
“Isn’t it interesting that even when drunk you’re still a nerd? Like does your brain ever shut off?” Jungkook continued, eyebrows furrowing as if your intelligence was indeed some unsolved mystery.
“Are you even listening to me, meathead? Rosalind Franklin discovered DNA’s shape yet those two dinguses got all the credit! How the hell is that fair?”
“Woahhhh… that’s kinda bunk.” Jungkook’s eyes went round.
“Totally bunk!” You emphasized, throwing your hands up in disbelief.
For a moment, silence fell over the two, soaking in the injustice of it all.
Jungkook was the first to break the silence.
“Tell me about the best sex you’ve ever had.”
Your eyes flickered over to him, equal parts confused and surprised at where he had chosen to take the conversation.
Then again… this was Jungkook you were talking about.
“Mine was the night after prom in my car outside my date’s house.”
You hardly paid Jungkook’s confession any mind, too in your head to even absorb any additional information.
“Well, I’ve only ever been with Erik…” You explained vaguely, still trying to sort through all your sexual encounters with your ex.
“Okay, then what was the best sex you guys ever had?”
Tilting your head to the side, you furrowed your eyebrows.
It wasn’t like sex with Erik was terrible. You loved him and loved that you got to be intimate with him in that way. But as far as which time was the best… well, you supposed they were all pretty much the same.
“Maybe the night of my 18th birthday? It was the closest I ever came to–” You cut yourself off, your words falling from you before you could think about what it was you were about to reveal to Jungkook.
Jungkook's head cocked to the side, causing his hair to shift.
"Closest you came to what?"
“To, uh… an orgasm?” You admitted, a shy smile on your face.
“You’ve never orgasmed during sex?!”
Your hands flew out to cover Jungkook's gaping mouth, giggles filling the room.
“I mean… no, not really.”
“Not really?!” He let out a breath of disbelief.
"It's not like either of us knew what we were doing. We were each other's first time." You shrugged.
This answer didn't see to satiate him, however, as he shook his head, “Y/N, you really are missing out. You should make sure your next partners are better.”
“Well, it’s not like I’ve just got a pool of people interested in me to pick from.”
The messy-haired boy scrunched up his nose, flashing you a look as if he was questioning your IQ.
“Of course, you do! Listen. Believe me when I say some guys dig that whole subtle yet sexy nerd thing you got going on.”
“Uh, thanks. I think?” You replied stiffly, staring down at the bag of popcorn that was growing increasingly empty. Was that Jungkook's doing or yours?
Your drunken curiosity was sated the second a handful of popcorn found your fake boyfriend's mouth.
“What about you?”
Jungkook paused at your words, turning to you in muddled confusion.
“Have I orgasmed during sex?” He frowned, mouth full of the buttery snack.
“No, you dickwad." You snickered, grabbing the bottle from his side, twisting back on the cap. "Are you into nerdy girls? Or do you only like girls who only like you once they think you've lost interest in them?”
It was a dig at Kiri, you knew it was, but quite frankly you had just enough alcohol in your system to not care. As far as your interaction with her went, she was not a nice person enough for you to even consider feeling bad.
“Is this your way of asking if I’d fuck you? Because the answer is a hard yes.”
You let out a laugh, lightly shoving Jungkook’s shoulder, ignoring how his breezy comment had made your stomach flip.
“I’m serious. I’m curious as to what kind of people you’re attracted to.”
“Honestly, I can't remember the last time I genuinely liked someone. I mean, I know when my dick likes someone but…”
Jungkook could see the confusion cross your face.
“Wait, what about Kiri? Don’t you like her?”
“What? Oh, yeah. Yeah, of course.” He shook his head as if to refocus his thoughts.
"Don't take this the wrong way, but I really don't understand why you want to get back with her so badly. She left you for your fraternity brother. I don't think your relationship is very healthy— for either of you." You confessed.
You had been thinking about this ever since the first day you met Jungkook; it was only just now that you had gotten the chance to tell him.
“There's a lot of history between us, Y/N. She's my best friend... or at least she was. I don't know. Things are different now, but it's hard just to call it quits after all this time."
For a split second, you wanted to ask if he even still loved her, but realizing it really didn't matter, you held your tongue.
"You guys look good together." You said instead. "She's hot, you're hot. You're both in Greek life..."
Had he been sober, Jungkook would have undoubtedly commented on the fact that you had called him hot, but instead, he just drunkenly nodded, murmuring a small word of agreement.
"Tell me about Erik." Jungkook spoke finally after the two of you fell silent.
You let your head fall back, resting against the bed.
"What about him?"
"Everything. How did you guys start dating? What was he like? Why did you guys break up?"
You let out a hum, bringing your knees to your chest.
"We were both in the biotech academy, although he went to a neighboring high school. We met at a chemistry competition, actually." You began, wrapping your arms around your shins.
"Ah, yes, the beginning to every dorky love story." Jungkook nodded, coaxing a soft chuckle from you.
"Yeah. You could say we looked good together too."
Jungkook shifted, bringing an arm up to place on the bed as he leaned into his side to get a better look at you.
"He was kind of perfect, you know. Charming, good looking, smart... like, really smart. The kind of smart that inspired me to work harder because, well, I really wanted to be a girlfriend he could be proud of."
It was strange to hear you talk like this. As far as Jungkook knew, everything you did was for yourself. Not in a selfish way but in a way that was empowering and self-governing; he couldn't really couldn't imagine you living any other way.
“So then why did you break up?” Jungkook asked, eating some more popcorn. "I mean, other than his inability to bring you to climax."
"He asked me to marry him."
Jungkook paused mid-chew.
"Woah, right after high school? That's crazy!"
You gave him a soft smile, "Actually, I said yes."
Jungkook’s mind was whirling. You had agreed to marry your high school sweetheart? The idea wasn’t super far fetched, certainly not in the town where the two of you were from, but it certainly didn’t feel like something you’d ever do.
You watched expectantly as Jungkook’s gaze fell onto your left hand’s ring finger. It was free of any kind of jewelry, however.
"Erik was a wonderful boyfriend. He used to shower me with compliments; said I was beautiful, funny, and all he could ever want, but, you know, he never once called me smart.”
You straightened up, waving a hand in front of you as you began to clarify what you meant.
“Obviously, I don’t need to be reminded that I’m smart. I’m confident in myself and my abilities. But it’s true, he never acknowledged any of my achievements.”
Jungkook’s expression softened. You had said it matter-of-factly, but he could imagine how hard that must have been for the person you loved not to take the time to recognize how hard you worked.
“At first I didn’t really mind all the sly comments and disinterested replies– if anything, it just propelled me to work harder; I just wanted to impress him. It didn’t matter in the end though. Because no matter how many extracurriculars I joined or how many tests I aced, it was never enough to interest him.”
“But he was so charming and otherwise a good boyfriend so I never really said anything. I loved him. So, I said yes.”
“But… you didn’t marry him.” Jungkook added. You nodded through a sigh.
"It was the day after he proposed, I had just found out I was granted my scholarship that would take me to college here, but instead of celebrating with me, he got upset. He didn’t understand why I was so insistent on going to college when he was going to become some bigshot doctor that make enough for both of us. He said he would take care of everything.” You recalled. "And I know that's all some people want to hear– that they'll be taken care of. But..."
"But not you." Jungkook said.
"I want to be able to take care of me. I want to be able to wake up every day and do something I love... and I want the person I love to be excited about that, too. To encourage me to follow my dreams. And as much as I loved Erik, I wasn’t willing to let all my hard work amount to nothing. I had something to prove to every teacher that doubted me, to my dad– to myself.”
Jungkook wished he could articulate all the thoughts that were running his head. He would tell you that he understood that you made the right decision. He wanted to say that Erik was an asshole for ever making you feel like you weren’t enough. But Jungkook was drunk and his heart was pounding too loud as he watched the way your breathing grew heavier, clearly somewhat emotional.
“Erik needed someone to depend on him, to sit at home and listen to his day, all while being smart enough to hold a conversation as long as it was about him and his achievements. Once I came to terms with that, I gave back the ring." You revealed.
Jungkook ran his tongue over his bottom lip, the surface dried out from the popcorn’s salt.
"How did that go?”
“Actually, surprisingly well.” You mused. “Don’t get me wrong, we were totally crying like idiots — we were each other’s first love after all — but he admitted that he was surprised I said yes in the first place. I think he really hoped I’d be the kind of wife he wanted, but, deep down, he knew that I just wasn’t that girl.”
“I think you were wrong about him.”
Turning your head over to the frat boy, you furrowed your brows together, “Huh?”
“You said he was some super-smart genius, right? I think you’re wrong. Only a moron would ask a girl like you to shrink yourself just so he could feel big.” Jungkook glowered.
You said nothing, bringing your chin to rest on top one of your knees as you stared at the suddenly angry boy beside you.
“If anything, Erik couldn’t cope with the fact that you were probably smarter than him. I know my man ego is frail, but god damn his was paper-thin. You’re formidable, Y/N. Completely and utterly capable of anything you set your mind to and anyone who gets scared off by that isn’t worth your fucking time.”
“Jungkook…” You muttered, a strange feeling in your stomach fluttering.
“I’m serious, nerd. You’re like… um… the sun!” Jungkook marveled, eyes growing full as the realization dawned on him.
“The sun?” You laughed.
“Yeah, like… you’re this bright, beautiful thing that seems like it’s here in front of me but is really light-years away.”
Jungkook was drunk, and although you were sure he was making more sense in his head, you couldn’t help but feel your face grow hot, unsure of how to react to his drunk analogy.
“You’re the sun, Y/N. You make the world turn for you. Never orbit for anyone else.”
And suddenly, you were kissing him, for no other reason other than you wanted to and that it felt like the right thing to do.
His hands found your waist, ushering you onto his lap so that he could kiss you easier, wasting no time in reciprocating. Gripping your thighs, he left out a sigh as your mouth found his neck.
“What are you doing, silly girl?” He cooed, causing your insides to squirm.
“Guess I’m also a frisky drunk.” You muttered into his neck, letting your tongue run against it.
“Yeah?” Jungkook hummed, letting his eyes fall shut.
“Well, I have drunkenly kissed Yara more times than I probably should.” You admitted, pulling away from him.
“And here I thought I was special. You’re a heartbreaker, Y/N.” Jungkook let out a dramatic scoff, hand slapping against the side of your thigh ever so lightly.
He was expecting a witty comment in response, or at least a drunken giggle. What he wasn’t expecting was the way you’re eyes were fixated on his revealed torso, a shy but unmistakably wanton expression on your face.
“What is it?”
Your eyes flashed back up to his in surprise.
“Tell me. If there’s something you want, you have to tell me so I can give it to you.”
“W-What?” You stammered.
“You’ve been ogling me ever since I walked into your dorm.” He continued coolly. “You don’t have to pretend like you’re indifferent towards me, because I know you’re not.”
He sat up suddenly, causing your ears to heat up as his face suddenly neared yours.
“So, if you want something, tell me.” He muttered lowly, one of his hands grabbing yours as he pressed it against his torso.
Biting your lip, you let your fingers run against the firm surface of his abs before, to both your and Jungkook’s surprise, your hand found the crotch of your fake lover’s sweats.
A sharp breath came tumbling from Jungkook’s lips as you began to palm over his already semi-hard cock. For a moment, Jungkook wondered if he had drunk himself stupid and that this was just an inebriated hallucination. The feeling of your mouth finding his collarbones told him very quickly that he was, in fact, still awake.
“This what you need, hm? Need my cock?”
You let your teeth nip at Jungkook’s hot skin, protesting against his mocking words. Your actions did nothing to deter the boy, however, as a low moan fell from him.
You could feel the way he had stiffened under your hand’s ministrations, thrilling the most primal part of you.
Fingering the waistband of his sweats, you let out a heavy breath, “This is wrong.”
This was extremely wrong. You should not be seconds away from taking the dick of your pretend boyfriend into your hand, especially when he was planning on going back to his ex. Speaking of which, Kiri was probably still somewhere downstairs.
“Morality sucks.”
You pulled away from Jungkook’s neck with eyes wide. He had a cocky smirk on his face, undoubtedly smug at the way he had quoted Glen Lantz just now. It was the kind of expression that any other occasion would summon a scoff from you but given the circumstances, you couldn’t help but return it back to him.
“Get on the bed. Lay down for me.” Jungkook ordered, causing your stomach to do a flip.
You gave him a timid nod before moving up from his lap.
You had hardly had your back on the bed before his mouth found yours, newfound desperation in his movements. You struggled to keep up with the kiss, too consumed in the feeling of his warm palm making it down the fabric of your sweater, running under it as he searched for the button of your pants.
With his tongue against your neck, his hand found slipped between your thighs, pressing against the wet patch of your underwear. You flinched, it had been so long since someone else had touched you like this.
“You okay?” He asked suddenly, pulling away from your neck. He wanted to make sure it was okay to touch you like this.
“Yeah. Just been a while.” You confessed, face hot.
And just like that, his touch lightened, trailing up and down your clothed slit carefully. It was meant to be gentle but his feather-like touch caused your hips to jerk, the feeling trying you crazy. You could hardly stay still as he began to kiss you, fingers slowly quickening in speed.
You tugged at his hair, knowing now the way he liked it and you preen with pride as it made him rut against your thigh.
Whining as he suddenly sank two fingers into you, Jungkook broke the kiss, moving to sit upon his knees to get a better look at you as he began to fuck into you.
You were certainly a sight to see, eyes struggling to stay open as you lost yourself to the feeling, small cries escaping you as he rolled over your clit. His free hand was gripping your thigh, enjoying the way it was shaking under his touch.
As much as you wanted to maintain yourself, your hips had a mind of their own, rolling up to meet every thrust, desperate for his touch. Jungkook’s eyes never left you and it wasn’t long before it became too much.
“Jungkook... stop staring at me.” You whined, finally.
“Sorry, you’re just so sensitive. I like watching your reactions.” Jungkook admitted lowly, chuckling as you moaned in response to a particularly hard thrust.
Heat rocketed up to your neck, forcing you to look away.
“S-Shut up, I hate you.”
“Considering how wet you are for me, I have a hard time believing that, baby.”
“Dammit, just fuck me already.” You begged.
As much as the thought of coming undone on his fingers appealed to you, you would be damned if you left this party without his dick going inside of you. You didn’t know if you’d ever get another chance like this one and the alcohol in your system would be the perfect excuse for doing this in the first place.
Jungkook felt his balls tightened, the idea alone exciting him.
“Well, since you asked so nicely.” He teased dryly, moving back in between your legs, hand gripping the edge of his shirt to pull it over his head.
“Wait!” You cried out before you could stop yourself, immediately wishing you could take back the exclamation.
“What? What’s wrong?” Jungkook worried, eyes growing wide in concern.
“N-No, leave it on.”
Dammit, dammit!
It slipped out of your mouth before you had the chance to stop yourself.
You had a massive crush on Johnny Depp, so the second Jungkook pulled up to your dorm dressed as Glenn Lantz you knew you were done for. The idea of Glenn Lantz fucking you had you embarrassingly excited and now Jungkook knew that.
You were expecting Jungkook to laugh or make some slick comment that would inevitably convince you out of letting him put his dick inside you, but to your surprise, he merely smirked, first wrapping around his cock as he lead himself to your wet entrance.
Your fingers dug into his shoulders as he sunk into you, the stretch stealing a breath from you. Shutting your eyes, you felt as he finally bottomed out; it had been so long since you had felt this full and you almost forgot the feeling.
Jungkook cursed into your neck, kissing the skin there to calm himself down. You felt so good wrapped around him but the last thing he needed was him cumming early and you thinking he was a one pump chump.
Your soft whines and the way your hips were moving into his was his sign to start moving, clearly adjusted to him inside you.
You should have expected that Jungkook would be good at his, but the way he instantly found the right pace and angle caught you off guard, robbing you of a moan.
You sounded so pretty like this and Jungkook’s chest swelled at the thought that your sounds were for him.
“Fuck, you feel so good. So tight and wet for me.” He grunted.
Gripping the back of his neck, you brought Jungkook into a kiss, missing the way his tongue tasted against yours. The kiss didn’t last for long as an unfamiliar feeling formed inside you, causing you to shut your eyes close.
Jungkook hardly noticed, his cock was pounding in you as he chased after the way you cried out his name.
“Jungkook– ah!” You lost footing of your voice, momentarily distracted by a particularly hard thrust.
“Ah, fuck. W-Wait, stop.”
Jungkook froze at your words, licking at his lips as he pulled away from your neck, stilling his hips.
“Are you okay?” Jungkook asked, eyes running over you to see if he had somehow hurt you. Your breathing was labored and you were biting down onto your bottom lip, hair fanned out on either side and if Jungkook weren’t so concerned, he would’ve taken a moment to admire just how beautiful you were like this.
“Y-Yes, I’m… I just...” You breathed, hips jerking up into Jungkook’s.
The action didn’t go unnoticed by him, of course, and it wasn’t until he realized just how tightly you were wrapped around his cock that he understood exactly what was wrong.
“Do you need to cum?”
The question alone elicited a whimper from you and within a second, Jungkook’s thumb found your clit.
A high pitch moan left your swollen lips and Jungkook took that as his cue to rock back into you.
“You’re just so wound up, huh? Wanna come all over my cock, is that right?” Jungkook was at your neck now, tasting the salt on your skin as he whispered filth into it.
“Jungkook— fuck!” You moaned, eyes fluttering shut.
“I’m making a mess of little pussy of yours, aren’t I? No wonder you’re so desperate to cum. You need it so bad, don’t you?”
“Y-Yes.” Was your weak reply, your heavy breaths nearly swallowing up your answer entirely.
“You’re okay, ah, I’ve got you, baby. I’ll take care of you. Just relax and think about how nice my cock is stretching you out.” Jungkook grunted, his own orgasm starting to catch up with him.
A broken came tumbling out at the sheer intensity of stimulation, especially as Jungkook grabbed on of your thighs and pushed it up to your chest, allowing for a deeper angle.
“Doin’ so good. So good for me.” He rasped out, so close to cumming.
It was Jungkook’s words of praise that finally sent you over the edge, back arching against the bed as white spots filled your vision. You could only vaguely make out the feeling of Jungkook pulling out of you to release his own climax onto your stomach, pulling up your sweater just in time to save it from the ungodly cum stains.
You flopped back onto the bed with a huff, eyes wide and still shaking from the aftershocks. Jungkook was rubbing at your thighs encouragingly, watching the way you slowly came down from your orgasm.
For a moment neither of you said a word, pants and heavy breathing filling the air instead.
“Holy shit.” You finally broke the silence.
That was what you had been missing out on all these years?! You felt robbed.
“Hey... Just curious but was that your first orgasm like ever?” Jungkook asked innocently. Your reaction was just so earnest and innocent and although he knew your ex never made you cum, he wondered if even by your hand you had never climaxed before.
You met his eyes briefly before turning your head to the side, clearly embarrassed.
“Really? So when you touch yourself, you don’t–”
“I already said yes, didn’t I?” You snapped, bottom lip jutting out slightly. Jungkook didn’t care much for your tone, but given the circumstances, he let it slide.
“Why didn’t you tell me? I would’ve taken my time– eaten you out until you came or something.”
“I didn’t think it mattered.” You answered vaguely, wishing more than anything for the topic of conversation to shift.
To your surprise, Jungkook’s hand found your jaw, forcing your eyes to meet his.
“Can I kiss you?”
He didn’t know why he felt the sudden urge to but he just knew he wanted to.
His request came as a surprise to, considering the two of you had just done a fair bit more than just kissing. You nodded automatically, humming in content as his mouth found yours for a kiss that was far less rushed than previous ones.
The two of you exchanged the gesture of affection lazily, Jungkook’s fingertips brushing against your waist as your breathing slowed.
“I'm sure you don’t wanna hear this but knowing I’m the only person who has ever made you cum has inflated my ego like you wouldn’t believe.” Jungkook confessed as he broke the kiss, causing you to scoff.
“Right, because I’m the reason your ego is the larger than our fucking solar system.”
Jungkook’s expression fell flat, eyes turning cold as you began to giggle.
“Bite me, nerd.” He glared despite the way the sides of his mouth turned up at the sound of your laughter, moving to kiss you once more.
“So...” Yara began, hands clasped together in front of her. “How was the party?”
Yara, Jungkook and you were sat at the library, where the three of you had planned to meet after the party to catch up on some work.
What was unexpected, however, as the way the two of you had taken a seat across from Yara with guilty expressions and far more hickeys than she had recalled counting on either of you.
The moment you averted your eyes as she faced you, she knew you were keeping something from her and she already was playing out a couple of scenarios that might have gone down at the party.
“Good.” Jungkook answered uneasily. Yara hummed, locking her eyes onto the squirming boy.
You had known Yara for a long time and had become somewhat immune to her intimidating ways, but Jungkook had only known Yara for a month or so. Hardly enough time to build up immunity.
She suppressed a smirk. Target acquired.
“That’s good.” Yara said, glare unmoving.
If Yara really were the supernatural creature you sometimes insisted she was, she would’ve heard the way Jungkook’s pulse quickened, fists under the table clenching and unclenching as he fought the urge to flee.
Jungkook felt his stomach churn as she quirked up an eyebrow at him, mouth pressed into a straight line.
“Y/N and I had sex—”
“Jungkook!” You turned to him in disbelief.
“Holy shit!”
Jungkook’s face scrunched up in regret, sinking back into his chair as your best friend’s jaw dropped.
“We agreed we weren’t gonna tell her.” You pouted.
“Shit, I know, I’m sorry but did you see the way she was looking at me?!” He cried, a finger coming up to point at the petite girl sitting across the table. “That stare isn’t human.”
“I can’t believe this! You guys did the nasty and weren’t gonna tell me?” Yara gaped.
You flinched, glancing around to see if you were disturbing any neighboring students. “I was gonna tell you… eventually.”
“It’s like she was in my head. Like she could see inside me– all my thoughts, my secrets, my innermost feelings...” Jungkook muttered, hands coming up to press against his temples.
Yara continued on, ignoring the traumatized boy. “I’m hurt, Y/N. Not as a manager, but as your best friend. That is totally not something we would ever keep from each other.”
“I was afraid that when I told you, you were gonna think this changed things!” You urged.
You really had planned on telling Yara, you just didn’t want to do it with Jungkook in the room. Yara already seemed to have this preconceived notion that you were trying to actually date Jungkook and the last thing you needed was that idea confusing him.
“Well, does it?” Yara pressed.
Jungkook’s eyes flickered over to you suddenly, equally as curious as Yara to hear your response.
“...No. No, of course not.” You shook your head.
“Kiri’s definitely pissed.” Jungkook cleared his throat, eager to change the subject. “Y/N put on quite the performance last night.”
The sides of Yara’s mouth curled up wolfishly.
“Oh, I bet she did.” She mused suggestively causing you to blush.
“Not like that, you nympho.”
“Did you guys talk to her?” Yara inquired, ignoring you.
You nodded.
“Is she the worst? Do we hate her?” Yara squinted, leaning in close as she directed your words only at you.
A nervous giggle left you, sparing Jungkook a cautious glance. She was his ex-girlfriend, after all...
“Uh, she’s… I mean, you know, I’m the girl who is dating her ex so...”
“I see.” Yara picked up on your hesitancy to speak ill of Kiri as she sent you a slow nod, immediately understanding what you were trying to say.
Kiri sucked.
Jungkook was sat in his chair, eyebrows slightly furrowed as he watched the girls’ interaction, as if something was being said that he couldn’t quite hear.
“Also... She’s, uh, currently dating Eunwoo.” You told Yara.
Your best friend blinked, silence falling over her.
“Good for her.” She perked up almost forcibly. “Let her put up with his annoying ass.”
Yara could see the way your expression had turned dubious as if you didn’t believe her nonchalant act.
Yara turned up her nose defensively, “What?”
“No, nothing. I was just expecting more of a reaction is all.” You waved your hands dismissively.
“Pshh, I don’t care where Eunwoo is getting his dick wet.”
“Are you sure–”
“Let’s do some homework, yeah?” Yara cut you off with a tight smile that you didn’t fail to miss.
You watched as your best friend reached for her textbook and threw it open, hardly paying you any further mind. Looking over to Jungkook, you found him already turned your way, his face twisted in mild concern.
It wasn’t something you had ever brought up with Jungkook – or Yara for that matter – but you always had a sneaking suspicion that Yara cared more about Eunwoo than she let on. As much as she insisted that Eunwoo’s feelings had scared her off, a part of you wondered if Yara’s own feelings didn’t have a role in that fear as well.
Offering Jungkook a shrug, you too turned back to your work laid out on the table in front of you.
A few minutes passed through; you were rewriting your notes when you experimentally spared Yara a glance, only to see a deep furrow on her face. Something was clearly bothering her.
The girl in question slammed her pencil down, opening her mouth immediately, “Not that I give a rat’s ass about Eunwoo – because I don’t – but I can’t believe he’s dating someone already.”
“How long were you guys together?” Jungkook wondered.
“Like three months.” Yara told him through a frown.
Jungkook hummed, “Well, when did you guys break up?”
“A week after school started.”
“Maybe he’s just trying to move on?” He offered, unsure of how to comfort her.
Taking in your best friend’s sour expression, you bit down on your lip.
“Yara, are you... jealous?” You assumed.
Immediately, Yara’s eyes found yours, green eyes growing wide.
“Jealous? Hah! My cold, dead heart doesn’t know jealous. What I know is that Eunwoo is a fucking idiot.” She scoffed. “This is the kid who called me every day for two weeks after we broke up professing his love for me. How is he just suddenly over me and dating someone else? That someone being Jungkook’s bitchy ass ex?”
Yara glanced over to Jungkook as if an afterthought, “No offense, jockstrap.”
“You did not just call me jockstrap.” Jungkook deadpanned.
“Hey now, Kiri’s not a bitch, I never said that.” You defended weakly. Yara flashed you a look. She had known you for too long not to be able to read in between your words.
“You really are such a class act, Y/N. Truly admirable. However, you should know that if she throws even one snarky comment my way, I’m knocking her teeth in.”
“I’m serious. It’ll be lights out for Miss Kiri.” Yara insisted, intertwining her fingers and stretching them out in front of her. A laugh escaped you against your better judgment.
“In that case, remind me not to let you out of my sight if she comes to Y/N’s event.” Jungkook laughed nervously, unsure of just how serious the small but frightening girl was being.
Yara’s looked over to you with wide eyes.
“So, does that mean...?”
You perked up in your seat. You nearly had forgotten.
“Oh, yeah! It’s happening! I’m throwing my event!” You announced excitedly.
“Holy shit, finally! That’s amazing, Y/N, congrats!”
“Well, it’s not set in stone yet–”
“Nah, Tae’s true to his word. If he says he’ll help, then you can count on him.” Jungkook reassured.
“Who’s Tae?” Yara cocked her head.
“My frat brother and head of Beta Tau Sigma’s finance committee. Y/N pitched her idea to him last night and he agreed to arrange funding for the event.” Jungkook went on to explain. A smile found your face as you recalled the interaction.
"This Tae guy sounds bitchin’.” Yara approved with a nod.
“Yeah, he really is like a brother to me.” Jungkook smiled.
Suddenly, you wondered if Taehyung was who Jungkook went to for advice. Was Taehyung his Yara? You really never gave much thought on who Jungkook’s friends were but, strangely enough, the idea of meeting them intrigued you. Especially if they were all as lovely as Tae.
You watched in silence as Jungkook and Yara continued on with their conversation, a warm feeling falling over you at the sight of them getting along and enjoying each other’s company. Even if Jungkook was just your fake boyfriend, the thought that he and your best friend and could be friends made you happy. Maybe foolishly so but happy nonetheless. Selfishly, you began to wonder if there was any way the two of you could stay like this after he got back with Kiri.
“I dunno, jockstrap. I just think The Shining is boring.” Yara shrugged.
The subject had somehow shifted in the time you had been spacing out, falling victim to your thoughts. Horror movies now seemed to be the topic of interest.
Jungkook shook his head defiantly.
“Okay, firstly, psychological horror is meant to be slow-paced and secondly, call me jockstrap one more time and I’ll rip up your John Cusack posters and force-feed you the scraps.”
Yara let out a cold laugh, crossing her arms over her chest, “Bold of you to assume I don’t already want John Cusack down my throat.”
A laugh came tumbling out of you, taking in Jungkook’s horrified expression, not expecting such a vulgar response.
Yeah. Maybe having Jungkook around permanently wouldn’t be so bad.
You had made it very clear to Jungkook that the two of you having sex was a one-time thing; your copulation had been a momentary lapse of judgment fueled by the way alcohol made you both irrationally horny.
So the second Jungkook’s fingers found the skin on your thigh, you couldn’t help but stiffen.
“Meathead.” Was your warning.
“What? Your skin is soft.” He muttered, not taking his eyes off his book. “I’m not doing anything wrong…”
Your teeth found the plush of your lip as you fought the urge to press your thighs together.
You and Jungkook were sat upon your bed days after the Halloween party. Inviting him over to study had been your idea, trying to make a point to Yara that the two of you could go back to normal after sleeping with one another.
For the most part, things had been normal. Sure, maybe you could argue that Jungkook stared at you a little more than you were used to but it wasn’t anything you couldn’t just pin on the fact that that boy often spaced out. Your face just happened to be where he liked to focus on it seemed.
So when while studying his palm found the top of your thigh, you paused your reading, glancing over at the boy cautiously only to discover him, seemingly, emerged in the book of his own.
It wasn’t until his fingers suddenly began trailing up and down your thigh, rubbing circles into the supple flesh that you realized the gesture wasn’t near as innocent as you initially assumed.
“Right?” Jungkook cooed, attention suddenly on you as he trailed his fingers further down your thigh than you should have allowed.
Your ears felt hot.
As much as you wanted to push his hand away and stop his ministrations here, another part of you was replaying the way the same handheld and touched you the night of the party in your head.
You met Jungkook’s eyes; he wasn’t even bothering to suppress his smirk that cocky bastard.
A small sigh found you as his fingers discovered your inner thigh, dangerously close to where your panties were dampening underneath your pajama shorts.
“You didn’t answer me.”
“N-No, nothing wrong.” You stuttered quietly, opposite leg rising up to bend at the knee to allow Jungkook’s hand a point of entry.
God, this was way more embarrassing when you were sober. You weren’t some lust-driven sex hungry animal, you could easily resist his advances if you wanted to. But you didn’t want to. You had gone two years without having sex and you’d be lying if you didn’t think back to that night you shared with Jungkook often.
Your thoughts were interrupted, breath hitching as you felt Jungkook’s slender fingers slipping underneath your shorts.
“You’re a strange girl, Y/N. You like to pretend like I’m just apart of the contract yet here you are. Letting me touch you like this.” Jungkook hummed, fingers trailing up and down between your thighs, lightly running against your clothed core.
You let out a whimper, handing coming around to wrap itself around Jungkook’s wrist, urging him to apply more pressure.
“Impatient, aren’t we?” He mocked. You opened your mouth to reply when he found your panty clad clit, effectively silencing you.
“W-Wait, Yara’s in her room.” You hiccuped, hips jerking forward as his thumb singled out your clit, rubbing against it.
“Oh, how rude of us. Should we go knock and ask if she wants to join?” Jungkook teased, eliciting a scoff from you.
“God, you’re so–”
Your mouth shut itself closed, biting back the moan that threatened to make its way out as Jungook sank his fingers into you.
“Fuck.” Jungkook muttered, preening in the way you felt. So wet. So tight. And all for him.
His eyes moved from the sight of his hand fucking itself into you to your profile. Your eyebrows were furrowed, face scrunching up whenever he curled his fingers up into you a certain way. He could see the way the muscles in your jaw clenched and unclenched, clearly holding back some of your more lewd sounds in fear that your roommate might hear.
He’d have to do this again whenever Yara wasn’t home. He’d love to hear the way you’d whimper his name.
“That feel good?”
Jungkook was beside himself, he knew he should be keeping it down but he couldn’t help it. He wanted to hear you– the way your voice would shake and stutter deliciously.
“So good.” You whined lowly, head turning to meet his eyes.
Jungkook was definitely too good at this. He had two fingers rocking into you skillfully, slowing down only to turn his attention back onto your throbbing clit. Your shorts and underwear felt damp, slick with your arousal and you knew you’d have to change the sheets underneath you.
“Can I, ah... can I touch you?” You asked through several uneven breaths. You felt the sudden need to touch him– to make him feel as good as he was making you feel. “Please.”
“So needy for my cock, huh? Even when I’m not about to fuck you, too.” He licked his lips, hand coming over his crotch to palm at it.
“Yeah. Yeah, go ahead, baby.”
Jungkook let himself relax back against the way, cock twitching in anticipation as you clumsily reached out to take his already hard cock from his pants.
And so that’s how the two of you found yourselves, hands down each other’s pants, voices hushed as you pleasured each other in secret like a pair of desperate teenagers.
Even as you both began to shake with stimulation, your hands didn’t stop, both of you set on getting each other off.
Jungkook felt so hot and heavy in your hand; you didn’t get the chance to fully take in his fucked out expressions last time but now that you were watching the way his jaw went slack and low, drawn-out groans fell from him, you couldn’t help but think he looked so attractive this way, hips rocking up to meet his fingers as you let yourself get off to the thought that you were making him feel this good.
Jungkook was in absolute bliss.
Your chest was rising and falling lightly, your bottom lip held hostage between your teeth innocently as your hand pumped his fat cock. He knew you were trying your hardest to stay quiet but the way your eyes were watery and small mews escaped you sporadically spurred him on, letting himself be noisier than you probably would have liked.
“You’re taking my fingers so well, baby. Making such a mess of your sheets. Fucking messy girl.” Jungkook cooed between shaky breaths of his own, obviously just as close to climax as you were.
Suddenly, a cry fell from your lips and the hand Jungkook had placed around yours to help in pumping his increasingly hot shaft quickly relocated itself to cover your mouth, catching the rest of your lewd noises as you finally came around his fingers.
“Atta girl. You did so well.” Jungkook praised, your eyes wet as you rode out the last few waves of your orgasm.
You were shaking; this orgasm had hit you hard and you didn’t know if you would ever get used to this feeling. You hoped not.
Jungkook pressed a kiss against your cheek affectionately and before you could give yourself a minute to even out your breathing, you pulled away from him, repositioning yourself between his knees.
You placed a tentative lick against the glistening tip of his cock, eyes locked on his as he continued to jerk himself off. He grunted, moving his prick closer towards your face as you let the flat of your tongue run up the length of him.
“Wanna taste you. Cum on my tongue, yeah?” You purred as you pulled your lips off his tip, a small pop sounding out.
Jungkook nearly choked, swallowing the sob of a response he nearly gave you. You were so fucking beyond hot like this. He hadn’t heard you speak so outwardly filthy before and all he could think about was how your words would sound if you were choking around his cock.
“Fuck, fuck, open your mouth.”
You obliged greedily as he tightened his grip around himself, his abdomen tightened and hand stilled, a hot white strip of cum landing on your tongue. Like the good girl Jungkook groaned out you were, you stayed open-mouthed in front of him obediently until he was finished.
Jungkook let out a shaky breath, tucking himself back into his pants as you moved back to take your place beside him, wiping at your mouth.
“Well. That was fun.” You grinned shyly, suddenly giddy.
“Mm.” Jungkook agreed, thumb coming up to wipe away your cheek, where some of his cum had found itself. Your mouth opened on its own accord, tongue sticking out for Jungkook to clean his thumb with. You didn’t particularly care for the taste but you enjoyed the way his eyes turned a shade darker as he watched you swallow his cum.
"I don’t think the contract mentioned orgasms.” Jungkook smirked as you released his thumb.
“I say we let it slide.” You shrugged, leaning into him casually.
“You think?”
“Totally. Think of it as... a bonding activity.” You joked, resting your chin on his shoulder, peering up through your lashes.
“Damn, we’re really committed to this fake dating thing, huh.”
You laughed in the way that you hated, but Jungkook loved; it was loud and abrupt, but it genuine, and it was you.
“What can I say, I’m a method actor.” You sighed dramatically, causing Jungkook to grin before pressing a kiss to your nose, simply because he liked the way it always seemed to make you smile.
6K notes · View notes
hobidreams · a year ago
Moonlit Throne | Masterlist
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“do you... trust me?” it’s a low whisper, soft lips pressed against the stuttering pulse in your throat. but you think, or maybe you hope, the implications are trying to delve much deeper into your heart. regardless, your answer has never wavered. 
pairing: joseon king!yoongi x reader genre: smut, angst, fluff parts posted: 36/~45 words: 50.6k/? contains: drabble series, historical au, royal au, the very definition of “it’s complicated,” inspired by daechwita. a/n: please pay attention to the dates, but read in the order that the drabbles are listed, not in chronological!
historical context/references. | fic playlist.
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february 1869 {m} - your king takes care of you and his business, no matter who is watching.
april 1869 {m} - the night brings with it the moon, rippling waters, and truths silenced with his mouth hot on your skin.
november 1857 - you meet for the first time as children, caught in the crossfire of hatred.
march 1858 - a visitor you never expected; a day you will never forget.
june 1868 - but trust is a fickle, fragile thing.
august 1868 - the gilded throne is, above all, lonely.
october 1868 - it’s a fine line between fear and respect.
november 1868 {m} - you’ve always been his, haven’t you?
december 1868 {m} - just how much would you give up for him?
may 1861 - here, the world vanishes and you are unafraid to dream, to want.
october 1864 - but nothing gold can stay.
interlude: september 1865 - yet, even the darkest night must break to dawn.
october 1865 - you never thought you would smile like this again, but here you are. and here he is, by your side.
october 1866 - the coming winter promises to be harsh and unrelenting.
trivia: december 1866 - some truths are easier expressed through ink.
january 1867 - the crown is far heavier than the weight of its gold.
interlude: february 1867 - he is king -- whether or not he wants to be.
march 1867 - she is beautiful in ways you could never be.
may 1867 - how much can you allow yourself to want?
may 1869 {m} - just this once, you let yourself be a little braver.
june 1869 {m} - you’ve never been able to hide from him.
july 1869 - does some part of him still remember the smiles you once shared?
august 1869 - too much (or just enough?) is exposed in the sunlight.
trivia: september 1869 - a small happiness.
october 1869 - have you been mistaken all along?
november 1869 - to remember what has been lost; to protect what still remains.
december 1869 - the aftermath: quiet, laced with a raw truth.
january 1870 - what can you do? what power do you have?
february 1870 - the throne demands so much. is the king prepared to give?
march 1870 - the coming of spring ushers in so much.
interlude: april 1870 - how much does he really know?
trivia: june 1870 - a hastily scribbled letter the sender wishes he did not have to write.
july 1870 - and yet-- it is not the same. he is not the same.
interlude: july 1867 - to be in power is to protect.
september 1870 - this precious night, lit by lamplight is, at least, enough.
winter 1870-1871 - time continues to slip on -- blissfully, mercilessly, endlessly.
summer 1871 - coming soon!
7K notes · View notes
ppersonna · a year ago
make me - myg | m
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strawberries on a summer evenin'. baby, you're the end of June. i want your belly and that summer feelin', getting washed away in you - watermelon sugar, harry styles
↳ summary- an ordinary sleepover with your best friend turns into anything but ordinary, thanks to your ridiculously loud neighbors above you.
↳ rating- explicit / 18+ / nc17
↳ word count- 4.4k
↳ pairing- yoongi x reader
↳ genre-  pwp lol, smut, fluff, somehow the dirtiest fluff i have ever written bc there’s some depraved shit in here
↳ warnings- penetrative sex, oral sex (m/f receiving), unprotected sex (dont...pls), dirty talk, rough sex, degrading talk, dom/sub undertones, bratty backtalk
↳ a/n- yooooo dawg this... was fun.  i hope you enjoy!!  ive been in my yoongi feels lately uwu. feel free to comment, message, dm, whatever u want babes.  i love you!
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Yoongi thinks if he has to hear your upstairs neighbors fuck for another minute longer he might actually go crazy.
It’s been hours now.  The girl is screaming like a feral cat and the man is doing a terrible impression of a porn star, trying his best to talk dirty but really just calling the howling banshee awful names.  
If only his dick would be as annoyed as his brain.
He knows you’re awake next to him too.  The steady rise and fall of your breathing changed when the bad porn above you began—now it’s faint and too quick to indicate anything but your wakefulness.
“Ohhhhh oppa!” The girl above you screams.
It’s finally what breaks down the silence in your bedroom.  At her wanton sound, you and Yoongi are unable to stop yourselves from bursting into laughter.
Yoongi’s stomach hurts from laughing so hard.  Tears form at the corners of his eyes as you make the bed rumble from the force of your combined laughter.
“God, do they think that sounds hot?” You finally ask after settling down to mere giggles.
Yoongi shrugs and wipes away his tears. “Apparently.  He must like the way she sounds like a dying cat.”
His comment sends you into a spiral of laughter again, and you’re clinging to your chest as it heaves with exertion.
Yoongi is your best friend for a reason.  No one makes you laugh as hard as he does.  No one understands you the way he seems to be able to—it’s almost intuitive the way he can understand your feelings.  
You live for your weekly sleepovers.  You drink wine, watch terrible horror films, gossip about your other friend’s love lives, and fall asleep in your bed together.  It’s never been anything but blissful.
Until recently…
When your heart decided it would beat too fast around him.  When your brain decided to spin and weave stories of romance with your best friend.
Now, you can’t hardly think about anything else around the dirty blonde haired boy.  It’s overwhelming to all of your senses when you see him, feel him near you.  You want to kiss him, to love him, to tear his clothing off.
Which makes lying in your full size bed while the neighbors above you fuck and attempt to act out their wildest fantasies—badly—so much harder than usual.
“God,” Yoongi sighs and tugs the blanket up to his chin. “Does she even like it or do you think she’s faking it?”
You wrinkle your nose in disgust. “Ugh, I know I wouldn’t be into it.”
“You don’t like dirty talk?” He teases with a poke to your stomach.  It makes an eruption of nerves go off in your chest.
“Oh, no I do. But that’s not dirty talk,” you shrug. “He’s just being mean. There’s no sensuality underneath it.”
He hums and lays back down to stare at the ceiling.
“Give me an example,” he asks of you. It makes your cheeks flush red and you’re thankful for the darkness in your room to provide you cover.
“Um, well,” you cough awkwardly. “He’s saying shit like ‘you fuck anything don’t you?’ which, maybe she’s into degradation, but I’m not. Not that extreme.”  Your explanation sounds lame, but you continue anyway. “I prefer to hear things like ‘this slutty little pussy belongs to me’.  Possessive and hot at the same time without being too...uhh...hurtful.”
Yoongi feels his cock rise with piquing interest. There’s a nagging guilt about thinking of his best friend this way, and a tinge of jealousy thinking someone who isn’t him has said that to you.
He feels his throat dry up, and you wring your hands nervously on the blanket. The moaning above you doesn’t stop, and you can hear the telltale sound of flesh slapping on flesh, indicating they’ve commenced into penetration and it makes your body throb with annoyance, and with want.
There’s moments when a louder slap echoes through the room—it’s clear the man is slapping her somewhere—and she whines desperately.  Your core starts building that familiar heat, a slickness gathering you can’t stop. You press your thighs together tight and squirm as subtly as you can. You pray Yoongi doesn’t notice.  
Yoongi, however, does notice.  He breathes a sigh of relief internally knowing he’s not the only being affected by the commotion above. But he doesn’t understand the meaning behind it. For all he knows, you’re just turned on because—well, because it’s sex and it’s loud and who wouldn’t be a little turned on? You’re likely not at all aroused by him, or the thought of him. Right?
Another slap echoes through the room and you can tell by the way the girl gasps that her partner slapped her in the face.
“Damn,” you shiver.  Yoongi turns to peek at you through the darkness.
“You into that?” He asks curiously. “Face slapping?”
It’s hard to swallow for a moment—it feels like you’re trying to down a boulder.
“Uh, yeah,” you whisper. “Yeah, I like pain.”
Yoongi doesn’t reply and it makes you fear you’ve overstepped the line. You’ve gone too far off the ‘best friend’ track and the whole train is about to de-rail.
You’re opening your mouth to apologize for taking it too far when Yoongi finally speaks.
“Fuck it,” he sighs. “You want to fuck louder and establish dominance?”
The world stops turning.  You’re sure that gravity doesn’t exist anymore and the theory of relativity has been proven wrong.
Did Min mother fucking Yoongi, your best friend of over twenty years, just offer to have sex with you to...establish dominance over the neighbors above you attempting to make a cheap porn?
He’s looking at you normally, but there’s a glimmer in his eye that says more.  It says he wants you.  Your stomach twists in on itself.  There’s no way, there is no actual plausible way that the man beside you feels the same way about you as you do.
“You want to have sex with me?”
Yoongi’s cheeks turn pink and he looks away for a minute.
“I also want to date you,” he murmurs.  
If you thought the world ended before, you’re sure this is the fiery explosion that brings a new earth into life with a bang.
The noises from upstairs interrupt the romantic moment with a scream, a guttural howl from the man, and then muffled whispers and sighs.
“What do you say we keep them up all night too?” His mouth turns to a smirk as he awaits your reply.
“Yeah,” you nod as you throw the blankets off you.  “Fuck those guys, lets show them what real kinky sex looks like.”
Yoongi’s eyes turn feral as he works his eyesight down your body.  Your normal sleepwear outfit of a tank top and shorts looks like lingerie to him now and he’s salivating at the way he can see the curve of your breasts, and the press of your hard nipples against the fabric.
You’re throwing yourself onto Yoongi’s body in an instant, pinning him down to the bed and pressing your lips to his.  You waste no time in waiting for him now that you know—now that you’ve heard with your two ears that Min Yoongi not only wants to fuck you, but date you as well.   No use wasting any more time—the time for action is now.
The kiss is hot and Yoongi’s hands falter for a moment in surprise before he’s coming to his senses and tugging at your tank top quickly to pull it off your body.  His hands feel hot on the bare skin of your back, rubbing at your spine and up to your shoulders.  It makes you shiver, and you slide your tongue into his mouth to explore the heat inside.  
His hands navigate forward to cup your breasts, fingers toying with your nipples—pinching and pulling and rolling between the pads of his fingers.  It has you keening into his touch and grinding down on his basketball-shorts-covered cock. 
Yoongi pulls away from you and pulls at a nipple harshly, which makes you gasp out loud.
“It’s real cute how you think you’re in charge right now,” he points out.  “Real fucking cute.  It’s gonna make me almost feel bad for punishing you.”
You’re sure your soul is going to leave your body at hearing your best friend’s sexy baritone voice verbalize your dirtiest fantasies.  If this is how you react now…, may God have mercy on your poor little pussy.
Yoongi thinks he’s possibly never been harder than he is right now.  His best friend, best girl, is sitting atop his boner and he’s twisting your pretty nipples so hard they’ll surely turn purple soon.  You sound so sweet when you whine, and you’re starting to whine louder as he continues the pressure on your tits.
“You thought you could take control, didn’t you?” He asks, slipping further and further into the dominant act.  He loves this, thrives off it.  He didn’t think you’d ever be into it—none of the girls he’s dated before have—and he’s thrilled he doesn’t have to hide this depraved part of himself.
You nod and bite your lip, wincing as he tugs once more on a nipple before letting go.
“Cute,” he sighs.  “But wrong.”
In an instant, he flips you two over and he feels his heart and cock swell at the sight of your sweet eyes widening at the quick change.  
“This feels better, don’t you think?” He asks.  You nod and he shakes his head.  “Answer me, baby doll.  You’re already about to get punished.  You wouldn’t want to make me not let you cum, would you?”
The fear in your eyes increases and you clear your throat to talk.
“No sir, I don’t want that.”  
Yoongi nearly moans.  Hearing you call him sir, being underneath him—it’s his wet dreams come to life.
“Then tell me,” he instructs. “Tell me you need me in charge.”
You’re dying to be a brat, really wanting to pull Yoongi completely out of his shell, show him the full extent of what he can do to you.  Plus, you really wanna give your neighbors a show—a taste of their own medicine, don’t you?
“What if I don’t want to?” You tease.
Yoongi’s grin turns wider and his eyes sparkle with knowing. He’s a through and through brat-tamer, and by the end of the night you’ll be crying for forgiveness.
“Little tease,” he growls as he leans down to latch his mouth on your abused nipple.  
You gasp out loud, and it turns into desperate mewling as his teeth nibble and pull.  You’ll be bruised up for days, surely.  He sucks hard, pulls on it roughly and bites with meaning. You just know your panties are completely soaked.
“Talking back to me, huh? You think that’s going to get you where you want to go tonight, little girl?”
He turns his attention to your other nipple, eyes peering into yours as you struggle to answer with the sizzle of pain in your breast.
“What are you gonna do about it?” You send back with a shake of your hips under him.
The growl he delivers around your nipple and the quick bite makes you yelp.
“I think I should shut that loud mouth of yours up.”
You smile in response and his fingers tug down your shorts.  You lift your hips and allow him to pull the clothing off and you’re left in your slicked up panties.
“Oh yeah?” You retort.  “You gonna shut me up with that fat cock?”
Yoongi visibly shivers. His spine tingles deliciously for minutes after the hair on his neck settles.  He’s dreamed of you like this, under him and begging to be put in your place.  And now, here you are.  And he can’t wait to make it a reality.  He’s even forgotten about the loud neighbors.  It’s now just all about you.
“I bet you’d like that, wouldn’t you? Dirty little slut so horny to get her mouth on my cock.”
Yoongi allows a finger to trail down your clothed slit, and he outwardly groans at how wet you are.  You’re unable to hold back your whimpers of need—he’s so close to where you need him most and where you’ve dreamed of having him.
“You talk a big game for someone who’s drenched before I’ve even done anything,” Yoongi says with a smirk.
Your legs tremble as he pulls your panties to the side to expose your drenched folds. He dips a finger in and touches your clit. You moan in unison—he’s captivated by the heat and slick, you’re feeling air escape your lungs with every swirl of his finger.
“Y-Yoongi,” you whine.  He tsks and pulls his finger out.
“That’s not my name right now.” His hands start to slide your panties down and your stomach leaps with excitement.
“Sir, please.”
“Now you want to be my good girl?” He asks with a chuckle. “Where’s my mouthy little brat who wants my cock to shut her up?”
He leans back on his heels and watches you eye him. You’re nearly bursting at the seams. You’re naked while he remains completely clothed and while you’d normally feel exposed and vulnerable, all you feel is white hot heat. You’re burning for Yoongi, for him to do what you’ve dreamt he could do.
“Why don’t you show me what that sweet mouth can do?”  
He maneuvers to stand at the side of the bed, dick straining against the mesh of his shorts. He waits for you to sit up, which you wordlessly obey.  His cock is now eye level with you, and your mouth feels dry. You’ve dreamt about this dick, about what it looks like and how it would feel in your hand, inside you. The fact that you’re here now, about to find out all your secret fantasies is heady.
Your hand rubs at the straining material, over the thickness of his cock. He feels big, and you give it a squeeze which makes him hiss.
“Still being a tease,” he sighs with faux disappointment. “You’re in a precarious position to be such a little cocktease.  Might need to fuck that right out of you.”
It makes you whimper—his direct threats sounding like smooth promises going straight to your core.
“I’d like to see you try.”
Yoongi growls and grabs a bit of your hair, tugging your head back to look at him in the eyes.
“I think you should shut this fucking mouth up.”  His voice is dark, and his eyes glow with lust.
A grin pulls over your face as you gaze sweetly up at him—his hand still gripped tight in your hair.
“Make me.”
Yoongi is silent for a moment as he stares at you in wonder—his beautiful girl, so rebellious and yet so willing to comply.
“I fucking love you, you little fucking slut.”
Yoongi forces his shorts down and grips your chin, holding it hard in his hand.
“Now choke on my fucking cock.”
You open your mouth complacently and he wastes no time in shoving his entire length down your throat mercilessly.  
It’s hot. It feels like fucking heaven.  Your lips wrap around him and suction and he can feel your gag reflex straining against his tip at the back of your throat.  Yoongi thinks his entire spine is tingling with desire for you and the way you take his cock so well has his toes curling.
You didn’t even get to have a good look at Yoongi’s cock before it was shoved into your throat, but now that it’s there you don’t even need to see it to knows he is fucking thick and long. It stretches your mouth and you know your pussy will be taken to its limit when he finally buries himself inside you where he rightfully belongs.
“Can’t talk back now, can you?” He teases as he begins to fuck your throat. “Mmmm shit—, you suck my cock so fucking good.”
His words are nothing but encouragement for you and you fight back the growing discomfort in your throat and allow him to use it as he pleases.  Tears form in your eyes and slip down your face at the exertion and you soon feel his balls slap at your chin.  You’ve only fantasized of being used like this by Yoongi, and now it’s actually fucking happening.  You’ll be damned if you don’t give him the suck of a lifetime.
Yoongi thinks he’s staring into heaven as he fucks your tight mouth and watches as your eyes fill with tears.  They leak out and he knows you’re loving this just as much as he is by the palpable enthusiasm you accept his cock with.
“Look at my little brat,” he coos mockingly. “Not so big and brave now, are you?  Not with daddy’s cock wrecking your hot mouth.”
He picks up the pace and the sounds turn disgustingly lewd.  It’s a wet, slurping sound as Yoongi forces his cock in and out of your drooling mouth.  Saliva drips onto the bed below you as you take him all, never given a chance to breathe or swallow.  Yoongi takes and you selflessly give. You’d allow the man to split you in half—and you’re actively hoping he does just that tonight.
Suddenly, Yoongi is pulling out of your mouth and leaving you panting and keening for more. He grips his cock with a fist.  He strokes himself roughly and looks down at you.
“Gonna cum, baby girl. Fucking beg for it.”
Your hands grip at his thighs and you’re breathing hard to catch up on the oxygen you were denied.  But it doesn’t stop you from doing exactly as he orders.
“Please, daddy. Please cum on my face.  Let me taste your cum, I want to know what you taste like.  Cum on me.  Mark me, daddy.”
Yoongi whines and increases the speed of his pumps. His mouth falls open as he watches you pout so sweetly and wait so eagerly for his seed on your face. He wants to see your entire body covered in his cum and he plans on ensuring that happens sooner rather than later.
“My eager little bitch. Wants her daddy to mark his territory.”
You nod, tongue sticking out and wagging like a dog for his cum.
“Please, daddy.  Make me messy.”
It seems to be the secret password to Yoongi’s climax. Your desperation, your eager position, the way you beg so sweetly.  It sends him right over the edge and he cries out as his cock pulses white stripes over your pretty face.  
He wishes he could take a picture of the way his cum covers your face.  He’d make it his background photo so he could see it every day, show everyone around him the gorgeous little whore he gets to cum on every night.
“Shit, babygirl,” he groans as he attempts to catch his breath.  “Look at you.”
You smile as your tongue retreats into your mouth and you savor the drops that landed on your tongue.  Your eyes close in bliss as you enjoy the flavor, noting it tastes salty and sweet and you can’t wait to reacquaint yourself with the taste over and over again.
“Lay back,” he orders as he pushes his shorts all the way off.  
In his haste to fuck your throat, he only pushed them halfway.  He slips out of them and pulls his shirt off before he joins you on the bed.
“Let me drink this cunt.”
You whimper in agreement as you press your back in to the pillows and spread open your legs.
“Please, daddy.”
He grins as he lowers himself to lie between your legs.  He blows on it, cool air pushing over your folds chilling you.
“Fuck,” he sighs.  “Greedy little cunt wants it all, hm?”
“Yes, daddy.”
“So compliant for me now,” he whispers as he kisses your thighs. “I like it when you behave.”
He kisses in further, and soon he’s using his fingers to spread apart the folds and pressing the flat of his tongue to your clit and laving it over the aching nub.
“Holy shit,” he groans as he comes up and sucks his tongue back into his mouth.  “Sweetest little pussy.”
You can’t reply, the capability to speak has left you now.  He buries his face back into your cunt and gets to work.  His tongue starts flicking against the bundle of nerves and then dips down to fuck into your channel.  He works his tongue around you and your back arches off the bed and your heels dig into the mattress.  You seek purchase in his hair with your hands, digits gripping at the blonde locks between your thighs.  
Yoongi groans and moans into your cunt, and soon he slips two fingers in to fuck you roughly.
He pulls his lips away and licks his tongue over them to collect the slick that lingers.  His fingers maintain a quick pace and he drinks in the sight of you gasping at the stretch.
“Yeah, look at you take my fucking fingers.  Such a wanton little whore for me.”
He slides another finger in to join, then another, and it makes your cries echo loudly around the room.  He suddenly remembers the neighbors above you and smirks.  He pulls his hands from you, making you keen with desire and desperately beg for more.
“Daddy! Please, I need..” you gasp. “Need you!”
He pulls himself up to join your hips together and rolls his them against each other.  His cock rubs against your soaked pussy and he bites his lip at the feel of it getting slicked up.
“I want you to be nice and loud for me, baby girl,” he demands sweetly in your ear as he licks the shell.  He notes your shiver and smirks, before kissing your ear lightly.  “Tell those mother fuckers upstairs who’s going to take you to Hong Kong.”
“Yes, daddy,” you agree.  
It only takes the consent to leave your lips for Yoongi to spear his cock into you.  He’s not slow or gentle, he pushes it into the hilt immediately.
Yoongi meant to start a pace, to begin fucking into you mercilessly, but he’s frozen inside your tight heat.  You feel so good, so fucking tight and warm and wet for him.  It’s better than heaven, and surely better than any pussy he’s been inside before.  Maybe it’s because it’s you, and no one else.
“Fuck!” He gasps. “Holy shit I could cum right now.”
You whine and move your hips desperately.
“Fuck me daddy! Fuck me hard, please!  Use me like your little cock sleeve.”
Yoongi bites his lip and feels his cock pulse.
“Shit, you’ve got a dirty fucking mouth,” he grits. “Let’s see if you’ve got a dirty little pussy too.”
He sets a pace, desperately wills his cock not to cum yet.  He wants to fuck you senseless, until your eyes roll back in your head.  He’s gonna make sure you get off on his cock before he comes close to his end.
Yoongi grips your chin again, like he did at the beginning as he fucks into you roughly.
“Look at you take my fucking cock so deep,” he bites out.  “Your cunt is so fucking desperate for my fat cock, isn’t it? You need me to fuck some discipline into you.”
You’re nearly screaming now at the force of his thrusts.  He’s pushing all the way into you with each push and his balls smack against your ass deliciously.  You’re babbling, words unable to make sense as he fucks all the brain cells out of you.
“Dumb little cock slut,” he whispers as he leans down to suck a nipple into his mouth and bite at it before releasing it  “Little brat turns into a perfect little fuck hole for me, so fucking good for me.”
“Yes, y-y-yes baby! S-so close!”  
Yoongi’s had you near the verge since his oral, and now with his punishing pace and power in his driving hips, you’re hovering over the edge.
His hand drops down to rub at your clit, a circular motion that has you gasping and screaming his name.
“That’s fucking right,” he breathes. “Tell them, baby.  Tell them who’s got the best fucking cock.  Tell them who fills this pussy up so well.”
You’re eager to comply.
“You, daddy!  Fuck!  You feel so fucking thick in me.  I need your cum, please, please.  Cum on me.”
Yoongi feels his balls tighten impossibly--he knows he’s seconds away from an explosive orgasm.
“Cum on my cock, baby girl.  Let me feel you cream my fucking cock.  Wanna see you all over this fat dick.”
His free hand tugs at a nipple and pulls it punishingly, tugging it so far it pulls the skin around it.  Your screams light up the room, echoing and bouncing off the walls and surely traveling up to your neighbors bedroom.
“Yoongi! Fuck! I’m cumming!” You warn, a millisecond before your world crashes around you.  
Your cunt squeezes his cock so tightly that it causes his hips to stutter in their pace.  It grips him tight, angry like a squeezed fist and Yoongi feels the air get sucked out of his lungs as his climax follows directly after yours.  He didn’t even have a chance to pull out--he’s emptying his load into your womb and whining at the feeling of your pulsating walls milking every single drop greedily.
It’s several minutes later that you’re both caught up to normal breathing and resting beside each other on the bed.  The room is silent, save for little pants and breaths, and Yoongi reaches over to lace his fingers into yours and hold your hand tightly.
“You wanna date me?” He asks sweetly, as if his cum isn’t dripping out of your cunt as he speaks.  
It makes you laugh.  It’s so classically Yoongi that you can’t help but to laugh.  
“Yes, daddy, I want to date you.  I want to date you every single day.”
He pulls you into his embrace and kisses at your forehead.
“Maybe we should send your neighbors some flowers for getting us together,” he teases.
As if on cue, the all too familiar sound of skin slapping against skin and screeching moans comes from upstairs and plays through your apartment like an unwanted jukebox.
“God damn it, our plan backfired.” he grumbles. “I think we turned them on.”
You press your sticky, sweaty body against him and kiss at his lips.  Your hand sneaks down to his cock and grips it again, begging it to come back to life.
“Shall we try again, then?”
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5K notes · View notes
kimnjss · 2 months ago
cyberslut | myg sm au
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banner by: @dee-ehn
🖇 synopsis:
— he has no idea who you are... up front, you’re sweet and innocent - but in reality you’re the exact opposite. running your own nsfw account, where your favorite topic is his hands.
[ cyberslut: a person who will act openly sexual on the internet, yet in real life will act prudent and contained. ]
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pairing: jock(fuckboi)!yoongi x nerdy(virgin)!reader
fic type: social media au
side ships: (platonic...) vmin.
genre: smut!! college au, secret identity, tutoring au, slight themes of infidelity...
warnings: yoongi and his friends are dicks :/ - yn is way too horny all of the time... there’s a lot of sexting... no full nudity.
*BYR: yn knows yoongi is the guy she’s posting abt... yoongi does not know abt yns acct (until he finds out). yoongi nd yn have never talked before the start of this fic.
status: completed!
A/N: timestamps make sense throughout the fic. if u want to be added to the tag list, send me an ask! + if you’ve asked to be on my permanent taglist, you do not need to ask to be added to this one !!
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bonus drabbles...
prologue: homeroom hottie
character profiles: yn, her alter ego, nd besties
character profiles: yoongi nd the boyz
part one: invasion of privacy
part two: private sessions
part three: pretty prints
part four: went viral
part five: malleable substances
part six: fellow fish nerd
part seven: long night
bonus: fuck me
part eight: fucking prude
part nine: under the bleachers
part ten: buzzer beater
part eleven: mentally fucking
part twelve: deductive reasoning
bonus: turn the page
part thirteen: teachers pet
part fourteen: surprise me
part fifteen: emotion sex
part sixteen: sexy mermaid
part seventeen: not finished
time jump: untapped ass
part eighteen: give a fuck
part nineteen: not dating
part twenty: away game
part twenty-one: at your pace
bonus: nervous and excited
part twenty-two: petal
part twenty-three: too messy
part twenty-four: drunk yoongi
part twenty-five: being stupid
part twenty-six: superior couple
part twenty-seven: iconic parties
part twenty-eight: twenty minutes
part twenty-nine: risk it
part thirty: reformed fuckboy
part thirty-one: nice change
part thirty-two: public event
part thirty-three: bars and clubs 
epilogue: on purpose
epilogue: fucking nerd
4K notes · View notes
honeymoonjin · a year ago
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𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 yoongi x reader || 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕 24k || 𝒈𝒆𝒏𝒓𝒆 smut, fluff, angst
𝒔𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚 it may be misfortune that brings you to min yoongi’s door looking for a place to stay, but luckily holly lodge has a vacancy.
𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 explicit sexual content, cursing, unintentional voyeurism, non-explicit mxm (taejin side pairing), protected sex, kinda-sub!yoongi, oral (m receiving), fingering, yoongi lowkey being a pillow princess, smut with a whole lot of feelings, body worship (m receiving), praise (m receiving), this was more vanilla than expected, cowgirl/riding, hand-holding during sex, this isn’t jerk-off material it’s slow burn softness so be warned
many thanks to @jamaisjoons for the gorgeous banner
A distant crunch of gravel is the only warning you get. You look around absentmindedly, down the steep slope of the hilly fields, and see a bus pulling away down the windy path that had brought you here several hours ago.
"Oh, fuck-!" You make it less than a third of the way down, half-stumbling, half-running, before you give up, realising it's no use. "Oh, fuck," you repeat with a sullen sigh, sinking down to the dirt path.
What was meant to be a day-trip to the renowned Boseong Green Tea fields was apparently going to be longer than a day.
The sky was steadily growing darker, and through the vibrant hedgerows of green tea plants that lined the hillside, a fog was starting to collect. Consulting your phone tells you it's later than you thought.
You stand up again, brushing the dust off the back of your jeans, and slowly plod your way back up to the peak of the hill, where a flat area with some benches provides a decent lookout. The several small cafes and restaurants at the base of the fields have no lights on, and a metal grille has been slid down over the windows of the ticket booth. It's deserted.
Your roaming data works up here, although it's a little more patchy than you'd grown used to around the rest of the country, and you use the last of your dying battery to google some places to stay. With any luck, you'd be able to phone in to a hostel or motel and book in a place. You just hoped the walk wasn't too far in the dark. But as the sun slips lower and lower in the sky, and you call a seventeenth number, you begin to lose hope.
"Even just for one night?" you barter nervously, biting on your nail as the older lady on the other end sighs.
"I'm sorry, dear, we're all booked out. You should've called in advance. Spring is a busy time of year."
You pinch the bridge of your nose. "I wasn't even meant to stay. I missed the bus back."
"Are you at the Boseong-gun bus terminal? I'm sure there are other busses coming in no time."
"I'm still at the tea fields," you admit, "it was a bus from out of town. Please, I'll walk down to the main street myself, I just don't want to stay outside all ni-"
"Wait- At the plantation? Have you tried Holly Lodge yet?"
You frown. "No. I didn't see that name come up when I searched online for accommodation."
A laugh rings out, though you sense it's not directed at you. "No, dear, Min wouldn't have put it online. But it's far closer to the fields, and I would venture a guess that it's the one place in Boseong that won't have been flooded with guests."
You feel yourself inflate with hope. "Do you have the phone number? Thank you so much!"
"I don't think the owner even has a phone. If he does, I certainly don't know the number. But- Where on the plantation are you right now? Can you get to the top?"
"I'm at the top," you answer reflexively, "but are you sure there's room there? I'd hate to show up unannounced."
The lady on the phone laughs again, slightly condescending. You get the vibe she's not the biggest fan of 'Min'. "He won't have any customers. It's just a small bed-and-breakfast, but he's so far away from the town centre, and he makes no effort to advertise. It's a wonder he's still open, to be quite frank. Anyways, if you're at the top, turn around away from the entrance."
You bite your lip uncertainly but do as she says. You haven’t looked back this way, but you see now that there’s a winding path down the other side, a skinny trail of flattened grass leading into the distance. “Do I go down the other side of the hill?”
“Away from the main fields, yes,” the motel owner replies in a slightly impatient voice. You imagine she can’t appreciate the late-night call for such a busy time of year. “Down at the bottom, there’s a patch of trees.”
Feeling your toes beginning to go numb in your shoes from the cool, damp fog rising, you begin to pick your way down. “I see them.”
“Just beyond them is Holly Lodge. It’s not far. Why he chose to open a bed-and-breakfast behind Boseong Fields is beyond me. I imagine he couldn’t afford anywhere else. I’m sorry dear, the place is probably poor quality, but I’m sure it’ll do for a night.”
Stumbling down the hill in the dark, picking up momentum as you go, you squint into the small thicket of trees in the valley. Perhaps it’s desperation making you see things, but you swear there’s the slightest glow coming from between them. “Thank you so much for your help!”
“It’s fine,” the older lady assures you, “and if you happen to stay longer, I’d be more than happy to reserve you a room for tomorrow night so that you don’t have to stay at that place any longer than necessary.”
You scrunch up your eyebrows. How bad was this place? “I appreciate the offer, but is it okay if I call you back in the morning? I might be able to get tomorrow’s bus back.”
“Alrighty, dear. Best of luck to you. Bye now.”
You pull your phone back and swear lowly when you see your battery life on its last legs. You have a charger in your backpack (along with some water and snacks, something you’re relieved you packed last-minute before coming) but it’s no use unless the Holly Lodge has a place to plug it in, and at this point, as you make it to the foot of the hill and start winding your way through the trees, you’re not expecting anything.
What you do know is that you were right; the light you saw peeking through the trees is growing steadily closer, warm and flickering. It’s unsteady underfoot, but you doggedly push ahead, the glow being the only thing lighting up the landscape. The sky is a deep black, slightly murky with cloud, and you very nearly crash into a few trunks on your way, but after a little over ten minutes, you break into a grassy clearing and sigh in relief.
In front of you lies a modest house, barely more than a cottage, attached to civilisation by a gravel road that pulls away at a 90-degree angle from where you came from, running adjacent to the side of the hill. At its foot, a little wooden sign with white paint reads, ‘HOLLY LODGE, visitors welcome.’ It seems that you’ve entered through the backyard - if that’s what you could even call it. The side of the house is covered in an expansive trellis, lined with vibrant pink azaleas. They’re lit up from below by a tiny campfire, casting a tall shadow on them of a person sitting-
Your eyes fly wide and a stranged sound comes out of your throat. There’s a man crouched over the fire, frozen, a wooden skewer still hovering over the flames that lick at it. He’s wrapped a tartan blanket around himself, bunched up under his chin, and the light of the flames cast an orange glow over his clear skin and brown hair, which hangs low over his brow in soft curls.
You blink. He doesn’t move. “Your meat’s burning,” you point out.
That shocks him back into action, and he whips it back out of the fire, but the damage is done. The entire underside of what looks like lamb is completely charred. “Fuck,” he growls bitterly, “thanks a lot.”
Your eyebrows lift in surprise. Perhaps the lady on the phone was right, and this place really wasn’t ideal. “Excuse me, I just… Do you have any rooms available?”
His mouth dangles open, lips just plump enough for it to be a pout, and you wait as his catlike eyes look over you, glancing back through the trees where you came. “ want to stay?” he asks finally, the sour edge gone from his voice.
You point at the sign out front awkwardly. “This is a bed-and-breakfast, right?”
He stares for a few moments more, then jumps up off the ground suddenly, letting go of the blanket. It tumbles to the grass around him, revealing a matching set of white-and-grey striped pyjamas. He bounds over to you, hopping barefoot in the grass, and comes to a stop in front of you, eyes narrowed with suspicion. “Why didn’t you go to any of the other motels? You- you came from the fields instead of from the road.”
You bite your lip nervously. If he turns you away, you’re fucked. The moon is high in the sky, a waxy blot lighting up a patch of clouds, and you know that sky will be your roof tonight if he doesn’t let you in. “Yeah, I missed my bus back home and since it’s spring, there’s no space. Do you have a room?”
He twitches his nose and lifts a hand up, fiddling with his ear. “The power went out,” he admits, “so you can’t have a hot shower or anything.”
Your chest inflates with hope. “That’s okay,” you reassure quickly, waving your hands at him, “I just want a bed for the night, I’ll pay anything.”
He scrunches up his face at this. “I can’t charge you; it’s past midnight. You’re barely getting a proper night, and like I said, the facilities aren’t really working. Come on, let me show you to your room.”
He leaves the tiny bonfire burning away on its bed of rocks, and grabs a flashlight that was lying on the grass beside his blanket, before scurrying around to the front of the house, gesturing with a blanket-covered paw for you to follow.
You do with a quirk of your lips. This man, who couldn’t be older than his mid-twenties, was stomping about like he was grumpy, yet he looked sweeter than anyone you had met so far. Was this really the same Min that the lady had spoken so lowly of on the phone?
You can’t see much detail inside when the two of you enter. He guides the torch straight down a hallway, not bothering to show you the bathroom or kitchen or anything except a small bedroom with a single bed and a bedside table.
“Here it is,” he states awkwardly, pressing his lips flat into a half-smile. “It’s not much, I’m sorry. If you get into pyjamas, I could handwash your clothes for you.”
Your eyebrows raise. “Oh, wow, you don’t have to do that! Besides, I don’t have any other clothes with me. I’ll just have to sleep in this.”
His eyes go round with concern. “That won’t be very comfortable.” He scratches behind his ear. “You could, uh, I mean, I could give you some comfier clothes to wear?” You can’t bring yourself to say anything, only staring at him dumbfounded. The man loses his composure and laughs awkwardly, shaking his head and staring at the floor. “Sorry, that’s crossing the line, I shouldn’t-”
“I would really appreciate that,” you cut in, “sorry, I just… That’s really kind of you. Thank you.”
A shy smile tugs at his lips, and if the torch was facing him more, perhaps you could recognise his cheeks pinkening slightly. “Oh, I-” he falters and laughs breathily again, gathering himself. “No, I’m not- I-” he tamps down his grin by biting down on his bottom lip, fixing you with a flustered look of gratitude. “I’ll go grab something now. Just wait here. You can have the torch.”
He disappears into shadows, then returns immediately, passing over the blanket. “And this. Just a minute.”
And then Min is gone again. You listen in bemusement at the pitter-patter of his bare feet on the wooden floorboards, fading into nothingness, a few thuds of drawers opening and closing, and then him returning with a bundle of clothes. You school your expression when he gently reaches out to hand over the clothes.
“It’s just a t-shirt and some basketball shorts,” he apologises, “but they’re clean and they’re comfy. I assume you’ll be needing the torch when you get changed? I can shut the door behind you.”
You give him your most grateful smile. “If it’s not too much bother. Thank you so much.” Once he makes it to the door, he begins to swing it shut, but a thought strikes you. “Wait!” He pauses, head sticking out in the crack, the wooden door pushing his cheeks out. You force yourself not to smile at the cute image he provides, but instead clear your throat. “Oh, uh, what’s your name? Min, right?”
His eyebrows lift below his curls in surprise. “How did you know that?”
“Oh, I called a lady on the phone when I was looking for a place to stay; the Boseong’s Best Motel? She said you were in the area.”
His gaze lowers to the floor, and his voice flattens. “Mrs. Na? What else did she say?”
You sense it’s a sore topic. “Just that… that you might have a free room.”
He smiles sadly, like he knows that’s not all, but nods. “Well, Min is my surname.” His face disappears further into the shadows. “My name’s Yoongi.”
You sleep well that night.
Better than you have in years, in fact, and with heavy curtains drawn across the one window in the room, the break of dawn doesn’t rouse you like it normally would. Instead, you drift in and out of consciousness all morning, happy to kick off the blankets as it warms up and stretch out.
It’s not until you hear a loud clatter that you’re snapped out of it, and you jump up, eyes flying open and wandering around the room.
The pyjama-clad man from last night, Yoongi, is hunched over the bedside table just beside you, eyes and mouth wide open as he watches you wake up and stretch. You raise your arms high over your head and let out a groan as your muscles ease.
“Goo’morning,” you murmur, hands dropping by your sides again. It’s not until he stays silent, swallowing hard, that you look down at yourself and swear, grasping at the sheets.
The basketball shorts he gave you were so old that the elastic was spent, and they wouldn’t stay on, so you had opted for the simple option of your underwear from earlier, and the baggy off-white t-shirt he gave you. However, that meant that your legs were fully exposed, and two points peaked the fabric on your chest.
“S-sorry,” he stutters, and ducks his head to pick up the cutlery he dropped on the floor. You clutch at the heavy cotton sheets, tucking them under your chin, and wait as he delicately places the cutlery on a fabric napkin that sits beside a plate of steaming eggs on toast, sunny side up, and a small mug of what smells like black tea. “I can get you a new set of cutlery if you want.”
“It’s okay.” You try and send him a grateful smile, but his gaze is fixed on the floor, cheeks bright red.
“I didn’t mean to look,” he confesses in a voice so hushed you almost miss it.
“It’s okay,” you repeat. “Thank you for bringing me breakfast.”
He shrugs. “It’s nothing much. I, uh, I’ll be outside if you need me.” When he leaves, it’s like he’s in a rush, shuffling his feet on the floorboards, knocking his leg on the foot of the bed and his shoulder on the doorjamb in his haste to leave.
After he stumbles out, your stomach growls, and you take that as a sign to enjoy the breakfast he’s so generously prepared you. After quickly opening the curtains and the window, you return to your bed. The eggs are perfectly salted, with a sprinkle of paprika, and you place the plate on your lap, munching away slowly as you look out the window.
The sun’s streaming in, and with the added light you can make out the details on the plate as you clear it. The edges aren’t perfectly round, and by the way the egg yolk pools in one corner, it’s not level either. On the brim, faded teal lettering spells out H O L L Y  L O G D E, with a little cartoon drawing of what looked like a dog’s face. You finish your final mouthful and replace the place with the cup of tea, noting the uneven thickness of the handle and the same careful painting on the side. Did he make these himself? With the state of the property, and it’s apparent lack of success, you can’t imagine he had the means for official branding.
You blow onto the surface of the liquid gently, and take a tentative sip. It’s the perfect temperature to warm you up inside, and while you’re not usually a fan of tea, this one seems to have a unique taste; not quite black tea, not quite green tea, with a sweet tang to it. It’s delicious, and it’s gone quicker than you would’ve liked.
When you emerge into the back garden, still wearing his shirt, but with your jeans back on, you spot him squatting over a brown planter box against the exterior wall. The trellis of climbing azaleas provides a gorgeous backdrop; the vibrant shades of pink petal and green leaf bask in the sun’s warm rays.
He hasn’t noticed you yet, and you take the time to quietly hover just behind the corner, out of sight. With golden heat on your face, lush grass under your feet and birds singing in the trees, you could almost convince yourself you’re in paradise. Min Yoongi, the one person in town who would give you a place to stay, certainly fits within that ideal. You had assumed he’d be in a baggy t-shirt and shorts, if the clothes he gave you were anything to go by, but you’re pleasantly surprised to see him in a thin pastel purple sweater, poking out from a worn pair of overalls.
In the silence of the morning, you can hear what sounds like muttering, and you strain to listen in to his pouty voice as he squats over the planter box, brown curls ruffling slightly in the breeze.
“...probably thinks you’re rude,” you think you hear him say, “or a pervert. The one customer since opening and you scare her away. Silly Min Yoongi. What if she shuts us do-”
You duck back and cough noisily, before rounding the corner, pretending like you weren’t just eavesdropping. “Good morning,” you say to him again brightly, and the young man does a double-take at your attire. You probably should’ve put on a bra underneath the shirt.
“Good morning,” he responds reflexively, “are you, uh, heading off now? Did you enjoy breakfast?” His voice trails off cutely at the end, like he’s unsure he should even ask.
“It was great, you’re so generous. I’m curious, though, what’s the brand of that tea? It’s really good.”
Yoongi’s eyes go wide, his pink lips rounding into a surprised ‘o’. He swallows, and stands up, brushing some stray soil off on the front of his overalls. “You liked the tea?”
You nod hesitatingly. “Uh- yeah. I couldn’t recognise the flavour, though. Is it green tea?”
“Oolong,” he clarifies, mouth quirking in a disbelieving smile. “You really liked it?” You nod again, and his eyes sparkle, a shy smile lifting to reveal his gums. “I made it myself,” he reveals, “here! I’ll show you my tea plants!” The sudden burst of joy dissolves away, and he deflates. “Oh, but you probably need to head off, huh?”
A strange yearning stirs inside you. The feeling that you’d do anything to keep that smile on his face a little longer. “There are actually no busses on a Sunday, so I’m stuck here for another night anyway.” You immediately regret your word choice. He flinches when you say ‘stuck here’ and loses your gaze, frowning at the grass.
Before you can revoke your statement, he’s shrugging gloomily. “I, uh, I know this place isn’t as well run as the others. I’m really sorry, you know, about the electricity. I used the hot coals from the fire last night to make your breakfast, I hope it was warm enough. Like I said yesterday, it’s not fair to charge you for subpar service, so...”
“No, no! That’s not what I meant at all, honestly! It was just a bad choice of words.” He’s not convinced, kicking his foot against the ground and tugging at his earlobe uncertainly. “The whole missing-the-bus thing was a real nightmare, and I’m just glad I found you and Holly Lodge, because it’s been the only thing keeping me from going nuts.”
Your heart breaks at his sullen face, the way his cheeks puff up slightly when he presses his lips together in a pout. “Really, Yoongi. I’m so grateful to you for even letting me stay here, let alone being as kind as you are. I’m happy to pay for the room, fuck, I’ll pay double. And if you don’t mind, I’d really appreciate being able to stay another night.”
His gaze searches yours, and eventually a soft smile pulls across his lips. “Thank you…” His eyes fly wide open. “I’m so sorry, I never got your name! Oh wow, that’s poor of me, I’m sorry, I-”
“Yoongi,” you interrupt gently. “It’s fine. My name’s Y/n. It’s my fault, I should’ve introduced myself, but I was pretty tired.”
He scratches behind his ear again. “Well, then. I think it makes us about even. Truce?”
You laugh softly. “Truce. And if you’re not too busy, I think I’d like to check out that tea plant of yours.”
He smothers a proud grin, opting for a simple nod, before he’s making his way around the back of the house, where there’s a bit of humid shade. “My grandma was the best at making tea,” he explains, “she knew all about harvesting times and growing conditions, and her secret trick was to add strawberries.”
“So that was that sweet aftertaste.”
He nods eagerly. “Exactly.” The soil here is damp under your bare feet, slightly springy, but Yoongi pays it no mind, waving a hand towards a large hedge that lines the back of his garden. You pause in your tracks. The edges of the leaves are browning, curling up in a way you’re certain isn’t healthy. “This is it?” You hope your voice doesn’t sound disappointed, but you are a little confused.
He pouts. “I know. It’s not very impressive, is it?” He gnaws at his bottom lip for a few moments, running his hand over the dry leaves. “I don’t know what I’ve done wrong. It’s never been like this before, but after my… Now that I’m here by myself, it’s just been getting worse and worse.”
You furrow your eyebrows. “But the tea I had this morning-”
“-was the last cup of my grandma’s final batch, the one we made together. None of the tea I’ve tried to make is any good. I try cutting off the dead parts, but it still tastes funny.”
All this talk of ‘last’ and ‘final’ makes you worry about the wellbeing of his grandmother, but you don’t dare ask, having upset him enough this morning already. “It just looks like it’s not getting enough nutrients. You might need to buy something to improve the soil quality.”
He blinks at you. “You know how to grow tea?”
“No idea,” you admit, “but I do know how to grow a lot of other plants, and I’m sure I could learn.” An idea strikes you, and you flash him a smile. “How about this? In lieu of paying you for the room tonight, I can help you get the tea back to health again. With how good that cup was, it’s practically a public service.”
A tentative smile plays at his lips, but he’s still confused. “What do you mean? Surely you can’t save it by tomorrow?”
Now it’s your turn to fidget nervously, clutching your hands together. “I, uh, I don’t really have anything waiting for me back home. I was planning on staying in Busan or Seoul for a while, but I think maybe I’d… maybe I’d rather stay here. Only if you don’t mind! And of course, I’ll pay for the room-”
A hopeful grin breaks out across his face, unabashed. “No charge! If you really think you could bring back the tea plants, that more than covers the room fee.” At your stupefied look, he clarifies, “this was my grandma’s pride and joy. It really means a lot to me. More than money. Thank you, Y/n.”
You discover many things about Min Yoongi on that first day.
That he has a dog, for instance, which he needs to pick up from the vet later that morning.
You also discover that Min Yoongi does not own a car.
“How much longer?” you venture, hoping your tone isn’t too whiny.
“Not long.”
You pout at his back, watching the dogged way he walks the uneven gravel path, slowly descending as it twists through the trees, around the back of the fields and towards the Main Street. “You said that last time.”
He turns his head back quickly, a cheeky grin on his face, and you try to ignore the way your chest leaps at it. “You were the one that wanted to come.”
“I wanna check out the town. If you want to save that tea plant, you’re gonna need some decent fertilizer. Is there a garden center here?”
With his legs slightly bent in those baggy overalls, and his arms swinging by his side with every step, he radiates enthusiasm, but your question causes him to pause. “I...assume so?”
You skip a little to catch up to him. “I mean, we could always just ask one of the other residents. Someone’s bound to know.”
His smile falters. “We could.”
You bite your lip, regretting the weird change in tone. In an attempt to bring his cheery disposition back, you bump his shoulder lightly with his. “So, you have a dog, huh? Your place isn’t exactly fenced. She must be well trained.”
“He,” Yoongi hastily corrects, though the corners of his mouth lift. “Holly’s an old boy, he’s not the type to wander away. He doesn’t even need a leash to take him back home, he’ll just walk along beside me.”
“What’s he at the vet for? If you don’t mind me asking.”
The gravel merges with smooth paver stones as you emerge onto the Main Street. You spot a sign with a cat and a dog silhouette. Yoongi straightens up and begins rushing along faster. “Check-up,” he explains absentmindedly. “He was my grandma’s dog, so you can imagine he’s got some years on him. Prevention is the best medicine and all that.”
The door to the veterinarian jingles overhead, and the young man at the counter glances up from the small grey kitten in his arms with a heart-shaped beam. “Oh! Hi, Yoonie-hyung! Here for Holly?”
Yoongi’s cheeks puff up at the nickname. “He’s all good to go? No issues?”
You eye up the little name badge pinned to his polo shirt. Hoseok. “Same old. The doctor will send the tests off like usual. Just a sec; I’ll go get him from out back.” The boy carefully sets down the kitten into a small plastic kennel on the desk with four others. You can’t help but smile as you watch the baby animals squeak and snuggle up to each other. After washing his hands with some hand sanitizer, the receptionist gets out from behind the desk and disappears through a side door.
You wait for a moment, then decide to fill the silence. “When did you open Holly Lo-”
You’re cut off by the gentle tinkling of the bell above the door. Yoongi glances back quickly, and his whole demeanor changes, shoulders hunching and head ducking down. You frown, and turn around to see an unfamiliar lady approaching.
She’s old enough to be a grandparent, flabby skin on a skinny arm trembling as she carries a cat kennel with a yowling tabby inside. “Oh, Hoseok!” she calls out in a ringing tone, glancing past the two of you. “Chestnut needs his check-up, where are you? Is the doctor free?”
You would raise your brows at her impatience when there are clearly other people in line, but instead you’re just concerned at Yoongi’s reaction. His elbows are up on the higher ledge of the desk, and he’s practically hiding his face behind his forearms.
Subtly, you step out a little bit from the desk, concealing him. Unfortunately, the lady notices the movement and fixes her sour stare on you.
“You aren’t from here,” she states. “And no houses have been sold, so you’re obviously not moving in. What’s a tourist doing in a vet?”
“Um.” You give her a confused stare, a little taken aback by how forward she is. “Pet check-up,” you finish lamely.
Hoping she would leave you alone from there is clearly naive. “Day trip? If you’re staying overnight, I can recommend a good place to park up. I own a hotel and it’s the best wa-”
“I’m good,” you interrupt, “I’ve got a place to stay. But it’s very kind of you to offer.”
She narrows her eyebrows, drawn-on and smudging slightly into her wan foundation. “Wait a minute. Something’s fishy. You were the one calling at an ungodly hour in the evening looking for accommodation, weren’t you?”
You glance at the door that the receptionist disappeared behind, willing him to return. “Yeah.”
“Mrs. Na told me she said you could-” She freezes and stands up straight. Her eyes slide behind you suspiciously. “Min.”
Though you don’t turn around - some instinct in you thinks you shouldn’t turn your back on her - you can imagine what the B&B owner must look like. His voice is so small. “Hi, Mrs. Soh.”
“Finally got a customer, huh?” The room feels to shrink with every word that drips with the seasoned condescension only an elderly person can give.
Yoongi shuffles forward a little on the plastic linoleum floor. “That’s right, Mrs. Soh. Next time you speak to Mrs. Na, please thank her for sending Y/n my way.”
The lady openly rolls her eyes at this, and you have to bite hard on the tip of your tongue to stop from lunging at her. “Mrs. Na wasn’t giving you a hand-out, boy. We aren’t about to help the business that took everything from us.”
Your eyes wide, you stare at the poster on canines and felines pinned to the far wall. “Should we ring the bell? I don’t know what’s taking so long.”
You regret bringing the attention back on you as Mrs. Soh scans your face with an entitled curl of her lip. “And you. I’m surprised you’re actually choosing to stay with Min. His place is a pigsty, isn’t it? Maybe you feel bad for him, girl, but let me tell you: the only good thing about that bed-and-breakfast is how it’s a perfect example of karma. His grandmother monopolises and terrorises the tea markets while she’s alive, and now that she’s kicked it her spawn can’t do anything right.”
You forget all about respecting elders and let out a shocked scoff. “What the fuck is your problem?”
As she splutters, Yoongi’s hand wraps lightly around your elbow, tugging you backwards, but you only spare a quick glance at his sullen face before turning back to the woman across from you.
“First of all, you’re delusional if you think I’m going to stay with any of you after the way I see you treat others. Secondly, how dare you insult someone like that, let alone a dead person? You must be the meanest person in this fucking town. At least, I hope so, because I certainly don’t want to meet anyone nastier than you.”
Like magic, the very moment she opens her mouth, the door bursts open, and out comes Hoseok, a curly tan dog at his feet.
“Holly!” Yoongi cheers with more than a hint of relief, and the dog darts forward, claws scrabbling on the floor as he spins in excited circles. After reuniting with his pet, Yoongi busies himself with the payment, while you try determinately to avoid Mrs. Soh’s gaze. You wouldn’t be surprised if by nightfall everyone in town knew you as the bitchy tourist, but you didn’t even care, too occupied with steaming in your own rage.
The moment Yoongi takes a receipt from Hoseok’s hands, you wrap yours around his and tug him away from the desk, huffing at the cheery jingle of the door that accompanies you upon leaving.
“Woah, Y/n, slow down, Holly can’t run!”
You force yourself to take a steadying breath and return to a normal pace, the older dog happily trotting along on Yoongi’s other side.
He lets the two of you walk in silence for a while, until the sounds of the Main Street fade away, and all that you can hear is the crunch of gravel underfoot, paired with the metallic tinkling of Holly’s collar. You’re still holding onto Yoongi’s hand, but you swear you feel him squeeze slightly every time you loosen to let go, so you let them swing between you.
The ambient noises calm you down enough to feel like talking again. “I didn’t mean to snap,” you apologise. “But I haven’t felt that angry in a long time. What’s her deal?”
Another squeeze, or is that his fingers trembling slightly. “Ah, you get used to it,” he jokes with a smile, though it fades when you throw him a sad look. “No, seriously, I try not to let it bother me anymore. I just… don’t go into town much anymore.”
You nod slowly, watching your feet to make sure you don’t trip over the odd protruding rock or root. You don’t know if it’s wise to broach the topic, but it keeps seeming to come up. “...Your grandma’s tea was really popular, huh?”
He laughs lightly. When you flick him a confused look, he shrugs, jerking your hand with it. “I was wondering how long it would take you. The elephant in the room and all. My grandma lived here, at Holly Lodge, though it was just a house until I inherited it. She made tea, her own strain. It got popular among the locals and, soon enough, tourists were catching on too. They stopped going to the markets. Most of the ladies that own accommodation branch out into selling food and produce. Tea is a popular option, as you could probably guess. They lost their business to her.”
“That’s just life. And besides, that’s a problem they have with her. Why are they being so rude to you? You don’t even sell tea anymore.”
“Because they can? I don’t know. Listen, I’ve explained it, if you want to leave and avoid all this drama that’s fine but I don’t want to talk about it anymore.” He drops your hand, and a strange but unpleasant feeling cuts into you.
The slight incline back isn’t so bad, but his breathing is shallow and his gaze is trained on the ground. Your lips droop down in guilt. “I didn’t mean to upset you,” you say softly. “I’m sorry, I probably made the situation worse for you by yelling at her. I shouldn’t have done it.”
He’s silent for a moment. The air darkens slightly, a wash of cloud moving over the sun. “Please don’t say that.” His fingers stretch out towards your hand, then fall back.
You don’t speak the rest of the way back.
You try not to stare. You try your best to occupy yourself with the dog at your feet, who gently paws at your hand if you halt your stroking of his thick curls. But as you sit on the floor and listen to the satisfied grunts of Holly, lying on his back in the sun, you can’t help but glance up every few seconds to the man in the kitchen.
It’s strangely domestic, the way he potters around the room, fully focussed on his task. Every measurement of flour, sugar, butter, is perfectly precise and done with care. It’s warm in the kitchen - he told you earlier it’s so the dough will rise when he rests it - and in the sun his skin seems to glow. He’s humming to himself as he kneads; a song you’ve never heard before but one you hope to hear many times again. Although he tied his hair up in a little bean sprout on the top of his head, a few stray wisps have broken free, and his pout deepens every time he has to blow them out of his eyes. The little white apron hooked around his neck and fastened at his slender waist is dusty with stray powder and smeared with runaway globs of dough.
You don’t want to break his concentration, but you feel strange sitting and silently watching him. “Jack of all trades, huh?”
He jumps and turns quickly to you, knocking over a thick paper bag of flour with his elbow, sending white grains flying into the air. His eyes fly wide open and he futilely cups his hands over where the flour is spilling out of the bag, which lays on its side on the bench. With hands full, he pushes it back up to standing, but everything in his hands is dumped onto the benchtop, including the perfectly kneaded round of dough. His shoulders droop.
“Fuck, I’m so sorry!” you hastily apologise the moment your voice returns to you. Ignoring the dog that whines and paws at you, you stand up and rush over to him, grabbing a tea towel on a hook and dousing it in tap water to begin cleaning up. “I didn’t mean to give you a fright, I’m sorry.”
“It- It’s okay,” he assures haltingly, still awkwardly waving his white-covered hands in the air like he’s not sure what to do with them. You move quickly, cleaning up the majority of the spill for him, the towel coated in a flour-water goop by the time you’re done. When you straighten up, the man in front of you crinkles his nose, like it’s itchy, and sighs, though at his situation rather than you. He wiggles his white-covered fingers. “Thank you,” he says, “trying to grab the flour probably wasn’t the best…”
He trails off as you grab his wrists gently, leading him to the sink where you turn on the tap and run his hands under the steady stream. He waits, obediently turns his palms up for you to squirt a pump of hand soap onto them, and lathers up as you return to the other side of the bench to clean up the rest of the spilt flour.
You hear the water stop, and moments later he’s at your side, picking up the puffy ball of dough with a care that most people would reserve for a small child. Cradling it to his chest so as not to drop it, he uses one hand to delicately brush away the pile of flour on the surface. “It’s alright,” he mumbles softly, and you’re unsure whether he’s speaking to you or the dough, “it’ll be fine. Maybe a little dry, but still good.”
You fold over the top of the bag of flour and let your hands sit heavy on it, still clutching at the paper. “Yoongi.” He swallows hard and looks up when you say his name, absentmindedly patting the dough. “You’re a really kind person, you know that?”
He blinks, setting the dough on a clear patch of the wetly glistening bench. “What do you mean? I’m doing what any host would do. Welcoming my guest.”
You bite your lip, unsatisfied with the response. “Clearly not any host would be kind. I know that after this morning. Besides; it’s more than that. You made me eggs this morning on hot coals-”
“This is a bed-and-breakfast,” he replies weakly, “and that’s just because the power’s out. I’m not sure when it’ll be fixed actually, I’m sorry.”
“You don’t have to apologise. I…” You sigh, scanning his face. He really doesn’t get it, you realise. How special he is. “I’m so happy to be here, Yoongi. I’ve never met someone as kind as you. And I just want you to know how much I appreciate everything you’re doing for me. It’s clear this means a lot to you.”
He ducks his head, moving past you to open a drawer, fiddling around tubes of parchment paper and foil to pull out some plastic wrap. “Thank you, but it’s really nothing. I’m just happy for the company.”
As you lean against the bench and watch him gingerly knead the dough into a rough log shape, before rolling it up in the plastic wrap, you realise just how true that must be. A thought strikes you, shatters that solemn line of thought. “Wait… If the power’s out, how are you gonna bake the bread?”
“Oh!” He glances up, seemingly relieved at the change in topic. “Well, I thought I’d make some and save it until I can get the repair guy out here. I have an icebox around the back of the house that I’m using as a temporary freezer. Then, when we get power again…” He lifts up the dough with an odd quirk to his lips, like he’s cracking a secret joke only the two of you know. “Celebratory bread.”
Uncontrollably, a beam breaks across your face. “Sure, Min Yoongi. Celebratory bread.”
The two of you share a bonfire that night. You suspect it’s the first time, at least for a while, that he’s had company. Human company, at least.
“Come on, boy, not too close,” he warns Holly, whose nose continues to dip out towards the flames even as his owner gently pats his rump. The light casts Yoongi’s face in a deep orange warmth; you didn’t pick up on it last night, but his eyes practically glitter with the reflection of it. His hair is no longer up in a hair tie so the thick mop of curls - only somewhat looser than Holly’s, though a rich brown instead of the caramel of the dog - hang low on his brow, lopsided and dishevelled from changing into pyjamas.
The two of you had stuck to yourselves, for the most part, that afternoon. You’d taken advantage of an old bicycle he had dug out of his tool shed to go back down to the main town, spending hours at a cafe, shamelessly torrenting their wifi to research more about tea plants and how to grow (or, more importantly, revive) them. After the waitresses got a little too antsy with your continued presence, and once you felt confident in your task, you got directions to a hardware store and bought some decent soil. An employee there - a respectable albeit slightly clumsy young man who seemed like the epitome of customer service - offered to deliver the heavy plastic sacks for you, and so you returned home satisfied with a day well-spent.
It was another rustic barbecue for dinner. After disappearing into his room to change into a matching pair of baby pink cotton pyjamas, the bed-and-breakfast owner quickly set up a fire on the bed of blackened rocks and charcoal in his backyard. With a practised ease he raised the flame into a blaze, and every time he leant forward to cook some more meat, you watched with a strange fixation as beads of sweat collected at his temples, sticking down strands of hair and warming his cheeks to a rosy glow.
“Do they fit a bit better?”
His sudden question reaches your ears with a delay, and by the time your eyes focus again, he’s watching you curiously. “Fit a bit…? Oh! The clothes. Yes, thank you so much.”
With the clothes you came in currently drying on a rack in your spare room, Yoongi had lent you another raggedy shirt and a pair of plain blue boxer shorts. With how little fabric there was, you suspected they were underwear rather than proper pants, but as long as they stayed up you were happy.
His eyes dart to the side and his lip quirks. “I feel a little overdressed,” he admits, “giving you old clothes while I have proper pyjamas.”
“No, you look cute,” you protest automatically, before sputtering in embarrassment. “I- I meant, it’s fine, I don’t mind you wearing…” You trail off, coughing awkwardly.
With his cheeks so red from the fire, the only way you can tell he’s flustered is the flash of his gums as he smiles, ducking his head. “Ah,” he deflects softly, “you’re just messing with me, I’m not cute.” He doesn’t make eye contact with you for a moment, quietly cutting off strips of beef onto two plates. When he speaks again, you almost miss it over the crackle of flame, and you get the feeling he never intends for you to hear. “Not as cute as you,” he murmurs, and your heart short circuits.
In an effort to pretend like you didn’t overhear, you reach for one of the plates, scooting closer on the grass in order to reach it. The two of you eat in comfortable silence, enjoying the warming effect of the beef settling in your stomachs. He clearly has more of an appetite than you, and keeps munching away long after you’ve pushed your plate away. The grass is warm and dry from the heat of the fire, and so you lie back on it, letting your gaze reach the heavens.
“It’s so peaceful out here,” you muse, “at first I thought it was silly to have accommodation so far from the rest of the town, but I get it now. I don’t ever want to leave.” You attempt to lilt your voice, as if it’s a joke, but it falls flat. You don’t think you’ve ever been so genuine about something in a long time, and that scares you. You’ve only been here a day.
You hear wet noises, and lift your head off the grass to look over at your companion, who’s hurriedly chewing on an over-full mouthful of meat, blowing out his cheeks. You grin at the sight, propping yourself up on your elbows as you wait, and he does his best to flick you a chastising glare as he finally swallows. “Well,” he makes out with an empty mouth, “you know Holly Lodge is always happy to have you as long as you wish to stay. If you really do want to stay.”
Having said his piece, he promptly fills his mouth again with a thick slab that probably should’ve been cut in half first. You grin at the way his eyes widen unconsciously as he chows down, reflecting the hypnotic orange flicker in front of him. “Yeah,” you say gently, “I really do.”
It’s odd how days become weeks without you noticing. The days get so hot and humid that an evening fire, which had begun to feel routine, is no longer possible. After tilling the soil around the tea plant and doing some serious work on it, the leaves fatten up and return to their former glory. Yoongi’s face softens every time he walks past you working in the garden. You don’t know which thing he’s more happy to see between you and the thriving shrubbery.
Time passes as if in a dream, the bed-and-breakfast feeling like a slice of paradise separate from reality. The electrician comes, an eager yet very methodical apprentice by his side, and with the return of the electricity comes the celebratory bread, enjoyed with a strawberry jam of Yoongi’s own making. You spend your days in the garden and your evenings with Yoongi, sharing solace in each other’s company as you watch old movies or play convoluted card games. For someone that’s normally always on the go, you feel yourself settling in to this world.
Yoongi’s curls slacken as his hair grows, becoming shaggy over time, and one late Friday night he sets up a wooden stool in the bathroom and asks you to trim it. One lopsided cut later, things like these become normal for the two of you. He acclimatizes quickly to your presence, and you feel yourself changing too, melding your lifestyle into his. Even though you purchase some well-fitting shorts (as well as more underwear and feminine supplies), on the third day a pile of shirts was left on your bed and you’d been wearing them ever since. Eventually they begin to feel less like his shirts you’re just borrowing and more like your own, and you’re not sure how to feel about the niggling bud of disappointment in your chest when each one of them comes back from the wash smelling like your perfume instead of the sweetly floral scent you had begun to associate with him.
The domesticity of your situation doesn’t hit you until a Wednesday afternoon, when the sun melts the air around you into a wobbly haze, and you finally make it back home from a trip into town to grab some emergency groceries. Yoongi got weekly deliveries for the most part, but he had tried (and failed) to make some homemade ice cream the day before and the two of you were in urgent need of some milk. With a relatively mild morning, you felt safe to go on foot rather than bike, but the heat set in quickly and your feet are burning by the time you slam open the front door and step into the cool of the house.
“Yoongi,” you call out automatically, “I’m home.” The word slips out so naturally, that you think it can’t have been the first time you’d referred to the small cottage as home.
A happy gasp echoes down the hallway. “Y/n,” Yoongi cheers from a distance, “we have butterflies and bees out here, come see!”
A contented smile spreads across your face at the sound of his voice, and you slip your shoes and socks off, going through the lounge and out the back door of the house. Your heart billows in your chest every time you see him, but the delighted beam on his face makes you feel lighter than air.
Too hot for even the lightest of sweaters, Yoongi has taken to various short-sleeved shirts and button-downs. Today he’s in cream fabric shorts and a peachy satin shirt, feet bare like yours as he stares up the side of the exterior wall in wonder. Though you hate to look away from him, the way the sun casts his normally dark curls into a bronze halo, you make your way out into the garden, grass cushioning your sore feet as you turn to see what’s brought out this wonder in him.
Amongst a background of vibrant pink azaleas, you can spot fluttering movement where several monarch butterflies bask in the warm rays. Throughout the garden, honeybees aimlessly zip around, a gentle buzzing in your ears. “They’re beautiful,” you muse, “I guess the hot weather brought them out.”
The man across from you stays silent. You ponder the wildlife one more time before returning your gaze to him. Gone is the awe-filled gleam in his eyes. They’re turned down at the edges now, staring lower than your face. “You’re sunburnt,” he remarks with a frown, before raising his eyebrows in a more urgent expression of worry. “Quick; get inside!”
You apparently don’t move fast enough. The young man shoots forward, fingers slipping between yours and tugging you by the hand. You let him drag you inside, back into the slightly dim and blessedly cool house. “It’s okay, Yoongi,” you protest half-heartedly, but he doesn’t pay you any mind, squeezing tightly on your hand as he winds his way down the short hallway and into his bedroom.
Letting go of you to press at your shoulders and urge you to sit on the edge of his bed, Yoongi disappears back out into the hallway, only to return moments later with a bottle of green-ish clear gel. You eye it suspiciously, but he remains serious. “Aloe vera,” he explains, “it’ll help with the pain.”
“It doesn’t even hurt that bad,” you protest weakly, though even as you shrug, the drag of the fabric against the raw skin causes you to wince. Yoongi rushes forward, sitting on the bed beside you. You hiss when he gently pushes up the short sleeves of the baggy shirt, exposing the line where your usual skin tone becomes harshly reddened.
“This’ll help,” he repeats softly, and begins to rub the cool gel onto your skin. You sit in silence, watching him out of the corner of his eye as the bridge of his nose crinkles in concentration. “You should really be more careful,” he scolds, though there’s no bite to his tone. “Please don’t ever leave the house without sunscreen on days like this.”
“Okay, mom,” you joke gently, though he doesn’t laugh. “Really, Yoongi, it’s no big deal. You don’t have to make a fuss.”
His hands leave you. You look up after a moment, wondering why he’s gone so silent. His face is downtrodden, staring haplessly at the gel still smeared across his fingers. “I’m just trying to take care of you,” he mutters.
Your heart breaks at the hurt in his tone, but quickly a laugh jumps out. He glances up at you reproachfully, but you just grin and point to his head. “There’s a petal in your hair, at the back,” you explain, “it must’ve been there since you were outside.”
“Oh.” He begins patting down the back of his head, but somehow he misses the bright pink petal entirely.
You reach forward, and he goes stock still as you tentatively card a few fingers through his hair, lifting the azalea out of his messy curls. “Here,” you announce, handing it over to him, “you should keep it.” He curls his fingers around it, staring at it with an unreadable expression. “It could be good luck.”
When you leave his room, after thanking him for the aloe vera (refreshingly cool on your tender skin, you have to admit it helped), he stays on the bed, eyes glued to the petal in his palm. He doesn’t come back out until dinnertime.
The first day Min Yoongi gets real customers is a few weeks later, late on a Saturday morning. The two young men are a strange echo of you two months ago; turned away from every other hostel and motel in the town center, they find themselves at the doorstep of Holly Lodge, desperate for a place to stay.
However this time instead of lack of vacancy, the problem for them was a lack of tolerance. With hands firmly intertwined, they proudly announce they’re ‘pre-honeymooning’; a concept you had never heard before but it seems to be an excuse to take a vacation more than anything.
While the two of them fuss over the cuteness of the little cottage, Yoongi pulls you aside. “I can turn them away if you need,” he offers. “I only have one spare room and you’re using it.”
You furrow your brow in shock. “What? Yoongi, I’m not even paying for that room! You need to put your business before me. Besides, I could always sleep on the couch.”
He’s not happy with your answer, flicking a worried gaze over to the couple, who have made themselves at home on the old couch, heads ducked together as they whisper back and forth. “I mean… I suppose,” he gives in, tugging at his earlobe nervously. “But you don’t need to sleep on the couch. You can take my bed. I’ll sleep on the floor.”
You open your mouth to protest, but he seems antsy to get back to the visitors, so you let it drop. As Yoongi sits down in an armchair across from them, you slip into the kitchen to begin brewing some tea, the first from the revived tea plant.
“So, the two of you are happy to stay?” Yoongi questions shyly. As the three of them begin to discuss prices and facilities, you quietly observe them. You watch the couple, the way the younger, with hair dyed a vibrant blue, leans in to the side of the older, who wraps an arm around his shoulders and holds him close. The brunette, introduced to you earlier as Seokjin, mindlessly plays with the fringing on his fiance’s jacket, as the fiance, Taehyung, looks up at him with adoration in his eyes. It twists something deep inside you, to see them so...intimate, and soon enough you can’t bear to look at them, instead flicking your gaze over to Yoongi.
Yoongi. It is an odd feeling, seeing him return to his shy, easily-flustered self. In recent weeks he seemed to have grown comfortable with you, but this brings back memories of your first few days at Holly Lodge. As the kettle bubbles away, you watch Yoongi’s cheeks lift in a flattered smile as Seokjin points out a framed photograph on the wall, one Yoongi had mentioned some time ago he took. Back then, back when you stumbled in on his garden desperate for shelter, you were too hung up on your own misfortune to really notice him, but now it’s clear to you just how much this place means to him.
There’s a blur of movement out of the corner of your eye, Taehyung waving a hand towards the garden. Instead of following the gesture, Yoongi’s eyes dart over and are met by yours. His eyebrows lift when he catches you staring, but he looks back at the couple, mouthing something you can’t hear over the whistle of the kettle.
You clear your throat, shaking away the weird lingering emotion in your chest, and quickly pour four cups of tea. Upon your return, you notice there’s nowhere for you to sit. The young couple are taking up the couch, and Yoongi occupies the only armchair. You pass out the three cups and hover for a moment. Do you even need to be here? You’re technically just another guest, and this conversation doesn’t really involve you. But then again, the spare room isn’t your room anymore, and you’d feel weird going into Yoongi’s bedroom without him.
Yoongi, sensing your hesitance, pats the arm of the chair and squishes himself into the opposite corner. You suppress a grin; an easier solution would’ve just been sitting on the floor, but it’s too late to say no to him now. You perch awkwardly on the cushioned arm, having to lean into Yoongi’s shoulder slightly to keep your balance.
He takes a sip from the steaming mug, and gasps softly, glancing up at you. “Boseong Breakfast?” he questions in wonder, and you give him a short nod. “This tastes just like... “ The space between his brows crinkles slightly, but he forces himself to brighten his expression again, turning back to the men on the couch. “Y/n grew the tea herself in our garden outside. I hope you like it!”
Your eyes prickle, and you bite down hard on your tongue, staring into the murky depths of the tea in your hands. Our garden.
Taehyung’s eyes flick back and forth between the two of you curiously, pausing for a moment. “You guys make a cute couple,” he states finally.
Your eyes fly wide open, automatically turning to Yoongi, expecting him to speak up and explain, but it seems Yoongi was waiting for you to be the one protesting too. The two of you stare at each other for a moment. “Uh, we’re not a couple,” you remark, addressing Taehyung directly. Out of the corner of your eye, Yoongi nods in affirmation. “I’m actually just a guest, I’m just helping out around the garden while I’m here.”
Taehyung doesn’t reply, simply raising an eyebrow. Seokjin, still with an arm around his partner, swallows a sip of tea and drums his fingers against the homemade ceramic mug. “We’re looking to stay for a while; a few weeks, possibly a month. Would you be able to house us for that long? We understand if you’ve got prior bookings to fulfil.”
Yoongi leans in to you slightly, his elbow nudging your thigh. “I better check my calendar first,” he quips with a gummy grin. You let out a laugh at the joke, but the other two don’t join in, just staring at you and Yoongi in slight confusion like they’re trying to work something out.
You realise how it must look, you practically perching on Yoongi’s lap, and quickly stand up, taking a seat on the carpet in front of the coffee table instead. “Anyways,” you begin, “I usually do a load of washing every day, so if you want I’m happy to do it for you. Now that it’s ready, I have more tea than I know what to do with, so help yourself to that, too. If you need anything, just let Yoongi or me know.”
“Breakfast is at 9,” Yoongi helpfully supplies from the armchair. “I usually make lunch and dinner if you’re around. Thank you for choosing to stay at Holly Lodge. I hope you have an enjoyable time here.”
The two share a meaningful look, noses almost brushing at their proximity.  The elder breaks away to take another slow sip from his mug of tea. “I’m absolutely positive we will,” Seokjin replies with a beam.
It doesn’t feel right. His bed is comfortable, sure, but you’re all too aware of the man over the edge, curled up in blankets on the floor. “Are you sure you don’t wanna come up?” you offer unsurely. “I don’t mind sleeping on the floor.”
“It’s fine.” His voice comes to you slightly muted by distance. “Holly is keeping me company down here.”
You frown, unsatisfied. You roll over so that you’re facing him. “The sheets are super itchy, maybe I should’ve washed them first.”
He lets out a tired chuckle, resonating in his throat. “That’s just the sheets. They’re cheap.”
“I don’t know,” you murmur, “the sheets on the other bed seemed fine.”
He shuffles a bit, sitting up. “The other sheets are Egyptian cotton, that’s why.”
You raise your eyes. “Why are you suffering in these then?”
He’s silent for a moment, mouth flat. “Sheets are expensive.”
Your heart breaks for him. Spending all his money into the perfect guest experience, when he hadn’t even had any guests until you showed up. “I’ll buy you fancy sheets for your birthday, then.”
He scoffs softly, fisting his hands in Holly’s tan curls absentmindedly. “My birthday isn’t until next year. March.”
You shrug. “And?”
He fixes you with a baleful expression. “You’ll be long gone by then.”
In the dim lighting of the evening, you can barely make out a gleam in his eyes. A sudden exhaustion takes over you, and you can’t bear to look at his dejected form anymore. You close your eyes, making yourself as comfortable as you can under the covers. The pillowcase smells like him. “Will I?”
He doesn’t respond.
“Yoongi?” you ask into the night, voice barely louder than a whisper.
“I don’t want you to sleep on the floor,” you admit. “Can you come up here?”
A pause. “With you?”
You can’t analyse his emotion with the careful way he speaks. You crack your eyes open again, staring down at him, at the way he hunches over uncertainly, cradling the sleeping dog in his lap. “I’ll stay on my side, I promise.”
His nose twitches. He tugs nervously at his earlobe. “You’re on my side,” he remarks. Your eyes widen and you begin to shuffle back. “No, no! You can stay. You can have that side.”
You scoot back over, continuing to face over the edge as he stands up, gently setting Holly down on the blankets, and comes around to hop in beside you. Though it’s summer, the cottage is always cool, and you shiver at the rush of air when he lifts the blankets. “Cold?” he questions in a murmur.
You nod, not trusting your voice.
“Here.” A weight falls over you, and you open your eyes to a dishevelled and tired Min Yoongi, folding the duvet in half so that it lays over you twofold. You go to protest, knowing he’ll be even colder than you now, but you can’t ruin the satisfied smile that plays at his lips as he pats it down, tucking the sides so that you’re snug.
Once he’s done, he disappears from your sight as he shuffles down under the bare sheets on the other side, humming happily. You let your eyes fall closed again, and breath in deeply. “Night, Yoongi.”
“Goodnight, Y/n.”
You snuggle your face further into the pillow. “Sweet dreams.”
“How did you two meet?” You glance up from the bed of herbs you’re tending to, squinting in the sun.
Taehyung, who’s taken to lounging in the sun outside as you work, sprawls his legs out on the warm grass. With his head tipped back to receive the rays, he sighs out happily. “Senior year,” he divulges, “we were both auditioning for Romeo in the school play, but Jin got the part instead of me. We were kinda rivals at that time, I guess. But one of my friends convinced me to audition for Juliet as revenge, and somehow I got in. We started spending more time together, and…” He shrugs. “The rest is history.”
“That’s cute.” A bird chirps in the trees, like it’s sounding out its agreement. You return to gently pressing seeds into the lush soil. “I wish I could have a meet-cute like that.”
He laughs, rich and warm. “Looks to me like you’re already in one.”
You avoid the temptation to look over to the cottage, where you know Yoongi is, inside making lunch with Seokjin (who turns out to be a brilliant cook). “No,” you deflect weakly. You can’t seem to find anything else to say, and so you clear the thought from your head entirely. “Anyway. When are you guys getting married?”
He huffs at the way you change the topic, but is only too happy to indulge. “Next year sometime. We’re in no rush. Love isn’t on a schedule, you know?”
You hate the way your mind slips to how you and Yoongi have been quietly enjoying each other’s company for the past two months or so. That’s not the same, you reason. Yoongi is just a kind person, that’s all. Anyone would grow fond of him. “I bet it’ll be a beautiful wedding,” you offer, “you two seem so in love. Besides, you’re both the hottest dudes I’ve seen in my life so I’m sure the wedding photos will be fantastic.”
He laughs boisterously, mouth widening and eyes crinkling, and it draws the attention of the two men in the kitchen, the taller of which gives a jaunty wave to his fiancé. Through the open window, you can see as Seokjin then turns around, makes a comment that causes Yoongi to flush, and claps him on the shoulder. Yoongi looks up towards the two of you, but his eyes narrow and he puts his back to you, returning to the food.
Your cheery disposition vanishes, and the air darkens as the sun dips below cloud. “I’m gonna head into town later, there’s a twilight market I want to check out. The two of you are welcome to come with.” 
Frowning at the sudden shade interrupting his tanning, Taehyung gets up, wiping the grass stands off his shorts. “Yeah, why not?”
“Honestly, you don’t have to, I don’t mind cooking!”
Yoongi’s protests go unheard. The engaged couple, who had earlier gone off on their own tangent at the street market, were determined to use some of the fresh produce they picked up to prepare a meal.
“Come on,” Seokjin pushes, “let us treat you! You’ve been so hospitable to us. Y/n said she worked in the garden as a thank you, so we can cook you a nice meal.”
The owner ducks his hand, delicately resting it in his hands, splayed fingers barely covering the happy grin. “You’re too sweet, really,” he gushes. “That would be really lovely.” Upon Seokjin’s insistence, the four of you had cracked open some soju, and it seemed the half-bottle Yoongi had consumed already was getting to him, cheeks shiny and pink. You can’t help but smile fondly at the sight of him getting all shy at the slightest display of kindness.
“What do you say, Y/n?” Taehyung questions. “Wanna come make him a meal?”
You pull your gaze away from Yoongi. “Huh? Oh, you’d be better off without me. I’m a terrible cook.”
Taehyung’s eyes glimmer in the glare of the low evening sun. “My Seokjinnie can teach you. Come on, it’s guests serving the host tonight.”
You agree reluctantly, and the two men grab one hand each, dragging you into the kitchen. You giggle at their enthusiasm, feeling a little past tipsy yourself. “What’s on the menu, head-chef?”
The brunette purses his lips in a wry smile and reaches into one of the bags, starting to empty out the various ingredients on the bench. “Don’t worry, young grasshopper, it’s very easy. We’ll make some fresh pasta sauce and have spaghetti bolognese.”
In the end, ‘very easy’ seems to be an overstatement. After finishing off another bottle of grapefruit soju you find yourself, clumsy with the warmth of the alcohol in your belly, furiously attempting to dice some onions on a chopping board.
As Taehyung manages the tomatoes reducing in a pan, Seokjin latches onto your flailing limbs, arms wrapping around you to gently clasp your wrists. “Careful, careful,” he chastises, “you’ll chop off a finger. Tuck your fingers under, and here, cut like this.”
You pout as he guides your hands, the knife cleanly slicing through the onion half you had previously been hacking at. “Okay, Mariah Carey. No, wait; what was that old lady chef’s name? Martha Stewart. Okay, Martha Stewart. Not everybody can be an incredible cook, you know?”
Taehyung chuckles under his breath at the other end of the kitchen. “We should not have given her alcohol,” he remarks to his fiance.
With a dawning realisation and a slightly running nose, you realise the cut onion is beginning to sting your eyes. You squeeze them shut, letting Seokjin continue to chop on behalf of your hands, but that only forces the tears out. “Ouch,” you whine hopelessly, leaning your weight back onto Seokjin’s broad chest.
“Oh-!” Seokjin stops chopping, simply holding your wrists in the air as the knife dangles pathetically from your dominant hand. “Tae-bear, can you come help?”
You let out another whine as Seokjin slowly walks backwards, you half-following half-stumbling back. Once there’s enough room between you and the bench, Taehyung slips in. “Oh, darling,” he coos, “that onion was being mean to you, hm? Open your eyes.”
You do so, but keep them in a pained squint. All you can see between a blurred layer of tears is his blue hair, and the patch of colour swirls in your vision. “So mean to me,” you repeat dumbly as warm hands gently wipe under your eyes, clearing away the tears that run down your cheeks.
“Goodness, she’s definitely had too much, how many bottles did you give her?”
You feel Seokjin’s chest rumble against your back as he replies. “Like, two? It’s not even strong stuff.”
You hum happily. “You’re strong stuff,” you say, though you don’t even know who you’re talking to. The sting is finally fading from your eyes, and once Taehyung gently pats the last of the tears away, you let out a tired sigh, going even more limp against Seokjin. “I’m not hungry anymore,” you complain, “don’t want bisghetti.”
Taehyung chuckles. “Okay, I think I’m gonna take you to your bedroom now, missy, you better have a lie-down.” The knife is pried from your fingers and strong arms lift you off of Seokjin, keeping you upright as you potter out of the kitchen with Taehyung.
Behind you, you hear Seokjin sigh. “Sorry, Yoongi,” he apologises, “we wouldn’t have given her so much if we knew she was a lightweight. She’ll be fine after a good night’s sleep. I can finish off the dinn-”
“Yoogi,” you cry, wriggling in Taehyung’s grasp. You hadn’t spoken to him since you started making dinner and that’s been far too long. Taehyung tries to shush you, but you twist around to face the dining table, where Yoongi sits. You go limp when you see him. Staring blankly into the middle distance, he has a strange look on his face, lips and brows frowning in disapproval or annoyance, but eyes soft with concern. Your nose tingles viciously and tears well in your eyes. “‘re you mad a’ me, Yogi bear?”
He looks up at you suddenly, face smoothing out as his eyes widen. “Of course I’m not, Y/n.” He trails off unconvingly at the end. “Just get some sleep, okay?”
You frown, somehow unsatisfied, but nod, letting your cumbersome feet carry you to his bedroom. He sleeps on the couch that night.
When you wake up, your memory is fuzzy but it’s clear by the way Yoongi treats you that you must’ve done something wrong.
You don’t understand it, but he seems cold to you, sulking. Over the space of a week, you spend so little time in his company that it feels like he must be actively avoiding you. To compensate the niggling sensation in your heart, you spend more time with the boys.
They cheer you up a lot, never questioning what’s got you so gloomy. Maybe they can already tell. But you waste away your days building up a modest garden in Yoongi’s backyard in the mornings when it’s cooler, and finding stuff to do with Taehyung and Seokjin in the afternoons.
Though you still share a room with Yoongi, the night after you got drunk he chose to sleep on the floor again, and you didn’t have the heart to ask him back up. You’ve been sleeping on his side for so long that his pillow no longer smells like him anymore. You don’t sleep well these days.
You find yourself waking naturally long before he does so that you can tiptoe out of his room and get ready alone. At night, you press your ear to the door and wait to hear his little snuffles and grunts of a deep sleep before you creep in. It seems odd to have any negative feelings towards him, but he just doesn’t seem the same as the man you had grown so used to sharing a house with.
Tonight, he woke up as you were sneaking inside his room, and so the two of you lie in dim silence, both all too aware of the other. Holly is curled up beside him, you can hear the gentle snoring, but Yoongi is completely quiet. You can’t even hear him breathe.
The total lack of sound in Yoongi’s room means that another noise is amplified. You wrinkle your brow at the odd, low pitched rumble, barely audible. You know it’s coming from outside the bedroom, though where exactly you couldn’t say.
Just as you’re about to pass it off as nothing, it sounds out again, louder this time. A moan.
Realisation dawns on you when you hear it again, drawn-out and dripping with pleasure. Taehyung and Seokjin are having sex in the next room over.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” you whisper into the dark. “Have they no shame?”
It’s loud enough this time that you can hear the words themselves.
“Ah, Jinnie-hyung.” You screw up your face and huff.
“...they did say ‘pre-honeymooning,’” Yoongi reasons reluctantly.
You sit up, bunching the blankets in your lap as you glare down at the bed and breakfast owner. “So you’re on-” you break off as the undeniable high pitch of a whimper echoes throughout the house. “So you’re on their side? They’re fucking in my bed!”
He frowns at you, though it’s far from intimidating with his ruffled brown curls and sunshine yellow pyjamas. “It’s not your bed, it’s the guest bed.”
You raise an eyebrow. “They’re fucking on your Egyptian cotton sheets.”
A fury you’ve never before seen lights up in his eyes. “My sheets!” The begrudging way he crosses his arms over his chest makes him look like a petulant child, and you snort out a laugh. “Hey,” he cries out in a stage whisper, barely louder than the pleasured moans that seem to be rising to a fevered pitch, “don’t laugh at me! Those sheets were expensive!”
You pause for a moment, trying to stay composed, but then you hear it through the thin walls.
“Fuck, cum in me, hyung!”
You clap a hand over your mouth, barely in time to muffle your desperate laughter.
Through tears, you see Yoongi try to fight the grin that tugs at the corner of his mouth, but soon enough he succumbs, shoulders shaking and eyes squeezed shut as he laughs silently. The two of you endure a minute or so of loud cries of climax, before all goes still.
You lower your hand. You stare at each other for a moment, but after nothing happens, you sigh out in relief. Yoongi goes to plump up his pillow as you fuss with the duvet. “Thank god that’s over,” you proclaim, “now we can finally-”
“Does my Tae-bear still want more, hm? Greedy boy.”
Yoongi’s face drops. He stands up suddenly, thrusting out a hand in front of your face. As quiet whines and sighs reach your ears from the other room, you stare at it blankly. He waves it impatiently. “Come on,” he instructs, “I can’t take this anymore. Let’s get out of here.”
Though you’re uncertain what he means, you reach out and take his hand. It’s warm, and his fingers slip between yours naturally, clasping tightly. Before leading you carefully to the door, Yoongi grabs a blanket off the floor and hands it to you. He opens the door so gingerly that you can hear nothing more than the brush of the wood against the carpet.
The two of you tip-toe down the hallway. Directly outside the guest bedroom, you’re close enough to hear not only Taehyung’s desperate moans, but the pants of exertion from his fiance. Whatever Seokjin was doing to him in there, it was nothing short of athletic.
Holly, having been woken when Yoongi got up, pads down the hallway behind you happily. You wince at the jangle of his collar, but the two loud men don’t seem to notice, or at least don’t care enough to pause.
When the two of you reach the living room, Yoongi drops your hand to fiddle with the key to the back door. He slides it open and you step out in confusion, waiting for him and Holly to come through, Yoongi sliding it shut behind him, locking it and pocketing the key in a tiny breast pocket on his pyjama shirt.
Once the door shuts behind you, you no longer have to remain quiet. “What are we doing?” you question.
Holly follows faithfully as Yoongi makes his way down the backyard barefooted; determined not to be left behind and burning with curiosity, you jog to catch up. You leave the even footing of the grass and begin picking your way through the trees, going in a slight incline up the hill.
“We weren’t gonna get any sleep listening to them going at it like rabbits anyway,” he explains, “so I figured we could chill out here for a few hours and come back inside before it gets too cold. Hopefully they’ll have tired themselves out by then.”
You frown, wrapping your arms around yourself. “Fine then,” you allow, “where are you- oh!” You’re cut off as Yoongi stumbles on a tree root, falling forward onto his hands and knees. He gets up quickly, brushing off the dirt and twigs from his palms. Even in the dim lighting, you can see his cheeks are red with embarrassment, so instead of poking fun, you just move on. “Tomorrow I can go down to the convenience store and buy some earplugs. Unless you want to talk to them about lowering the volume of their nightly activities?”
He doesn’t hesitate. “Get the brand that comes with three sizes, I’ve got small ear canals.”
You bark out a surprised laugh. “I’m sure you do, Min Yoongi.” You let the jingle of Holly’s collar fill the air for a few moments, and your companion seems happy enough with the comfortable silence. He seems to be picking out an intentional path, though there is no evidence of a well-tread route he’s taking. It’s not until Yoongi comes to a stop in a small clearing, about a third of the way up the hillside, that you open your mouth again. “What’s this?”
Yoongi sits down in front of you, patting the grass. He waits for you to sit until he begins to explain. You shake out the blanket, laying over your two laps as he speaks. “I would sneak out of the house in the middle of the night all the time when I visited my grandma, pretending to be Indiana Jones or something. I found this glade one day and it became my nightly routine to come here at eleven or twelve pm and watch the stars.” He trails off in a wistful tone, craning his neck to look up.
Naturally, you follow his gaze. Blurred in the edges of your vision are the trees that surround you on the hill, but directly above is an open expanse of blackish navy, pricked with stars. The air is fresh, and you breathe it in deeply, feeling the cool air open your chest. You let your body tip back, lying down on the grass.
Yoongi’s voice comes from above, still sitting up. “One day I came back around two or three in the morning. Instead of being in bed, my grandma was waiting at the door for me. I thought she was mad - she wouldn’t speak to me all day - but that night when I went to leave she came out of her room and handed me a torch.” You can’t help but smile at the way Yoongi speaks, deeply entrenched in his own memories, voice hushed in nostalgic wonder. “Ever since that point, we did this together. She once told me that at night, the sun puts a big blanket over the earth to say it’s time to go to bed, but since it’s so old, it has holes in it. That’s what stars are. Ah, it sounds silly now, but at the time…” His voice changes, flattens. “I haven’t been here since she passed away. I couldn’t go alone.”
Your heart breaks for him. “I’m so sorry, Yoongi.” You don’t know what else to say.
He sighs out heavily, the burden of loss. “Yeah.”
At some point over the next few hours, he lies down beside you, the two of you quietly contemplating the abyss above. Now that you’re looking at it different, it does look like a blanket. Thick blackness with pinpricks of light. You wonder what’s on the other side.
The air cools down. It’s still humid, but instead of warming you, it condenses on your neck in a cloying sweat, and beads on the grass. The tip of your nose is chilled pink, and you keep having to rubbing your hands together to warm them. You don’t want to interrupt this strange solemnity in the air, but once you begin to shiver slightly, you have no choice. “Can we head back now, Yoongi? I’m sure they’ve finished by now.”
“Hm? Yeah, okay.” He sits up and stretches with a groan, sticking out his arms and rolling his wrists. When he goes lax again, he sticks his fingers into the little pocket on his pyjama shirt. “Oh. Oh no.”
You frown, sitting up yourself. “What?”
“Must’ve fallen out when I tripped over,” he mumbles, “shit.”
He tugs at his earlobe nervously. “I lost the key.”
“Y- what? So we’re locked out?”
“Well, just until tomorrow. When Taehyung and Seokjin get up, they can let us in. I’ll go down to the locksmith, get a new key made in no time.”
Now that you know you’re stuck here, the cold seems more insidious. You shiver again. “That doesn’t help us now, Yoongi! We’re stuck out here for the night because you wanted to go fucking stargazing.” His hurt look cuts through you like a knife, and you rush out the breath you’re holding, anger dissipating in a moment. “No, I’m sorry, it’s not your fault. I just… we’re gonna freeze out here, Yoongi.”
Guilt worries at his brow, and he tucks his knees up to his chest. “We can do our best to stay warm. The grass is still mostly dry, and there’s no wind or anything. If we huddle together under the blanket we can conserve body heat. It’s just one night.”
You stare at him for a moment, then nod begrudgingly. “Fine then,” you acquiesce. “We cuddle in order to survive tonight, and then never speak of it again.” With a flourish, you lie back down, tugging the blanket over you and turning your back to him.
Instead of a warm body, you’re met with silence. “Um,” Yoongi says finally, “I- Never mind.”
You twist your head around. “You what?”
He rubs at his cheek in embarrassment, though the dark pink blush firmly stays. “I like to be the little spoon.”
After a moment’s pause, you swivel around, holding the blanket up for him. “Come on then, little spoon,” you say softly, “get comfy.”
He offers you the smallest smile of gratitude, a flash of teeth peeking out, and turns, shuffling back until he’s pressed up against your chest. As you lower the blanket over the both of you, your arm naturally slips over his torso, curling over his tummy. The warmth of his body in your arms certainly is a respite from the cold, and clearly he agrees, because he lets out an unconscious grunt of happiness. You remember grinning into the darkness, ready to make a teasing remark, but sleep takes you before you can even open your mouth.
You had expected that night would bring Yoongi back to normal. That whatever strange mood had affected him in that week would be dissolved with the night you spent together under the stars. However, the next morning Taehyung and Seokjin convince you to stay at the lodge playing board games with them while Yoongi goes alone to the locksmith for a new key, and when he returns home to you curled up between the two of them, watching some dumb early-2000s rom-com on the TV, it seems his earlier grudge has returned with a vengeance.
There’s a strangely hostile tension in the air that afternoon, and when you and the boys finish up watching movies you pretend to accidentally fall asleep, just so you don’t have to go back to the room.
You begin to favor spending time with the other guests rather than Yoongi. It almost feels like you’re outstaying your welcome, but Taehyung and Seokjin seem enamoured with your company, and so day-in day-out you’re hanging out with them. After a couple weeks, you begin to view them as genuine friends. You get the impression that they hadn’t planned on staying as long as they are. Taehyung’s blue locks are beginning to grow out, hints of natural black peeking out at the roots. Seokjin has the (probably ill-founded) idea of buying bleach and dye at the supermarket, which is why you find yourself in a pair of gloves, lathering bright red hair dye on his scalp after dinner one night.
When Yoongi finished doing the dishes and saw Taehyung mixing the dye, he simply huffed and told him not to get any on the floor, then disappeared into his room. He was going to bed earlier and earlier, you noted, as well as getting up later in the mornings. You couldn’t remember the last time you held a conversation with him.
Now the three of you remaining in the kitchen sit cross legged on the floor, chatting away as the dye sets. Taehyung, with a plastic shower cap covering his hair, bangs his head back against the cabinets. “I wonder what colour I should have for the wedding,” he muses.
Seokjin’s eyes crinkle at the thought. “At the rate you’re dying it, it’ll be straw by the time you walk down that aisle.”
The younger grins, boxy. “You’ll still love me, even with scarecrow hair?”
“Of course,” Seokjin answers without hesitation. “Besides, it would grow back healthy in no time.”
“Would you love me even if I was bald?”
“Let’s not get hasty here,” he jibes, lifting his eyebrows in mock concern. “Don’t worry, Tae-bear. You’re the only man for me.”
The two laugh fondly, then fall into a silence. You know it’s a personal question, but you’ve known them for a while, so you ask anyway. “Have you guys always known? That you were attracted to men, I mean.”
Taehyung smiles, nodding languidly. “Well, both of us are bi so it’s not just men. But for me, yeah. I always knew, and then when I was in college I was a complete Casanova. Boys, girls, everyone in between. Life was a buffet.”
“Oh,” you exclaim curiously, “so you’ve been with men and women then?” He nods again. A thought strikes you. “That’s something I’ve always wondered, actually. Who are better to kiss; guys or girls?”
Taehyung scratches lazily at his scalp through the plastic cap. “Most guys are great kissers, but there’s nothing nicer than women’s lips. Luckily my Seokjinnie has the prettiest lips in the world.”
You look over as Seokjin, sitting across from Taehyung, purses his lips playfully, before shrugging. “I wouldn’t know,” he admits, “Taehyung is my one and only.”
The aforementioned pushes off the cabinet, leaning forward with an unreadable look in his eyes. “Do you want to try?”
Seokjin tilts his head in confusion. “Hm?”
“If I gave you permission and Y/n agreed to it, would you want to kiss her right now?”
“What?” You gape incredulously at Taehyung, but he’s dead serious. Looking back over, Seokjin is silent, nibbling at his lip. He’s considering it. A wave of heat rushes through you, akin to excitement. He’s one of the most attractive men you’d ever seen in your life, and you can’t deny that physical connection is something you’ve been missing in your past few months. “Are you sure, Taehyung?”
He sends you a salacious wink, turning back to Seokjin. “Think of it as a wedding gift,” he bargains, “I don’t want you to marry me feeling like you’re unfulfilled, or that you’re missing out. As long as I’m the one that gets to be beside you every night, I’m happy.”
Seokjin’s eyes soften, then dart over to you. “Y/n…”
That’s invitation enough. You lick your lips, wetting them before crawling over to the older man. He pats his thighs, and you swing a leg over, steadying yourself on his lap. His hands are light on your hips.
“Just like it’s me, Seokjinnie,” Taehyung instructs. “Well, maybe a bit gentler than if it was me. You can kiss her, hyung.”
Though the statement was directed at Taehyung’s fiance, you take the initiative to duck your head down, eyes slipping closed the moment you feel his lips brush yours. He lets out an unsure sigh, muffled against you, and you feel his fingers curl, digging into your flesh slightly.
“That’s it,” Taehyung soothes. You hear the rustling of fabric, and you crack an eye open to see him sidling up beside Seokjin, watching the two of you. “How is she, hyung?”
You work your lips against Seokjin’s for a few more moments before pulling back. The man below you has flushed skin and dilated pupils. He swallows, throat bobbing. “Soft,” he makes out.
You run a finger over his lower lip, watching it bounce back. “For someone who’s never kissed more than one person before, you’re definitely the best kisser I’ve ever had.”
He grins under your touch. “I bet Taehyungie is better.”
There must be something in the air. The hair dye fumes getting to you, perhaps. Or maybe you’re just deprived. Either way, you feel your inhibitions falling away, and an arousal-fueled confidence takes over. You send Taehyung a lustful look. “Only one way to find out.”
The tiniest nod reveals his consent. Seokjin keeps you steady on his lap by gripping your hips with strong hands, and you lean over, placing one hand on Seokjin’s shoulder and the other on Taehyung’s, ducking your head to capture his lips with yours.
They’re somewhat thinner than Seokjin’s, and you find yourself missing those plump lips against you, but the younger man more than makes up for it with his prowess. His hands wind into the hair at the nape of your neck, pulling you in deeper. You let out a whimper into his mouth. Unlike Seokjin, whose kiss was pure and curious, this embrace is dripping with passion, and you find yourself drowning in it, mindlessly grinding your hips into the budding hardness below. Seokjin grunts, but you barely hear, lost in Taehyung’s grip, the tip of his tongue swiping teasingly against the flat of yours.
Suddenly, Seokjin goes stock-still and the hands wrapped around your hips go iron-tight. The sudden pressure breaks you out of your haze, and you pull away from Taehyung in confusion, the latter making a confused hum, eyes fluttering open.
You freeze as you hear a cabinet open and close behind you. Unable to look, you stare at the faces of the two men you’re currently sprawled on top of, as they lower their gazes in embarrassment at being caught out. You wait, listening to Yoongi hastily grabbing himself a glass of water, before he leaves quicker than he appeared.
Once the kitchen goes silent again, you slide off Seokjin’s lap, dejectedly staring at the floor. Shame burns in your chest, mixed with regret, and all you want is for the ground to swallow you whole. You swallow down the dryness in your throat. “C-can I sleep in your guys’ room tonight?” you ask with a small voice.
The two of them look ashamed, pitying. You hate it. You hate your lack of self-control. Seokjin nods silently, and the three of you make a solemn pilgrimage into the guest bedroom. Though the two of them fall into slumber soon enough, you lie awake on the floor in a bundle of pillows and blankets, imagining what his face must’ve looked like when he walked in on you messing around with two taken men. You don’t know which one would’ve been worse: seeing a look of anger, disgust, or disappointment on his face, or you never turning around at all.
When you wake up the next morning you’ve made up your mind. If you hadn’t already, you’ve definitely overstayed your welcome by this point. The boys don’t stir at all when you quietly tiptoe around their room, tugging on your jeans that you had kicked off the night before, too emotionally drained to bother with pyjamas. They look peaceful and content; there’s a lump in the middle of the bed where Taehyung has swung his leg over Seokjin’s hip, and his face is tucked into the crook of Seokjin’s neck. Their hands have found each other in the night, fingers lazily intertwined as they rest over the covers. Your eyes prickle at the sight.
In the kitchen, you eat alone. On the bench, the one that gets the most sun, is a tea towel with a pile of half-dried tea leaves. You wonder if Yoongi will continue making tea once you’re gone. Part of you wants to sneak out to the plant and take some of the leaves with you; that tea is the best you’ve ever had. But you force yourself to remember that you have no right to that plant. It was easy to see this as more than what it was, especially when Yoongi had been so generous and hospitable, but you’re a guest. At the end of the day, you’re nothing more than a traveler passing through. He’ll forget about you when new guests arrive. That’s how these things were meant to be, you reason. For fear of making too much noise, you forgo the ritualistic cup of Boseong Breakfast. Your stomach roils in yearning of a hot cup to soothe you, or perhaps that’s just the dread at knowing you’re about to leave.
Your stuff is still in Yoongi’s room. Shoes, backpack, wallet. You don’t fancy leaving here with nothing but a cellphone, so you turn the knob painstakingly slowly, leaving it open and using the light of your phone screen to find your way. Though you internally scream at yourself not to, you find yourself guiding the light onto his sleeping form, casting him in the weak cold glow.
He’s curled up in a tiny ball, barely occupying a third of the bed. Instead of on the floor, Holly is right beside him, stretched out languidly in the middle, head resting on the pillow right beside Yoongi’s face. His face reflects strangely, and you frown, risking a few steps closer.
Once you’re beside the edge of the bed, you lower the light to face the floor so you don’t wake him. He’s back on his side of the bed, the one you had temporarily occupied in a time that already felt so long ago to you, and every few seconds he lets out a small grunt or sniffle. Turned in towards the center of the bed, towards Holly, his hands are folded under his face, pressing his cheek up, revealing the dried tracks of tears that glimmer on the skin. You bite your lip harshly and force yourself to turn away and keep searching for your stuff.
But as you swivel around to check this end of the room, a sudden bright reflection hits you right in your eyes. You hiss loudly, squeezing them shut. Upon a second, more cautious glance, you see the culprit is a framed pane of glass sitting atop his nightstand. Careful not to suffer the glare again, you hold your phone up to inspect it.
It takes you a moment, but when you recognise that sliver of vibrant pink, your breath rushes out of you in an overwhelmed sigh. Pressed between two panes of glass so that it lies perfectly flat and preserved, the azalea petal you had picked out of his hair that distant spring day. He really kept it.
Tears threatening to well up, you quickly stand up straight again, caring less about making noise and more about finding your stuff and leaving quickly. You find your backpack in the bottom of his closet. Remembering at the last moment that you’re still in one of his baggy t-shirts rather than the one you came in - when had you started seeing them as your own clothes? - you tug it up over your head, quickly shimmying into the cold fabric of your shirt.
“What are you doing?”
You freeze at the familiar voice, croaky with sleep. “I… I didn’t mean to wake you.”
He’s sitting up; you can see his form out of the corner of your eye, but you keep your head down, not wanting to look at him for fear of what expression would be plastered on his face. “Are you going somewhere?”
You tense your lips, nodding tightly. Now that he’s awake, there’s no need to be quiet, so you rush out his room, leaving the door ajar behind you. It’s lighter out in the living room, the first few inches of the sun as it creeps over the hills above, sending a thin streak of orange light across the carpet.
It takes a few moments, probably since he’s still groggy from just waking up, but Yoongi rushes frantically down the hallway, bursting into the living room. He halts, watching you going through your stuff to make sure it’s all there. “Where are you going?” He stands there, shoulders slumped in dejection as you just shake your head mutely. “Are you leaving me?”
You let out a shaky breath. “I want to apologise for my behavior last night,” you say instead. “I wrote down your bank account earlier, the one you gave Seokjin and Taehyung. When I get back home I’ll reimburse you for however many nights I stayed here.”
“I can’t keep staying here like some freeloader,” you explain, “I’ll get out of your hair so that you can run your business.”
“You don’t have to go,” he protests, though his voice is small, barely reaching your ears.
You let out a frustrated groan when the zipper on your backpack jams, tugging roughly at it. “It’s for the best,” you insist, though you can’t tell who it is you’re trying to convince, “I’ve clearly overstayed my welcome.”
“What does that even mean?” he questions in a wobbly voice.
You huff, chucking the half-open backpack on the couch and facing Yoongi. “I can read the signs, Yoongi. For the past few weeks you’ve been avoiding me like the plague and glaring whenever I’m around. I get it, okay? I’ll get out of your hair.”
“It’s not like that,” he defends. He pushes his curls back off his forehead, sighing out shakily. “I didn’t realise that’s how you were… It’s not you.”
You scoff bitterly, crossing your arms over your head. Both of you have given up being quiet for the sake of the other guests, and at this point you couldn’t care less if they woke up. “Oh, well then by all means, tell me what your problem is. I guess I’m too stupid to understand your fucking smoke signals.”
He furrows his brow in annoyance. “Are you serious? It’s not like you’re the poster child for mature communication.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Yoongi shrugs with a petulant frown. “Fuck, I save your tea plant, harvest and prepare the leaves, do the laundry, help with Holly, entertain the guests, and-”
The muscles in Yoongi’s jaw pop when he tenses it. “You are a fucking guest! I didn’t ask for you to act like a housewife! I didn’t ask for you to do the laundry, or plant the herb garden. I didn’t fucking ask for you to suck face with the other guests in my kitchen! So don’t act like such a goddamn saint.”
You hear a door open and shut in the distance, but nothing can distract you from the pent-up rage that’s rolling off you in waves. As the sun steadily rises, the house is lit up in it’s rays, and you curse the daylight for showing you Yoongi more clearly, the way his eyes glitter with unshed tears of frustration. “Why does it matter to you what I do with them? I wasn’t aware there were rules against guests kissing at Holly Lodge. But then again, you’ve never had guests before so I guess you never got around to writing any.”
His face crumples. “That’s not my fault,” he mutters. “I wanted guests to come. I always wanted guests to come.”
You curse yourself for getting so heated, knowing this is turning ugly, but you can’t help yourself. Picking up your backpack, you storm across to the front door, calling out over your shoulder. “Don’t worry, Min Yoongi,” you snap, “you’ll get plenty of guests after I leave you a five-star review on Yelp. ‘Beautiful sights, expensive sheets, emotional turmoil. The best accommodation in Boseong.’ Have a nice life, Yoongi.”
Your hand is on the doorknob when his phone rings, a cheery ringtone of birds chirping. You don’t know what it is that makes you hesitate, but you hover at the front door long enough to hear him mumble, “oh, it’s the vets.”
Your hand falls. As much as Yoongi has hurt you, Min Holly is the sweetest old dog you’ve ever met, and curiosity keeps your feet planted.
“Hello? No, no, it’s okay, I was already awake… Ah, okay, thanks for the- He what?” With a growing feeling of dread, you swivel around in your spot, watching the emotions on Yoongi’s face play out like a movie; confusion, concern, fear. “Will he be okay?” He lets out a shuddering breath, looking around frantically. Looking for Holly. “And how quickly can I get him the operation?”
You let the backpack slide off your shoulder, gently hitting the carpet. His hand is over his nose and mouth, but you can see the wet glistening of his eyes and the way his shoulders shake. You know you’re probably the last person he wants to see, but you can’t bring yourself to leave him. Not now. Not when all you can think of is the pressed petal on his nightstand, framed like something precious. Not when you’re beginning to think that maybe you read his cold shoulder wrong after all.
“I… Can I call you back? I don’t think I can afford that, I need to contact someone who can. Okay. Yes, okay. Thank you for the call. Bye.” His voice cracks on the last syllable, and he barely manages to end the call before a broken sob is torn from his throat. “Oh, god.” His knees give out, and before you can process a response, you’re rushing forward, crouching on the floor in front of him.
“Yoongi, I’m so sorry,” you say in a hush, feeling your nose prickle with the warning of tears. He heaves another sob, crying some words you can’t make out. “Yoongi, I- You said there was someone you can call, take a deep breath, you can give them a call and get it sorted, okay?”
He wipes his face with shaking hands and blinks up at you. There’s no sign of animosity or lingering anger; when he stares at you, all you can see is a raw vulnerability. “My brother,” he manages to say in a thick voice, “but I can’t do it, I can’t speak to him.” He lets out another wail, and you sense there’s something deeper there, but you don’t have time to question it.
“Okay, I’ll call then. Unlock your phone for me, Yoongi, I’ll call.” He does so, typing in the string of numbers, 46559, three times before he gets it right with how violently his fingers tremble. “What’s your brother’s name, Yoongi?”
In the corner of your eye, you see two half-asleep young men padding down the hallway. You wave them away behind Yoongi’s back, mouthing get Holly at them. After they disappear, you bring your attention back to the bed-and-breakfast owner, who’s tucked his knees under his chin, looking more childlike than ever in his white pyjamas with daisies on them. “Joonie,” he hiccups, “call Joonie.”
Though there’s no Joonie listed as a contact, you assume Namjoon is the same person, and so you call it, reaching out to tentatively rub Yoongi’s back as it rings.
The call clicks through after only a few seconds. The voice is deeper than you were expecting, and authoritative. “Yoongi-hyung?”
With wide eyes filled with tears, Yoongi’s head picks up and he stares at you balefully, listening to the call. You put it on speakerphone. “I’m calling on behalf of Yoongi,” you explain, “I’m a friend.”
“The first call in years and it’s not even him,” he mutters, “go figure. What’s up?”
You bite your lip awkwardly. “Uh, it’s Holly. I don’t really know the details, Yoongi only just got the call, but he’s very sick. He needs an operation, urgently, it seems like. Yoongi would call, but he’s really upset at the moment.” You lock eyes with Yoongi as you speak, unable to tear your gaze away from the deep well of pain in them.
“Shit,” his brother curses, “is he there now?”
Yoongi gives the tiniest shake of his head. “He’s gone to grab some tissues, I think,” you lie, hoping your voice doesn’t betray you. “But Yoongi can’t afford the treatment. I think he’s hoping you could pay for it.”
Namjoon pauses on the other end of the line for a moment. “Your voice sounds distant, so I’m assuming you’re on speakerphone. Hi, Yoongi-hyung.” You bite your lip, but the crying boy just clasps his hand over his mouth again, a fresh wave of tears. “But anyway, of course I’ll pay. There’s just one thing… If I do this, hyung, Holly is staying with me. He needs proper care and treatment, especially if he’s having surgery. The veterinarians are better in Seoul, anyway. I can make sure he’s getting the best help. Understand, Yoongi?”
Clammy fingers wrap around your wrist, pulling the cellphone a little closer. “Okay, Joonie. I understand.”
You hear some typing in the background coming from Namjoon’s end, but Yoongi’s attention is caught by the familiar jingling from down the hallway. As Holly enters in a speedy jog, Yoongi reaches out to the dog with grabby-hands, letting out a shaky sigh of relief when the dog jumps into his arms, immediately lying across Yoongi’s lap. The young man cradles his companion, tears wetting the fur on his head.
“I’ve shuffled around a few appointments,” the voice from the phone announces, and you jump at the sudden noise. “I’ll be there by this afternoon. Thanks for the call…”
“Y/n,” you supply.
“Thanks for the call, Y/n. And I’ll see you soon, Yoongi-hyung.”
Seokjin and Taehyung decide to make their goodbyes. They sense, rightly so, that it wouldn’t do them well to stay, and as it is they had lives to get back to. The house seems quieter with them gone, but you suppose had they been here that cheery energy would’ve disappeared.
Yoongi and you spend the day in silence, quietly sitting on the couch, staring at the turned-off television screen emptily, as Holly sleeps soundly, snoring away in Yoongi’s arms. It feels more like a funeral, this weird, drawn-out goodbye, and once Yoongi receives a text saying Namjoon has landed, he solemnly wanders around the house, collecting all of Holly’s food, dog bed (that you’d never seen him actually use) and all of his favorite toys.
For the first time, you hear the crunch of gravel as someone arrives in a car. Namjoon looks nothing like Yoongi in the bigger picture - taller, bulkier, straighter hair - but they have the same glimmer in their eyes, the same round faces. For all that Namjoon seems to be the more adult one of the two, it’s clear by the way he pulls Yoongi into a tight hug, his whole body curling into it, that Namjoon is the younger brother. As the two of them catch up over some tea, you keep your distance, sensing there were some things they needed to discuss that didn’t concern you.
You decide to take Holly on one last wander through the forest. Now that Yoongi seems to have calmed down, eyes dry, you figure you’ve done your part. Especially with Seokjin and Taehyung leaving, you find it harder and harder to ignore the pull of your life back home, your responsibilities. Your old friends and loved ones don’t text you much anymore, but when they do they ask when you’re coming back to the ‘real world’. University, a career, a house. Things that they seem to care about more than you do. Your stuff is already packed up. When you get back, you can call up the Boseong-gun terminal and see when the next bus home leaves. It’s for the best, you tell yourself.
Namjoon is gone quickly after you return. The house feels hopelessly empty without Holly. If you can feel it, you have no idea how much it must tear Yoongi up inside, and so you put on the television, hoping any noise will fill even the smallest amount of that void.
You make the two of you some ramen for dinner, but both bowls sit untouched. They’ve long gone cold before Yoongi suddenly sits up, muting the ads on the TV. You stare at him uncertainly.
“I… wanted to thank you,” he says slowly, “for staying with me. You didn’t have to, but I don’t know what I would’ve done without you.” He picks at some stray dog hairs that are embedded in the fabric of the couch. “I’m scared to be alone again.”
Your face falls. All thoughts of returning home are rendered void. You can’t leave him. “Of course I’ll stay,” you promise in a whisper.
He swallows, shuffling around so that he faces you on the couch. “You’ll stay,” he repeats in a chant. His gaze dips, then flickers back up to yours again. With brows furrowed like he’s unsure of what he’s doing, he leans forward and presses a tentative kiss across your lips.
You freeze. His hand rests on your knee, the lightest pressure, and he kisses you again, insistent this time like he’s begging for a response. Your heart breaks as you reach up and push his chest, separating him from you.
His eyes flutter open and his bottom lip trembles. “I don’t understand…” He retracts his hands into his lap, leaving your knee cold with his absence.
“You’re not in the right frame of mind, Yoongi,” you explain, “you’ve had a long day, and- Yoongi…” He stands up abruptly, and you reach out to him, but he waves your hand away.
“Goodnight,” he says shortly, leaving the room.
You sigh out and tip your head back, banging it against the couch headrest. Why did it feel like no matter what you did, it hurt?
You stay. Just like you promised, you stay for him.
You don’t see him anymore, but you drop off three meals a day at his door, and in the middle of the night, when you can’t sleep, sometimes you hear him showering, or grabbing a snack. Sometimes you hear him leave the house, only to return hours later. It feels strangely intimate that you know exactly where he goes on those nights.
You find out through eavesdropping on Yoongi’s calls to Namjoon that Holly got the operation. Though you still don’t know what exactly happened, there’s talk of a cast, and physical therapy. You hope he’s doing okay.
Although you understand Yoongi is upset about his companion being taken from him, you expect eventually he’ll come around. You wait day-in, day-out for him to open the door and come back to reality. You struggle away in the kitchen learning to cook, hoping to entice him with wafts of spice. You start loudly making calls to friends and family, highly recommending Holly Lodge. You even knock on his door in excitement when a little hedgehog trundles into the backyard one day, thinking maybe his pure love of nature will draw him out, but nothing works.
And then, after the leaves begin to burnish in autumn shades, you know you’ve been here too long. You sit down outside his doorway, head leaning against the closed door. “Yoongi,” you call out.
He doesn’t answer. You don’t even know if it’s awake or not. The thought that he might not even be listening gives you a strange confidence.
“Yoongi,” you repeat, “I don’t know what to do anymore. You can’t stay in there forever. I know I said I would stay. And I’ve done my best to keep that promise. But this isn’t healthy, for either of us. Please, just come out and have a meal with me. Come for a walk; we could go stargazing tonight. Anything, Yoongi.”
“It’s time for me to leave,” you reveal lowly. “There’s nothing else I can do to help you. I… The bus back home leaves tomorrow, but it leaves early, so I’m going to stay in town overnight. I’ve already called Mrs. Na. She’s got a room for me at the motel.” You sigh out at the continued lack of response. “I’m telling you this, Yoongi, because once I go you need to start doing things for yourself. I’ve thought long and hard about this because I’m-” you break off, blinking quickly to fight the tears that spring to your ears. “Because I’m scared that you’ll forget to eat, and get sick. I’m scared of leaving you alone like this, but I don’t know what else to do.” You sniffle, clearing your throat and standing. “Goodbye, Yoongi.”
It takes you longer than normal to follow the gravel road back into town. Mostly because of the way your eyes will fill with tears, and you’ll stumble on the uneven footing here and there. Or maybe it’s your body’s last cry of protest, not wanting to leave at all.
Either way, when you reach it, the motel is nice enough. Check-in isn’t until 3 in the afternoon, apparently, so you mope in the lobby for a few hours, curled up on the armchair. Mrs. Na peeks over her magazine every couple of minutes, but you refuse to look back until she’s waving you over with a manicured hand.
“Single room for one night?”
You nod in confirmation, already fishing around your backpack for your wallet to pay. Having paid for the groceries yourself over the past few weeks, your account is running concerningly low. “Thanks for-”
“Finally got tired of the love shack, huh?”
You blink at the interruption, freezing. “Excuse me?”
The bitter wrinkles at the corners of her eyes deepen as she frowns at you. “Don’t play coy, dear. You two little lovebirds have been the talk of the town. You stay here for months, and then out of nowhere, you don’t leave the lodge for weeks. I guess there must be trouble in paradise.”
You fight the urge to snap at her, knowing she’ll only kick you out. “It isn’t like that. There were some personal issues that needed sorting out, that’s all.”
She raises her eyebrows patronisingly, turning to reach for one of the keys hung up behind the desk. “The only personal issue I can see is how inappropriate it is for a young woman like yourself to be living with three young men.”
You bite your tongue. Just one night. Instead of replying, you simply hold out the last of your cash, a flat palm ready to accept the key in return.
She takes the cash delicately, making sure not to touch your hand itself at all, and then holds out the key. “I just want you to know that my motel does not tolerate any untoward behavior. You better not be trying to whore yourself out to my custom-”
You jump as a hand cuts into your line of vision and bats the hand away. Mrs. Na recoils in shock, still gripping the cash tightly, and widens her eyes at the newcomer.
Turning around in disbelief, you watch as Min Yoongi reaches over and tugs the notes forcefully from her hand. “I’ve had it,” he spits out.
“Yoongi,” you breathe in awe, but he ignores you.
Wearing a dusty pink sweater and grey skinny jeans, he somehow still manages to strike an intimidating image. His shoulder gently nudges you, pushing you behind him. “No, I’ve had it,” he repeats more forcefully. “You can insult me, you can insult my business, my house, even my family. But I will not stand here and let you insult the woman I love.”
Both you and Mrs. Na gape at him, and this sudden burst of confidence.
Yoongi slips his hand into yours, squeezing tightly. He glares at Mrs. Nah one last time. “And your tea always tasted like shit, that’s why you went out of business. Come on, Y/n, we’re going home.”
He doesn’t let your hand go the entire way back to the lodge. You don’t want him to, either, because your chest feels so light it seems like he’s the only thing anchoring you with this strange swirling inside you. He doesn’t speak, only rushing you back up the slight slope to the lodge, to home, and when you finally arrive you see the door swinging on its hinge in the breeze, wide open.
Yoongi doesn’t address it. It seems like he’s desperate, feverish, to get you inside. In an odd mirroring of your first night together, he leads you directly to the guest room, hand firmly clasping your own.
“Yoongi, what’s going on?”
He tips his chin forward suddenly, then shakes his head and falls back. “Talk first,” he mumbles to himself. Then, back at you: “Y/n. I know I’m not good with words, or silent yearning looks, or smoke signals. So I’m going to be really clear now, just in case you didn’t hear it back at the motel.”
You can’t help but crack a grin at the earnest statement, giggling quietly. Yoongi pouts at you, but returns your smile reluctantly. Your heart leaps. He hasn’t smiled since that night under the stars. “I did hear it,” you admit, “but I sure would love to hear it again.”
“I love you, Y/n,” he confesses, “I’m so hopelessly in love with you that I didn’t even realise it at first. I’m so in love with you that I didn’t know what to do with myself, how to act. I felt like I couldn’t be around you for too long because my heart would ache. But then avoiding you just felt even worse. And when I saw you with the boys…”
“It didn’t mean anything,” you defend quickly, but Yoongi just furrows his brows.
“That’s not what I mean… It made me realize that I had no right to be angry or jealous, because I didn’t even have the courage to kiss you like they did. Even if it meant nothing for you or for them, I hated that I was too scared to do the same.”
You release all the air you didn’t realise you’d been holding. “That day Namjoon came. When you kissed me…”
Yoongi nods, slowly sitting down onto the edge of the bed, looking at your hands, still intertwined. “I wanted to tell you in words,” he admits. “I really was so scared you were gonna leave me, and I didn’t think I could take it. But I just couldn’t say it. So, I did the only thing I could think of.” He lets out a noisy breath, flicking you a sad smile. “But I guess I misread the situation. Even after I saw you with Taehyung and Seokjin I still thought maybe you liked me too. Sorry for making things weird.”
You shake your head, but he’s not looking at you anymore, so you sit down beside him, clasping your other hand over the two of yours. “You didn’t misread the situation. I didn’t want things to go further that night because I thought you might regret it in the morning. But you didn’t misread the situation. I… I’ve liked you for a long time. And I’ve never felt this way before, but I think it might be love.”
His eyes are on you, bright with hope and realisation. Having forgone a haircut for a little too long, droopy curls hang low over his brows, and he scrunches his nose unconsciously at the tickle. You look over his button nose, the roundness of his cheeks. His delicate pink lips slightly parted as he gives you his full attention.
A smile stretches across your face. “Actually, I’m sure. I love you, Min Yoongi. So much.”
His mouth turns up in pure happiness, flashing his gums for the first time in months. He searches your face for a moment, like he can’t quite believe it, then does something you’re not expecting.
He pulls you into a tight hug.
You immediately feel all tension leave your body at the feeling of his arms wrapping around you, chin resting on your shoulder. You bury your face into his neck and sink into his embrace. You think for the both of you, it’s been a very long time since you’ve had one.
“I don’t deserve you,” he praises quietly.
You squeeze him tighter, breathing in his natural scent, slightly floral, like the smell of his garden in spring. “You deserve the world.”
Instead of letting go, after a few moments he turns his head slightly, so that his nose brushes against your neck. You shiver when you feel his lips pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses to the sensitive skin of your throat. “Yoongi,” you murmur,  your body already responding to him, head tipping outwards to give him more room.
He works slowly, reverentially, sucking enough to make you tremble, but not so harshly to leave anything more than gentle pink marks. You sigh, eyes slipping closed in pleasure. You can feel his lips moving, like he’s whispering against your skin, making his way lower, but when his teeth scrape your collarbone lightly, you grow impatient.
You press your fingers insistently under his jaw and lift him, immediately capturing his mouth in a kiss that’s simultaneously exciting and reassuring, his lips molding against you as his back arches up, seeking every bit of contact he can get. You slide an arm around him, running it up and down his back soothingly. With the way his fingers curl desperately onto your shoulders, it seems like it’s been a while for him, just like it has for you. “Lie down,” you instruct softly, breaking from the kiss to help lower him to the bed.
You shuffle over for him to put his legs on the bed too, fully on his back, and then you straddle his hips, brushing his face fondly as you join your mouths together again. He seems all too happy to let you take control, eyes closed in bliss and jaw slack as you move lower, pressing countless small kisses down his cheek, jaw, and neck, until you’re propping yourself up on your forearms, laving at the skin. You can feel his pulse jumping under your tongue, and his throat bob every time he swallows. Sometimes, the skin vibrates gently, and you hear him letting out soft whimpers.
It’s not until his neck sports a spray of blossoming purple and dark pink that you sit up, a thought striking you. “Wait; why aren’t we in your bedroom?”
He blinks up at you, pupils blown wide, but eyes wider. “I wanted the Egyptian cotton sheets.”
You laugh breathily, clasping his face gently in your hands. “God, I love you.” His cheeks grow warm beneath your hands as his eyes soften in happiness. With his lips slightly pursed in your grasp, you bend down again and join your lips together.
He tastes sweet, and he has a patient yet passionate way of reciprocating the kiss, straining his face up to deepen it if he feels you pulling away too much. You could stay like this forever. As you feel his tongue shyly begin to slip out of his mouth, darting against your lip in tiny strokes, you feel a familiar sensation billow in your chest. The same feeling you had in those first few weeks, when everything felt magical and separate, like a little slice of heaven. Now, it’s far stronger, because at the center of your paradise is him.
You break off from his lips, nudging his head to the side with your nose and pressing a chaste kiss just below his ear. “Do you want to go further?” you question in a hushed whisper. “We can take this slow if you want.”
Looking up at you, he shakes his head hastily. “Please,” he sighs, “I want you.”
“Okay.” You sit up again, hovering over him. “Have you done this before?” He nods easily. “Let’s take this shirt off, then, hm?” He swallows when you play at the hem of his pink sweater, but nods after a moment.
Although it’s autumn, and he probably should’ve been layering up, it seems like he left the house in a hurry since he’s not wearing an undershirt. As you lift up the fabric inch by inch, more bare skin is revealed, unblemished other than a few moles. You trail your fingertips over them, feeling him shiver beneath you. The thought occurs to you that a time will come when you know the location of every one by heart, could map them out on the planes of his body with your eyes closed. Your heart aches at the thought, overwhelmed by it.
Having been in his room, sedentary for weeks, he’s developed a small paunch just above his waistband, filling out his hips a bit. He blushes, turning his head to the side shyly when you look over him.
“You’re beautiful, Yoongi,” you assure him wholeheartedly. “Absolutely perfect. Arms up for me?”
He obediently raises his limbs, wiggling out of the sweater. Once you toss it on the ground, you quickly remove and discard your own shirt, not wanting him to feel too self-conscious. His eyes light up at the sight of your bra, and you see his fingers twitch.
“Want me to take it off?” you question rhetorically, chucking lightly when he nods. Instead of doing as he wishes, you instead grab his hands and guide them around your back, leaning over so he can reach the clasp. “They’re hooks,” you explain, “so push the two sides towards each other, and then out.”
“I know how to take off a bra,” he mutters petulantly, though he fumbles with the hooks for a few moments, before finally getting them free and slipping the fabric off your body. You pull your arms out, and laugh when he flings it dramatically across the room, so that it smacks the wall and lands in a pitiful heap. “I hate those,” he mutters, half to himself. “They just get in the way.”
"I know something else that's getting in the way," you counter, and stand up off the bed, unbuttoning your jeans and shimmying out of them. "Do you want yours off too?"
He hesitates for a moment. "Can we... Can we turn the light off, or something?"
"Of course, if it makes you feel more comfortable." You quickly pad over to the other side of the room, flicking the light switch by the door.
It's clear that some time has passed since the two of you returned home by the way the room is plunged into a dim evening gloom when you turn the light off. "Too dark," Yoongi mumbles unhappily, and crawls over the mattress to reach the lamp on the bedside table, flicking it on and pushing the head of the lamp down so that it's just enough to see by. His face looks softer in this glow, and more relaxed. He gets out of his jeans quietly and without fanfare, settling back onto the bed.
In nothing but your underwear, when you lie down beside him and pull him into a languid kiss, you can feel the stiff peaks of your nipples pressing against his chest. He shivers in the cool air, mouth slack as you take control of the kiss. You’re all too happy to take things slow, not wanting to rush him, and so you lose track of time, simply kissing him until Yoongi is the only thing filling your thoughts.
After a time, your kisses become more frantic; sucking, nibbling, licking until your lips are swollen and slick. You let your hands roam the planes of his body, flat palms running up his chest and slipping over the curve in his lower spine. You swing a leg over his hips and gently press your heel, urging him closer until there’s nothing but the two layers of thin fabric keeping you apart. 
You sigh into his mouth when you feel a thumb swipe over one of your pebbled nipples, sending a bolt of pleasure straight down to your core. 
“Is this okay?” he questions as he begins to gently roll it between his fingers. You arch your back, pressing yourself into his hand, your kisses growing sloppy. “Feels good?” You groan out your confirmation, clenching your thighs tighter as he keeps the same delicate pressure, tugging lightly at it to see how stiff it can get between the pads of his fingers. 
“Yoongi,” you breathe, “so good.” You bask in the sensation for a while longer, before you can no longer maintain your mouth on his. You clasp your hand over the one of his that cups your breast, gently pulling it away. “I want you, Yoongi.”
He stares at you, eyes wide with anticipation as you lower yourself, getting comfortable between his legs, face just above his clothed crotch. “You don’t have to-” he protests weakly, but you cut him off, patting the top of his thigh reassuringly.
“I want to,” you counter. “You took care of me when I had nowhere to stay, you took care of me when I got sunburnt. You even took care of me with Mrs. Na. So let me take care of you, baby.” 
You slip the fabric of his underwear down over the swells of his ass, watching as his cock springs up and rests on his stomach. It seems silly to say, but he’s got the most beautiful dick you’ve ever seen. Leaving his underwear half-on around his thighs, you take him gently in your hand, mouth watering. 
With a delicate pink head and a graceful curve, he’s smaller than you would’ve expected, but somehow this dainty cock fits him perfectly. It looks beautiful in your hand, and when you pump him, beads of precum pool in his slit, threatening to spill over. 
You take him in your mouth, flicking your tongue against the underside of his tip as you create some suction. He lets out a satisfied sigh, muscles tensing. After taking him deep in order to get him lubricated enough, you slip off him with a pop and begin jerking your wrist, working him to pull more moans from his swollen lips. 
“Feels so nice,” he praises, though he can’t stop from wiggling under your ministrations, the elastic around his thighs keeping him from moving much. 
When you suck him down again, you keep your eyes up, wanting to drink in his reactions. Eyes bunched shut in pleasure, he’s fully unaware of your gaze. 
He looks beautiful, even from this angle, and you’re struck by the fact that this will be the first time of many, that you’ll see him from below like this many times in the future, and that soon you’ll be able to decipher every twitch of his eyebrows and every gasped cry. 
Suddenly his eyes are opening, staring down at you in awe, and you feel your heart swell. You can’t take it anymore. You give him one last flick of your tongue, and crawl up his body to join your mouth to his, reveling in the way his two tastes mingle in your mouth. 
“I need you,” you chant against his lips, “are you still okay to take this all the way?” 
He nods quickly, but rubs behind his ear. “Could we get under the covers? I tend to, uh, fall asleep pretty quickly afterwards so I don’t want to freeze overnight.”
You laugh softly, sitting up to slip your panties off before you tuck yourself under the sheets. When you turn to wait for him, he’s frozen with his mouth hanging half-open. You give him a confused smile. “What?”
He blinks, shakes his head a bit to clear his thoughts, and cracks a wonky grin. “I’m somehow the luckiest and most stupid man in the world.” 
“How do you figure that?”
He kicks his underwear off the rest of the way and scoots under the blankets to join you, propping his head up with his hand as he lies on his side. “I’m the luckiest because I’m in love with the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen, and she for some reason loves me back.” 
You smile softly, leaning forward to press a kiss to his cheek, feeling his eyelashes flutter against your skin. “And why are you the stupidest?” 
“It took me this fucking long to do anything about it.”
You let out a loud laugh, reaching out for his hand to entwine your fingers again. The movement feels natural and the warmth of his palm in yours is already familiar and reassuring. “Let’s make up on lost time, then.” 
He grins, teeth pressing into his bottom lip, then gasps. “Wait,” he pouts, “I have to go grab a condom!” 
You push yourself up and reach over his body to the nightstand on the other side of the bed. “Don’t worry,” you assure, “the lovebirds have us covered.” 
In the drawer are three boxes of condoms. You rest on top of Yoongi’s bare chest as you reach into the open one, fiddling around for a square packet in the almost-empty carton. 
Yoongi leans over and widens his eyes. “God, how many times did they fuck in here?” When he cranes his neck, he sees the two full boxes beside the one you took. “How many times were they planning to fuck in here?”
You giggle, sitting up again, but it’s cut off by a drawn-out moan. You look down to see Yoongi latched on to your nipple, looking up at you innocently through his brown curls. You groan again, feeling his tongue swipe against it and his teeth nibble on it teasingly.
He pulls off you with a wet pop, hand coming up to massage at it, soothing away the slight pain from the bite. “Sorry,” he mutters off-handedly, though it’s clear he doesn’t really mean it, “I couldn’t help myself.” 
You grin and swing a leg over his hips, straddling him with his cock resting just in front of your bare pussy. He swears lowly and tips his head back onto the pillows. “Don’t apologise,” you assure, “I liked it. In fact, feel free to do that again anytime.” 
He blushes hotly, and as you bring your hand down to palm at his stiff cock, you marvel at the fact that he’s still so flustered around you. You wonder how long he’ll take to build his confidence, or if he’ll always be your sweet, shy boy in the bedroom. As you let go of his hand to rip open the packet and slide on the condom, you’re not sure which outcome you’d want more. He does look so beautiful splayed out in below you, neck blooming in colour from your markings. 
“Ready?” you check in one last time. Yoongi breathes out deeply and nods, but clutches his right hand out in front of you. You interlock your fingers with him once more and sit up on your knees, using your free hand to line him up. 
His whole body trembles when you sheath yourself on him in one swift movement. His eyes are furrowed shut, lips parted in pleasure. You can see his knuckles whiten as they grip the sheets and your hand. “Y/n,” he breathes out in a tight voice, “go slow. Please.” 
You bite your lip at the feeling of him inside you, clenching your folds to increase the friction as you lift up off him slowly. Creating a slow but deep pace, you let the sounds of his delicate cries fill your ears. He’s not noisy, but just very vocal, every breath coming out as a whine or moan of pleasure. “You’re so good for me, baby,” you praise breathlessly. “My good boy.” 
His hips buck up and you hiss as he inadvertently thrusts into you deeper than before. “God,” he whines hopelessly. 
“I thought you said slow,” you tease, resting your interlocked hands on the bed and trailing the fingertips of your other hand over his chest lightly, feeling the way his dick twitches inside you when you pass over his nipple.
He makes a noise of disagreement, tossing his head side to side when you begin to slowly swirl your hips, grinding on him rather than riding him. “Wan’more,” he pleads. 
You grab his other hand, keeping them both pinned to the pillow on either side of his head as an anchoring point for you to keep yourself steady as you begin to pick up your pace. 
He writhes beneath you so beautifully, and that paired with the grind of his cock inside you brings you to the edge after only a few more minutes. Yoongi is clearly suffering the same lack of longevity by the way his moans are short and high pitched, thighs trembling in desperation. 
Rather than words, you indicate you’re close by bending down and joining your lips together again, wanting to be as connected with him as possible when you reach your edge. The moment he moans your name into your mouth, you feel a powerful orgasm spread through you, coming from within and igniting pleasure in all your nerves. Your toes curl and your pace stutters, but you force yourself to continue as long as you can, grinding on him when you don’t have the strength to bounce up and down. He comes with a cry, clutching your hands so close they hurt, mindlessly babbling confessions of love. 
True to form, he indeed becomes very sleepy very fast, and you have to take the condom off for him as the moment you get up off him, he lets out a tired mumble, nuzzling his face into any skin of yours close enough in his sleep. 
You laugh silently, fondly, and join him under the heated covers, wrapping an arm around his middle, just like that night under the stars. 
You wake up before him that next morning. 
Although it’s late autumn, the sun streams in lazily through the crack in the curtains, casting a warm glow over his delicate body. He grunts unhappily when you separate yourself from him, and in his sleep he turns around, seeking your warmth. 
When you dress quietly, opting for his oversized sweater and some panties rather than your own clothes, you listen to the regular sound of his breathing, feeling it calm you. His hair is sticking up in all directions and he’s drooling out the corner of his mouth, but still, you’ve never seen a more beautiful sight than Min Yoongi. 
The soft pink of his sweater brings to mind a different shade, a vibrant one. The azalea petal that presumably still resides on his nightstand, the one he kept all those months ago. Did he really love you that whole time? 
You smile softly at the thought, and tip-toe out the guest room, towards the kitchen. With the only sound being the chirping of the birds outside, you grab the jar of Boseong Breakfast tea, and pull out two mugs. 
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recs-by-xherxx · a year ago
➷fic rec navigation (❣)
It’s 2020, oh now it’s 2021, we gotta organize shit . . . so here I am, listing down my favorite go-to fics. Enjoy!
// notes: I AM A SMUT PERSON TYPE OF READER, so most of these are rated-M, unless with (*) means SFW and here are other icon legends below.
(☁) fluff, (☂) angst, (↯) one-shot, (↹) series
for monogamous fic, a ☆ sign for the most favorite, the reigning ficrec. all poly fics are amazing to me since i’m OT7 biased. haha.
i also do not remove fics in this list despite writers deactivating. so i apologize if some fics have been deleted.
(& I’m a lazy mf reader, so I only read fics that are amazing or written by my mutuals, or recs by my trusted friends or stuff that really seem to catch my interest. And as a writer, i also included fics which i loved writing the most and most proud of [?]. so yeah. Here goes.) 
(↹) let me hold them - @jjungkookislife
(↹) physcom (3) - @teawithkpop
(↯) the seven kinds of love (☂) - @jimlingss
(↯) please - @bang-tan-bitches
(↹) void (2) - @btssavedmylifeblr
(↹) cherry (4) - @go-gently-please
(↹) 7 days of the week (1) - @forgottenpasta
(↹) THESIS IT - @/xherxx
(↹) *the truth untold (☂) - @/xherxx
(↹) trivial pursuits - @foreignfingers
(↯) se7en - @ironicarmy
(↹) thou shall not steal - @/herxx
(↯) sated - @littlemisskookie
(↯) valentine ice cream cake - @/herxx
(↹) a taste of sweet - @mochismilesbrighterthansun
(↯) fated to love you - @untaemedqueen
(↹) prove it - @/xherxx
(↯) jetsetters - @chimoona
(↯) *mikrokosmos (☁) - @minniepetals
(↹) gods’ gambles - @/xherxx
(↹) sh - @wwilloww
(↯) *wine (☁) - @/minniepetals
(↯) sincerely, yours - @pasteljeon
(↯) tonight - @hobidreams
(↹) game nights - @kimnjss
(↹) ours - @jkeuphoriadreamland
(↯) relax (rm) - @maliby
(↯) something-ot7-ask - @voidswan
(↹) the studio sessions - @getitinbusan
(↹) the new year’s luck - @/xherxx
(↹) fire & desire (2) - @joonbird ☆
(↹) bad guy- @sweetbunnykook
(↯) heat - @thewanderingalias
(↯) thunder - @ppersonna​
(↹) effleurer - @sugaurora
(↹) sunday - @/forgottenpasta
(↹) not-so-anti’s-luck - @/xherxx
(↯) pinky swear - @taelaxies
(↯) shift back - @/xherxx
(↯) tear - @crazy4myself
(↯) tonight - @hobidreams
(↯) fubu ttdsn - @/underthejoon
(↯) love language - @gukslut
(↹) bound - AO3/obiwrites ☆
(↯) confessions are best given under pressure (☁) - @alwayschoosechocolate​
(↹) tip 143 - @minflix
(↹) wednesday - @/forgottenpasta
(↯) cross - @hobiwonder
(↯) hatefuck - @njssi
(↯) burn in hell (she said) - @floralseokjin
(↹) arranged - AO3/obiwrites ☆
(↯) obligated - @underthejoon
(↯) yuki - @/xherxx
(↹) roommates with benefits - AO3/erinbrownwrites ☆
(↯) cream suit - @/ppersonna
(↯) my only wish - @/ppersonna
(↯) new parent syndrome - @1kook​
(↯) doctor-dreamy - @jungblue​
(↯) kiss the girl - @sketchguk​
(↹) my neighbor’s luck - @/xherxx
(↹) sin city (9) - @btssmutgalore ☆ ​
(↯) me, you, and this thing we have between us - @boymeetsweevil
(↹) heatwave - @curly-bangtan ☆ ​
(↯) sugar-sweet confession (☁) - @/alwayschoosechocolate
(↯) somebody else (ft. myg) - @jamaisjoons
(↯) summer - @/xherxx
(↯) ruin the friendship - @/njssi
(↹) nicotine - @/xherxx
(↯) obey - @jjkfire
(↯) sugarplum energy - @bymoonchild​
(↯) somnolent - @/forgottenpasta
(↯) euphoria (☂) - @/btssavedmylifeblr
(↯) cobalt&charcoal (☂) - @tayegi
(↯) tinder 2.0 - @/tayegi ☆
(↯) banana milk - @/kimnjss
(↯) finders keep hers - @yeojaa
(↯) waking up in vegas - @/ppersonna
(↹) mutual help - wattpad / @personasintro
rap line
(↯) whine - @/bang-tan-bitches
(↯) need - @/bang-tan-bitches
(↯) party - @dovechim
(↹) one-time thing (2) - @lamourche
(↯) right here, right now - @/hobidreams
(↯) heaven - @/mochismilesbrighterthanthesun
vocal line
(↯) songbird - @/dovechim
maknae line
(↹) colors - @fortunexkookie
(↯) desperate - @thepolyversionofbts
(↯) listen closely - @jungtaeyoongles
(↹) ours | roadtrip - @/jkeuphoriadreamland
(↯) nine months - @/jjungkookislife
kim line
(↯) stress reliever - @polaritae
(↯) attention - @/jamaisjoons
(↯) disobedience - @tipsydipsydo​
(↹) serotonin2.0 - @/xherxx
(↯) addicted to your touch - @/jjungkookislife
(↯) meet halfwaay - @/xherxx
(↹) magic hands - @breadoffoxy
busan boys
(↯) blow your mind  - @/ironicarmy​
(↯) dreams cum thru - @/xherxx
(↯) innocence indecente - @/tipsydipsydo
(↯) capital h - @/kimnjss
(↯) tattooed two - @httpjeon
(↯) maid for you - @/forgottenpasta
(↯) shameless ft. bts - @imaginethisbts
(↯) pour up - @jungkxook
(↹) bad guy - @/sweetbunnykook
(↯) satiate - @mygsii
(↯) the failed track (sopekook) - @/taetaewonderland
(↯) pink (jinkook) - @/bang-tan-bitches
(↹) sleeping temptation (yoonmin) - @yminie
(↯) witch doctor (yoonkooktae) - @/polaritae
(↯) biggest fan (yoonmin) - @minnpd
(↯) prove it (taejin) - @redwithlovex
(↯) the bet (namvmin) - @/btssmutgalore
(↹) house of cards (namyoonmin) - @sweet-teeth-mfs
(↹) aerodynamics (94z+maknaeline) - @bangtanbetchfics
(↯) aperitivo (jinkook) - @/bangtanbetchfics
(↹) not allowed (yoonkook) - @whatifyoulivelikethat
(↯) feedback (vope) - @/yminie
her’s BTS OT7/POLY go-to fics @AO3
ficswithluv week12
ficswithluv week1
her’s bts xxx masterlist
ficswithluv week27 (OT7)
mygsii’s OT7
wastingmylifesecondatatime‘s OT7
ittybittyamy author recs
5K notes · View notes
kinktae · a year ago
flesh and blood || (M)
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You are living in a society that is just now picking up the scraps that the Great Outbreak left behind after the government killed off the majority of the zombies. Still, some remain, and fear still lies within society’s walls. So imagine your surprise when the very thing you’ve been taught to fear ends up saving your life, showing you that maybe two beating hearts aren't always required when it comes to love.
pairing: zombie!jungkook x reader
word count: 6k
genre: post-apocalyptic, sci-fi, smut
warnings: guns, a semi spooky scene, crack plot written seriously, zombie jk falling for Y/N, part 2 will have smut
A/N: inspired by warm bodies and the fact that I'm a legitimate crackhead. Happy Halloween!
01 | 02 | 03
❝ Breaking News! A group of Walkers has been discovered hiding in the ruins of a Pre-Break Out industrial zone. A conference was held in City Hall where a representative of the DEAD Team said this in regards to the situation…❞
"Ugh, turn it down Junny," You grumbled, tugging your blanket over your head in hopes to null out the sound of the overly enthusiastic broadcaster on the television, "I'm trying to nap here."
"No way! Dad, did you hear? They found a family of zombies in our town!" Your younger brother enthused, wide eyes glued to the glass screen of the TV. He was sat beside your feet on the couch you laid on and you fought the urge to kick him off the furniture.
Your mother and father walked into the room shortly after, Junny's yells summoning their attention.
Rolling over, you sat up to see your dad standing behind the couch, arms crossed over his chest as he offered the screen his undivided attention.
Though the worst times of the Great Outbreak were now thought to be over – there hadn't been a reported zombie attack in years – the fear still lingered. You were just an infant when the zombie infestation was at its worst so perhaps that fear never had the chance to sink its filthy claws into you but you weren’t naive to the way the rest of the world still trembled.
Your father’s expression was solemn and impenetrable; if it weren’t for the way his eyes always gave away what he was truly feeling, you wouldn’t have a clue that he was upset. Glimmering behind his pupils were flashes of anger and consternation, along with memories of a story you had yet to hear.
Two decades ago, your father, along with many other young men and women, had volunteered to team up with the government to help contain the outbreak, hunting down and capturing zombies so they could be whisked off to a facility where they were killed in quarantine.
While the cause of the breakout seemed to be agreed upon, there was still much about the walking dead that remained a mystery to the general public.
Decades before the Great Outbreak, an experimental drug by the name of Immortuos had been growing in popularity. It was said to do anything from alleviating chronic pain to ridding the body of illness altogether. Ten years after its introduction, Immortuos had been administered to millions around the world. As time went on, however, the drug began to show signs of short term effectiveness; within a couple of years, symptoms of the illnesses it was meant to cure began to show up in individuals once again.
Immortuos was quickly discontinued and sent back into research, leaving scientists scratching their heads as they tried to figure out where they went wrong.
And so life went on; people, old and young, continued to live and die as they did before. However, years after the drug's discontinuation, a story broke out of a mortuary that came to life in the middle of the night in a rural town in Spain. And that was how the outbreak began, millions of corpses everywhere suddenly resurrecting. Published reports of zombie autopsies found that consciousness and motor functioning had returned despite the fact that the circulatory system had never revived, leaving the bodies without blood or oxygen. Not fully dead but not fully alive either. A sort of undead. And sure enough, a direct link to the use of the drug and resurrection was discovered.
Your father rarely spoke of that time; not that you ever had bothered to ask about it. It was unsettling to think he was ever one of the people hunting down zombies.
"Does this mean I don't have to go to school tomorrow?" Junny grinned boyishly, looking up at your mother.
"Nice try, Junseo. You're going." Your mother dismissed without a blink of an eye. You chuckled at the way your little brother scowled at her words.
On the screen was a recording of what you assumed must have been the conference held in City Hall. There was a man dressed in the DEAD Team uniform speaking into a microphone from behind a podium. You focused on the screen ahead, tuning out the chattering of your family as you listened to his words.
❝ Citizens of this town can rest assured that the Walkers in question were apprehended and sent off to our termination facility. We can't stress enough how crucial it is that you continue to send in reports of possible zombie sightings. Even if it's a false alarm, the risk isn't worth taking. Remember to not engage with the undead as they will attack unprovoked. These creatures don't care who you are or what you do, to them you are nothing more than their next meal.❞
A frown found your face at the officer's words. There hadn't been a zombie attack in years. It was hard to believe that zombies were truly insatiable, will stop at nothing, blood-lusting monsters.
"I thought we got rid of them all." Junny sighed.
"Most of them." Your father explained dully. "There are a few still lingering around."
"I still don't understand why we have to wait for the DEAD Team to take them out. If I run into one on my way to the market, I want to be able to protect myself right then and there." Your mother huffed suddenly, turning away from the TV.
She had always been a formidable woman– strong and independent. You had a feeling that if she hadn’t been tied down by a newborn child, she would've been there fighting alongside your father during the Great Outbreak.
Your father let out a sigh, "We don't want whatever is inside them possibly infecting normal civilians. That's why they have to be put down in quarantine."
“Whatever. I’m just glad we're almost completely rid of those bastards.” Your mother sighed, ruffling the hair on top of your brother's head.
Your eyebrows furrowed, unable to hide your distaste for any longer.
"And we say they are the monsters..." You muttered quietly.
Immediately, all eyes were on you.
"Excuse me? What was that?" Your mother cautioned.
You held her stare unabashedly, clearly having no intention to take back your words. Junseo's eyes flickered among the two of you, knowing the nature of the conversation that was soon to come. As much as you complained about how stubborn your mother was, he knew that you had inherited the very trait you resented.
"How can sit there and wish death on all those innocent people?"
"Y/N, this again?" Your mother let out an exasperated noise.
Your eyes grew wide with defiance, "Yes, this again. It doesn’t matter if they were once dead, they are still people! We have massacred millions and I don't understand how you all don’t so much as bat an eye at the thought of it."
At your words, your mother let out a bitter laugh, head shaking in disbelief.
"And what about the people those crimson heads have killed? What about the chaos and lives sacrificed to protect us from them?" Your mother retorted.
You scoffed, eyes rolling in unwavering disobedience.
“Did we even try to help them? To understand them?”
"You didn't live through the outbreak like your father and I did. You were just a baby. There are things you don't know, Y/N." She pressed angrily, doing nothing to sway your stance.
"What if it was me?" You challenged coldly. "What if I had died and came back to life? Would your first instinct be to put a bullet through my head? Those people had families!"
"Cut the bullshit, Y/N. They're not people, they’re rotting corpses that can walk and it’s about damn time you realized that.”
It was at this point that your father had decided to step in, placing a hand on your shoulder as he stopped you from arguing further.
"That's enough. The both of you. Arguing is a waste of time. We should be grateful for one another. We're a family and we're all together. Not everyone who survived the outbreak can say the same." His tone was matter-of-fact but not cold in the way your mother's had been.
Looking up at him, his cautious eyes met your ardent ones. They were laced in a plea for you to stop... to understand.
Pressing your lips together, you nodded begrudgingly. Your dad was right. Arguing with your mother was a waste of time. It wasn't as if anything you said would get through to her anyway.
Pushing the blanket off your body, you swung your legs back over to the floor, hand reaching out for your bag that was sitting against the coffee table.
"Where are you going?" Your father asked, eyeing you as you got up and hauled the bag over your shoulder.
"Home. Joon is probably waiting up for me." You told him disinterestedly, causing your mother to sigh.
Namjoon was your best friend and roommate, and while he was definitely still up, you highly doubted it was for your sake. If you knew your best friend, he was sprawled on the couch, his work spread out across the coffee table as one of those old, black and white shows about people living on a prairie played in the background. Your mother didn't need to know that, of course.
"Y/N, don't be ridiculous. It's already dark out, just spend the night." She pleaded.
"Night, Junny." You ignored her, turning towards your brother with a smile.
As you pushed past your parents and made your way out of the room, you could hear as they began to whisper to each other. You fought the urge to roll your eyes. 
You always hated it when they did that. As if you weren’t adult enough to join in on conversations that were obviously about you. It was if this whole world was constantly shouting a million and one rules at you – don’t do that, don’t question this, don’t go here – but the second you asked for an explanation as to why you should listen, all the yelling fell to a whisper, as if to let you know that words were being said but that you were purposely excluded from that knowledge.
That thought weighed heavily on your mind as you reached the deadbolted front door. The sound of you prying it’s five locks open hid the approaching footsteps of your father walking up behind you.
The pop of the final lock accompanied your silent sigh, turning to face your awaiting parent.
"Your mother and I want you to take the bus home tonight. We know you usually take that shortcut by the factory plant because it's quicker but that area isn't safe. Especially not now with the recent sighting."
"Sure." You lied, simply because you knew it was what he would want to hear.
"And tie your hair up before you go out. It gives you a–"
"–maximum visual field, yeah I know. Teachers have been drilling that into us since elementary school, dad." You countered easily.
Your father nodded back at you.
"And Y/N," he continued, "she's harsh but... your mother is right when she says there is a lot of things you don't know."
You bit down on the inside of your cheek, unsure of what to reply. Suddenly, your father's hand found your cheek, cupping your face affectionately as he silently thought something over.
"There's something I want to give you before you go. Wait right here."
Your eyebrows arched in surprise as he left you suddenly, returning shortly with a small, folded blanket in his hands.
"If anything – anyone – threatens you, you protect yourself. Okay?" He spoke solemnly, starting to unwrap the bundle of fabric.
"Yeah, of course." You nodded, mildly confused.
Your face fell as the dull silver of a revolver revealed itself as the object hidden in between the blanket. You always knew your father kept a decent amount of self-defense weapons in the house, a consequence of his involvement during the Great Outbreak, but this was the first time he had ever shown you one. The only other time you had come into contact with one was an accident, stumbling upon a gun mounted under your father's desk during a juvenile game of hide-and-seek. Perhaps in another life, you would have been disturbed by the discovery, but all children of the apocalypse such as yourself were taught about guns and weapon safety by the time they had learned to count so you weren't particularly fazed.
“Just in case.” Your father pulled you from your memories, his lips pressed tight.
You eyed the deadly weapon for a moment, your stomach churning at the idea of ever having to fire such a device. Hesitantly, you grabbed it, hand wobbling slightly at the newfound weight. Wordlessly, you unzipped your backpack and hid the gun away, tucking the three bullets that laid beside it into your front pocket.
You forced the sides of your mouth to tilt up disingenuously, offering him a somber word of gratitude before slipping out of the house with a faint goodbye.
Kicking at a piece of rubber, you watched as it skipped ahead, tumbling down the cracked cement of the road you traveled on. Your hair swayed behind you as you walked; you had thrown it up, not solely because of your father’s warning but simply because it felt strange not to. Like putting sneakers on without socks. In this world, stepping outside meant being vigilant and on high alert.
Naturally, you had disregarded your parents’ wish for you to take the bus home. Something that had emerged along the chaos and fear that probably wasn't initially considered was the sudden need for safe transportation. Transport industries quickly used this to their advantage, the costs of public and private transportation skyrocketing tenfold as a result. While most deemed it a necessary evil, you refused to pay for a twenty-dollar bus ride that would only take you ten minutes on foot.
And it wasn’t as if the area you were passing through was particularly unsafe. It was an industrial zone, empty and abandoned for as long as you could remember. During the peak of the apocalypse, factories and warehouses like the ones you were currently passing got raided for supplies. It wasn’t nearly as awful as it was made out to be, productivity had ceased anyway. Workers were too busy preparing themselves and their families against the army of undead to worry about showing up to work on time.
Your stride came to a halt, one of your bag straps falling off your shoulder as you quickly whirled around to face where the loud sound had come from.
Brows furrowed, you peered through the holes in the wire fence that separated you and the property. You managed to make out a silhouette by the corner of a busted down door.
“Hello?” You called out warily.
The shadow quickly darted from view.
“Hey! You’re not supposed to be there.”
Letting your gaze return back to the fence, you found a sizeable hole not too far off from where you stood. More telling than the hole, however, were the two torn up candy wrappers lying underneath it. All at once, you realized what exactly you were dealing with.
Runaway teens were an increasing problem in your city; many of them seemingly fed up with the strict rules and regulations that arose as a consequence of the Great Outbreak. As much as you sympathized with them, a dirty abandoned factory was no place for a child.
You slipped past the fence, mind made up to get whoever was inside out and back to safety. Trudging your way through the rubble and waste, you headed towards the building’s entrance, noting the trail of candy wrappers that lead to it.
Peering inside the building, you were met with a slow-moving cloud of dust that had yet to settle down– it appeared as if a part of the ceiling had collapsed which explained the loud noise you heard earlier.
“You can come out, okay? You’re not in any trouble, I promise.”
It was dark inside, the only light source coming from the street lamps that lined the road you once stood on, their cold luminescence pushing through the broken shards of the factory’s windows.
You pushed further into the ill-lit building. There were all sorts of machines and garbage inside; the tile floor was layered with dirt, clearly accumulated through the years of trespassers coming in and out.
Spotting another silver candy wrapper, you headed down a hallway, pushing past a heavy steel door.
You let yourself take a moment to take in the room ahead of you. It must have been the more corporate side of the company, you deducted, as rows of filing cabinets lined the room, papers and ransacked charts spread across the floor. There was an eeriness to the building, you quickly realized. It was somewhat unsettling feeling to see something that once must have been the pinnacle of structure and organization in such an utter state of chaos. The room was quiet enough that if you just focused hard enough, you could imagine what it once looked like, all clean and pristine as employees walked through and went about their day.
You pushed down your uneasiness, eyes straining to guide you through the windowless room.
A rustle of fabric caught your attention and you quickly rounded about a large shelf in order to reach the child.
“Are you hurt? I heard those ceiling tiles fall–”
You let your words fall flat.
A tall silhouette stood against the wall, nothing like the stature of a small adolescent like you had been anticipating. The hair on your body rose as the sound of ragged, strained breaths fell from the dark figure ahead of you.
It took a step forward, body swaying unnaturally.
Every hair on your body stood on end, jaw falling slack as reality dawned on you.
You could hear the voice of your elementary school teacher in your head suddenly, remembering the lecture she had given you and your rowdy class on what to do in case of a zombie attack. How little attention you had paid back then, giggling over something Namjoon had whispered in your ear. Yet as you stood there in front of the exact thing you had been taught to fear, you could recall every single word, playing over in your head like a mantra stuck on loop.
Don’t make any sudden noises.
It was as if every nerve ending in your body grew cold, your feet felt impossibly heavy as fear paralyzed you, watching with wide eyes as the dark figure crept closer and closer.
Look for the nearest exit.
A panicked exhale fell from you as it's dull eyes locked onto yours. The shadow covered creature let out a noise of its own: deep, guttural and utterly inhuman.
And run.
You nearly lost your footing as you launched yourself into a sprint, not even thinking to head back the way you came in, mind blinded with white-hot panic. The cracked walls of the building echoed your frenzied steps, like a cruel game of hide-and-seek where no matter where you hid, you would be found.
Shoving past a stack of empty cardboard boxes, you found yourself in an unfamiliar storage room. Scanning the room hurriedly, your eyes fell onto a door on the other side and you quickly made your way over to it.
"Dammit!" You seethed, yanking at the handle as you realized the door you had reached was locked.
Jaw clenched, you turned back around to exit the room when your father’s words unexpectedly crossed your mind.
"If anything – anyone – threatens you, you protect yourself. Okay?"
And so you reached over a shoulder for your bag, eyes flicking between it and the room ahead of you as you picked yourself back up into a jog.
Tugging the zipper aside, you cursed at the jumbled sight of your bag’s contents. You had placed the gun on top but it must have sunk to the bottom during your travels.
You stuck your hand in further, looking to feel the cool metal brush against your fingertips.
Then, everything went dark, a low ringing finding your ears as you stumbled back, completely thrown off balance. You let out a yelp of pain and clutched your head, vision blurry and doubled.
You hissed, disoriented and confused as you had run headfirst into a large filing cabinet, too occupied with finding the gun to pay attention to where you were running. You struggled to keep yourself on solid ground, too ailed to notice the way that very cabinet had lost its footing and now teetered dangerously, seconds from crashing down onto you.
Suddenly, something seized both your arms, yanking you back as the heavy hunk of metal came crashing onto the ground.
You winced at the sound, before realizing that you had been grabbed by someone. One panicked glance over your shoulder confirmed your fears and a scream ripped through you, thrashing in the zombie's grip. To your surprise, you were released immediately, falling to your knees momentarily as you scrambled forward and away from your captor. Your escape was halted by a wall, however, forced to stop and press your back to it, eyes wide as you kept them locked on the zombie boy across from you.
His skin was a pale-ish blue, unlike any color you had seen before, his hair coarse and unkempt, nearly shielding his eyes from view. But still, you saw them: peering through his dark strands and guarded by the bruises that stained the skin around them as if he hadn't slept in ages. Shallow breaths fell through his pale lips, tinted purple from the lack of blood running through him.
“You just... You just saved me.” You marveled.
The zombie stood in front of you wordlessly, shoulders slumped forwards as his head tilted.
You knew there was a high chance he had no clue what you were saying, but frankly, you were too stunned to care. Here you were, somewhere in an abandoned factory in the middle of the night accompanied by the very thing you were raised to fear... and he had pulled you away from a falling metal cabinet.
You held his eyes. They were glossy and unmoving– lifeless almost. You shook your head; your heart had settled back into its chest, your breathing finally evening out. What coursed through you was no longer dread but an insatiable need to understand.
What did he want?
Why would he save you?
How did he get here?
The zombie let out a grunt suddenly as if it was meant as a goodbye before he turned around, beginning to leave.
“Wait!” You called out after him, putting your existential crisis on pause.
To your surprise, he turned back around immediately, facing you with unmistakable attentiveness. Did he... understand you?
“You… Today on the news... That was your family, wasn’t it?" You guessed, purely on a whim.
The zombie said nothing but you thought you saw a wave of something akin to melancholy wash over his face. No words were exchanged but your gut told you that you were right nonetheless.
“They'll be looking for you. You’ll be caught if you stay here.” You continued, swallowing down your nerves. You still weren't sure if the zombie boy could even understand you after all.
Placing a hand against the paint chipped wall, you helped yourself back up, inhaling sharply as your head throbbed. You took a cautious step toward him, hands trembling but stance steadfast.
Extending your palm forward, you offered your hand towards him, newfound determination coursing through you as the zombie boy's eyes followed the gesture curiously.
“You saved my life." You acknowledged with a nod. "Now let me save yours.”
"Shh! Quietly, come in." You whispered, gesturing for the hoodied zombie to follow you into your apartment.
This zombie, as you had come to find out, was particularly agreeable. While he didn't seem to actually understand your language per se, he did seem to respond particularly well to gestures and body language, which was how you had somehow managed to wrangle him into your apartment, his dirty red hoodie thrown over his head to cover his face in case you ran into another human.
The undead man's eyes grew wide, taking in the inside space of your apartment with wonder. You could only imagine it must have been an upgrade from the gloomy factory he had been hiding out in. Reaching the kitchen, you froze at the sound of the TV on and playing from your living room.
Shit. Namjoon.
"Y/N, is that you?" Your roommate called out from the couch, hearing the shuffle of your steps.
You cursed internally. On your way home, you hadn't given much thought to exactly how you were going to hide your new zombie friend from your living one. You weren't thinking much at all honestly, too concerned with getting home unseen to worry about anything else.
Turning towards the zombie boy, you extended your hand in front of you in a gesture that ordered him to stay put. He stared at it, eyebrows moving towards one another.
"Stay." You directed quietly, before turning the other way.
"Yeah." You called out, placing your bag on your kitchen counter before heading towards the living room.
"Thought you were spending the night at your family's place?" Namjoon pondered, turning over to look at you as you entered the space.
"Changed my mind." You shrugged, trying your hardest to appear nonchalant, despite the way your heart clamored against your chest. "Didn't think you'd be up this late."
Your bespeckled best friend let out a sigh, dropping whatever file he was studying back onto the coffee table.
"Yeah, I guess I lost track of the time." He mused, glancing at his wristwatch. You nodded nervously, opening your mouth to suggest that perhaps he should head to bed now when Namjoon cut you off suddenly.
“Holy fuck!” He shot up from his seat, eyes set behind you as a terrified expression fell over him. You whipped around, heart falling into your ass.
Oh shit.
"No! Bad zombie! I told you to stay!" You scolded him. He was now standing behind you, having had abandoned his post in the kitchen. He looked as unbothered as ever, his hands tucked into his hoodie as he casually looked the two humans over.
"What the fuck?!" Namjoon cried.
“I can explain.” You turned towards the panicking boy calmly.
Immediately, Namjoon jumped into action, scrambling to crouch behind the couch as if to put a physical barrier between him and the zombie.
"You– Y/N, tell me that's just a guy wearing zombie makeup. Tell me that is not a zombie standing in our living room. Say sike right fucking now!”  Namjoon squawked, his voice pitched high.
You grimaced, looking over at the indifferent zombie before looking back at your roommate.
“Just hear me out for one second–”
“Are you insane?!" Namjoon shrieked, standing up in anger before realizing he had exposed himself and quickly ducking back down. "I’m not gonna listen to you! You brought a zombie into our house– oh god. He bit you, didn't he? You're probably turning as we speak!”
You rolled your eyes, realizing that Namjoon wasn't calming down anytime soon.
“My best friend is a zombie... this is like some horrible Disney Channel movie coming to life!” He rambled on nervously, running a hand through his hair in despair.
“For fuck’s sake Namjoon, I’m not a zombie! Besides, you know getting bit doesn't turn people– that was disproved ages ago.” You scoffed, glancing over at the zombie man who still seemed uninterested despite the scene your best friend was making.
“Well excuse me if I don’t have the logistics of zombie contagion down! It doesn't change the fact that you brought a flesh-eating monster into our home, you psychopath!”
You frowned at your best friend’s tone.
“If he was a flesh-eating monster, then wouldn’t we be dead by now?” You stated matter-of-factly, hand on your hip.
“Exactly— wait.” Namjoon blinked, poking his head out from behind the couch. He frowned, glancing over at the zombie. “Hold on a minute. Why is he just standing there?"
Hesitantly, your best friend stood up from the couch altogether, "I thought zombies jumped at the chance of eating people?”
“Yes, well, for whatever reason, this one doesn’t.” You told him with a shrug. You had thought the same thing when you first came across your new undead friend.
You watched as the familiar flame of curiosity spark behind Namjoon’s eyes. Slowly, he inched his way over to the two of you, hands in front of him as if to shield himself until he was just inches away from the resurrected man.
For a few moments, it was silent, your best friend and the zombie running their eyes over one another as they each decided what to make of each other.
To your surprise, Namjoon's hand reached over and positioned itself onto the zombie's neck, pointer and middle finger pulled together as he checked for a pulse.
“Fascinating…” Namjoon murmured inquisitively as he concluded that the stranger was indeed dead.
Your shoulders, which had been locked up tensely as the two men interacted, dropped immediately, realizing that Namjoon's initial panic had subsided and been replaced with interest. It was in his nature to be fascinated with the things that scared and repulsed most, of course. He was studying to become a biomedical scientist after all.
Despite his cowardliness, Namjoon was actually quite fearless when it came to his work; he was extremely intelligent and had a natural knack for research and investigative methods. You could only hope that the prospect of having a real-life zombie to study from would outweigh any moral duty he felt to report you to the police.
“You know how illegal this is right?” He said sternly, much calmer than he initially was.
"He saved my life, Joon." You explained. "I don't know why but... I couldn't just leave him behind. Especially not with the DEAD Team on high alert with the recent sightings. They'd kill him if they found him."
Namjoon turned away from the zombie, sighing as he met your eyes.
"Well... maybe they should."
You frowned, "Joon–"
"I mean think about what it stands for in the first place: Designated Eradication And Decimation. An entire team was put together solely to get rid of these guys. Surely, there’s a reason why. The government wouldn't put a group together like that if zombies didn't pose a threat to humankind, right?”
Your brows furrowed, finding a fair point in Namjoon's words. Yet, as you turned to look at the zombie and found him placidly watching the television, you couldn’t find it within yourself to agree.
Suddenly, you were in front of your best friend, taking his hands into yours as you put on a sorrowful expression.
"Please don't turn him in!" You begged, your bottom lip jutting out. "I know what I'm asking is a lot but I wouldn't be asking if it wasn't important. There’s no one else in this world I could trust to help me with this.”
Namjoon's eyes went wide, yanking his hands from between yours. He twisted his head away from your pleading eyes, cheeks tinted pink.
"Ah, jeez, Y/N. Turning him would mean turning you in for housing him in the first place. Just because you don't give a shit about your wellbeing, doesn't mean I don't. God, you really are an idiot."
You let out a grateful squeal, wrapping your arms around your best friend, "Thank you, thank you! I knew I could always count on you."
The scientist froze in your embrace before letting out a sigh, patting your back begrudgingly as he muttered words of dismissal, neither you nor him noticing the way the zombie was now watching you two in interest, a curious expression on his face.
"It's okay... It's just water. It won't hurt you." You promised, hand gesturing towards you as you urged the zombie man to come closer.
You were standing in the shower, clothes dampening as the running water hit your body. Namjoon was stood with his arms crossed over his chest, leaning against the bathroom's door frame. He had insisted on standing guard in case the walker suddenly decided that he was, in fact, hungry and went ahead and tried to have you for dinner.
The zombie watched dubiously as you beckoned him forward but if he had objections he didn't bother to voice them as he stepped into the shower after you.
"Good. Look, that feels nice, doesn't it?" You reasoned, leading his hand under the stream of water. The unnamed zombie watched as his hand grew blurry, the running water bouncing against it. The dirt that clung to his skin slowly dissipated, falling onto the ceramic tub and running down the drain.
Placing a hand against the shower wall, you maneuvered yourself around him so that he could stand under the showerhead. The zombie hardly noticed the swap in positions, however, too enthralled with the feeling of water against his hand.
"Here, now why don't you try standing under it–" You had placed your hands against his back, nudging him closer to the stream when he let out a noise of panic, whirling around to rush over to the opposite side of the shower, pressing you back into the shower wall in the process.
"Y/N!" Namjoon called out, moving forward.
"I'm okay!" You reassured immediately, pausing your best friend's motions. The dead man had both hands held against the wall, trapping you on either side.
Bringing your hands up, you placed them onto his chest, trying your hardest to ignore how empty it felt. Pushing him back, you let out a breath. Truth be told, his quick actions had startled you. As much as you wanted to believe that he was different, the truth was that you didn't know for certain if he wasn't everything the media told you he was. 
He was looking down at you, uncertainly laced across his face.
It was the first time you had gotten a chance to truly look at him this close. From here, it was easy to see how he was once human. He had pretty features– unquestionably, he would have been an attractive man when he was alive.
Something you hadn’t noticed before were the faint, blue veins that crawled up his neck and cheeks; markers of the Immortous drug that once ran through his bloodstream. Taking note of the dried patch of blood on his cheek, you pulled your wet sleeve over your hand before reaching up to gently rub against his stained skin.
"I promise I'm not going to hurt you. I’m just trying to clean you up, okay?" You assured him with an encouraging nod.
To your surprise, the hand that had been stroking his cheek was suddenly stilled, his large palm loosely covering yours. He kept it there, not as to tell you to stop but as if to show his gratitude– or at least that was what you told yourself. It was a simple gesture, but it gave you pause before a soft smile fell over you.
Leading him back, the two of you eventually found the water that rained down from the large shower head. You watched as the zombie flinched, face scrunching up as the water began to fall down the back of his head.
"Come help me get his clothes off." You called to Namjoon, and so the undressing began.
The zombie stood silently as he was left in nothing but his jeans, not understanding what was being said around him, but knowing that he was not in danger here. The taller of his two new companions, the man, rubbed a strange substance into his uncombed hair as you rubbed as his arms, a frothy, pleasant smelling matter coating his skin.
Water dripped from his bangs and ran down his face, some of it seeping into his eyes. It stung them slightly, and the zombie wondered if whatever the tall man had put into his hair was to blame. He thought to close his eyes to put a stop to the irritation but for whatever reason, he opted to keep them open for a bit longer just so he could watch you. Your hair was weighed down with the water that was bouncing off of him and onto you, face set seriously as you focused on whatever it was you were doing.
Your hands were warm, much like the water raining down his back, but still different somehow. They were more firm, and somehow more soothing. You were washing at his chest when you finally took notice of your spectator, feeling the zombie's eyes on you. Peering up at him, you laughed nervously, flashing him a small grin.
No, he decided. 
He didn’t want to close his eyes.
6K notes · View notes
hobidreams · 2 years ago
The Early Shift | First Sip {M}
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your coworker yoongi is always infuriatingly late. except the one time he’s much too early.
pairing: barista!yoongi x reader genre: smut words: 4.9k contains: coffee shop au, enemies to lovers, a lot of banter, hatefucking, condomless sex, c*m eating (trying not to trigger tumblr’s filters, oof), dirty talk, some name-calling, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, oral (f), fingering, hair pulling, yoongi is an ass index: first sip - second taste - last cup
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“One medium, iced, sugar-free vanilla latte with soy milk to go, thanks.”
“Can I actually get no whip cream on my frapp?”
“Hey, you’re out of creamer!”
“Hold on, hold on, please!” As much as you’d like to scream the words, you channel all that energy into keeping a customer-service grin plastered on your lips. You’re scrambling to work the espresso machine, fingers sliding all over the little cups because they’re soaked in water and spilled coffee and god knows what. You don’t dare look at the line that stretches to the door of this little café, filling this place to the brim with impatient pre-caffeinated office workers and students. It’s been this way every morning for the past six months you’ve worked here. Every time you think you’ve gotten used the bustle, it somehow gets even busier, even more crowded.
“Where are the other employees?” You hear one of your esteemed customers grumble, and you want nothing more than to ask the same damn question. Because there’s meant to be three of you scheduled for the morning. But Sooah called in sick this morning, barely thirty minutes before her shift. And Min Yoongi? Well, he’s late. Again.
The first time it happened, you just assumed it was because his alarm hadn’t gone off. Understandable. But the second and the third? You started to wonder if he owned a clock or even knew how to read one. Currently, you’re pretty sure he’s late more often than he is actually on time. But he’s always scheduled for the morning shift, bright and early.
The door chime jingles just as you finish another drink, sliding it across the counter to its new owner. You look up, face sweaty and flyaway hairs flailing, to see Yoongi’s familiar face. He looks perfectly calm and unruffled despite the chaos around him. You lock eyes. He has the audacity to smirk, probably at your dishevelled state.
He practically glides behind the counter before looping an apron over his head. He ignores you in lieu of turning to the customer at the front of the line. He flashes on a smile. “Hi, good morning, how can I help you today?” He says in a voice that’s sickeningly sweet and about as real as Splenda.
Your lips curl into a snarl as you watch how the girl flusters in the face of his niceties. She’s probably thinking he’s such a catch, with that perfectly-messy blonde hair and those sleepy, charming eyes. You slam the lever on the machine with more force than is necessary. You know the truth. Min Yoongi is the fucking worst.
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It’s another excruciating hour later that the crowd finally subsides. Your eyelids slide down as you let your weary body fall against the counter. You take what feels like your first breath in forever. Taking the towel that’s hanging on one of the racks, you wipe your brow of shiny perspiration.
You peel open your eyes (now narrowed in annoyance) and find Yoongi staring your way. Everything about him irritates you, right down to the casual cross of his arms and the amusement on his lips. “Thanks, I’m aware.” You turn to rinse off the towel in the sink. “Forget to set an alarm again?” You hope he catches every ounce of sarcasm in your tone.
“Mm, something like that.”
“Ugh. I’m gonna tell Mina, you know.”
He doesn’t even dignify that with a response, because you both know it’s an empty threat. If you actually had the inclination to rat him out to your boss, you would have, a long time ago. You almost did about three months ago, after a particularly sticky morning, but backed off for a couple of reasons. The first being Yoongi has seniority over you by a year. The second, no one else can (or wants to...) work the early shift, so pissing off the one employee you’re stuck with is probably not the wisest thing to do. Mina had ended up hiring Sooah a little while later anyway. While she’s not the fastest worker, it’s better than no one at all. That is, when she’s not out sick (you suspect it’s a hangover).
You wipe your hands on your apron. “Look, can you at least try to get here on time?”
“I do try,” Yoongi deadpans. “I also just fail.”
“Try harder. Seriously, it’s impossible to handle the morning rush on my own and I shouldn’t have to. Not if you just wake up a little earlier. Hell, you can sleep here for all I care.” When you spin around to make sure he’s listening, you find he’s absorbed in his phone. He’s always tapping away on that damn thing, doing god knows what. Probably texting whatever girl’s been keeping him up at night.
“Yoongi?” You try again, this time not bothering to hide your irritation. “Ya listening?”
You manage to get him to lift his head. “You really talk a lot.”
“I wouldn’t have to if you just got it the first time. Do you even understand the words I’m saying?”
“I bet Sooah could handle the shift alone.” Then he’s right back to the screen.
If only you could reach across and smack him upside his handsome head.
And that’s the most excruciating thing of all. Despite all the grief and stress that he’s caused you, you can’t seem to shake the stupid little crush you developed on him when you first started here. But it’s not your fault! You were tricked! Tricked by the rare appearance of an utterly adorable smile, the pouty nose scrunches, and all the times he made an extra drink, just for you. Now you’re certain he was just buttering you up so you wouldn’t rat him out.
But hey, you figure, you can hate someone’s guts and also want them to fuck your brains out, right?
The single buzz of your cellphone pulls you from your thoughts. You make sure there aren’t any customers around before you reach for it.
[8:30am] dami (from work): hey, can i swap shifts with u on fri? i have a paper due at 7 so it’s better for me
You spare one glance at Yoongi. You can’t help the malicious grin when you imagine how he’ll feel coming into utter chaos on Friday, because you won’t be there to cover his ass. You wish you could set up CCTV in the corner just to get his priceless reaction.
[8:31am] you: yup. no problem at all!
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Compared to the mornings, Friday’s night shift is a breath of the freshest air. Not only did you walk into work at a glorious three in the afternoon, the line is practically non-existent after the initial after-school rush. Plenty of downtime to spend with your favorite barista, Hoseok. Your other favorite, Namjoon, has already finished his shift for the night.
“Thank you! Enjoy your drink~” Faced with Hoseok’s brilliant grin, it’s a wonder that the customer manages not to flush as she takes her latte. “Phew, busy day.”
“This is considered busy for you guys?” It already seems like a dream to you.
“It’s usually quieter, yeah.” Hoseok checks his watch. He only has a few minutes left himself and he’s so eager to get home.
“I’m so jealous. I can barely think in the mornings.”
Hoseok starts toying with the knot on his apron. “Why not switch to our shift? We’d love to have you.”
“Can’t. Night classes and all. I can only pick up the spare shift here and there, but the morning works better for me. As much as that suuucks.” You down the last of your mocha, wondering if you should make another to get you through the night.
Hoseok closes the distance between you, swinging an arm around you for a sort of side-hug thing that you’re happy to reciprocate. “You work too hard.”
“Can you tell my bank account that? It seems to think the exact opposite.”
Laughing, Hoseok pulls away. He rids himself of his apron. “Okay, I hate to leave you, but my shift is over. You going to be okay closing on your own?”
You nod, already decided on starting the mopping as soon as he leaves. “It’s been a while but I’m pretty sure I remember how to do it.”
“Good.” Hoseok grabs his eccentrically green bag. “Call me if you need anything! Goodnight!”
“Will do. Bye!”
The door jingles and Hoseok exits with a sunny smile, waving ecstatically until he’s out of view. You take a second to connect your phone to the café speakers, letting your soft playlist fill the absence that Hoseok’s upbeat tunes left behind. Then you make for the supply closet, fetching the mop and bucket. The store closes in an hour, and you get an hour after that to make sure everything is immaculate for the next day. Plenty of time.
As you drag the wet mop across the floor, your mind starts to wander. Maybe you could switch your classes around. The semester is ending soon anyway. You’ve just been so used to your current routine that you didn’t want to mess with a good thing. But this? This quiet, this solitude? The lack of Min Yoongi? It’s looking very appealing.
You snap out of your thoughts when the door swings open.
“Hello, welcome!” You look up, locking gazes with a pair of warm hazel eyes.
“Hi.” The stranger’s easy smile captures you, makes you forget your bearings for a second.
Don’t creep on the customers, you remind yourself as you rest the mop on a table. “Just give me a second.”
“No problem at all.” He walks to the counter, head tilted up to briefly glance at the menu but all you can notice is the gorgeous curve of his jaw.
You wash your hands and rush back to cash. “Thanks for waiting. What can I get for you?”
“A large iced caramel macchiato, please. With light ice and skim milk.”
“Got it. And what’s your name for the cup?” Then you remember he’s the only one in the shop. Smoooth. “Uhh, never mind. Just tap there to pay.”
He chuckles. “I’m Jiwon.”
You can only weakly smile in response before turning away to make the drink.
It doesn’t take long at all, and you’re almost sorry to see him go when you hand it over. You swear he purposefully brushes your fingers when he grabs it, keeping a grin on his face all the while.
“Thank you. Have a good night.”
Then he’s gone, leaving you to stare at how his half-tucked button-up clings to his slim figure, wrinkling just right with every confident step he takes. Wow. Jiwon, huh? You turn his name over in your mind. You’ll probably never see him again, but a girl can hope.
As you finish up the mopping, you settle into a nice average of about two customers every ten minutes. You start working on some of the lesser used machines, hoping no one will order that out of the blue drink to force you to activate it again. With ten minutes left until closing, you’re already dreaming of Netflix and barbeque chicken, leftovers from last night.
You turn to face the counter. “Hello, welc...” The words die in your throat. Your voice drops an octave. “What are you doing here?”
“Is that how you greet everyone? No wonder you don’t get any tips.” None other than Min Yoongi stands before you, smirk already firmly in place on his lips. The black t-shirt hangs off his skinny frame, as do the dark, ripped jeans.
“You’re not a customer.”
“I could be.” Yoongi walks behind the bar, punches in his usual iced coffee in the machine.
You roll your eyes. “Customers have to pay for their drinks.”
“Fine, you got me.” Yoongi flashes those downturned eyes to you. “Mina told me to close with you tonight.”
Yoongi mumbles something that sounds suspiciously like “... was late and Dami snitched.”
“Ha!” You can’t seem to hold the laughter in as it hits you just how much he must loathe being here right now. Especially since he had to drag his ass all the way back here after working a shift already. The peals of your amusement only serve to make his annoyance deeper, a fact which you relish like lemonade on a summer’s day. “Finally!”
“Hey, it’s all your fault! You didn’t tell me you switched shifts with her!”
“Why would I?” You drag the wet cloth across the steel surface with a renewed strength. “If only you got to work on time ever, this wouldn’t have happened!”
“Yeah, well...” Yoongi trails off, for once his smart mouth stuck. “Whatever. I have more important things to do than work.”
“Like what, staying up too late playing video games? Or is it trying to score a date? Either way, if you make a commitment, you should stick with it instead of being such a flake.” You’re being meaner than usual, but it feels so damn good to just let it all out after swallowing your frustration for so long. “Grow up.”
“Fuck off, I’m not a flake.” Ooh. Looks like that was a trigger word for him as he slams a hand on the counter. “It’s annoying enough that I have to be stuck here with you when I’m busy. I’m not even getting paid for this shit.”
“It’s not like that would change anything. I’m surprised you didn’t just not show up, like usual.” You throw the cloth into the sink. “Flake.”
When you turn, you find him staring you down with his eyes narrowed, arms tensed at his side. “You know, in fact, I’m going to call Mina tomorrow.” He doesn’t have to know about the classes, about the scheduling. You just want to get a rise out of him with any means necessary. “I think I’ll switch to the night shift permanently.”
You take two steps towards him. You refuse to break the stare and set your jaw instead. “That’d be so.” Another step. “Fucking.” So near you can smell the coffee on his breath. “Nice. And I—”
His mouth crushes onto yours.
Your ass hits the cold steel of countertop as he pins you, holding a fistful of your hair captive between taut fingers. The other lands on your waist, possessive as he digs into your flesh. The shock holds you for all of a second. Then your fever spikes just as high as his. With a hand, you tug at his collar, force him closer.
His teeth find home on your bottom lip. You can’t staunch the moan when he pulls, sucks. He releases only to trace his bite mark with his tongue like he’s proud of his work. You repay him by meeting his tongue with your own, tingles and adrenaline exploding like fireworks in your veins with each swipe. Another harsh yank at your head makes you very aware that he’s soaking you. You fucking hate that, yet you keep going back for more.
When you finally break for oxygen, you’re both panting. You’re still tangled together, neither of you willing to be the one to back down first. Because that feels like losing.
“Guess you’re only tolerable when you’re moaning.” Yoongi uses the last of his breath on that, what he considers a worthy trade.
“Guess what you lack in personality, you make up for in size.” He is as firm as you are wet, the unyielding fullness so obvious against your thigh. You’d much rather have it sheathed inside your cunt. “Thought I annoyed you.”
“You do.”
“Then why are you so hard?”
He actually growls against you, irritation seeping through his every pore. Fuck, it does indescribable things to your cunt, making you clench in slick anticipation. Just imagining this cock driving into you, stealing your air with each relentless stroke… You cup his bulge through the jeans, using two fingers to rub the head that’s probably a mess of pre-cum with how erect he is. You want to hear him lose control. You want him whimpering because of you.
Just as you think he’s going to crack, he pulls away. You feel suddenly chilly without his heat burning your skin.
You watch him stalk towards the entrance of the café. He slams the open sign to the other side, almost breaks the switch for the lights when he goes for it next. When he rounds on you again, his hair is mussed, eyes blazing with carnality.
He bites his lip. “Get in the back. Now.”
There’s no arguing with that tone. But you take your time undoing the knot of your apron, knowing his eyes are on your ass. You slowly take the loop over your head, taking this opportunity to be the one smirking because he’s right on your heels, impatient as all hell. The heavy door swings open and he rips the apron from your hands, tosses it on the floor.
“What’s the rush, Yoongi?” Every glare from his narrowed eyes and set jaw thrills you. How will you ever make it through another shift with him without remembering this? But that’s not about to deter you as you lead him halfway inside the backroom, with its counters and crates. You whirl on him. “Scared I’ll change my mind and leave your dick dry?”
“Heh.” Yoongi huffs, shrugging his shoulders. “I’m not worried. One look at you and it’s obvious you want to be fucked.” You can’t refute the truth, not when evidence clings to your cunt. All words are stolen from your mind anyway when he closes the distance, fingering the waistband of your shorts. “I bet you’re soaked because of how badly you want my cock, after talking all that shit.”
“Why don’t you find out?” You haul him towards you, smashing your lips together again.
He practically ruins the button of your favorite shorts. But you don’t care when his fingers find your clit, roughly circle as his tongue dominates yours. Yoongi doesn’t let you get used to the addicting pleasure. He dips lower, parting your lips to coat his fingertips. “You’re fucking dripping.” The predator in his voice is too much to bear as you squirm against him. Your feet arch off the ground when he slides an inch inside. “Little slut.”
Oh fuck. You weren’t expecting that. Nor do you expect how much it turns you on. Your cunt clenches like a vice around his finger. It makes him scoff. “Knew it. So obedient when you’re about to get dick.” A second finger makes you mew, and you wish he wasn’t so right. When he curls into you, you involuntarily push yourself into him for more.
You’d die before admitting it, but Yoongi has real talent between your legs.
You have to distract yourself, or else you’ll be coming all too soon. Your hands tear at his jeans, yanking them down enough to grab a handful of his cock. It’s about average in length, pale, but god, so thick you want to whine at the thought of it stretching you. “Cute,” is the first thing you say, because it pisses him off.
“Not gonna be so cute when it’s making you scream like the cockslut you are.”
Yoongi makes sure your eyes follow him when he extracts his fingers only to slip them between his lips. He keeps his mouth open, letting you see how his tongue slides in-between every digit. At least he has the courtesy to wipe them on a nearby towel before he fits his hand in the curve of your waist.
You guide his swollen cock to you, fitting the glistening head against your lower lips. “Do it then. Or are you full of shit?”
The first delicious inch plunges into you, coaxing moans from you both. The second Yoongi buries himself inside your heat, it’s like whatever he was holding back disappears. There’s no slow ramp up, no inevitable build that usually makes you crave more and more. He’s off sprinting from the get go as he drenches himself in your wetness. The sheer girth makes you whimper like you can’t handle it, but that’s not about to stop him as he sheaths his entire cock in the space of a few thrusts.
The only thought left in your mind is that this almost makes all those difficult shifts worth it. Almost.
Sweat drips down your brows as you work in tandem, bodies fitting together with undeniable chemistry as you meet his every slam. He stretches you in a way that ensures you’ll be dreaming about his cock for a while to come. All the while, his lips pinch at the bare skin your top exposes to leave purpling marks behind. His free hand digs into the flesh of your ass.
It doesn’t take you long to realize that these are not regular thrusts. No, these are the unbridled strokes of a man blowing past the stop sign and veering right into uncontrollable climax. “So tight, damn it.” He’s starting to reach your core with his pumps, cock leaving you aching with how it punishes your pretty pussy. “Why do you feel so fucking good?” Guttural groans bounce off the walls of the backroom, animalistic and rough.
But oh. Wait. He’s—!
You feel a sudden splurt as he empties himself into you, the thick load of cum exploding right into your quivering walls. His moan is especially loud, practically a roar through clenched teeth and bruised lips. You’re left wanting, climax fluttering out of reach as his hips are forced to slow by fatigue.
You exhale hard. “D-Did you just—”
“Shut up,” Yoongi gasps, trying to summon his strength but he needs to brace against the counter with whitening palms to ride out the unexpected high. “Fuck. Fuck!”
His softening cock slips from your slit, a strand of creamy cum clinging to the head. You can feel it slowly trickle out of your slightly aching cunt as your heart jackhammers still in your chest. But that’s partly because you’re fighting to stifle the instinctive laughter that wants release through the haze of lust.
“The one time, Yoongi. The one time you’re early, and it’s this?” Okay, maybe you can’t hold it back as you squeeze your eyes shut, aware that you’re pushing out cum with every giggle. Truth is, you don’t actually mind, but you could never pass up this opportunity to pay him back for all his teasing.
There’s a soft thud.
It’s when Yoongi’s frustrating mouth is laid flush over your slit that you realize the sound was him dropping to his knees. He starts with a long, noisy slurp, drinking the mixture of seed and your juices before his tongue moves onto your clit. Cheeks slightly hollowing, he sucks at your bead with a fierce fervor. You’re so pent up from earlier that you just let go, thighs trembling as orgasm floods over your system.
“Yoongi...!” It’s your turn to yank at his hair as you come for him with shuddering gasps, great inhales of breath that still aren’t enough to soothe your desperate lungs. Pleasure overwhelms your senses and actually makes you feel grateful for Yoongi’s mouth as your knees buck. Your toes curl in your sneakers, a delirious smile plastered across your parted lips.
“You were saying?” Yoongi snarls, nipping at your inner thigh with a bit of teeth before he’s right back at your clit. There’s no decorum here as he feasts, laps up every last drop of your wetness like ambrosia. He can feel the pulse of your cunt against his tongue, reaffirming that he has you bent to his will, hooked on his poison.
“Too much. It’s too much, Yoongi...!” Your clit is swollen, sensitive with climax but Yoongi doesn’t give. He just swirls the tip of his tongue around the bead, insistently stimulating you to force the pain to melt into pleasure. You must be crazy, you think, because it’s actually starting to feel good again.
Multiple orgasms have never come easy to you before, but it seems like Yoongi aims to shatter that tonight. His fingers come into play, rubbing your clit while he plunges his tongue into the hole that still remains slightly stretched from his thick cock. He never lets you rest, switching between sensations to keep you guessing what’s coming next. You hate him, truly. Him and his wicked, wicked tongue.
“Close?” He has the audacity to ask, even though he knows too well by the shiver of your legs and the crescendo of your moans. So he chooses to slow down. All the way down until he’s barely touching you at all, but enough to remind you of what he could be doing.
“Asshole, let me cum.”
He pauses after one excruciating stroke across your slit. “Hmm. You get to cum only if you stop nagging me every damn shift about being late.” Even with his lips smeared with your arousal, he’s smirking.
“Pfft. You wish.” Honestly, you’re shocked that you can still manage sarcasm when he’s ruined your brain with that tongue.
“Why can’t you just let such a small thing slide? Need me to remove the stick up your ass while I’m down here?”
You force him to look up with the fist in his hair. “Because I fucking fight for what I believe in, even if it’s something you consider ‘small’. I’m not gonna just lie down and take it.”
Shock pulses into his eyes like a lightning bolt: gone by your next blink.
“So you can not let me cum. You can be late every single day for the rest of eternity. But I’m going to keep calling you on your bullshit.”
You’re pretty sure he’s going to leave you hanging. In fact, you’d be surprised if he didn’t, if only to save his pride. But it looks like Yoongi’s full of surprises today.
He drags you closer. Your hips are rocking, uncontrollable in your search for release. You don’t even care that your moans have turned into feeble whines because you can barely straddle the line between pain and bliss. Yoongi’s sucking like his life depends on it. Well, it’s true you might just kill him if he stops again.
“Fuck!” Your curse is thrown against the opposite wall as you arch, the pressure in your stomach dissipating like a sprung coil into wild throbbing. Your head tilted back, hair flying wildly from your dilapidated ponytail, you just pant as the crest passes. The drumming settles into an utterly satisfying pulse as bliss seeps its way through your veins.
Even your bones feel weak from the back-to-back orgasms, but damn if that wasn’t incredible.
Yoongi extracts himself coolly, wipes his shiny lips with the back of his hand. He looks perfectly unruffled, as if his mouth wasn’t just devastating you. He throws you a dishtowel but not a second glance. “Clean the place up,” he drawls, tone so arrogant as he stalks to the door. “You made a mess.”
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Whereas having the weekend off once felt like a blessing, you’re now certain it’s a curse; it gives you time to agonize over how you’re meant to face Yoongi at six in the morning on Monday. (Well, closer to seven, if he’s true to form). The thought of how he’ll act plagues you all of Saturday, then switches to paranoia that he’ll just plain pretend it never happened on Sunday.
When Monday comes around, you’ve decided to not give a fuck. Or at least, to pretend like you don’t. Fake it until you make it. It’s not like you’re going to date, anyhow. It was just two co-workers letting off some frustration with each other. So, you strut into work with your head held high, trying not to think about how he had his way with you right against that counter.
“Hey, Sooah. Morning.” You listen to the coffee machines hum as you turn them on.
“Heyy, good morning!” Sooah beams as she starts the prep for the rush. “Yoongi’s on time again.”
“As always.”
Time for chatter is cut short as soon as you flip the sign to OPEN. The endless sea of coffee-seeking zombies pours in, and you expect Yoongi to be amongst them anytime now. But there’s no sign of him, not even when the clock’s second hand makes it three-quarters to a finished circle. Maybe he’s running extra late.
Or maybe he’s avoiding you.
You shake your head, forbidding the thought from entering your brain again. You dive back into work, handing out black coffees like elixirs of life.
When you next look up, it’s half past seven. The most Yoongi’s ever been late is an hour, and even that was only once. He hasn’t called in sick; Mina would have let you know. And he hasn’t traded shifts with anyone, because the one person he would have swapped with, Hoseok, is always punctual.
Two hours stretches into three. The morning rush takes with it your distraction as it dies down. You’re left pacing, trying your best not to stare at the door like a boneless dog while you pick up errant trash some customers left behind. But no amount of looking or not-looking changes things.
Yoongi never shows up.
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a/n: i can’t tell you how much fun i’m having writing this, and i hope you’re enjoying the read just as much! what’re your thoughts so far? please send me some feedback and/or chuck theories at me, hehe ♡ thanks for reading!
this fic was made possible by @jeonshome, who has supported me through every step of the way!! i am a girl with luv for you, nix!
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