#suga bts

[milk-moonbunnies]

mdni. bf! Yoongi as your boyfriend

bf! Yoongi, who supports you by default. Your cold toes wiggle under his calf, shocking him since he’d been lying in bed, cozy, hours before you finally decided to join him. You mumble a sleepy apology, ready to move back, but he’s already pulling you closer.

“C’mere,” he mumbles softly, tucking your head into the crook of his neck; your nose is just as cold as your toes when you brush along the curve of his throat, and he suppresses the shiver climbing up his spine in response. Instead, he pulls you even closer, giving you his body heat as you snuggle deeper into him with a dreamy smile.

bf! Yoongi moves quietly. He doesn’t have this need to constantly tell you, “I love you.” He shows it’s when you get home from work, heading to his place because it’s closer, and you were missing him more than usual.

You all but melt into a puddle the moment you step inside his apartment. Your jacket fell to the floor right after you took your shoes off one by one, and you found Yoongi sitting on his couch, less than three seconds after you made a noise of greeting at the front door.

You’re too tired to converse and curl into his side, blinking glossy-eyed up at your man as he takes your hand in his. He intertwines his fingers with yours and sits with you in silence, rubbing your head with one hand as you curl into his lap with a soft sigh, finally relaxing because you're home.

bf! Yoongi doesn’t say he misses you outwardly. Instead, you get a message every few hours asking if you have eaten or drunk enough water today. Eventually, it’s too much for him, and he FaceTimes you when he knows you're home.

He doesn’t speak right away once you answer; his eyes flicker over your face as a little smile twitches on the corner of his lips, getting a good look at you for the first time today. Then he tries to act casual, claiming he wanted to show you some hobbies he’s picked up while away for work.

He shows you a guitar he bought, a cat figurine that looks like Tang, and as he tries to find more things to talk about to stay on FaceTime with you, you’re settling in bed, smiling, because you missed him too.

bf! Yoongi drags his fingers over your body with soft swirls, ghosting over every dip and curve. He maps out from the top of your head, massaging your scalp in smooth carresses that leave you plaint and humming. Then he trails lower, brushing over the slope of your nose, your eyelids, your lips- leaving them tingling while he traces down your neck absentmindedly.

The hum of the air conditioning is the only noise in the room, mixing with your soft breaths and his deep ones, the longer you two lie here. His fingertips swirl in curves, then lines, keeping you balanced between the edge of sleep and feeling more alive in his hands.

Sometimes, when you focus too much on the drawings he makes, you decode messages he tells you against your skin. "I love you" is a favorite of his, and he writes it the most in big loops and deeper pressure, like he's trying to engrave it into your bones in case you somehow don't know it already.

[divinelyparkjimin]

— off the clock [m] | myg.

◦ summary ↠ a reckless one-night stand with a quiet, magnetic stranger was supposed to be just that—one night. no names, no strings. but on your first day at a new job, still nursing a hangover and pretending to be professional, you realize the man who had you unraveling hours ago is now your senior lead. (requested by anon)

◦ pairing ↠ yoongi x reader

◦ word count ↠ 10k

◦ genre ↠ smut

◦ content warning(s) ↠ office au, coworker!yoongi, suggestive/explicit content, borderline pwp, dirty talk, penetrative sex, ejaculation, f. and m. orgasm, riding, unprotected sex, rough sex, dom!yoongi, sub!reader, breast play, oral sex, slight humilation kink

a/n: i was lowkey getting minor writer's block but i was finally able to get this one done! i hope you enjoy anon and anyone else who reads <3

masterlist

You were at a bar you’d never been to before, tucked between two older brick buildings downtown, the kind of place that glowed warmly against the night like it knew secrets. The music was low and smooth, bass humming just beneath your skin. You were already a little tipsy, just enough that the edges of your nerves felt soft instead of sharp. The alcohol sat pleasantly in your chest, warming you and loosening the tight knot of anxiety you’d carried in with you about tomorrow. Your first day at a new job. New people. New expectations. Unknowns.

You were seated at the bar with one leg crossed over the other, fingers loosely wrapped around the stem of your glass. You hadn’t planned on dressing like this, but the dress had felt right when you slipped it on. It was short, sleek, clinging to you in a way that made you feel bold. The fabric dipped low at the front, offering a generous view of your cleavage. 

That was when you noticed him.

A few seats away at first, there was a man in dark slacks and a button-up rolled casually at the sleeves. He looked older than most of the crowd, more composed. When his eyes met yours, it wasn’t accidental. He didn’t rush to look away. Instead, his gaze drifted, unapologetic but controlled, lingering at your figure before lifting back to your eyes.

Your stomach flipped.

After a moment, he shifted closer, stopping just beside the empty stool next to you.

“Would you mind if I joined you for a drink?” he said, eyes flicking to the seat and then back to you. It sounded less like a question and more like an invitation. His voice was more captivating than you would’ve expected, with a warm and sinfully smooth tone to it. 

You shook your head, suddenly very aware of how warm your cheeks felt. “Go ahead.”

He sat, his knee angling just slightly toward yours. Close enough that you noticed. Close enough that it felt intentional.

“First time here?” he asked, glancing at your drink.

“Yeah,” you admitted. “Needed something to calm my nerves.”

“Oh?” A faint smile tugged at his lips. “Dangerous place to come for that.”

“Tomorrow’s my first day at a new job,” you said, taking another sip. The alcohol buzzed a little stronger now, making you braver. “I figured one drink wouldn’t hurt.”

“Usually doesn’t,” he said, his gaze lingering on you instead of the room. His eyes dipped to the open neckline of your dress. He leaned in just enough that you could smell his cologne, a luxurious scent, if you had to describe it. “You know, that dress,” he murmured, voice deepening, “...it’s very distracting.”

“Distracting, huh?” you teased softly. “That’s not exactly what I expected from someone like you.”

He tilted his head slightly. “I’m—” he paused, like he was deciding whether to give you the real thing or a half-truth, then smirked again, “—Yoongi, by the way.”

You smiled, fingers curling lightly around your glass. “Y/N,” you said, meeting his gaze without flinching.

He repeated it once, slower, like he wanted to feel how it sounded. “Y/N.” His forearm stayed where it was, warm and steady against yours. “Nice to finally put a name to the distraction.”

“Could say the same about you,” you replied, biting your lips without even noticing. 

“I’m not much of a dancer,” he murmured after a moment, his voice softer now, closer. “But I’ll admit… I’d much rather get out of here with you than stay where everyone can see.”

You laughed quietly, but didn’t pull back. “You’re very confident for someone who just met me.”

His fingers slid closer, just barely grazing the side of your hand. “Can’t blame a guy for knowing what he wants.”

The music swelled, and for a second the world narrowed to the space between you. When he leaned in, he met your eyes, as if to ask for permission. You nodded lightly, breaths feeling heavier than they were seconds ago. Before you knew it, his lips pressed lightly against yours, a testing kiss. His hand rested at your waist, warm and possessive without being rough. The two of you thoroughly explored one another’s mouths, the kiss remaining slow and gentle. 

He pulled back once the two of you ran breathless, taking a second to admire your appearance before leaning back in again. 

The scent of alcohol was unmistakable—whiskey on his breath, wine on yours—mingling in a way that made your head feel pleasantly light. The kiss wasn’t careful this time. It was messier, slower to line up, your lips brushing clumsily before finding each other properly.

You kissed him like you’d had just enough to forget yourself. A little sloppy, a little eager. Your balance tilted toward him, and he steadied you without breaking the kiss, fingers tightening just slightly at your hip. He tasted like alcohol and something darker underneath, and you could tell you tasted the same to him by the way he exhaled softly through his nose, like he enjoyed it.

The kiss deepened, as the desperation of the two of you took over. His mouth moved against yours with confidence, letting you lead for a second, letting your intoxicated enthusiasm set the pace before he responded. His thumb traced a slow, absent-minded line along your jawline, grounding you while everything else felt pleasantly blurred.

When he finally pulled back, it was only enough to speak, his lips brushing yours as he did.

“I’m not really a PDA kind of guy,” he murmured, voice low, eyes dark as they flicked briefly to your mouth again. “But I’d really like to show you just how good you’re making me feel.”

His hands hovered at your waist as he leaned in close, forehead nearly touching yours.

“My place isn’t far,” he added quietly. “Easy walk.”

The way he said it was calm and controlled, like it was already decided, and it made your stomach flutter. The bar suddenly felt louder, brighter, and less important. All you could focus on was the warmth of his hand, the lingering taste of alcohol and him on your lips, and the fact that saying yes felt far too easy.

You barely remembered finishing your drink. One moment you were still tasting the lingering sweetness on your tongue, the next his hand was guiding you off the bar stool. The noise of the bar felt distant now, muffled by the warmth humming through your body and the way his attention never left you.

He paid quickly, fingers brushing yours as he did, and that small touch felt heavier than it should have. When you stepped outside, the cool night air hit your flushed skin, making you laugh softly as you swayed just a bit. He noticed immediately, his hand settling at your lower back, grounding you like it was instinct.

“Careful,” he murmured, amused, fond. “You’re a little unsteady.”

“So are you,” you teased back, glancing up at him. His eyes crinkled slightly at that, the faintest smile tugging at his lips.

The walk to his place was quiet but the tension was loud. The city lights blurred pleasantly, footsteps syncing as you moved side by side. Every now and then your arm brushed his, or your fingers caught on his sleeve, and neither of you pulled away. The alcohol made everything softer, slower, like the night was stretching just for the two of you.

After a bit more walking, the two of you had finally arrived at his place. 

The lobby was quiet, immaculate. Soft lighting, marble floors, the kind of space that smelled clean and expensive. You suddenly felt very aware of your skimpy dress, of how tipsy you still were, of how wildly out of place you probably looked standing beside him. And yet, his hand stayed warm and steady at your back, like you belonged there.

The elevator ride was silent but heavy. You caught your reflection in the mirrored wall, seeing your flushed cheeks, slightly mussed hair, and eyes that were a little unfocused from alcohol and anticipation. Then you glanced at him with his tailored coat and relaxed posture. You couldn’t really believe you were actually doing this, but you really needed some easing for your nerves. 

The door barely clicked shut before he turned on you, his movements a blur of controlled aggression. He shoved you back against the wood, the impact vibrating through your spine, and pinned your arm high above your head. You thrived on the roughness of his grip; it was a physical manifestation of the restraint he was finally losing.

The kiss wasn't a request—it was a claim. It was fiercer, hungrier, and more invasive than before. When his mouth crashed against yours, it wasn't just a meeting of lips; it was a collision. He used his tongue to force your mouth open, slick and authoritative, demanding total entry.

He didn't just kiss you; he devoured you. You felt the wet slide of his tongue against yours, a rhythmic, deep-reaching intrusion that made your knees weaken. He caught your tongue with his own, pulling it into his mouth to suck on it with a low, primal groan that you felt in your chest more than you heard.

The air between you vanished. His hand at your waist bruised, pulling your hips flush against his, while the other remained braced like a vice beside your head. Every time he broke the seal of the kiss, it was only to lick a path across your bottom lip before diving back in, his tongue sweeping against the roof of your mouth in a way that felt dominant and utterly possessive. He was tasting you, marking you, his desperation vibrating through the heavy, wood-scented air of the room.

He broke the kiss with a wet, lingering sound, his forehead resting against yours for a heartbeat before he tilted his head back. He looked you up and down, a smug, low chuckle vibrating in his chest.

"Look at you," he rasped, his voice dropping an octave, thick with the satisfaction of being the one who wrecked your composure. "Hardly catching your breath, and I’ve barely even started with you."

He gently took your hand and led you down the hallway. The alcohol made everything feel softer, dreamlike, your steps slightly unsteady as you followed him. When he opened the bedroom door, you paused again.

It was just as refined with its large bed, crisp linens, low lighting that cast everything in cozy shadows. The room felt intimate without even trying to be. Private. 

He turned to face you then, finally, fully. His gaze drifted over you seductively, taking in your dress, the way it clung to you, the deep dip at your neckline. His eyes darkened just a little and it sent chills through your body.

“Finally,” he said quietly, stepping closer as his presence filled the space between you, “I have the pretty lady all to myself.”

His fingers trailed down your arm, the subtle touch getting your body worked up in ways you didn’t even know were possible. You felt feral, almost. 

“Why don’t we…” he added, voice low and teasing, “get that pretty dress off you now?”

He walked toward you, his movements fluid yet powerful. His fingers found the strap of your dress, and with agonizing slowness, he slipped it down over your shoulder, then the other. The fabric whispered against your skin as it pooled at your feet. You stepped out of it, leaving you in nothing but your lingerie. He took a step back, his eyes sweeping over you in appreciation.

“Well now,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble. “Aren’t you a surprise.”

You were wearing a matching set of deep burgundy lace. The bra was a balconette style, lifting your breasts and offering them up, the delicate floral pattern of the lace contrasting beautifully against your skin. Thin straps sat on your shoulders, and a small, pretty bow sat nestled between the cups. The panties were high-waisted, the same intricate lace covering the front, scalloped along the edges, with a small satin ribbon tied in a bow at one hip. They were more elegant than anything you’d usually wear, a secret layer of confidence you’d chosen just for yourself.

His gaze dropped to the lace between your legs, and a slow, genuine smile spread across his face. “Those panties,” he said, his voice dropping even lower. “They’re almost as pretty as the girl wearing them.” He knew exactly what he was doing, and the sheer, arrogant certainty in his voice made you want to pull him back in just as much as it made you tremble.

He closed the distance again, his hand coming up to cup your jaw. His thumb rested gently on your cheek, tilting your face up until your eyes met his. “Look at me,” he commanded firmly. Then his lips were on yours. He pulled you flush against him with a force that made your head spin, and you melted into it, a soft moan escaping your throat as you reveled in his dominance.

As he kissed you, he stepped into your space, forcing your legs apart with the weight of his own. He drove his knee upward, wedging it high and hard between your thighs until the fabric of his suit trousers pressed directly against the burgundy lace of your panties.

A muffled cry broke against his lips as he began to rock his leg in a slow, agonizingly deliberate circle. The friction was electric as the rough wool of his slacks against the thin, delicate lace of your crotch created a heat and wetness that made your head spin. He gripped your hips, his fingers digging into your skin to hold you steady as he forced you to grind against him.

He was using his knee to stoke the fire he’d started, his movements authoritative and unyielding. You arched into him, your hands clutching his shoulders as the friction sent waves of unbearable tension through your lower body. Every time you tried to speed up the pace, he’d growl into the kiss, his knee providing a heavy, constant pressure that made you feel utterly conquered.

His hands finally slid past the swell of your hips, his palms hot against your skin, before trailing lower to catch the curve of your ass. He squeezed the firm flesh with a bruising strength, molding you against his frame, before he suddenly pulled back just enough to deliver a sharp spank.

The sound of the impact cracked through the quiet of the room, and the sting sent a jolt of pure electricity straight to your core. You gasped into his mouth, your body bucking instinctively against him, your fingers gripping tightly onto the muscles of his back.

He didn't pull away. Instead, he chuckled against your lips with a low, dark vibration that felt like a purr of pure satisfaction. He leaned in closer, his teeth grazing your lower lip as he felt you tremble. "I thought you might like that," he whispered, his voice thick with the thrill of your reaction. "Do you want another, or are you going to behave?"

It was at this point that he’d finally decided to break the seal of your mouths. His chest was heaving, his gaze dropping to where his leg was buried between yours.

“The bed,” he rasped, the command leaving no room for argument.

He began to walk you backward, guiding your stumbling steps toward the large bed. The backs of your knees hit the edge, and he gently lowered you down onto the crisp sheets, his body hovering over yours, caging you in. He pulled back just enough to look down at you, his chest heaving slightly. Then, with a sense of urgency, he rid himself of his clothes. His blazer and shirt were discarded in a heap on the floor, followed by his slacks, leaving him in just a pair of black boxer briefs that did little to hide the hard ridge of his arousal.

While he was undressing, you reached behind your back and unhooked your bra, letting it fall away. Your breasts spilled free, your nipples pebbling in the cool air. You moved to take off your panties, but he stopped you, his fingers hooking into the delicate lace at your hips.

“Allow me,” he murmured, his eyes glued to your core as he slowly, torturously, pulled them down your legs and tossed them aside. His gaze was intense and hungry and you’d just wanted him to devour every bit of you already.

The thick outline of his cock straining against the fabric of his boxers was surely no help either. A surge of boldness suddenly washed over you as you sat up to allow your hand to reach out and palm him through the cotton. He groaned, his hips twitching into your touch.

“Let me take care of you,” you whispered, guiding him to sit on the edge of the bed. You knelt before him, pulling his boxers down. His cock was finally fully visible to you, wet and hard. 

You wrapped your hand around his shaft, feeling his velvety skin over the steel-hard length. You leaned in, sticking out your tongue to swirl it around the flushed head. A deep groan rumbled in his chest. You began to stroke him, your hand moving in long, slow pulls from base to tip while your tongue continued to explore, lapping at the sensitive slit. You loved the sounds he made, the way his breath hitched with every flick of your tongue.

You got sloppy with it, letting your saliva coat his length until it was dripping, the wet sounds filling the room. He seemed to love it, his fingers tangling in your hair. You shifted, taking more of him into your mouth, sucking him deep as your hands moved down to gently massage his balls.

“Fuck,” he gritted out, his voice strained. “You’re so good at that.”

After a moment, he tightened his grip on your hair.

“Look at me,” he panted.

When your eyes met his, they were dark with lust.

“You want to gag on my cock?” You weren’t expecting the raw, filthy question, but it didn’t make you want it any less. “I want to see my cock stuffed in that pretty face of yours. Could you do that for me?”

“Yes,” you breathed, the word a desperate, enthusiastic plea. “God, yes.”

He helped you reposition, settling you more comfortably on your knees. He placed a hand on the back of your head, his other hand gripping his shaft to guide it to your lips.

“Open up,” he commanded.

You did, and he began to thrust into your mouth. He started slow, letting you get used to the rhythm, but it wasn’t long before he was chasing his own pleasure. You could feel his cock exploring the walls of your throat with each thrust, going deeper and deeper. Your gag reflex prickled, and you choked slightly, a tear slipping from the corner of your eye. He pulled back immediately, giving you a moment to breathe whenever necessary. 

“Again?” he asked, his voice rough.

You nodded, eager, and he slid back in, picking up the pace once more. You could taste the salty precum on your tongue with every thrust.

After what felt like an eternity of the delicious, rough face-fucking, he pulled you up, his mouth crashing against yours in a messy, passionate kiss. You could taste yourself on him as he pushed you back onto the bed, his body covering yours. He kissed his way down your body, over your breasts, your stomach, until he was settled between your thighs. He didn’t touch you right away, teasing you with kisses on the sensitive skin of your inner thighs. Then, without warning, he gave your clit a long, hard, pressured lick.

You yelped, your back arching off the bed at the sudden, intense feeling of pleasure. He did it again, and again, and you couldn’t stop the high-pitched whines and moans that spilled from your lips. The feeling was overwhelming, a dizzying spiral of sensation. He switched to sucking, drawing your clit into his mouth and flicking his tongue against it. It was another level of pleasure entirely. Your hands flew to his hair, your fingers tangling in the soft strands as you tried to guide his movements, desperate for more.

“You taste so fucking good,” he groaned against you.

While he was lost in you, you felt his cock twitch against your leg, and a sudden, desperate need to ride him took over. You pushed at his shoulders, and he got the message, rolling onto his back. You straddled him, a satisfied, predatory grin spreading across his face. His hands immediately found your hips, gripping you tight.

You sank down onto his cock, the stretch a perfect, burning pleasure. He helped you find a rhythm, lifting you and slamming you back down onto his length. The feeling of his strong hands gripping your sides and ass, controlling your movements, was intoxicating. You took over, setting a punishing pace, rolling your hips and grinding down on him. He met you thrust for thrust, his hips bucking up to meet yours, driving himself deeper and deeper inside you. The room filled with the sounds of your moans, his groans, and the slap of skin against skin.

It was a desperate race toward the edge, and when you finally fell forward, your orgasm crashed through you with the force of a tidal wave, your body convulsing with the force of it. He followed you moments later with a loud, guttural groan, his own release pulsing deep inside you.

You collapsed onto his chest, both of you panting and slick with sweat. You two laid there for a while after, the frantic energy slowly ebbing away into a warm, sated glow. The alcohol haze was fading, replaced by a pleasant exhaustion. You shifted, glancing at the clock on the nightstand, and your eyes widened.

“Shit,” you muttered, scrambling to sit up. “I have to go. It’s way later than I thought.” You’d finally pushed yourself up off the bed, slowly gathering your clothes that were all in different locations of the room. 

“Stay,” he rasped, the command softened by the gravel in his voice. He reached out, his thumb tracing the line of your spine. “The bed is finally warm.”

“I wish I could,” you admitted, gripping your burgundy lace panties from the floor. 

He watched you dress with hooded eyes, a look that made you feel like you were still under his thumb even as you hooked your bra. He moved with a slow grace to gather his own clothes, the comfortable silence between you charged with the memory of what had just happened.

“Don’t think I’m letting you disappear,” he said, pulling his phone from his pocket. He didn’t ask but simply held it out, waiting for you to bridge the gap.

You recited your number, and a second later, your phone vibrated on the nightstand.

He walked you to the door, but he didn't just let you walk out. He caught your waist, pulling your back against his chest as he tapped at his screen. “I’m calling you a car. I’m not having you wandering around this late.”

When the headlights cut through the darkness outside, he turned you in his arms.

“I’ll be in touch,” he murmured, his voice low and certain. “And next time, you aren't leaving the bed until I say so.”

He stepped back just enough to let you breathe, but his gaze remained locked on yours until the car door clicked shut. As the cab pulled away, you watched his silhouette in the rearview mirror, standing under the glow of the streetlamp with his hands in his pockets.

The city blurred past the window, a smear of neon and shadow that felt light-years away from the room you had just left. Your skin felt hypersensitive, the friction of your clothes a constant reminder of the way he’d handled you. Every time the car hit a bump, you felt the faint, throbbing ache between your thighs. You touched your bottom lip and it was swollen, sensitive to the slightest graze of your finger.

The short drive ended quietly, the soft click of your apartment door sealing the night behind you. The lingering scent of his cologne and the ghost of his touch clung to you like a second skin. 

A soft, shaky sigh escaped your lips. Your head was still a tad bit fuzzy from the drinks, a gentle haze that softened the edges of reality and made the memory of his hands on your hips and his tongue in your mouth feel more like a fever dream than a Tuesday night.

Your phone buzzed, the vibration rattling through your hand and cutting through the quiet of the entryway. You didn't even have to look to know it was him. A single, weighted sentence stared back at you:

“I can still taste you.”

A slow, involuntary smile spread across your face. You toed off your heels, the relief immediate, and padded toward your bedroom, your fingers already flying across the keyboard. “Really? And what exactly do I taste like?” you typed back, the honesty of it sending a fresh thrill through you.

His reply was instantaneous. “Actually, I’m starting to forget. I think I need you to come back here so I can make sure.” You paused, your thumb hovering over the screen as a slow, secret smile spread across your face. 

You dropped your phone on the bed and began to undress, the sleek fabric of your clothes feeling like a costume you were finally done with. The bathroom filled with steam as you turned on the shower, the warmth acting as a welcome embrace against your sensitive skin.

“Gonna shower then head to bed,” you texted, setting the phone on the counter. You paused, biting your lip before adding, “Need to be a professional, functioning human for at least eight hours.” The reply came through while you were unhooking your bra, the chime sharp against the bathroom tile.

“Is that right?” he shot back. “You’re going to sit in a boardroom and pretend you didn’t just get railed the night before?”

He was playing with you, marking his territory from miles away.

You stepped under the hot spray, the water cascading over your body, washing away the lingering stickiness of the club and the heat of the car. On a sudden, wicked impulse, you grabbed your phone with a damp hand. The screen fogged slightly as you snapped a picture—just your chest, covered in a thick layer of white soap. You hit send before you could second-guess yourself.

His response didn’t take long. “Fuck.” 

The single word was heavy, loaded with unspoken desire. You finished your shower quickly, the air outside feeling cool against your heated skin. You toweled off and slipped into something soft and comfortable, an oversized t-shirt that barely covered your thighs, and slid between the cool sheets of your bed.

You kept your phone in your hand, your fingers brushing idly over the screen as his texts lingered in your mind, the phantom weight of his body still pressed against yours. The alcohol haze was settling, but your mind was wide awake, replaying every moment.

Finally, you typed a simple: “Goodnight.”

His reply came a moment later, a simple, “Same goes to you, sexy thing.” 

You set the phone down on the nightstand, a slow smile on your lips as you closed your eyes, his last message a sweet, thrilling lullaby.

Morning came too fast. Your head ached, the dull throb of the hangover making your temples tight. You groaned, tugging your hair back, and realized you were already running late. First day at a new job, and your body reminded you that last night’s indulgence had consequences.

You moved quickly, throwing on a professional outfit that felt both sharp and safe. It was fitted enough to look put together, but simple. Your makeup was light, applied in a rush, and you styled your hair just enough to look presentable. You caught your reflection and nearly laughed, patting your hair again and adding a touch more makeup to disguise how tired you really were.

With your water bottle in hand and your bag over your shoulder, you stepped into the day. Your pulse was still high from the night before, and a quiet thrill lingered under the dull headache. First day. New job.

The elevator dinged, and you stepped out into the office lobby, blinking against the harsh fluorescent lights. The building smelled faintly of coffee and polished wood. The environment was professional, but definitely a little intimidating. You tugged your blazer a little straighter, trying to ignore the throb behind your eyes. You thought the feeling would’ve been long gone by now but the alcohol from last night still made a distant appearance in the back of your head.

“You must be Y/N. Welcome.” A receptionist smiled at you, clipboard in hand. “We’re just about ready to get you settled.”

You nodded, forcing yourself to look composed. Your legs felt unsteady in your heels as you followed her down the corridor, ears picking up the faint hum of phones ringing, keyboards clicking, and quiet murmurs of colleagues already at work. Each sound felt sharper, somehow louder, through the fog in your head.

“This way,” she said, leading you to a small office area. “You’ll start with a bit of orientation, then we’ll get you familiar with the system. Oh, and here’s your workstation.” She gestured to a sleek desk with a polished surface, a computer already booted up, and a chair that adjusted too smoothly. “You can get settled here, there’s some training modules we’ll just have you do for today. I’ll be just down the hall if you need anything.” 

You nodded, trying to appear the part of the capable new hire. 

With a final, encouraging smile, she turned and headed back toward the lobby. You took a seat, the chair adjusting with a smooth, expensive hiss that made you feel small in the minimalist space. The office was clean and modern and there was a subtle sophistication to everything, but you couldn’t tell if it was the neutral color palette or the quiet efficiency of the layout. You smoothed the front of your blouse over your chest and took a deep breath. 

Your hands hovered over the keyboard, shoulders tense, fingers useless as your thoughts drifted back to the blurry events of last night, despite your best efforts. It had been a while since you’d let yourself fall into something so reckless, so fleeting—a one-night stand type meeting with no expectations and no promises. You hated how much it took over your thoughts, but you couldn’t help it. It left you wanting more, even now, but you exhaled sharply, forcing the thought away. 

You straightened, finally pressing your fingers to the keys and pulling yourself back to work. You weren’t going to let a single night of poor decisions ruin your first day.

For the next hour, you actually managed to sink into the flow. You navigated through the software orientation with a sharp, practiced focus, clicking through the security protocols and taking diligent notes in a leather-bound notebook. The rhythmic clack-clack of the keyboard became a mantra, grounding you. You answered a few introductory emails from the HR team and organized your digital workspace, your movements efficient and professional. Aside from the occasional, faint stir of silk against your skin, you had successfully pushed last night into a neat little box at the back of your mind. You were a professional, and you were proving it.

It wasn’t long before a movement in your peripheral caught your attention. A man was walking down the aisle of desks, a familiar stride that made your stomach twist in a way you didn’t expect. And then your brain finally caught up. Yoongi.

Your heart did a little double take. The same dark hair, the same smirk, and the same casual confidence. He was right here. In the office. Your new job. What was he doing here? 

You froze, cheeks heating, and quickly looked down at your keyboard like the screen could shield you from recognition. He noticed you immediately, eyebrows quirking as his gaze slid over you. A small, near-silent chuckle escaped his lips before he continued to the desk beside you, acting perfectly nonchalant. 

Your phone buzzed, and you didn’t need to even look to know who it was.

“Nice seeing you here. If I didn’t know what a dirty girl you really are, I’d totally believe that innocent, businesslike act of yours.”

You bit your lip so hard it almost hurt, the sting helping to ground you as a furious blush stained your cheeks. Dirty? You glanced over discreetly; he was already at his desk, his fingers moving with a lazy, practiced rhythm over his keyboard, but the glint in his dark eyes was unmistakable. He was enjoying the chaos he’d just dropped into your lap.

You tried to refocus on the modules, but the words on the screen were just a blur of black and white. You reached for your coffee, the warm ceramic of the mug acting as an anchor for your trembling hands. Every shadow that moved in the corner of your eye made you jump, your heart hammering against your ribs.

And then, you felt him.

He was walking past your workstation again, his pace agonizingly slow, as if he were savoring the way your posture went rigid the moment he drew near. The hairs on the back of your neck stood up. Your hand jerked instinctively, the coffee sloshing dangerously close to the rim of the mug.

“Careful now,” he warned, his voice a low, playful rumble just behind your ear. You jumped, a small gasp escaping your lips before you could choke it back. He leaned down just a fraction closer as he passed, his breath ghosting over the shell of your ear. “Don’t want you spilling coffee on yourself… can’t have you soaking wet on your first day can we?”

He let the words linger in the air as a deliberate, wet promise, before he straightened. You managed a shaky, breathless laugh, trying to hide your flustered heartbeat behind the mug. “I... I’m fine,” you muttered, your knuckles white as you gripped the coffee.

In your haste to look busy, your hand brushed against a silver pen resting on the edge of the polished desk. It rolled, clicking softly against the wood before dropping off the side. Without thinking, you ducked down to retrieve it, leaning forward and reaching toward the floor.

The movement caused the deep neckline of your blouse to fall away from your skin.

From his vantage point, standing right over you, the view was unobstructed. You realized it the second you looked up, pen in hand, that he wasn’t looking at your face. He was staring straight down into the dip of your shirt, his eyes dark and fixed on the soft swell of your breasts.

The air in the cubicle felt like it had been set on fire. You straightened up quickly, clutching the pen, but the damage was done. He smirked, a slow, predatory curve of his lips that told you he’d memorized every inch of what he just saw.

He leaned in one last time, his voice dropping to a whisper that was for your ears only. “And is that view just for me?”

He didn't wait for an answer. He straightened his tie and kept walking, leaving you breathless and gripping your pen so hard the metal bit into your palm.

Your eyes darted back to the screen, trying to finish the modules to the best of your ability, despite the difficulty of such a simple task. Every clack of your keyboard felt loud and every reminder of his presence seemed amplified. Your mind was a riot of the absurd realization that Yoongi, your mysterious flirt from last night, was right here, mere feet from you, acting as if nothing was happening at all.

Your mind betrayed you, flashing to the naughty images from last night. With him on top of you, that smirk as he hovered close, and the way his hands moved over you, how could you get any of this work done? 

You eventually snapped yourself back to reality, taking a slow, steadying breath before letting your fingers glide over the keyboard with a little more confidence.

It seemed Yoongi was finally giving you some space, leaving you alone to work without any more teasing interruptions, for now. The faint buzz of the office and the hum of computers became your rhythm, and slowly, you started to fall back into the task at hand, though a tiny part of your mind remained painfully aware of his presence nearby, just in case he decided to strike again.

It wasn’t long before you glanced at the clock and realized it was just about time for lunch. Grabbing your bag, you made your way toward the break room. The small kitchen area smelled faintly of reheated meals and coffee, the vibrations of the refrigerator acting as a background to your thoughts.

You popped open the lid of the instant ramen you’d brought along with you and heated it up before taking it over to one of the tables. You settled in, letting the steam from the noodles warm your hands, hoping the routine act of eating would help ground you after the morning’s… distractions.

You were just about to take your first bite when you sensed a presence beside you.

“Mind if I sit here?”

Your heart lurched. You glanced up. Of course. It was him. Yoongi. Leaning casually, that effortless confidence in his posture, eyes dark and knowing. Your cheeks heated immediately and you nodded before you could stop yourself.

No one else was in the break room yet, and suddenly the air felt thick between you. He sat, close enough that you felt your breaths get shorter and heavier. How could he get you like this? 

“You’re such a tease,” you murmured, the words coming out as a soft, breathless confession.

“Only because I like seeing you struggle.” he countered.  He leaned in just a fraction closer, his shoulder brushing against yours “You’re so cute when you’re a horny mess.”

Your eyes widened, a sharp intake of breath betraying you. You looked around frantically, praying no one was rounding the corner to hear him dismantle your composure so easily.

Trying to regain some scrap of dignity, you jabbed your fork into the noodles. “So… you didn’t get lunch yet?” you asked, your voice higher than usual.

He leaned back slightly, eyes glinting with mischief. He nodded toward the small bag of snacks he’d tossed on the table, but the look in his eyes said something entirely different. 

“What do you mean?” he asked, his smirk widening. “My lunch is sitting right next to me.”

The blatant innuendo was frustratingly effective at getting you worked up. You tried to feign annoyance, tapping your chopsticks against the rim of the bowl. “Persistent, aren’t you?” “Hungry,” he corrected, the word vibrating with a double meaning that made your hand shake.

He shrugged with a mock innocence that didn't reach his eyes. You couldn’t deny it—you thrived on this. Every whisper and every lingering glance made the desire coil tighter in your stomach. You’d been aching for him since you woke up, and his relentless teasing was only feeding the desperation.

You hadn’t realized just how dangerously close you’d leaned into his space until the heavy thud of footsteps broke the spell. Your stomach dropped as a coworker, Kai, strolled into the breakroom. His eyes landed on Yoongi immediately, then flickered to you with a friendly, unsuspecting curiosity.

“Hey, Yoongi,” Kai called out, leaning casually against the counter. “Did you tell her about the barbecue tonight?”

The invisible heat between you and Yoongi was so thick you were sure Kai could see it. In a sudden, panicked rush, you scooted your chair back, the legs scraping loudly against the linoleum. You buried your face in your ramen, pretending to be deeply fascinated by a stray noodle. Totally not suspicious, you thought, your heart hammering against your ribs.

Kai didn’t seem to notice. He grinned at you, eyes bright with the typical excitement of an office social. “It’s a tradition! Everyone shows up, the food is great. You should definitely come, it’s the best way to meet the team.”

He gave a quick thumbs-up and headed back out, his footsteps fading down the hall.

The silence that followed was heavy, charged with the residual electricity of Kai almost catching you. Yoongi didn’t move back. Instead, he watched you with that familiar, ruinous smirk.

“He’s right. You should be there,” Yoongi said, his voice dropping back into that low, gravelly register that made the rest of the room disappear. “I’m planning on staying late. And I have a very specific set of ideas for how we’re going to spend your ‘after-hours’ orientation. I'd hate for you to miss it.”

You noticed the subtle inflection in his tone, the way his words carried a hint of promise beyond just a night out. You glanced at him, trying to mask the flutter in your stomach, and he caught it immediately, obvious from his facial expression. 

“Okay,” you whispered, the word feeling small against the weight of his attention. “I’ll be there.”

He chuckled, a short, dark sound of victory. “Good girl. I’ll see you tonight. Try to keep your head in the files until then.”

The day dragged on, the hours stretching longer than you expected, though at least the work itself wasn’t unbearable. You found yourself stealing glances at Yoongi now and then, resisting the urge to check your phone for another message or a sly comment. He was at his desk, pretending to type, but you caught the cheeky grin that never seemed to fully leave his lips when he thought no one was looking.

When the clock finally released you, the office cleared out in a blur of small talk. You gathered your things, your hands finally steady enough to pack your bag. As you passed his desk, he didn't even look up from his screen, but his voice reached you.

“I’ll see you tonight,” he said quietly, only enough for you to hear. 

You nodded, trying to keep your voice steady. “See you then.”

The bus ride home was a blur of anticipation. The thought of being around him again and this time outside of the office, made your pulse thrum a little faster. This was especially enticing when considering the events that occurred between the two of you the night before. 

At home, you started rifling through your closet, searching for something that was nice but not too over the top. You settled on a fitted silk blouse in a deep, midnight blue and a skirt that skimmed your thighs just right. You spent a little too much time on your hair, letting the curls fall loosely over your shoulders, and finished with a swipe of gloss that made your lips look bitten and plush. You looked in the mirror, took a steadying breath, and told your racing heart to behave.

The restaurant was a chaotic mix of savory smoke, cold beer, and the loud, boisterous laughter of people finally off the clock. You stepped through the door, scanning the crowded tables until your eyes locked onto his.

The place was lively as you arrived, laughter and conversation spilling out from the restaurant where the barbecue was in full swing. The smell of grilled and marinated meat hit you instantly, mingling with the faint tang of alcohol. Your heart beat a little faster when you spotted Yoongi seated at the table, casually leaning back as he surveyed the crowd. Around him, coworkers laughed and clinked glasses, but his focus found you immediately.

“Glad you came,” he said as you approached, his voice cutting through the surrounding chatter. He didn't stand, but he reached out, his fingers briefly ghosting over the side of your waist as he gestured toward the empty chair beside him.

You made your way over, trying to appear casual.

You sat, and almost immediately, the "professional" distance you’d tried to maintain collapsed. His arm brushed yours as he reached for a plate. You went rigid, your breath catching in your throat, and you knew by the way his jaw tightened that he felt the exact moment you faltered.

He didn't stop there. Under the shelter of the heavy tablecloth, his hand slid onto your thigh. His palm was warm, his grip firm. He didn't move at first; he just let the weight of his hand settle there, marking you while he casually joined a conversation about quarterly projections.

“Yoongi…” you murmured, the name escaping you as a faint, desperate breath.

“Mm?” He didn't even look at you. He leaned in just enough for his shoulder to pin yours, his voice a low, vibration intended for your ears alone. “Something wrong?”

His fingers began a slow, torturous climb. He traced the seam of your skirt, his thumb dipping just beneath the hem to graze the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. The sensation was a lightning strike of heat that settled directly between your legs.

You were losing it. Your heart was hammering against your ribs, and the polite chatter of your coworkers sounded like it was coming from miles away. You couldn't sit there and pretend to be a "new hire" for one more second while he was dismantling you under the table.

“Excuse me,” you managed, standing abruptly. The chair legs shrieked against the floor, drawing a few curious glances from the table. You didn't wait to explain so you just turned and moved toward the restrooms, your legs weak. 

The cool air of the restroom did nothing to dampen the fire he’d started. You leaned against the sink, staring at your reflection as your eyes were blown wide, your cheeks a frantic, deep pink.

Your phone buzzed in your hand. It was him:

“On a scale of 1–5, how ruined are those panties right now? I’m gonna bet on 5 ;)"

You let out a frustrated breath, leaning your forehead toward the mirror. You felt the undeniable, heavy dampness between your thighs signaling he was absolutely right.

You splashed cold water on your face, took three deep breaths to steady your pulse, and walked back out. You found him exactly where you left him, leaning back with a glass in his hand. He didn't say a word as you sat down, but his slow, teasing smirk said it all. 

The rest of the barbecue felt like a blur of polite nods and shallow conversation. As predicted, once the managers began to settle their tabs and head for the exits, the atmosphere shifted. The "performance" was over. 

Once everyone was ready to get going, you followed the group down the dimly lit street. Yoongi trailed just behind you, his presence a physical weight at your back. He wasn’t touching you yet, but he was close enough that you could feel the heat radiating off his body, marking his territory in the middle of the sidewalk.

“You sure you can keep up?” he murmured, cutting through the city noise. “It’s a long night. I’d hate for you to get overwhelmed before we even get started.”

You glanced over your shoulder. “I’ll manage,” you replied, though your voice lacked any real conviction.

His smirk deepened, sharp and knowing under the amber glow of the streetlights. “Good. Because I don't plan on letting you out of my sight tonight.” You bit your lip, trying to suppress the rush that bloomed wherever he touched.

The club was a sensory assault. The moment the heavy doors opened, the bass rolled through your chest like a heartbeat, and the air turned thick with the scent of expensive alcohols and crowded skin.

Yoongi didn't hesitate. He stepped up behind you, his hand finding the small of your back. And it wasn't a gentle guide. It was a firm, possessive grip that pulled you flush against him as he wove through the chaos of a crowd. Every time a stranger got too close, his hand tightened, his fingers splaying across your spine as if to remind the room exactly who you belonged to.

He navigated you toward a darker corner, the neon lights flashing in rhythmic bursts that made his eyes glisten amidst the lights. He leaned in, his chest pressing into your back, his lips brushing the sensitive shell of your ear.

“You’re struggling,” he murmured. He leaned in until his lips were hovering against your cheek. “I think you’ve had enough of playing nice for the cameras. We could walk out that door right now and no one would even notice. Is that what you want?”

Your pulse spiked as you nodded. “Yes… please,” you breathed, the word barely above a whisper. “I want to get out of here.”

He didn't just smile—he smirked with the triumph of a man who knew he’d won. His hand slid up your thigh, his fingers hooking into the hem of your skirt and pulling the fabric just an inch higher. He didn't move his hand any further and simply allowed it to rest there. His thumb traced the sensitive skin of your inner leg while you stood in the middle of the crowd, trapped between his body and the music.

As a group of people surged past, he used the momentum to press you against him. You could feel the hard line of his frame and the rhythm of the club’s bass vibrating through both of your chests at once. 

“Come on. I’m tired of sharing the view.”

The transition was jarring. One moment you were in a world of neon and sweat, and the next, you were stepping into the sharp, biting chill of the night air. The heavy bass faded into a muffled hum behind you as he took your hand. He pulled you along, his strides long and purposeful as he navigated toward the darker side streets where the streetlights were sparse.

By the time you reached his car, the city felt like it had disappeared. He unlocked it and held the door open, his eyes dark and unreadable in the shadows.

“Get in,” he ordered, his gaze sweeping over you one last time before you slid into the shadows of the back seat. 

The door clicked shut as he followed you inside, sealing out the rest of the world. The car was silent, smelling of his cologne and expensive leather. With him occupying the seat beside you, the space felt impossibly small. 

He looked at you—not with the "work Yoongi" smirk, but with the raw, hungry gaze of the man who had pinned you to the door the night before.

You moved without hesitation, swinging one leg over his lap to straddle him. The fabric of your skirt bunched up around your thighs, exposing more skin to the cool leather of the seats. His hands were instantly on you, one gripping your hip, the other sliding up your back to press you closer.

“Fuck,” he breathed against your lips before capturing them in a hungry, desperate kiss. 

The kiss was a collision that was hungry, desperate, and entirely devoid of the "professional" restraint he’d worn all day. His tongue was a hot, confident intrusion that made your head spin, and you met him with equal fervor, your fingers tangling into the dark hair at the nape of his neck.

His hands moved with a brutal purpose, mapping the curves he’d been eyeing from across the office. One hand slid down to find the swell of your ass, gripping it tightly as he held you closely against him. The distance was so close that you could feel the heavy, pulsing hardness of him through his dress slacks, a silent demand that made your stomach flip.

“Need to see you,” he let out a jagged growl.

He didn't fumble. His fingers worked the buttons of your blouse with a surprising speed until the silk fell open. He moved to the clasp of your bra, the metal giving out with a sharp click that echoed in the quiet cabin of the car. As the lace fell away, your breasts were finally exposed. He cupped them with his hands, fondling them in soft circles.

He groaned before burying his face between them. His chin scraped deliciously against your sensitive skin as he pressed kisses to the valley between your breasts. His hands came up to hold them, thumbs brushing over your nipples until you were arching into his touch with a soft moan.

“Yoongi,” you gasped, your head hitting the window as his mouth closed around one peak. Your hips rolled instinctively, seeking friction against the hard ridge of his cock still trapped in his pants.

“Like that?” he murmured against your damp skin, before switching his focus to the other breast. “You’ve been thinking about this all day, haven't you? Sitting at that desk, wondering exactly how my mouth would feel on you.”

His words sparked a reckless fire in you. Reaching down, you tried to slide your hand beneath the hem of your skirt to find your slick folds, but he intercepted your wrist with a firm, sudden grip.

“Patience,” he chuckled, though his voice was laced with restraint.

But savoring seemed to be the last thing on his mind as his hands slid down to your hips, fingers hooking into the waistband of your panties. He tugged them down as far as he could in this position, his knuckles brushing against your wet folds. You gasped at the contact, your body already humming with anticipation.

But his "savoring" was far from gentle. Two fingers dipped under your skirt and into the waistband of your lace panties before dragging them down in one swift motion. His fingers pressed against your wetness and you couldn’t seem to contain yourself. 

“Look at you,” he murmured, sliding a finger through your slickness with a slow, agonizing confidence. “Already so wet for me. You were telling the truth after all, weren’t you?”

You could only nod, words failing you as his thumb found your clit, rubbing circles that made your vision blur with pleasure. Your hands flew to his shoulders, nails digging into the fabric of his shirt as you rode his hand, chasing the building pressure.

“Please,” you finally managed to gasp out. “I need you inside me now.”

With a dark groan of agreement, he fumbled with his belt, the metallic click sounding deafening in the quiet car. He freed himself—thick, hot, and already glistening—and you didn't wait. You shifted, straddling him in the cramped darkness, your knees pressing into the leather on either side of his hips.

You sank down slowly, the stretch so intense it made your head roll back. You took him inch by inch, your body tight and welcoming, until you were fully seated. The air in the car was thick, the windows already beginning to fog over, sealing you both into a private, humid world.

His eyes were dark with lust as he watched you, lips parted as soft pants escaped him. “God, look at you,” he murmured, reaching up to cup your breasts. “Riding me like you were made for it.”

The praise was like fuel. You increased the pace, your movements turning frantic as you bounced against him, the cabin of the car filling with the raw, rhythmic sounds of the encounter—the slick slap of skin, the heavy creak of the leather, and the tangled sounds of your breathing.

His hands guided your movements, sometimes urging you faster, other times pulling you down harder onto him. When he leaned forward to capture a nipple in his mouth again, you cried out, the dual sensations pushing you closer to the edge.

“Yoongi, I—”

“I know,” he cut in, voice strained. “Let go for me. Want to feel you come around my cock.”

His words combined with a particularly well-angled thrust sent you over the edge. Your orgasm crashed through you, waves of pleasure making your body convulse as you cried out his name. He kept thrusting up into you, forcing you to feel every vibration of your climax until you finally collapsed against his chest, panting and boneless.

“Perfect,” he murmured, kissing your temple as you caught your breath. “Absolutely perfect.”

But he wasn’t done with you yet. With surprising strength, he adjusted your position, lifting you slightly before flipping you so your back was pressed against the door and he was hovering over you. The new angle allowed him to thrust deeper, and you gasped as he drove back into you, this time with a passion that told you he was close.

“Where do you want it?” he demanded, his voice ragged. “Tell me where it goes.”

“Inside,” you breathed, your legs locking around his waist to pull him closer. “Please, Yoongi. Inside.”

With a guttural groan, he buried himself deep one last time, his body going rigid as he filled you. You felt the pulses of his release deep inside, reaching even your sensitized nerves. You clung to him, your fingers resting against his shoulders until he eventually sunk his weight onto you.

For several minutes, neither of you moved. The world outside the fogged windows had ceased to exist. The scent of him was everywhere and it dark, masculine, and intoxicating.

Finally, the tension in his muscles eased. He shifted, pulling back just enough to look at you before he pressed a soft kiss to your forehead. 

“That was a good start,” he mumbled. He reached out, his fingers beginning to idly toy with a stray lock of your hair. “But I don't think eight hours of wanting you is out of my system yet.”

You were about to answer and tell him exactly how much you wanted that second round, when a sudden burst of laughter cut through the quiet of the street.

Your heart stopped.

Through the fogged side window, a group of people was spilling out of the club’s side exit, their voices loud and fueled by adrenaline. You froze as you recognized a familiar tone—Kai. “I’m telling you, she probably just went home,” Kai’s voice drifted through the glass, closer than you ever wanted it to be. “New hires always flake out early. But Yoongi? That man is a ghost. He probably disappeared to close some deal or find a quieter bar.”

You felt the blood drain from your face. You were half-dressed, tangled in the back seat with the man they were looking for, hidden only by a thin layer of condensation on the glass. One curious glance, one hand wiping away the steam, and your career would be over before it started.

Yoongi didn't panic. He didn't even flinch. He simply went still, his eyes locking onto yours with a terrifyingly calm intensity. He placed a single finger over his lips as a silent command for you to stay absolutely quiet.

The footsteps lingered. A shadow fell across the fogged window as someone leaned momentarily against the car's frame to light a cigarette. The car rocked slightly under the weight. You held your breath until your lungs burned, your eyes wide as you stared at Yoongi’s silhouette in the dark.

Finally, the voices began to fade. “Come on, the after-party is two blocks away. Let’s go.”

Yoongi stayed close for a moment longer, his eyes tracing the wreckage he’d made of your blouse before he finally pulled back and shifted into the driver's seat.

“Suddenly, the thought of my shower after a long night sounds awfully appealing,” he said, his voice a low velvet. “Care to join?”

masterlist

a/n: wahoo! i was thinking of making a general tag list for all my writing so if you would like to be added then leave a comment below!

[97luvz]

WHAT ARE WE?

STARRING … FWB!M. YOONGI X READER

WORD COUNT … 9.7K

SUMMARY … you’ve known yoongi since college—intimately. before the ego and his annoying persona switch. but if he wants to play, fine, you’ll play. it’s your game, and you never lose.

NOTES / WARNINGS … NSFW, MDNI (18+). there are two smut scenes. the first one is oral (m!recieving) and the second is unprotected p in v—also featuring semi-public(? in a sense) sex, oral fixation!reader, andd tattoos. kind of brat!reader x brat tamer!yoongi? jealousyy there is also a lot of jealousy. alcohol use and swearing. suggestive content outside the smut. kind of also reader x hoseok but in the sense she uses hoseok to make yoongi jealous. these two are TOXIC they are not good for each other at all. and i thinkk that’s everything!! if i missed anything let me know <33

ANDDD a super duper special thank you to aqua @glossdebut and april @ggukivrse for beta reading this for me!!!

playlist : sex with me (rihanna). wild thoughts (dj khaled). candy (doja cat). killshot (magdalena bay). crazy girls (toopoor). often (the weeknd). heartbeat (childish gambino). buttons (pussy cat dolls). they wanna fuck (kim petras). nasty (tinashe).

main masterlist. next >

you hate new year’s eve parties.

there was a time you liked the noise and the drinks and the excuse to stay out too late, but that time feels distant now. instead of standing on your friend’s balcony with champagne and fireworks, you let yourself be dragged to a college-but-not party by a guy you’ve fucked with a couple of times.

he’s fine, even if a bit eager, and it’s not like you had better plans.

now you’re stuck on the edge of a cracked couch, a paper straw between your lips and cheap seltzer going flat in your mouth. someone yells from the balcony—ten minutes to midnight.

the guy beside you cheers, his arm heavy over your shoulders. you smile, because it’s easier than shoving him off you, and you take another sip of your drink.

you already know you’re not kissing him tonight.

he’ll try when the countdown starts. he’ll lean in, close enough that it almost hurts when you turn your head at the last second. just enough to remind yourself you still can.

he isn’t the worst. he buys you drinks, and he talks about you when he thinks you’re not listening. he’s new, and you haven’t decided yet if that means anything or how long you’re going to keep him around.

you drain the rest of your cup and stand.

“gonna grab another,” you say.

he grins and doesn’t follow.

the kitchen is brighter than the rest of the apartment. the overhead lights hum, counters crowded with half-empty bottles and a bowl of limes that have gone soft around the edges.

you rinse your cup and fill it again—vodka and soda. the same as always. you take a sip and it tastes like nothing.

and it isn’t just the party.

you think about how often you’ve stood like this lately, drink in hand, nodding along to conversations you don’t care about. rooftop bars. cramped apartments. birthdays you barely remember. smiling when it’s expected, staying just long enough to be seen.

you stay in the kitchen longer than you need to.

you think about tomorrow. about the early train and the elevator ride up to an office that smells of burnt, week-old instant coffee. about emails waiting in your inbox, flagged and tediously long and all somehow urgent. you’ll answer them quickly, you always do.

your job looks good on paper. decent title, better pay than you expected right out of college. your parents like telling people about it. your friends joke that you’ve made it.

most days, you’re coordinating calendars. smoothing egos. making sure the right people are in the right rooms at the right time. you know how to dress for it now, neutral colors and clean lines, hair pulled back so no one has to wonder if you’re serious.

this was supposed to be the trade-off. you wanted to like parties like this because they weren’t work. because no one needed anything from you here. no schedules to manage, no conversations to steer. just noise and bodies and a drink in your hand.

instead, you’re checking your phone.

your friend sends a video—fireworks bursting bright over the city and champagne glasses clinking in the frame, everyone laughing too loud. you watch it twice before locking your screen.

then you catch him in your periphery.

dark hair first. longer than the last time you saw him, falling into his eyes. he’s leaning against the doorway between rooms, one shoulder to the wall, posture easy in a way that feels new.

yoongi.

of course he’s here.

you don’t think, you just move, confidence sliding back into place like it never left. you angle yourself into his line of sight and say his name like it’s casual.

“yoongi, hey.”

his eyes lift, pausing. then they soften, just a little.

“hey,” he says back, slow.

you lean in, close enough to smell something sweet and sharp. you glance at his drink and smirk. “didn’t peg you for a moscato guy.”

his mouth twitches. “it’s not mine.”

that’s when she speaks.

“he’s holding it for me.”

you blink and look to his other side.

she’s pressed pretty close, hand looped around his wrist, nails painted dark. pretty, in an effortless way. she meets your eyes with a polite smile that lingers a beat too long.

something tightens low in your stomach.

oh.

yoongi shifts then, just slightly, fully aware of the change in the air—and you can tell he’s enjoying it more than you appreciate. his arm stays where it is. he doesn’t pull away, doesn’t explain.

“right,” you say, sweet. “my bad.”

his gaze doesn’t leave your face. there’s amusement there. something sharper underneath. oh, he knows exactly what he’s doing.

“you good?” he asks, voice mild.

you tilt your head, letting your eyes drag over him slow and unapologetic. “always.”

he hums like he doesn’t believe you.

the girl’s fingers tighten around his wrist. she leans in closer, like she’s staking a claim. you clock it immediately. something sharp flickers behind your eyes and you turn to her with a smile that’s all teeth.

“you know,” you say lightly, voice smooth as spilled liquor, “the kitchen’s brighter if you’re trying to find a clean glass. less… crowded.”

she blinks and laughs, a little unsure. “i’m good.”

“are you?” you ask, still smiling. “because it kind of looks like you’re waiting for something that’s not happening.”

silence stretches, and yoongi exhales through his nose.

she lets go of his wrist, lips pressing thin. her eyes flick back to you, annoyed and embarrassed. “wow,” she mutters. “okay. didn’t realize.”

you shrug. “it’s a common mistake.”

she leaves without another word, disappearing into the living room and out the door a minute later. the space she vacates feels louder than the music.

yoongi turns to you slowly. he doesn’t look angry. if anything, he looks inconvenienced.

“you done?” he asks.

you laugh under your breath. “did you not see the way she was clinging to you?”

“mm,” he says. “and?”

“since when are you fucking other people?” it slips out sharper than you mean it to.

yoongi’s mouth quirks. “you just scared off my night,” he says after a moment.

you meet his gaze, pulse ticking up despite yourself. “you’ll survive.”

yoongi tips his head, brow half lifted. “you gonna make it up to me?”

you snort. “for what? your dick not getting wet?”

“i was working on it.”

“should’ve worked harder.”

yoongi laughs to himself, shaking his head in disbelief. “oh, you’re cute.”

your lips press flat, arms crossing over your chest as you level him with a look. “cute? you’re so gross.”

“you didn’t have to do that,” he says.

“didn’t want to watch you pretend you were interested,” you shoot back. “it was embarrassing.”

he tilts his head, eyes flicking over you like he’s cataloguing something. “so. what dick brought you here?”

you scoff, a soft sound that barely cuts through the music. “wow. straight to it, huh?”

young shrugs, casual. “just curious. figured someone had to drag you out.”

“maybe i came on my own.”

“please.” he snorts. “you hate parties.”

“i hate bad parties.”

“answer the question.”

you roll your eyes, turning your cup in your hand. “does it matter?”

“a little.”

you look at him then, at the way his mouth is already half-curved, irritating and all too familiar. annoying in the way only he ever manages.

“some guy from work,” you say. “happy?”

“thrilled,” he replies flatly. then, after a beat, “he still here?”

“i don’t know.”

his eyes flick past you, scanning the room. “you ditch him?”

“i didn’t ditch him,” you say, eyes fixed on the swirl at the bottom of your cup. “i just decided to explore. party’s not that big.”

yoongi grunts, gaze flicking over you, quick and sharp. “didn’t think you got bored that fast.”

“wasn’t bored,” you say with pause, pressing your lips together—lie. “didn’t want to sit around and watch the clock with someone who can’t hold a conversation.”

his mouth quirks. “must be tough. all that effort for nothing.”

“hardly.” you shift your weight, scanning the counter for something better to do with your hands. “can’t say i’m missing much.”

the corner of yoongi’s mouth lifts again, barely there. “so what, you need a midnight kiss now?”

you don’t bother looking at him. “i’d rather fuck a cactus.”

“harsh.”

you swirl the ice in your cup, tapping it against the counter. “don’t see you lining up for anything better.”

he leans in, voice dropping low. “don’t have to. there’s always someone.”

“congrats,” you say, rolling your eyes. “hope she gives you a rash.”

he laughs under his breath, soft and unbothered. “jealousy’s not a good look on you.”

jealous? jealous? what does he think you have to be jealous of? the fact that he’s fucking? well, that’s good for him—shameless, and kind of blatant, but good for him. you don’t need to be jealous. you’ve got others. you’ve always had others. the only reason you fucked yoongi in the first place was because he was a stupid loser with a big dick and—

“hit a nerve?”

your jaw tics, teeth pressed tight, but you school your expression easy. “you wish.”

yoongi’s gaze lingers, all patience and slow calculation. “you’re the one getting defensive.”

you shrug, casual, bored. “just tired of hearing you talk out of your ass.”

he smirks, eyes drifting lazy down your face. “could’ve fooled me.”

you laugh, short and cold. “it’s cute you think i care. seriously.”

yoongi pushes off the counter, mouth pulling into that crooked, half-bored smile. “think i’ll go find myself a midnight kiss, then.”

you lift your chin, unbothered. “go wild. i’m gonna find a cactus.”

he huffs, something almost like a laugh slipping out. “let me know how that works out.”

“don’t wait up,” you say, already turning toward the fridge for something stronger.

he lingers for a beat, eyes focusing on you a little too long, then heads out, disappearing back into the noise and bodies.

you watch his retreating figure, stubbornness burning hot under your skin. fine. if he wants to play that game, you can play it too. you leave the kitchen, shoving your empty cup into a trash bag on the way out.

you don’t bother searching. you aren’t looking for anyone in particular, just someone to keep your hands busy, your mind even busier.

it’s then you spot hoseok, head thrown back in laughter and a hand curled around a half-finished drink. he doesn’t see you right away, too caught up in someone else’s joke.

you met hoseok through yoongi in college—some house party, someone’s birthday, you don’t remember the details. he was easy to fall in with, and even easier to keep around. he was your main fuck for a while, reliable and always down for whatever. no questions, no drama, nothing complicated.

recently though, it’s been quieter. your messages thin, late replies, you making up excuses to cancel plans you used to agree to in excess. not that it matters. hoseok always understood how things worked, how you worked. if you needed something, he was there. if you didn’t, he faded easy, no pressure.

you cut across the room, weaving through clusters of strangers until you’re standing close enough to hoseok to smell the gin on his breath and the salt on his skin. he catches your eye and grins, wide and easy, already reading your intentions.

“hey, stranger,” he says, voice pitched low enough for only you. his hand finds your hip without missing a beat, thumb rubbing circles through the fabric.

you tip your chin up, lips brushing close to his ear. “miss me?”

hoseok laughs, all teeth, the sound vibrating against your throat when you press in. “thought you were too busy for me these days.”

“i make time for the important things.” your fingers trail down his chest, slow and obvious, letting him know exactly what you’re after.

he hums, eyes glinting. “you want to get out of here or…?”

you lean in, breath hot against his jaw. “or.”

your eyes flick over hoseok’s shoulder, scanning the room for a flash of dark hair. just checking, curious if he’s paying attention.

hoseok’s hand slides bolder under your shirt, thumb tracing heat along your skin. you let him, lean into it, but your gaze still wanders, restless.

“hey,” you murmur, dragging your mouth up to his ear, “you want to be my midnight kiss?”

“midnight kiss?” he echoes, voice low. “thought you’d never ask.”

you smile, slow and wicked, nails digging into his side. “don’t insult me.”

you catch him across the room, half-shadowed with a girl tucked against his side. his gaze drifts, just for a second, before it lands on you. and it stays there.

you keep your eyes locked on yoongi, then, slow, you drag your tongue up the side of hoseok’s neck. hoseok shudders, his grip tightening, a curse falling hot against your ear.

yoongi doesn’t move. his mouth twitches into a sharp almost-smile. the girl at his side says something, tugging at his sleeve, but he barely looks at her.

hoseok leans in, pressing his mouth to your jaw, hungry and eager, but you barely register it. your attention stays on yoongi, letting the moment stretch until satisfaction curls cold and sweet in your chest.

someone shouts from the kitchen room—ten, nine, eight. voices tangle together, filling the apartment, the countdown swelling until it drowns out the music.

hoseok’s hand curls tighter around your waist. you tilt your head, let your hair fall just right, gaze slipping back to yoongi. he hasn’t moved, the girl still pressed against his side, her hand on his chest, lips already pouting in expectation.

seven, six, five.

yoongi’s eyes are locked on you. you can feel it, the dare humming between bodies and distance. you arch closer to hoseok, fingers sliding through his hair.

four, three, two.

hoseok grins, warm and eager, hands everywhere. you drop yoongi’s gaze, and then you kiss hoseok—slow and filthy, a show you know isn’t subtle. his mouth is eager, all tongue and teeth. you moan into it, letting him take.

one.

across the room, yoongi finally looks away, mouth a flat line, ignoring the girl tugging at his sleeve. you feel something twist sharp and mean in your chest. you pull hoseok in again, chasing the taste of victory. he can’t win your game.

the party’s thinned out by now, the edge of a smirk still settled on your lips. hoseok is gone, off to find another drink or maybe another mouth. it doesn’t matter anyway, you got what you wanted.

you check your phone. three missed messages, a blurry group photo, someone’s number you don’t recognize. you slide it away, half-bored, still glowing with the satisfaction that’s been sitting warm in your chest since midnight.

you turn toward the door, but yoongi’s there already, silent, blocking your exit. his jaw is set, lips pursed, and the look in his eyes does little to douse the smug fire in your chest.

he leans in, voice pitched low. “you think you’re cute?”

you let the silence hang for a beat, obnoxiously, then flash him a smug, deliberate smile. “i know i am.”

he studies you, eyes sweeping over your swollen lips and the mark hoseok left on your neck. “that supposed to make me jealous?”

you just shrug, lazy, the victory still sharp in your mouth. “doesn’t matter. was fun for me.”

yoongi’s lips twitch, something sharp and mocking underneath. “real cute,” he says, voice rough. “thought you were leaving with hoseok.”

you slide your phone into your pocket, eyes never leaving his. “didn’t come with him. why would i leave with him?”

he steps closer, gaze dropping, lingering where hoseok’s hands had been. “hm. you showed up tonight planning to get fucked, though.”

heat curls up your spine, but you don’t look away. “never had any trouble in that area.”

yoongi leans in, breath warm against your cheek. “you owe me, remember,” he says, voice quiet but certain. he tips his head toward the darkened hallway, the hush of a bedroom just out of sight.

you snort, mouth twitching. “i don’t owe you shit.”

his smile sharpens. “no?” he murmurs, hand sliding to your jaw, grip steady. “you didn’t scare off my girl? didn’t kiss hoseok desperately trying to get my attention?”

you open your mouth, ready with another smart remark, but his thumb slips past your lips, pressing down on your tongue and shutting you up in an instant.

his gaze doesn’t waver, pupils blown wide and his eyes fixed on yours. “you gonna brat or you gonna listen?” he asks, tone flat. “nod if you want to pay what you owe. shake your head if you’d rather leave.”

you nod, slow and sure, mouth still wrapped around his thumb.

his mouth curls, low and dangerous. “good girl,” yoongi murmurs, voice barely a whisper. “follow me.”

he turns, and you trail after him down the hall, pulse tapping sharp at your throat. he pushes open the door to a darkened room, barely flicking on the lamp before glancing back at you.

you step inside, glancing around. “do you even know whose bed this is?”

“spare room,” he says, jaw tight, hands already at your hips.

you raise a brow, leaning into the challenge. “oh yeah? and how would you know?”

yoongi’s grip tightens, pulling you closer. “shut the fuck up,” he growls, voice rough at the edges, “and put that mouth to better use.”

one hand slides up to tangle in your hair, gentle only in the way he guides you down, the other reaching back to close the door with a dull click.

you let your knees hit the carpet, back straight and hands braced at your thighs. there’s a familiar ache in the way you look up at him, chest rising and lips parted, his gaze dropping heavy.

he’s always looked good from this angle. a little too composed at first, but it never lasts. it never takes long to have him coming undone for you, losing that careful control to make way for something raw.

his fingers tighten just enough to send a pulse through your scalp, tilting your head so your eyes stay on him. you watch the way he breathes, the way his jaw flexes.

your hand slides up, fingers curling around his belt. before you can even start to undo it, yoongi swats your hand away, sharp.

“use your teeth,” he says, voice low and mocking.

you snort. “fuck no.”

his mouth quirks, all challenge. “what, can’t handle it? thought you were good with your mouth.”

you glare, but you lean in anyway, teeth scraping along the leather, fumbling with the buckle.

yoongi’s laugh is quiet and smug, the sound vibrating in the air above you. “struggling?” he teases. “don’t tell me you’re giving up already.”

you huff, glaring up at him, but the belt doesn’t budge. he watches for another moment, savoring it, then reaches down with a hand to unfasten the metal with a quiet click. the leather slides loose with a whisper, and his pants drop not long after.

“knew you couldn’t do it,” he murmurs, looking down at you. “good thing you’re better at other things.”

his hand returns to your hair, a firmer grip this time, guiding your mouth where he wants it. “open up, brat. show me what you’re actually good for.”

you bite down on a smirk, letting your lips brush along the waistband of his underwear, slow and taunting. yoongi’s fingers flex in your hair, a low warning thrumming through his touch.

you drag the band down, teeth scraping lightly at his hip, letting the elastic snap back against his skin. he groans, low and impatient, hips shifting forward. it’s a little clumsy, mouth brushing his skin as you work the fabric. the head of his cock springs free, flushed and already leaking, heavy against his thigh. 

“quit fucking around,” yoongi mutters, voice rough. “hurry up.”

you glance up, lashes fluttering, all innocent. “thought you’d liked it if i’m thorough. you know, take my time.”

his grip tightens, guiding your head closer. “i like it better when you do as you’re told.”

you ignore him, lips ghosting feather-light over his cock. you flick your tongue out, kitten licking at the tip, catching the bead of precum and swirling it across the sensitive head. your lips follow, pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses down his shaft, pausing to suck lightly at the base before trailing back up.

yoongi’s jaw tightens, a curse slipping out between clenched teeth. “stop teasing, or i’ll fuck your throat ‘til you cry.”

you hum, lips curling against his skin. “maybe that’s what i want.”

yoongi’s mouth twists, dark with challenge. “if you won’t do it, i’ll just find someone who will.”

that snaps something hot and mean inside you. before he can even finish, you dig your nails into his thigh, glare burning up at him. “shut up,” you bite out, voice low.

your lips part and you take him in, no teasing now. you choke a little, jaw aching, spit already pooling at the corners of your mouth. his hand stays heavy in your hair, the sharp edge of his threat making you work harder, desperate to wipe that smug look off his face.

he hisses, hips twitching, the arrogance faltering as you suck him down again and again, tongue pressing along the vein at the underside.

“fuck—there you go,” he groans, voice rough and wild. “knew you just needed some encouragement. such a good fucking girl.”

you hum, messy and open, spit slicking his cock, eyes locked on his as you swallow him whole.

you take him deep, nose pressing flush to his curls, trimmed and soft against your face, his cock heavy and hot at the back of your throat. yoongi’s head falls back, a ragged groan torn free as you swallow around him, letting him feel every squeeze and drag.

yoongi’s voice drops, thick and rough. “fuck. filthy little thing. look at you, desperate for cock, making a mess on my dick.”

you pull back just enough for air, spit stringing between your lips and his flushed head. then you suck him in again, messy and wet, tongue working him over. your hands grip his thighs, nails biting, using the leverage to take him even deeper the next time, choking a little.

his hand stays heavy in your hair, guiding. “knew you’d shut up when you had something better to do with that bratty mouth,” he grits out. “keep going. show me how much you love being used.”

your jaw aches but you don’t stop, locked in, spit dribbling down your chin as you take him again and again.

yoongi swears again, voice cracked open and desperate now. “gonna make me cum if you keep—fuck, keep doing that—”

your nails dig into his skin, and you take him even deeper, the tip hitting the back of your throat again and again until your eyes sting. every time you come up for breath, it’s just enough to spit on the head and swallow him all over again, more vicious than before.

yoongi’s breath starts to hitch, hips jerking just slightly despite the way his hand clenches tight in your hair, trying to ground himself. his head tips back again, throat working around a groan, voice low and ragged. “fuck—don’t stop. don’t fucking stop—”

then he goes still.

his cock twitches against your tongue, lips parting around a soft, choked sound when it hits. he cums with a broken groan, hot and thick against the back of your throat. his hand holds you there, buried deep, your nose pressed to his pelvis as you swallow around it

yoongi’s whole body shudders.

you pull back only when you’re sure he’s spent, lips swollen and chin wet, the taste of him still heavy on your tongue. he looks down at you, eyes glassy, and for a second, he doesn’t say anything.

then, hoarse and wrecked, he exhales: “fuck.”

yoongi runs a hand through his hair, chest still rising hard with each breath, then calmly reaches down and pulls his pants up.

you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, still on your knees, watching him with narrowed eyes.

he glances down at you, belt hanging loose in his hand. “well,” he says, tilting his head. “looks like you paid what you owed.”

your brows pull together, mouth tugging into a sour twist. “fuck off.”

yoongi just grins, eyes gleaming with victory. “if you want me to fuck you, all you have to do is ask.”

your stare sharpens. you don’t move. don’t give him anything.

he shrugs like it’s nothing. “nah? too proud?” he clicks his tongue once, backing toward the door, still buckling his belt. “then good luck finding your dick of the night.”

he opens the door, glancing back just once.

“hope he knows what he’s doing.”

and then he’s gone, leaving you there, flushed and pissed and entirely ready to kill him the next time you see his stupid face.

you show up to work the next day moody, a headache already pulsing behind your eyes before you’ve even made it through the revolving doors. your heels feel too loud against the marble floor, the fluorescent lighting a personal attack.

jen spots you immediately, holding a takeaway cup and leaning against the security desk with the kind of posture that suggests she didn’t spend the night getting drunk, throat-fucked and then subsequently emotionally whiplashed.

“yikes,” she says with a grin, eyes raking over your face.

“that generous?” you mutter, pulling your lanyard out of your bag and flashing your badge to the scanner.

she falls in step beside you as you head for the elevators. “so? how was it? the party? the new year? did you make out with anyone worth remembering or…?”

you press the button, eyes fixed ahead. “i’m hoping it’s not an indication of how the rest of my year is going to go.”

jen lets out a low whistle. “wow. that bad?”

you don’t answer. the elevator dings open. and thankfully, for now, she doesn’t push.

she’s always been good at that, knowing when to dig and when to leave you alone. you don’t have it in you to rehash the night, not when your stomach still twists just thinking about it.

the hangover’s bad, but the mood’s worse.

you’d already left the party pissed, but what made it worse was the message. the first one you’d gotten from him in ages. no “did you get home?” no “still mad?” not even a meme or a fuck you.

well, it was a fuck you.

a picture, his back in the frame, caught in a mirror selfie. red scratch marks dragged down his skin in angry, scored lines.

no text. didn’t need any.

your stomach had dropped when you opened it, the kind of petty, sharp twist that left your chest hot and your throat dry. it wasn’t jealousy. it wasn’t. it was the fact that he knew exactly what it would do to you, and he’d done it anyway.

fucking prick.

the elevator doors ding open. you blink against the light and step out with jen, trying to pull yourself together before anyone else in the office can clock your sour state.

she glances sideways at you, sipping her coffee. “we should do something fun after work. alcohol-free, i promise.”

you raise a brow, skeptical.

“there’s some grunge thing happening at the rec tonight. underground gig, shitty lighting, probably smells like sweat and weed. could be fun.”

you grunt. “i just want to get through the day without stabbing anyone.”

jen hums, completely unbothered. “okay, fair.”

you think that’s the end of it, but as you swipe your badge at the office door, she adds, sing-song: “you don’t really have a choice, though.”

you shoot her a look.

she smiles sweetly, already halfway down the hallway. “i’m texting you the details. wear something cute.”

you don’t break stride. “bite me.”

she just laughs, disappearing down the hall.

you round the corner and head toward your desk, just trying to keep your head down. but of course, life has other intentions.

“morning!” bright-eyed and eager—jeon jungkook, your intern.

“morning,” you say, clipped but polite.

“you look, uh, nice today,” he says, grin a little too hopeful.

“thanks,” you nod, eyes already scanning the desk behind him. “do you have the file i requested ready for the client handover?”

he blinks, faltering for a second before recovering. “almost! just need to double check the last couple of—”

“cool,” you say, walking past him without breaking stride. “get it to me before eleven.”

you don’t look back. he’s sweet, or whatever. maybe if it were a different morning, you’d indulge the attention. flirt back, have a little fun. but today? today you don’t have it in you.

you reach your desk, drop into your chair, and stare at your monitor.

god. you need caffeine. or a lobotomy. whatever works faster.

you power on your computer with a sigh, the screen flickering to life while your inbox refreshes in a sluggish crawl. emails pile in—flagged, urgent, cc’d unnecessarily—none of them worth the mounting ache in your temples.

you reach for the pen on your desk, pop the cap off with your teeth, and leave it there, balanced between your lips as your fingers start working the keyboard.

you know you should focus. know there are reports due and a client call at noon, and your calendar’s already booked solid with back-to-back meetings you barely remember accepting.

but you’re mad. you’re mad and it sits under your skin like a slow burn.

the cursor blinks on your screen. the spreadsheet refuses to load fast enough. you chew on the pen cap harder, jaw tense, hand clenched around your mouse like it personally wronged you.

does yoongi think he’s better than you or something?

because he’s not.

not with his smug little text. not with scratch marks down his back like he’s so fucking proud of being someone else’s temporary distraction like it makes him special.

it doesn’t.

he’s still the same yoongi from college. same one who’d drop everything at a text. the one who’d show up at 2am with a pack of marlboros and a condom just because you sent “u up?” and a half-assed location pin. just because he’s got game now doesn’t change that.

not the chain around his neck, or the girls in gloss shirts clawing at his back like it means something. he’s not better than you.

you bite down harder on the pen cap, that familiar heat creeping back up your neck, something hot and bruising under your ribs. you click through another tab, jaw tight, pretending the sharp taste in your mouth is caffeine withdrawal. not jealousy. never jealousy.

you try to sneak off after work without running into jen. you love her, you do. she’s been your work wife since day two. but tonight you could do with quiet. no crowd, no fake grunge scene, no well-meaning questions about what happened at the party last night?

“where do you think you’re going?”

you hear jen before you even see her, voice cutting clean through the after-work shuffle as you make a beeline for the lobby doors.

you pick up your pace.

“hey—hey!” she calls, heels clicking faster against tile as she hurries to catch up. “don’t think i didn’t see that weak little speed-walk. you trying to ditch me?”

you sigh, defeated, turning just enough to glance back. “i wasn’t—”

“great. so we’re on for tonight,” jen says cheerfully. “i’ll come to yours to get ready.”

your brow pulls. “what about your car?”

“took an uber.”

you stare. “why?”

“my fiancé has the car,” jen says, shrugging casually.

your face twists. “he doesn’t have his own?”

“he’s working on it,” she replies, a little too quickly.

you scoff. “right. just like he’s working on getting a job. and working on applying to uni. and working on figuring out what the fuck he’s doing with his life.”

jen exhales through her nose, already regretting mentioning it.

“when does it end?” you ask, half-laughing. “car? working on it. career? working on it. higher education? not in the cards, but always a possibility. what are you dating, a project with no deadline?”

“okay,” jen mutters, pulling her coat tighter. “tonight isn’t about our love lives.”

you raise a brow.

“it’s not!” she insists, bumping her shoulder into yours. “it’s about two best friends, dressing hot, doing eyeliner in bad lighting, and having a night for themselves.”

you give her a look, skeptical with your lips pressed thin, but you don’t argue.

because yeah. maybe she’s right. maybe tonight shouldn’t be about your love lives.

especially not yours.

you’re not willing to dissect that in the car on the way to a DIY punk show with a girl who still calls her fiancé’s unemployment a “path into self-discovery.”

so instead, you let her bump your shoulder again, this time with a grin, and you exhale through your nose in something that might resemble a laugh.

“fine,” you mutter. “bad lighting, bad eyeliner, no feelings.”

“no feelings,” jen agrees, holding up a pinky like you’re two girls in high school.

you roll your eyes but hook yours with hers anyway. “we’re gonna regret this.”

“absolutely,” she says, already climbing into the passenger seat. “but at least we’ll be hot about it.”

your place is quiet when you arrive, walking into the dim lighting. the walls are clean, the furniture modern, the view wide and glittering from the floor-to-ceiling windows. a little too clean to feel lived in, but it’s home. or close enough.

“ugh,” jen groans dramatically, kicking off her boots by the door. “i forgot how much i love your place.”

you set your keys down on the kitchen counter, unwrapping your scarf. “one day you’ll have one of your own.”

“please.” she flops onto the sectional, limbs everywhere. “there’s no way i’m climbing any ladder. not unless the ladder’s attached to a sugar daddy’s yacht.”

you snort, pulling open the fridge to grab a seltzer. “maybe your fiancé will help you climb.”

“yeah,” she calls, already scrolling through something on her phone. “if it’s one of those ladders that’s missing half the rungs and wobbles when you step on it.”

you hum, sipping slowly as you lean against the counter. outside, the city glows faint and hazy, a view you still haven’t gotten used to. you don’t say anything for a second, just watch the lights.

“he’ll figure it out,” you say eventually, neutral.

jen laughs, dry and fond. “you’re a terrible liar.”

you both laugh. it echoes through the apartment, warm against the polished tile and glass.

“alright,” jen says, sitting up with a dramatic sigh, “show me to the glam station. i’m about to bless the public with my presence.”

you roll your eyes and start toward your bedroom. “you don’t even have a change of clothes.”

“that’s because,” she says, already trailing after you, “i’m gonna be raiding your closet.”

you glance back, dry. “of course you are.”

“duh. you’re the one with cut v-necks and slutty miniskirts. i’m just here to accessorize.”

you gesture toward the wardrobe, stepping aside. “go nuts. just don’t touch the leather pants.”

jen’s already digging, gleeful. “oh, honey. those are exactly what i’m touching.”

you groan and grab your makeup bag, dragging it onto the vanity with the resigned air of someone who knows they’ve already lost this round.

“loud night and sexy clothes,” jen sing-songs.

“no feelings,” you mutter back, pulling out your eye liner pencil and uncapping it with your teeth.

you’re both standing in your bedroom now, surrounded by open drawers and half-zipped makeup bags. the bluetooth speaker hums with bass from someone who probably peaked in 2016, and you’re working your eyeliner on autopilot, head tilted toward the mirror and mouth slack.

jen’s seated cross-legged on the floor, still rifling through your tops like she pays rent. “okay,” she says, holding one up, “this or the mesh one?”

you squint. “mesh.”

“bless.”

she tosses the other aside and starts peeling off her sweater. you glance back at her, brow lifted. “no shame, huh?”

“none,” she says, unbothered.

you shake your head, grin tugging at your mouth despite everything.

the prep unfolds in pieces. lipsticks swatched on the back of your hand, jen cursing because she forgot her mascara and using yours like it’s not $60 a tube. her leaning in, helping you fix your wing without asking. you letting her.

it’s simple. and for the first time all day, your head stops spinning. the weight of all of it fades into the background hum of music and shitty banter.

“you done?” you ask, dabbing gloss on your lips.

jen gives herself a once-over in the mirror, then nods. “we look so good.”

you grab your coat. “good.”

you don’t say it, but tonight, you want to be hard to touch and harder to look away from. let someone else fall apart for once.

the rec smells like beer, sweat, and something that might be mildew but you’re too scared to confirm. the floor’s sticky, and there’s a questionable puddle by the entrance that you had to hop over just to keep your boots clean.

“why are we here,” you say flatly.

jen grins, unaffected, already bouncing on the balls of her feet. “because it’s gonna be fun.”

you squint. “define fun.”

“loud music, poor decisions, hot strangers—”

“you’re engaged.”

“you’re not,” she chirps.

you sigh, adjusting your jacket and scanning for the nearest exit in case you need to disappear mid-set. “what time does this start?”

jen checks her phone, thumbs flicking through a text. “five minutes.”

“cool.” you say it without inflection. not cool.

someone bumps into you with a plastic cup of warm beer, already slurring through their apology.

you look at jen again. she’s glowing. you are… not.

you’re halfway through mentally drafting your exit plan—blaming a stomach ache or a work thing, maybe a fake call from your boss—when you spot him.

“hoseok?”

he turns at the sound of your voice, already mid-laugh with someone you don’t recognize. his grin widens when he sees you, bright as ever. “no fucking way.”

you blink. “what are you doing here?”

“playing,” he says, casual. “we’re the gig.”

“what—seriously?”

“yeah.” he steps aside and gestures toward the stage, where namjoon’s fiddling with cables, sleeves pushed up, focused as hell. “gloss. remember?”

you shake your head, still a little stunned. “cool.”

then it hits you.

gloss is yoongi’s band. which means if gloss is here, yoongi is somewhere in this building.

your stomach flips.

you scan the crowd like it might spit him out at your feet. but all you get is bodies and flashing lights and the dull thump of the soundcheck.

you retreat, finding by the bar, mid-sip of something fluorescent and fizzy, talking to a guy in a fishnet shirt about which bands sound better live. you grab her arm without a word.

“we have to go,” you say, low and fast. “we have to go.”

she blinks, startled. “what? why?”

“because we do.”

“absolutely not.” she plants her feet. “we just got here. what’s got your panties so twisted?”

you freeze long enough for her to narrow her eyes, suspicious. but you school your face fast.

“nothing,” you lie. “it’s just—this venue’s gross.”

“oh, come on,” she groans. “you can survive one night. it’s not like we’re sleeping on the floor.”

you shift your weight, eyes scanning the crowd again. “i don’t want to be here.”

“you’re gonna feel different once the band starts,” she says, all smiles again. “they’re super cool. some indie group called gloss or something—”

“i know,” you snap before you can catch yourself.

jen pauses. eyebrows lift. “…do you? do you even know what it stands for?”

you blink. “what?”

“it stands for get loud or stay small, and they literally live in our city, which i personally think is totally cool—”

you cross your arms. “was this just an excuse to see them?”

her face goes very still for a half-second too long. then, “what? no!”

you narrow your eyes.

“i just—” she shrugs, sheepish. “i didn’t know they were playing until last night. figured it’d be fun.”

“right.”

you look away, jaw tight.

she’s still talking, still fanning herself over how hot the bassist is supposed to be—spoiler, that’s yoongi—but you’re already pissed all over again.

not just at her. at the fact that you came out tonight to forget about him, and instead you walked into his fucking stage.

“you okay?” jen asks, tone shifting a little.

you force a breath out through your nose. “i’m fine.”

“you sure? i mean—if you hate it, we can go. seriously.”

you look past her and toward the stage. the instruments are set, lights warming up, the crowd inching closer.

you swallow. “no. it’s fine.”

jen grins, unaware. “god, i’m so excited. i hope they play that one song that went semi-viral last year. you know, the one about getting fingered in a—”

you let out a sound that’s half laugh, half disbelief. “yeah. sure, just shut up.”

and then the lights go down and the crowd roars, and it’s too late to leave.

you don’t breathe.

four figures step out, one by one. first jin, then namjoon, then hoseok, and jen is squealing, clutching your arm while bouncing on her toes.

and last comes yoongi.

black shirt torn and distressed, a lazy hand wrapped around his mic. he doesn’t wave. doesn’t smile.

“we’re gloss,” he says, voice low and scratchy through the reverb. “let’s make tonight loud, yeah?”

the crowd screams louder. the drums kick in.

jen grabs your hand, dragging you toward the stage.

you let her, but you don’t pretend you’re here for the music. you don’t even pretend you’re here for the thrill.

the screaming is near-deafening.

a gaggle of girls beside you, all gloss-branded shirts and glitter gel eyeliner, bounce in synchrony, shrieking their names like they’re giving out backstage passes for each decibel. one of them cups her hands to her mouth, shouting “hoseok, i love you!” over the bassline.

you don’t roll your eyes, but it’s close.

instead, you lean in the direction of the stage. wait for just the right moment, when hoseok looks up, scanning the crowd with that wide, feral grin of his.

and then you blow him a kiss.

hoseok catches it mid-air like a cheeseball, pausing mid-riff, fingers curling around the phantom kiss before he winks. doesn’t even try to be subtle.

you smile sweetly at him. then, just to twist the knife, you turn to the girl beside you and wink at her too.

her jaw drops.

you shrug, giving her a faux pout before turning back to the stage.

the music isn’t bad, necessarily. you’ve just heard better. something about it feels try-hard in that post-ironic, “we’re too cool to care” way.

and the worst part?

yoongi.

because he’s not even pretending to take it seriously. lounging behind the keyboard like he’s at soundcheck, smirking every time one of his many fangirls screams his name. he tosses them winks and half-assed kissy faces.

then one of them flashes him.

you blink, then blink again, and watch as that stupid grin spreads across his face like he’s so proud of himself.

jen is too busy staring at hoseok to notice your jaw tighten. something has to be done.

your options are limited. the stage is barely elevated, the lighting is shit, and the air is heavy with sweat and vape clouds. but if yoongi gets to wink at every half-naked girl in the front row like he’s the second coming of trent reznor, you get to have your moment too.

you hook your thumbs into your waistband. just a little. just enough.

there’s a lull in the song—something atmospheric, the drums fading out and the guitar slowing to a thrum—and that’s when you do it.

tilt your hips, dip your fingers. drag the band of your jeans down just far enough to show off the ink that curls low beneath your navel.

something new. something he hasn’t seen.

you let the crowd swallow the moment, everyone too focused on jin’s voice to notice you pulling it taut, holding it, and then—

snap.

the waistband slaps back into place.

you don’t break eye contact.

yoongi does, just long enough to prove he saw and that it worked.

the set eventually ends, mercifully. jen’s still clapping, starry-eyed. you lean over, already pulling your phone from your back pocket.

“i’m gonna head out. you coming with?”

“oh.” she blinks, then glances around. “no, it’s okay, i’ll just uber home.”

“sure?” you ask, and you nod when she nods. “okay, cool.”

she hugs you tight and you squeeze her back, eyes already on the exit sign. you’re halfway toward it when—

“hey.”

you turn.

hoseok.

his skin’s glistening with leftover stage sweat, hair pushed back. there’s something magnetic about him when he’s like this, when his his adrenaline hasn’t quite faded and his pupils are still blown a little wide.

“wanna come chill backstage?” he asks, voice low and easy.

you raise a brow. “oh? like one of your groupies?”

he laughs, eyes crinkling. “don’t flatter yourself.”

you roll your eyes, but you’re still smiling, and you say yes. stupidly. because you’re still feeling smug and petty. might as well keep riding it.

the backstage room is cramped and noisy and hot, some folding chairs, half a couch and a mini fridge buzzing in the corner.

you step in behind hoseok, ducking your head a little when the crowd parts.

“guys,” he calls out, tossing his water bottle onto a crate, “brought a friend.”

“ohh,” jin drawls from the couch, broad-shouldered and messy-haired. he looks you over, smiling, eyes a little hazy. “so this is the one, huh?”

you blink. “i—sorry?”

“ignore him,” hoseok says. “jin’s like this with everyone.”

you nod politely. “hey. first time hearing you perform.”

“and?” he leans forward, chin in palm.

“music’s not really my thing,” you say flatly. “but the energy was good.”

he barks a laugh. “damn. brutal.”

you shrug.

joon’s in the corner, wiping down his drumsticks. he glances over and offers a nod. you return it—it’s familiar, even if not exactly warm. same major, different circles. his gaze lingers for a second before he goes back to his gear.

and then yoongi.

his back’s against the wall, legs crossed at the ankles, bottle of something brown dangling lazily from his fingers. there’s a towel slung around his neck, shirt damp with sweat. he doesn’t say anything when you enter, but his eyes track you, sharp and unreadable.

you pretend not to notice.

yoongi lets out a low whistle, head tilting as he eyes your jeans with a little too much interest.

“the ink. it new?” he mutters.

you shrug, turning slightly as if to better show it off. “got it a few months ago.”

“got another one?” hoseok asks, grin already widening.

you glance back at him over your shoulder, then hook your thumbs into the back of your waistband, tugging it down slow. “wanna see?”

yoongi shifts where he sits.

you tip your hips just enough to show the curve of another tattoo, stamped bold and permanent at the small of your back.

“matching set,” you hum. “cute, right?”

hoseok hums, eyes gleaming. “so fuckin’ cute.”

yoongi’s standing, casual and silent, but there’s something unreadable in the way he does it.

“let me show you around,” he says, and it’s not a request.

you blink, instantly resistant. “no, thanks.”

his brow quirks. a familiar twitch. you know that look—a small, warning reminder. you sigh, rolling your eyes. “fine. humor me.”

you trail after him, through a narrow hallway until it opens up into a cluttered back storage area. it’s barely lit, a speaker buzzing low overhead.

he doesn’t turn around when he speaks. “you get off on acting like a slut for my attention?”

you scoff. “nothing i ever do is for your attention.”

yoongi turns then, slow, eyes dragging up your body until they settle on your face.

“sure,” he murmurs. “that’s why you’re here tonight. just for fun. not for the attention.”

“yup.” your tone is deliberately flippant. you pop the ‘p’. “just for fun.”

he steps in closer. “you hate that i have other girls that much?” he asks, voice low.

your mouth curls, slow and lazy. “not at all. just thought your groupies could use a little education on how to be sexy with some decorum.”

yoongi huffs a laugh, amused almost. “right.”

his eyes drop down, hovering around your waistband. “wanna see it again.”

“what?” you ask sweetly, “the tattoo you were drooling over on stage?” your voice pitches mockingly higher. “you could just say you wanna fuck me, you know.”

he quirks a brow, expression hungry. “maybe i just wanna look.”

“maybe you should use your words then.”

his eyes flick up to yours, head tilting. “then pull your pants down, princess. let me look properly.”

you don’t move. you just stare, lashes slow as they blink. “you’re easy.”

yoongi scoffs. not offended, more amused if anything.

“i’m not easy,” he says, voice calm, unbothered. “but unlike you—”

he leans in, breath brushing the shell of your ear.

“—i’m not too proud to admit when i wanna fuck someone.”

you hate the way your stomach flips. hate the way your thighs shift, heat creeping in slow behind your skin.

“i’m not asking again,” he says, voice gone rough. “pants. off.”

his words drop heavy between you, a command that leaves no room for the pretense that you’re in control anymore. his eyes drag down your body, dark and wanting, hands flexing like he’s holding himself back only by the thinnest thread.

you hold his gaze, letting the moment stretch, something smug curling in your chest at how much he wants it. you hook your thumbs into your waistband again, slower this time, letting your jeans drag down over your hips.

his breath shudders out. he doesn’t look away, doesn’t blink.

“that’s it,” yoongi says, voice dropping lower, “let me see all of you.”

then yoongi’s mouth crashes into yours, all teeth and heat, his hands gripping your hips and dragging you closer until there’s nothing between you but skin and want.

you kiss him back with bite, nails digging into his arms, refusing to let him have the last word even now, with your jeans tangled around your ankles and your shirt hiked up.

he grins against your mouth, dark and cocky, pulling back just enough to murmur, “always so fucking stubborn.” his thumb traces your tattoo, slow and possessive, before his hand slips between your thighs, dragging his fingers through your slick over your underwear. “but look at you now. soaked for me.”

you huff, bratting it out to the last, “maybe it’s not for you.”

yoongi’s fingers flex, a warning press. “keep mouthing off and i’ll make you beg.”

you bare your teeth in a smile, arching into his hand. “try me.”

his grip tightens, his hand teasing your clit in slow, infuriating circles. you writhe against him, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a moan, even as your body shakes with need.

“you want to cum?” he asks, voice smug. “say please.”

you glare, rolling your hips for friction. “make me.”

his mouth curls wicked. “you’re impossible.”

he pushes your underwear aside, slipping two fingers inside and curling just right, and you bite your lip holding in a cry.

his free arm tightens around your waist, holding you still, breath hot against your jaw as he mutters, “good girl. take it. show me how much you want it.”

your pride holds out as long as it can.

but when he finally pulls his hand away and lines his cock up, pressing slow and deliberate, you break.

“yoongi—”

he grins, eyes burning. “say please.”

you clench your jaw, staring him down, hips already grinding against him for more. but you give in.

“fuck—please.”

“that’s it,” he growls. “knew you’d beg for it.”

yoongi turns you quick, chest to the wall, his hands sliding up your sides. before you can get another word out, he pushes two fingers into your mouth, shutting you up. your lips part instinctively, tongue swirling around him.

“always gotta run your mouth,” he mutters, sliding into you from behind, cock already pressing deep. “figured i’d give it something useful to do.”

his thrusts are rough, pace hard enough that your knees nearly buckle, forehead pressed to the wall.

“fuck, look at you,” he grits out, voice thick with want. “so cock-hungry you’ll do anything i say. this what you wanted? to show off for me, act like a slut in front of everyone just to get filled up?”

you moan around his fingers, eyes fluttering shut, saliva dribbling down your chin as he fucks you harder, every thrust sending sparks up your spine.

“that’s it,” yoongi pants, hand fisting tighter in your hair. “take it. let everyone hear you. let ‘em know who’s fucking you stupid.”

your hips snap back against him, greedy for more, his filthy praise only making you wetter. his fingers keep your mouth stuffed, your noises muffled and desperate, the wet sounds echoing in the cramped, dim-lit space.

he slams into you, deep and mean, pushing you right to the edge.

“you gonna cum for me like this?” he taunts, thumb smearing spit across your cheek. “gonna let me fuck all that attitude out of you?”

you nod, desperate and frantic against his fingers, spit slicking your lips as you whine.

yoongi just smirks, pressing in closer until his mouth hovers by your ear, voice dark and wrecked. “do it,” he whispers, hips snapping harder, pace unyielding. “cum for me.”

his breath is hot at your neck, words rolling down your spine as he fucks you through it. you let go, orgasm tearing through you, the world narrowing to nothing but the feeling of his cock and the rough drag of his fingers in your mouth, his voice commanding you to fall apart.

yoongi groans, fucking you through every aftershock, voice filthy in your ear: “that’s it—such a good fucking girl when you’re stuffed full, huh?”

he keeps you pinned, each thrust rougher, chasing his own end. his hand slips from your jaw to your lower back, splaying his fingers over your spine, tugging you back until your arch deepens and your tattoo is on full display for him.

he leans back just enough to take in the sight , the dark lines flexing with every movement, sweat beading along your skin. you can feel his gaze burning into you, possessive and filthy.

“so fuckin’ pretty,” he groans, breath jagged, “can’t believe you wanted to hide this from me.”

he fucks you faster, desperate, the rhythm turning erratic as he chases release. when he’s on the edge, he pulls out at the last second, fist wrapping around his cock. you feel the first hot splash hit your lower back, streaking across your tattoo, and then another and another, thick and messy.

he groans your name, hips jerking as he empties himself all over your skin, marking you with each pulsing spurt—not bothering to hide how much he loves the sight of you ruined for him.

for a moment, the only sounds are your ragged breaths and his low curses, the aftermath warm and sticky on your back, his hands still gripping your hips.

then yoongi lets his gaze drag down your body, still smug as he takes in the mess he’s made. hair wild, mouth bruised, skin streaked where his cum is drying across your tattoo. his eyes flick up, drinking in your thoroughly ruined state, and he smirks, just a little too proud of himself.

“you needed that, huh,” he drawls.

you glare, breath still ragged. “never.”

his mouth twitches, dark and lazy. “i’ll clean you up.”

you shake your head, tugging your jeans back up with shaky fingers. “you don’t need to. you got what you wanted.”

yoongi’s smirk falters, gaze narrowing. “what we wanted.”

you snort, still breathless, swiping at your back with the edge of your shirt. “i was gonna fuck someone tonight, yoongi. just happened to be you. don’t get it twisted.”

something sour flashes through his eyes. “yeah? you were gonna let hoseok fuck you?”

you meet his gaze, steady. “i thought we were fucking other people.”

“yeah, but you don’t see me fucking the chick you came in with,” he spits, a hint of jealousy slipping out despite himself.

you huff, rolling your eyes. “good. she’s engaged. you can’t.”

yoongi goes quiet, jaw tight, frustration flashing behind his eyes. “the fuck is your problem?”

you tug your shirt down, refusing to meet his gaze. “i don’t have one.”

“bullshit. you obviously do.” he steps in closer, tension crackling. “what is it? is it that i’m not your lapdog anymore? can’t stand seeing i don’t need you? does it shatter your fragile ego, watching me have a life that doesn’t orbit around you?”

you snap your glare to him, voice cold. “shut the fuck up, yoongi.”

he just shakes his head, mouth curling mean. “no, tell me. what makes you think you’re so fucking great? what, did you peak in college? you holding onto whatever leash you think you’ve got on me—does that make you feel better about your mediocre fucking life?”

your jaw tightens, heat stinging behind your eyes, but you force your tone steady. “shut up. go fuck yourself.”

yoongi laughs, sharp and bitter. “maybe you should try it first. sounds like you need it more than me.”

you spit at his feet, the sound sharp in the cramped room. yoongi’s jaw tightens, something ugly flickering in his eyes, but you don’t give him the satisfaction of a reaction.

you turn on your heel and storm out, wiping your mouth, chin high and pride stitching back together with every step.

who the fuck does he think he is? 

permanent taglist : @rpwprpwprpwprw @glossdebut @angellekookie @ggukivrse @annyeongbitch7 @hemmosfear @auroradamned @jimineepaboya @devinkelsey19 @misshale21 @benyhime

[saltedcaramelcupcakes]

Mexico Will Never Move On | MYG

Summary: Yoongi accidentally causes internet chaos during a concert in Mexico, then calls you right after just to get teased for it. Somewhere between embarrassing fancams, late-night flirting, and a random colorful skull from a market, long distance suddenly feels a little harder than usual. Status: One-shot Pairing: Idol!Yoongi x Reader Word Count: 4.4k~ Genre: Idol!AU, Fluff Rated: PG Tags: Boyfriend!Yoongi, Secret, Slice of Life, LDR Posting Date: May 17, 2026 SCC: Ko-fi ☕️ ・ Taglist 📝

That night, Seoul was at its coldest. Light rain had been falling since the afternoon, making the apartment air feel cool and cozy. You had already showered, wearing one of Yoongi’s oversized shirts that somehow had been staying in your closet more often than in his own lately. Your hair was still a little damp when you climbed onto the sofa carrying a thin blanket and a glass of iced americano with almost-melted ice.

The TV had actually been playing a drama for a while, but you weren’t really watching it. Your focus was only on mindlessly scrolling through TikTok. Your FYP that night was completely random—people reviewing spicy food, Jungkook gym edits, videos of angry cats getting bathed.

Until suddenly…

A concert video.

The lights were insanely bright. Fans screaming loud enough to burst your ears even through your phone speaker.

And in the middle of the screen—

Yoongi.

You automatically stopped scrolling.

His hair was soaked with sweat, his breathing still visibly heavy after performing. He was wearing a thin white tank top underneath and a black outer jacket that had already fallen halfway open. His face was red from the heat and exhaustion, but he still looked absurdly handsome in the most annoying way possible.

The caption said:

“HE ACCIDENTALLY TOOK OFF EVERYTHING 😭”

Your eyebrow instantly lifted.

“Hah?”

The video kept playing.

Yoongi was seen pulling off his jacket from behind his neck, probably because he was hot. But somehow, the inner shirt got dragged up with it.

And a split second later—

The entire venue literally exploded.

“KYYYYYYYYAAAAAAAAAA—”

The fans’ screams cracked from how loud they were.

The camera recording immediately shook violently. Someone dropped their phone downward. Someone else only recorded the venue ceiling because they got too hysterical.

Meanwhile Yoongi…

His expression was priceless.

He instantly stopped moving, blankly staring for one second like his brain was buffering, then quickly pulled his shirt back down while laughing shyly.

You immediately covered your mouth.

Then burst out laughing alone in the living room.

“OH MY GOD.”

Replay.

Replay again.

And the more you replayed it, the funnier it got because he genuinely looked like it was completely accidental. Even the member next to him turned around with a shocked-but-laughing expression.

The next TikTok appeared from another angle.

One zoomed in on Yoongi’s face.

One was in slow motion.

One used dramatic Titanic music.

Another one had the caption:

“Mexico survived earthquakes but not this.”

You practically collapsed against the sofa laughing.

“Poor him…”

But you still replayed it again.

Honestly, it wasn’t just funny.

Yoongi looked way too good there.

That white tank top clung to him because of the sweat. His arms were full of veins after performing. His black hair fell slightly onto his forehead. And his embarrassed, panicked expression somehow made everyone lose their minds even more.

Your phone even started constantly buzzing.

The BTS group chat instantly became chaotic.

Jimin: hyung trending 😭😭😭

Hoseok: I TOLD YOU NOT TO TAKE OFF YOUR JACKET ON STAGE

Jungkook: Mexico will never move on

Namjoon: internet is gone

You laughed again while screenshotting several videos.

Then without thinking, you opened Yoongi’s chat.

For a few seconds you were still smiling to yourself before finally typing.

You: [5 screenshots] Congratulations

Typing…

Typing stopped.

Typing again.

Yoongi: I want to disappear

You immediately laughed again.

You: No seriously 😭 This is so funny

Yoongi: I just wanted to take off my jacket

You: And accidentally took off your dignity too

Read.

No reply for a few seconds.

Then—

Yoongi: You’re enjoying this way too much huh

You: Very much

Yoongi: Mean

You: An entire stadium screamed like they got jumpscared

Yoongi: I was shocked too

You: Your face was so funny 😭😭😭

You replayed the video again while grinning to yourself.

Especially the part where Yoongi immediately pulled his shirt back down with an expression like “what the hell just happened?”

You even zoomed in on a certain screenshot.

Oh.

Oh no.

His arms were insane though.

Without realizing it, you took another screenshot.

You: Btw are your arms even legal?

Yoongi took longer to reply this time.

Maybe he was showering. Maybe eating. Or maybe regretting his life because the entire internet was now filled with fancams of him.

Finally the chat bubble appeared again.

Yoongi: Are you thirst tweeting now too?

You: I’m a victim of the timeline

Yoongi: Delete TikTok

You: Can’t The entertainment tonight is too good

Yoongi: I’m tired

You: But handsome

Read.

No reply for about a minute.

Then suddenly your phone screen showed an incoming video call.

You instantly laughed before answering.

The moment it connected, Yoongi’s face immediately filled the screen.

His hair was still slightly wet after showering. He was now wearing a loose black shirt with the collar hanging lower on one side. His skin was still slightly flushed from the concert and hot shower. He sat leaning against the hotel sofa while staring at you with a tired face.

“Just keep laughing.”

The second you heard his raspy post-performance voice, you laughed even harder.

“Sorry—really sorry but this is genuinely funny…”

Yoongi closed his eyes briefly while letting out a long sigh.

“I opened my phone and it was pure chaos.”

“Well that’s your fault.”

“It wasn’t intentional.”

“You know people are saying Mexico lost their minds tonight?”

“I want to uninstall the internet.”

You were still smiling widely while staring at the screen.

And damn it, the more you looked at him now, the more you kept thinking about him earlier on stage.

Sweaty. Heavy breathing. Tense arms.

God.

Yoongi watched your face for a few seconds. Then the corner of his lips lifted slightly.

“Oh.”

“What oh.”

“So you were freaking out too apparently.”

“No.”

“Liar.”

“I was just surprised.”

“How many times did you replay it?”

You instantly went silent.

Yoongi narrowed his eyes slightly. “Exactly.”

“…a few.”

“How many is a few?”

“Well… several.”

“You took screenshots too.”

Your eyes widened immediately.

“How do you know?!”

“I can tell from your face.”

“What’s wrong with my face?”

“You look guilty.”

You let out a small huff while leaning back against the sofa again.

Yoongi watched you with a faint smile. Even exhausted like that, he still had energy to tease you.

“You seriously…” you muttered quietly.

“What?”

“You made an entire country hysterical.”

“One country is exaggerating.”

“No it’s not. Their screaming was terrifying.”

Yoongi just laughed softly.

And oh my god, that soft laugh. You hated how easily he made your heart feel weird just from his voice alone.

“You need to see the edits now,” you said while reopening TikTok. “Someone already made a slow motion version.”

“Don’t show me.”

“Too late.”

You played one video.

The second the hysterical fan screams blasted from your phone, Yoongi immediately covered his face with one hand.

“OH MY GOD.”

You burst out laughing again.

“Your expression is so funny!”

“I’m genuinely embarrassed.”

“It’s rare seeing you this embarrassed.”

“Because it wasn’t intentional.”

“You literally buffered on stage.”

“I panicked.”

“It showed.”

Yoongi sighed deeply while sinking further into the hotel sofa. His shirt shifted slightly higher around the sleeves. And you… unconsciously glanced again.

Yoongi noticed. Very noticed.

“What are you doing?”

“Hm?”

“You keep staring.”

“I’m not.”

“You think I don’t know?”

You instantly got flustered.

“Fine, maybe a little.”

“You said it was funny.”

“It is funny.”

“So what is it now?”

You bit your lip briefly before quietly answering,

“…handsome too.”

Yoongi went silent for a few seconds. Then he smiled very slightly. A thin smile. The kind that made your heart melt because he genuinely looked happy hearing it.

“You make me feel confident so easily.”

“Hey don’t get too confident.”

“Why?”

“Or you’ll intentionally take your shirt off at concerts.”

He immediately laughed.

“I’m not that bad.”

“You sure?”

“You’ve already seen it plenty of times too.”

And like someone pressed pause—

You instantly froze. “…what?”

Yoongi casually leaned back while looking at you.

“Why are you pretending to be shocked now?”

“MIN YOONGI.”

“What?”

“That’s a different context.”

“What’s the difference?”

“AN ENTIRE STADIUM SAW THIS.”

“But who sees it the most often?”

Your cheeks instantly heated up.

“That’s not the point—”

“You literally sleep hugging me every night.”

“STOP.”

“And now you’re embarrassed?”

You immediately covered your face with a sofa pillow while groaning in embarrassment.

Yoongi just laughed victoriously from the other side.

“Finally embarrassed too.”

“You’re so annoying.”

“You started it earlier.”

“But now you’re doing it on purpose!”

“Hm.”

“What do you mean hm.”

“It’s cute seeing you flustered.”

You peeked from behind the pillow.

Yoongi was still smiling faintly while watching you. His face looked far more relaxed now compared to the beginning of the call.

And strangely enough, you really loved being the reason he relaxed after a long concert like this.

“You’re really tired huh?” you finally asked, your voice softer.

Yoongi nodded slightly.

“A little.”

“Did you eat?”

“Yeah.”

“Drink water?”

“Yes, mom.”

“Yoongi.”

He laughed softly again.

“I drank.”

You watched his face for a few seconds.

His eyes were slightly red from exhaustion. His voice sounded heavier too. But he still called you just because you teased him about that stupid wardrobe malfunction earlier.

Your chest warmed on its own.

“You should sleep later,” you said quietly.

“Later.”

“Don’t keep saying later.”

He looked at you for a moment.

Then quietly said,

“I miss you.”

Your expression instantly softened.

“…it’s only been a week.”

“Long.”

“You’re dramatic.”

“Yeah.”

You smiled faintly.

And for a few seconds, you just stared at each other through the screen, both exhausted but comfortable.

Until Yoongi finally spoke again casually,

“But seriously.”

“Hm?”

“You were more excited than the Mexico fans.”

You instantly glared.

“Because that’s my boyfriend.”

“Oh so you were jealous?”

“A little.”

“Aigoo…”

“What do you mean aigoo.”

“You’re cute.”

“Not cute.”

“You’re jealous over an accidental shirt slip.”

“It sounds stupid when you say it like that.”

“Because it is funny.”

You huffed in embarrassment.

And Yoongi, who had looked half-dead exhausted this whole time, just smiled even softer while quietly saying,

“The one who sees the most is still you anyway.”

You immediately collapsed backward onto the sofa while covering your face.

“OH MY GOD MIN YOONGI.”

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

You were still lying flat on the sofa with your face covered by a pillow, while Yoongi’s soft laughter kept coming from your phone speaker.

Satisfied laughter. The kind of laughter from someone who realized he had successfully made his girlfriend malfunction.

“Get up.”

“No.”

“Why are you so embarrassed?”

“Because you said it like that!”

“But it’s true.”

You lowered the pillow slightly, glaring at the screen.

“Yoongi.”

“Hm?”

“Don’t flirt when your face still looks like this after a concert.”

He raised an eyebrow slightly.

“Why?”

“Dangerous.”

That smile immediately appeared again. Small, crooked, annoying.

“I’m literally just sitting here.”

“Yeah, that’s the problem.”

Yoongi laughed softly while resting his head against the hotel sofa. The dim room lighting made the lines of his face look even sharper. His black hair was still slightly damp and falling over his forehead in a way that looked way too good for someone claiming to be exhausted.

And the thing making your heart race the most— He looked so comfortable right now. Relaxed. Soft. But his eyes hadn’t left you this entire time.

“You seriously…” you muttered quietly while avoiding his gaze, “you just caused internet chaos and still have time to tease me.”

“Because I miss you.”

His answer came too fast. Too honest. Your heart instantly skipped weirdly.

“You usually get clingy when you’re tired,” you said, trying to sound casual.

“And?”

“And right now I can’t hug you.”

Yoongi went quiet for a moment.

His expression immediately softened a little more.

“I know.”

The atmosphere suddenly became calmer.

You were already used to tour schedules. Used to video calls from different countries. Used to falling asleep on call until one of you passed out first. But somehow this time felt different.

Maybe because Yoongi’s schedule was too packed. Maybe because you had gotten too used to being close before he left. Or maybe because right now he was looking at you like that while seeming like he really wanted to come home.

“You know,” he suddenly said, his voice low and raspy, “right after the concert, the first thing I did was check my phone for your message.”

You instantly looked back at the screen.

“Seriously?”

“Hm.”

“Why?”

“I already knew you’d make fun of me.”

You laughed softly.

“And you still looked for it.”

“Because I missed you.”

God. You genuinely couldn’t handle it when he suddenly got soft like this. Especially when he followed it up with a tiny smile while secretly staring at you.

“Yoongi…”

“Hm?”

“You make it hard to sleep.”

“I haven’t even started yet.”

You instantly froze.

“What do you mean you haven’t started?”

He casually shrugged a little.

“You said I was flirting earlier.”

“And?”

“But I was just acting normal.”

Your cheeks instantly heated up again.

“Okay then don’t start.”

“What if I do?”

“MIN YOONGI.”

He laughed softly again. Not loudly, but low enough to make your stomach feel weird. Then he moved slightly closer to the camera. And god. That was a terrible mistake. Because now his face completely filled your phone screen.

“You know what the funniest part earlier was?” he asked quietly.

“What?”

“You got possessive immediately.”

“I was not possessive.”

“You literally said ‘that’s my boyfriend.’”

“Well he is.”

“And then you got jealous.”

“A little.”

“You really like me huh.”

You instantly glared in embarrassment.

“Overconfident.”

“But it's true.”

You let out a long sigh while covering half your face with the blanket. Yoongi watched you with a faint smile.

“Cute.”

“Don’t call me cute.”

“Why?”

“It just makes me more annoyed.”

“But you’re smiling.”

You reflexively touched your lips.

Damn it.

He was right.

Yoongi instantly looked satisfied.

“I know your expressions by heart.”

“You don’t need to know them by heart.”

“Too late.”

A few seconds later the atmosphere became quiet again. You could hear the hotel AC from his side. Occasionally there were distant sounds from the hallway, but other than that there was only the sound of your breathing.

Yoongi looked really exhausted now. His eyes were half-lidded. His loose black shirt slipped slightly off his shoulder when he moved. And unfortunately it made you remember the earlier video again.

Yoongi noticed again. “What are you thinking about?”

“Nothing.”

“You’re spacing out.”

“I just remembered earlier.”

“Which earlier?”

“You know which one.”

He smiled faintly.

“Oh. The Mexico incident.”

“Don’t call it an incident like it’s a scandal.”

“It felt like one.”

“The internet literally lost its mind.”

“You did too.”

You sighed softly.

“Well how was I supposed to react…”

“Hm?”

“You earlier were…”

You stopped yourself. Yoongi waited. And somehow that was worse than if he pushed you. Because he just quietly stared at you, making you even more nervous.

“What?” he asked again softly.

“…hot.”

Yoongi immediately tried to hold back a smile.

“Oh?”

“Don’t get too confident yet.”

“But you called me hot.”

“You are hot.”

He finally let out a small laugh.

“Wow.”

“You’re not fair.”

“Why?”

“You know exactly what your post-concert face does to people.”

“What does it do?”

“Yoongi.”

“Answer first.”

You covered your face again.

Which only amused him more.

“Aigoo…”

“Stop laughing.”

“You’re so cute when you’re embarrassed.”

“And you’re so evil when you miss me.”

Yoongi went quiet for a moment.

Then with a lower, softer voice—

“I really do miss you badly right now.”

Your heart instantly dropped. The way he said things like that was always dangerous. Not excessive. Not dramatic. But because his tone stayed calm, it somehow felt more real.

“When are you coming home?” you asked softly.

“Still a few more weeks.”

You instantly pouted.

“That’s too long.”

“Hm.”

“I hate long distance.”

“Me too.”

Yoongi slowly rubbed his face before looking at you again.

“That’s why when I get home later, don’t complain.”

“Why do I suddenly feel nervous?”

“You’re the one who called me hot earlier.”

“I REGRET SAYING THAT.”

He laughed again.

“You can’t take it back.”

“Yes I can.”

“No you can’t.”

“You’re annoying.”

“But you miss me.”

You stayed quiet. Because he was right. And Yoongi knew you too well to the point where he could already see the answer before you even said it.

He leaned back again while staring at the screen for a few seconds. Then casually said,

“After the tour, I probably won’t let go of you.”

Your heart dropped.

“Yoongi…”

“Hm?”

“Don’t say things like that while looking at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“LIKE THAT.”

He laughed softly.

“I’m just saying I miss you.”

“The way you say it is the problem.”

“What if I was at the apartment right now?”

You instantly went completely silent. Yoongi saw your reaction and his smile became even thinner.

“Hmm.”

“Don’t hmm.”

“I’m just imagining it.”

“You’re doing this on purpose.”

“A little.”

“Yoongi…”

“I’d probably pull you onto the sofa already.”

Your breath instantly caught.

“And then you’d say you’re tired.”

“I am tired.”

“But you’d still come over to me.”

You genuinely couldn’t handle him once he started talking in that low voice. Especially now that his face already looked sleepy and soft. The deadliest combination.

“And then?” you asked quietly without realizing it.

Yoongi’s eyes immediately lifted slightly.

“Oh, so you want to keep listening.”

“Actually, never mind.”

“No. You asked.”

You bit your lip slightly. And Yoongi saw it. Of course he saw it.

“So dangerous,” he muttered softly.

“What?”

“The way you look when you’re embarrassed.”

You instantly turned your face away. Which only made him smile even more fondly.

“Come home soon okay,” you finally said quietly.

Yoongi’s expression instantly softened again.

“Hm.”

“I miss you.”

“I miss you more.”

“Overconfident.”

“I’ll prove it later.”

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

The time difference started becoming more and more annoying once BTS began touring in America.

In Seoul it was already evening while the sun there had only just risen. Sometimes you had just finished work while Yoongi was still at rehearsal. Sometimes you woke up in the morning to dozens of random texts from him sent at three in the morning local time because he couldn’t sleep again.

And the longer the tour went on, the more the longing started to settle in too.

Not the dramatic kind of longing that makes you cry every night. But the kind that appears in small things.

Like when you automatically took out two glasses from the cabinet before realizing you were living alone in the apartment right now. Or when you found Yoongi’s black hoodie still hanging over the living room chair and instinctively hugged it for a second because it still carried traces of his familiar perfume and laundry scent.

Or when you came home exhausted from work and realized there was no Yoongi sprawled across the sofa pretending to sleep just so you would approach him first.

That night you were sitting at the apartment work desk while staring at packaging design files that hadn’t gotten anywhere for hours. The desk lamp glowed brightly while the rest of the apartment stayed dim and quiet. Light rain fell outside the window, making the atmosphere feel calmer and lonelier at the same time.

You had just changed the song on Spotify when your phone vibrated.

Incoming video call: Yoongi.

A smile instantly appeared on your face without realizing it.

You hadn’t even pressed accept yet, but half your exhaustion was already gone.

The moment the call connected, the screen immediately showed a shaky camera moving everywhere. At first there was only a bright sky and the sound of people passing by. Then a few seconds later Yoongi’s face appeared.

And seriously.

He looked way too relaxed for someone who was supposed to be world famous.

A black cap pulled low. An oversized gray hoodie. His mask was hanging under his chin because he was probably too lazy to talk with it covering his face. Black hair sticking out slightly from under the cap and moving with the wind.

He walked slowly while holding his phone low, like he was genuinely just some ordinary person wandering around an evening market.

Even though he was Min Yoongi.

That was exactly what stressed you out.

“You’re outside?” you asked while automatically sitting up straighter.

“Hm.”

Yoongi’s answers were always short when he was relaxed. His voice sounded heavier from tour exhaustion, but there was a lighter tone that rarely appeared whenever he was genuinely enjoying himself.

The camera shifted slightly, showing small stores around him. Everything was full of color. Neon hanging fabrics, hand-painted ceramics, tiny lights, and faint street music in the distance.

You immediately understood why he liked that place. Because it felt alive. And because it was exactly the kind of place that would make you stop at every shop just to stare at random cute things.

“You went out alone?” you asked again.

“Hoseok and Jungkook are eating. I got bored at the hotel.”

His answer sounded so casual that you had to stop yourself from sighing loudly.

Yoongi was always like this.

Sometimes he still forgot who he was now.

Not because he was arrogant or intentionally dismissing his own popularity. Actually the opposite. Sometimes he genuinely still thought he could casually walk around without attracting too much attention, especially outside Korea.

Even now?

Even people who didn’t follow BTS would probably still recognize his face.

And you knew perfectly well the other members often said the same thing—Yoongi was sometimes way too relaxed about himself.

“Are you even being careful?” you asked while lowering your laptop volume.

“I’m wearing a cap.”

You stared at the screen flatly.

“That’s not a disguise.”

“I’m also wearing a hoodie.”

“Wow. Incredible.”

Yoongi chuckled softly.

His laugh mixed faintly with footsteps and market noise, but it was still enough to make the corner of your lips lift too.

Even so, you kept paying attention to the surroundings behind the camera. People passed by without caring, but there was still a small nervous feeling sitting in your chest.

Not because you didn’t trust him to take care of himself.

But because you knew what the world was like now. One person realizes that’s Min Yoongi from BTS, and five minutes later there could already be a crowd.

And the funny thing was, Yoongi himself still looked genuinely confused whenever that happened.

“You seriously…” you muttered while leaning back in your chair, “still think you guys are nobodies sometimes huh?”

Yoongi stayed quiet for a second before finally smiling faintly.

“Sometimes I forget.”

“Exactly.”

“I’m just taking a short walk.”

“You say ‘just taking a short walk’ like you’re some guy running the neighborhood photocopy shop.”

He laughed more clearly this time.

And honestly, you liked hearing him laugh like that.

Lately the tour schedule has been too exhausting. His face often looked tired. So every time Yoongi sounded genuinely relaxed and comfortable, you felt relieved too.

The camera moved again, showing rows of tiny colorful stores. Neon-painted Mexico skulls, brightly embroidered fabrics, flower mugs, and strange ornaments that somehow still looked artistic.

“You’d love places like this,” he suddenly said.

And he was right.

Your eyes were instantly drawn to all the colors.

You have always loved bright things. Random tiny objects that were cute and overly crowded-looking. Even your apartment had colorful decorations. Yoongi often mocked for having “too many colors.”

“I bought something for you,” he added casually, as if that sentence alone didn’t instantly warm your heart.

You automatically turned quickly toward the screen.

“Hah?”

Yoongi looked satisfied seeing your reaction.

He was always like that. Sometimes purposely saying things suddenly just to watch your shocked expression.

“I kept seeing it and thinking about you.”

And god.

No matter how simple the sentence was, it still always made your chest soften.

Because Yoongi wasn’t the type to openly act romantic. Which was exactly why small things like “I saw this and thought of you” felt far more special.

You immediately started guessing excitedly.

Maybe a cute plate.

Maybe embroidered fabric.

Maybe a long brightly-colored dress Yoongi himself would never touch but would still choose because “this is so you.”

The more you imagined it, the more curious you became.

Especially because the way Yoongi kept holding back his smile clearly showed he was enjoying this.

“Come on, show me,” you whined.

“No.”

“Yoongi.”

“You’ll laugh.”

“It’s fine.”

He finally stopped walking in front of one of the stores. The camera lowered slightly toward shelves full of colorful ornaments.

Then he picked something up.

At first you didn’t realize what it was.

Until he lifted it closer to the camera.

“…is that a skull?”

Yoongi instantly grinned faintly.

“Yeah.”

You stared at the screen for several seconds with a blank expression.

Out of everything in Mexico…

Your boyfriend chose a skull.

But of course it wasn’t just any skull.

It was a brightly painted Día de los Muertos ceramic skull. Pink flowers, blue lines, neon yellow, tiny bright green details. It looked more cute than scary.

Still—

“Why a skull…”

“But the colors are cute.”

“You’re seriously weird.”

Yoongi actually looked proud of his choice.

He slowly rotated the skull toward the camera like he was showing off expensive artwork.

And the longer you looked at it, the more it really did feel… very you.

Crowded colors.

Weird.

Slightly chaotic.

“You like it, right?”

You tried holding back your smile.

Because honestly, this really was Min Yoongi-style romance.

Not flowers.

Not stuffed dolls.

Not expensive jewelry.

But a random colorful skull he saw at a market and immediately thought of you.

And somehow that made your heart ache from affection.

“You know normal people buy flowers for their girlfriends.”

“I’m different.”

“Clearly.”

“You don’t like it?”

You finally laughed softly while leaning your head back against the chair.

“I do…”

“Exactly.”

“But you’re still weird.”

Yoongi laughed in satisfaction again.

Behind him, the shop lights had started turning on because evening was approaching there. The bright colors around him looked warmer now. And in the middle of that crowded market, Yoongi stood there holding his ugly-cute little skull proudly.

Strangely enough…

That sight only made you miss him more.

Because you could clearly imagine him casually walking from store to store, then stopping the second he saw that thing and thinking:

“This would definitely be something Y/N likes.”

And now you really wished you were there with him.

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[4reumskingdom]

They don't know 'bout us

⋆˚꩜｡pairings: min yoongi x choreographer!fem!reader (no usage of y/n)

⋆˚꩜｡summary: when bts' album 'arirang' drops, yoongi brings back his talk show 'suchwita'. to celebrate their comeback after 4 years, he decides to invite one of bts' choreographers since their debut, as his first guest. this awaited episode causes fans to speculate that maybe min yoongi and you are something more than coworkers.

⋆˚꩜｡tags: reader is 2 years older than yoongi (YYYEESSS NOONA READERRRR), reader has a low alcohol tolerance, shy yoongi hehehe, YOONGI WITH GLASSES AND SHORT HAIR, drinking duhh (its suchwita cmon), alot of teasing nd flirting, min-ceo of hajima-yoongi, fake screenshots at the end, might be cringe bc of some of the korean words i added in here

⋆˚꩜｡w/c: 6k (20 minutes)

⋆˚꩜｡a/n: lol stream arirang ive been dreaming about writing this ever since this album came out and im finally writing about it 🥹🖤

the camera points to the suchwita set, visually the same save for the higher budget for props. the table is empty, its own host nowhere to be seen. through the screen, the audience is confused.

until they hear him.

"ah, suchwita," yoongi steps into frame with his tablet of information and sits on his designated chair. the crew from behind the cameras applaud loudly, causing the host to widen his eyes before hiding his face behind the tablet.

"yah, hajima, hajima!" yoongi swats at the camera and the crew erupts in laughter. his accent coming out roughly as he waves off the crew. his professional expression returns to finally start off his show again.

"it's been so long, did you miss me?" yoongi smiles towards his specific camera, "because I know i've missed being here. by the time this comes out, bts' new album 'arirang' will be released, so please give it a lot of love, because we all worked very hard on it." he unfolds the tablet to hold itself up on the table.

"now, before we introduce our first guest after bts' comeback, i'd like to say how this person has helped to shape bts to what it is now, and has been a constant ever since our debut."

"yah, just introduce me already!" a blurry shot of your figure can be seen covering your face in embarrassment at the amount of praise you're getting. yoongi laughs, hand on his stomach before turning back to his tablet.

"okay, okay," he scrolls up to glance at your information, "today's guest," yoongi smiles as he reads your name, his eyes flicking up to meet yours momentarily before focusing back on the tablet.

“a well-known global choreographer who has been one of the main choreographers for bts ever since their debut." yoongi gasps dramatically as if he were reading this information for the first time.

flashes of your practice videos show up on the screen; one of you teaching bts the choreography for the chorus of mic drop, then one of you guiding an american singer, then a picture of you together with bts during their final practice before their military service, suspiciously close to yoongi.

yoongi's eyes glance over your small note and he chuckles before even properly reading it.

“i've been wanting to be on suchwita ever since yoongi wanted to do it, but he said that me booking a table before the rest of his members would seem like favouritism.” he laughs again before standing up and inviting you to enter the frame.

smoothing out your outfit with your hand and holding your bag full of drinks with the other, you entered with an amused smile, walking over to your seat that's across from yoongi. you set your bag down, but you and yoongi stay standing.

without a second thought, you walk over to hug yoongi, which he happily reciprocates. yoongi momentarily stops himself a little before smiling at you as the two of you pull away.

videos of the boy group learning choreography from you pop up again, this time its a video of you laughing at the maknae line's antics as they crowd around the hyung line and spin around them as the hyungs take five.

the two of you pull apart and take your respective seats, “yoongi-ah, it's about time you have me on this show.”

yoongi smiles, “noona,” he tests the word. you chuckle slightly, a little caught off guard, “your appearance on suchwita has been held off for quite a while.”

“gee, I wonder why,” you rolled your eyes playfully, earning that gummy smile from yoongi again that you adore.

“you've been quite busy since our military service, isn't that right?” he crosses his arms and leans back in his chair. you nod with a smile, “yeah, i've gained a name internationally and during your guys’ temporary absence, i've had the pleasure of choreographing for other famous names in the industry,” you cross your legs as you explained with a proud smile, nervously adjusting your hair as you did so.

as you speak, the screen displays names of the artists that you've worked with, both in korea and overseas as well. the list of names is quite long, despite you only being away from bts for only a few years.

“ah, so you forgot about us? you have a different favourite group now?” yoongi leans his head on his hand, a smug smile on his face as you scoff, almost offended.

"please, you know no one could ever replace you guys for me. you're just too unforgettable." you chuckle softly, causing yoongi to cough, awkwardly looking away at your comment.

"right, so—" yoongi clears his throat to prepare for his next few sentences, "i'd just like to thank you for everything you've done for bts. people don't know this but you've been with us for very long and were always there every step of the way, even coming to our shows and polishing our choreographies for stage rehearsals."

"people also don't know that you've also helped with some of our solo career choreographies," he continued, which causes you to smile.

"um— just yours, actually."

yoongi freezes a little before smiling, looking at the floor for a little before looking back at you, "right, just mine."

pictures of you and yoongi pop up on the screen as he says this; one of you on stage telling him where to stand, one of the two of you in the studio, and another studio picture but it's one of you, watching as yoongi rehearsed the choreography in front of you.

"what im trying to say is, we all looked up to you because you're very hardworking. even for our new songs coming out, you've been working very hard on those too."

your ears turn a slight shade of red, and you notice yoongi's do too. "aish, min yoongi!" you stand up abruptly, turning to the crew, "yah, the show hasn't even started and already he's flustering me! and i haven't even had anything to drink yet!"

"hey! noona, sit down!" yoongi laughs, covering his face with his hands. you cross your arms and begrudgingly sit back down, "...can i introduce my drink now?"

yoongi turns to the camera, "yes, you can. we brought back my favourite part of suchwita, where guests bring their own drinks, usually alcohol. per noona's demand, we have some korean fried chicken to eat with your drink choice," yoongi says as the camera cuts to the table full of food from your favourite korean fried chicken place.

with help from yoongi, you both made quick work to unpack the two bottles of soju, a bottle of beer, a whole eight pack of yakult and two chilsung ciders.

"so, i brought all the things to make a yogurt soju," you smiled at the ingredients, cracking open the cold chilsung ciders as yoongi unwrapped the packs of yakult.

"yogurt soju is actually the first drink i shared with yoongi. I made it for him, that and somaek (soju+beer), which is why I also brought some beer just in case you wanted somaek instead." you smiled sheepishly as you unscrewed the soju bottles.

"why did you bring so much? you know that you're a lightweight, noona," yoongi practically complains, sighing frustratedly. you shrugged with a dorky smile, "oh, c'mon, i only brought enough for me to get tipsy at most."

yoongi rolls his eyes with a smile, remembering when you two shared a yogurt soju.

—

at first, you were super shy, not even really bothering to speak to them unless you were spoken to and to just teach them the dance and move on with your day. you had just started working with them, so you couldn't expect much.

until one day, hobi came up to you to compliment your dance and teaching style, saying your instructions were straightforward and simple enough for everyone to get it.

jungkook was quick to agree, and suddenly all of them were crowded around you, calling you 'noona' without hesitation.

slowly and surely, you began getting comfortable with everyone. gathering input from jimin and hobi, sometimes driving jungkook to school together with the hyungs and during promotions, you'd stick around to chat with the boys that hadn't taken pictures yet.

"yoongi-ah!" the 23 year old you called out to the freshly 21 year old yoongi. you had only been with the boys for about a year at this point, still trying to see if you could land a permanent job as their choreographer.

it was the weekend, and you had invited the hyung line over for drinks. during a conversation with yoongi, you had come to realise that the two of you hadn't drank together before, which was weird since the two of you had begun to get close.

"yes?" yoongi practically ran over as soon as you called his name, and you passed him the yogurt soju, "you up for a drink?"

"oh— um..." he shyly scratches the back of his neck and you clocked his sentence immediately. although yoongi was 21 in korean age, he still didn't have that much time to drink since he had to balance his idol life too, which made his tolerance pretty low, "ah, right! don't worry, there's like barely any soju in here. but you don't have to drink it if you don't want to, no pressure." you smiled softly, and yoongi's heart skips a beat.

he glances at namjoon, who seems to be just taking shots of soju with jin, while hobi simply nurses a beer. you, on the other hand, have another yogurt soju on the table for yourself.

with a little hesitation, he takes the drink from your hands and takes a sip, and you're right, it just tastes like yakult and chilsung. and it's pretty good.

throughout the rest of the night, yoongi tries to add a little more alcohol each time, trying not to overdo it. he even tried soju and beer together, since that was what you had moved onto drinking.

and ever since then, he never turned down any of your invitations to drink together.

—

"here, noona, let me help you make yours," yoongi stands up to help you, and you shake your head, "ah, no. it's okay, you don't have to—" your attempts to reach over to stop yoongi end when he gently grips your wrist, "yah, just let me do it."

you sigh, knowing that there's no changing his mind. you roll your eyes with a smile, "how's it like coming back to suchwita? must be surreal right?"

"that and bts as a whole, actually," yoongi fills both of your cups with ice. you smile as he makes your drinks for you. he makes quick work to pour the soju about halfway into the cups, then some yakult, and then finally the chilsung to top it off.

"the promotions have been pretty hectic. actually, everything has been pretty hectic; if i were to be honest," he sighs in frustration, and you smile sadly.

"I don't know how you manage to keep up with such cramped schedules," you tilted your head towards him as yoongi hands you your drink.

"yeah, well," yoongi glances up from his drink to make eye contact with you, "I have people that help me get through it," he smiles, before looking away. and suddenly to him the fried chicken on the table looks very interesting.

"ah, really? these people sound special." you tease as you hold up your cup, waiting for yoongi to cheers you. he shyly meets your eyes, "sure are."

clink!

—

"so," yoongi starts off as he places a few pieces of chicken onto your own plate as you help to take off the top of the chicken radish container, "when you started working with us, you weren't really a talkative person, right?"

"yeah, that's right," you chuckled a little, crossing your legs as you adjusted your sitting position, "it was a little after your debut when i was hired, and i didn't know anyone."

"i really hated meeting new people. i still do, but that's not the point," you shrugged with a smile. yoongi laughs, as if a memory suddenly popped up in his head. you tilted your head with a grin, "why?"

"i remember that everyone was insanely intimidated by you; even jin hyung, and he's only a year younger than you," yoongi says before taking a bite of the chicken that you helped to put on his plate. you gasped, "no they weren't!"

"seriously! everyone," yoongi deadpanned to the camera, "during the first few weeks of our debut, noona would come into the big hit studio with a black cap and sweat suits every single practice. it was terrifying. it was our first time seeing such a professional."

"it wasn't that bad," you thought over it again while chewing on a piece of chicken, "...okay well, when you combine that and the 'only-giving-you-guys-instructions-and-not-talking', I can maybe see what you guys mean."

"like i said," yoongi smiled smugly, "terrifying."

you rolled your eyes playfully, "yeah, yeah."

—

clink!

and there goes two shots of straight soju. you hold the bottle up to read the flavour that you honestly didn't care to look at when you bought it, "oh, this flavour is pretty good, no?"

"can we continue with the interview questions now? or are you planning to inhale that whole bottle?" yoongi winces with his head tilted, causing you to chuckle, "right, sorry. continue."

"anyways," yoongi passes a piece of chicken towards you since he had noticed that your plate was empty, "i've always wanted to ask this question, actually."

"oh, really?" you tilted your head with a smile, "and what question is that?"

"do you ever get tired of seeing the same seven people?" yoongi crosses his arms, almost proud of the question that he had thought of. you laughed loudly, covering your mouth as you did so.

"wow, you really—do you want me to answer this honestly?" you raised an eyebrow as you took a bite of your chicken.

"of course, that's what this show is for!" yoongi looks around at the crew with his arms open. you smile at his actions, before humming in thought as you chose your next words.

"promise you won't be offended?" you held up your pinky towards him, wiggling your finger with a teasing grin. yoongi raises an eyebrow in speculation, glancing at the cameras as if to ask the audience 'you seeing this?'.

hesitantly, yoongi inches closer to the table and interlocks his pinky with yours, "yeah, yeah. promise."

you chuckle, "alright, to be completely honest," you look around at the crew, who seemed just as interested in your answer as yoongi is, "...after a few years into my job, sometimes—yeah, i was a little tired of your guy's bickering. you guys were all stubborn in your own ways."

"yah..." yoongi smirks at the camera, a little shocked that you actually provided an honest answer.

"but," you continued, catching the attention of everyone in the room, "it wasn't tiring because it was the same seven people."

"then?" yoongi asks with a slight confused frown. you smile a little, knowing what words you wanted to say next.

"it was because it was you seven," you chuckled, "anyone who deals with you guys knows how tiring it gets when all of you are in the same room."

the crew members laugh, some of them nodding intensely while the rest state that they agree with you. yoongi pouts a little at the sudden noise, facing the staff that all seemed to take your side.

"so you do get tired, is what you're saying?" yoongi asks as you refill his drink with a smile on your face.

"i didn't say that." yoongi tilts his head in confusion.

"you said sometimes."

"well, yeah. i get tired of the bickering," you reached for your yogurt soju, "not the people." you took a sip from your glass with a satisfied smile.

the staff members chuckle, some of them giving small wow's at your answer.

yoongi stays silent, a little shocked at your words. then, when he realises the cameras are still rolling, he clears his throat.

"that's...a good answer. everyone, we have a dangerous guest here." yoongi grins as he gains a couple of laughs from the crew behind the cameras. you smile a little, "thank you, yoon."

"oh," yoongi is a little flustered at the nickname you had so easily called him in front of the cameras. this is how yoongi could tell you were starting to get a little tipsy. the crew gives a couple of aww's, flustering yoongi even more.

"right let's um—let's continue with the questions."

—

"noona?" yoongi calls out. no answer. he tilts his head in confusion. he sighs.

yoongi then calls out your name softly, raising his hand in front of you, and that seems to do the trick.

"hm?" you blink rapidly out of your trance and realise that yoongi is waving his hand in front of you. shit, did you just zone out on camera? god, you didn't remember your tolerance being this low.

you smile sheepishly, "sorry, what did you say?" you scratched your neck, feeling a little awkward. yoongi just smiles and waves it off, "yah, don't be sorry. I was just asking you a question and i lost you a little there," he chuckled slightly.

"ah really? what was the question?" in your peripheral vision, you noticed some of the crew members moving around a lot, most likely trying to get comfortable.

"well, the question was—and this is a brutal one, but which bts member is the best dancer? and a bonus one, who do you love hanging out with the most?"

you practically went silent. your eyes widened as you looked to the cameras in disbelief, "what?" you laughed a little at the question.

"hey," yoongi raised his hands in mock surrender, "these questions were the only ones provided by the staff. just saying," he smiles, still interested in your answer.

you shook your head with a smile, "these questions are mean, yoon." yoongi laughs while taking a sip from his drink, "don't hate the player, hate the game."

at his comment, you groaned before trying to think of an answer. your mind went through all seven members before one of the staff members temporarily pauses the shoot.

"ah, sorry," one of the managers raises their hand behind the camera, which catches the attention of both you and yoongi, "but can we fix your guys' mics? it's cutting off a little bit."

you and yoongi share a glance of confusion before you nodded, "oh, yeah. of course, no worries." you stood up, lifting your top ever so slightly so that the staff could adjust your mic pack. yoongi did the same, both of you awkwardly facing your backs to the camera.

while looking around to admire the new set, yoongi aims an 'off-camera' question to you.

"do you wanna come with me to the music video shoot tomorrow?" he tilts his head towards you, but doesn't fully turn to you. you open your mouth to answer before you looked at him, amused.

"yoon, im your choreographer. i'll be there anyways." you smiled after watching yoongi process what you had just said and scratched his neck awkwardly, "oh...right."

"we can go together, though. i mean—i have to be there way earlier than you, but—"

"i don't mind. let's go together," yoongi smiles at you and you return it, before you switch to a small frown, "um, does fixing the mic pack usually take this long?"

you turn around and practically yelped, because the staff member that was fixing your mic pack had suddenly been replaced with jungkook, who had just let go of your microphone's wire with a laugh.

"noona!" jungkook exclaimed, opening his arms to engulf you in a hug. you pat his back a couple of times, still a little confused.

your eyes drift over to yoongi, who is currently trying to escape the grasp of taehyung and jimin while namjoon, jin and hobi are waving at you with big smiles.

"yah, hajima!" you heard yoongi shout out as he continued to fend off the two maknaes. you laugh a little before letting go of jungkook, "guys, that's enough."

jimin and taehyung pause before coming over to your side of the table to greet you. yoongi looks at everyone in confusion, "what are you guys doing here?"

"we're here to hang out with you guys!" jungkook smiles widely as namjoon comes over to give you a hug as well. yoongi simply frowns, "andwae."

"c'mon hyung," namjoon defends as he stands next to you, "it's your first suchwita shoot since the military! and noona is the special guest, we should all eat and drink together!"

yoongi glances at the staff, "is this why you guys ordered so much chicken?" a couple of cheeky nods from behind the camera caused him to sigh.

the staff members came out from behind the cameras to pass more bottles of alcohol to jin and hobi, who place the bottles on the table.

you smile at yoongi, "sounds fun, right?"

yoongi sighs defeatedly, "...fine, you guys can stay." the members cheered, each of them taking chairs to sit around the table.

—

on your side of the table was the maknae line, while namjoon, hobi and jin sat by yoongi.

"uwah, you guys even have your makeup done," you examined jimin, noticing the slightest bit of foundation.

"of course we have to look good for your suchwita debut, noona." jin teases with a grin, causing you to roll your eyes playfully.

"oh, what question were the two of you on?" hobi asks as he adjusts himself in his seat. the maknae line that are on your side of the table make quick work to give food and make drinks for the other six members.

"ah, right. the question full of evil intentions," you chuckled a little as you met yoongi's eyes after your comment. his eyes instantly crinkle, displaying his own defensive expression while smiling.

"aigo, it wasn't evil!" yoongi breaks the eye contact to face the camera so that they could see his frown. he sighs, "it was a question about who's the best dancer out of the seven of us."

once yoongi explained what the question was, all eyes were on you and all the boys (except for yoongi) exclaimed their own renditions of 'huh?!'.

"geurae? noona, it's me right?" jimin points to himself, leaning towards you with what can only be described as sparkles in his eyes. you open your mouth to answer but taehyung shoves jimin a little in offense, "aniya, it's me. she loves teaching me the most."

jungkook shakes his head furiously, "hah, as if!" the three continue to bicker and your eyes meet yoongi's mischievous ones, and you mouth 'see? evil.'

you stop the boys from going for each other's throats, chuckling a little, "i think all of you guys are great dancers," you paused a little.

"however...i think we all know that hobi is basically your guys' choreographer at this point, so that answers yoongi's question." you shrugged while the maknae line groaned. the hyung line simply chuckled and hobi shyly thanked you, not expecting such a straightforward answer.

"and what about the bonus question?" yoongi grinned, tilting his head as you glared playfully at him. the other members seemed to perk up again.

"bonus question?" namjoon asked, looking in between the both of you to try and get an answer. you sighed, "who i love hanging out with the most."

"yah, that's such an easy one!" hobi laughed as you said the question out loud. jin and jungkook shared a teasing glance.

"we all know the answer is suga-hyung!" jungkook chuckled, nudging you in the shoulder. you laughed nervously, covering your face with your hands as the rest of the boys agreed loudly.

yoongi winced at the camera before crossing his arms and chuckling to himself. his eyes rested on you, who is still embarrassed by the teasing from the other members.

slowly, you lifted your head up to face the staff, "we're cutting this part out, right?" a couple of unsure shrugs from behind the camera causes you to sigh before locking eyes with yoongi.

"i mean—" yoongi grins.

"no." you glared. "they're not wrong," yoongi finished, which had all of the members laughing, some of them clapping when yoongi admitted it. you sighed, shaking your head with a smile.

"okay, let's make it fair and rephrase the question," taehyung announced to the whole group, gaining a couple of confused looks, "noona, who do you love hanging out with the most besides suga-hyung?"

"ah, daebak." namjoon gives taehyung a thumbs up while the rest await your answer. you think about it for a moment before smiling a little.

"i'm actually close to all of you, so it's hard to pick just one member. but recently, i've been hanging out with jin more often." you glanced at jin who smiled softly, "ah, that's true."

the other members nodded, some of them going 'ahh' after hearing your answer.

"oh, noona. you're really good at this interview thing," jimin's eyes widened a little before he started snacking on the food on his plate. you smiled, "ah, it's nothing. i had a lot of experience from working overseas."

"yeah. noona's english is better than namjoon's at this point." hobi teased. you held your hands up defensively, "oh—i don't know about that."

"it's actually true. i've had a few conversations with her in english and she's way more fluent than i am." namjoon explained to the rest of the group, shocked at your fluency.

"ah, thank you, joonie. that means a lot," you nodded shyly. yoongi smiled softly at your response to namjoon's compliment.

"okay, before we wrap things up," yoongi straightened his back, turning on his host voice, "noona, would you like to say anything to the viewers watching?"

"oh! um..." you fidgeted with your fingers a little before looking directly into your camera, "give these boys a lot of support for their new album! they've been working very hard and they deserve it. stream 'arirang' on any music platform." you give your camera two thumbs up and a small smile.

yoongi chuckles a little at how adorable you look, before being nudged by namjoon, "let's toast one last drink together before we wrap up!"

everyone held up their glasses in the middle. "okay! uri maknae, give us something to toast to!" namjoon exclaimed, causing everyone to laugh.

"here's to the first comeback episode of suchwita, and to noona for making sure that all of us do our best for our tour!" jungkook practically yelled out his cheers, laughing while doing so.

"geonbae!" all of you clinked your glasses together and enjoyed the last on-camera drink of the shoot.

the director says 'cut!' and yoongi gets up from his seat to start thanking everyone for their hard work. you follow suit, thanking everyone for having you on set.

you and yoongi are the first to get your mics off, making small talk while doing so, before you walk up to the rest of the members, "hey, guys. me and yoon are gonna go home first. we'll see you guys tomorrow, yeah?"

"ah, noona! can i hangout at your place?" jungkook perks up and raises his hand, which you find endearing.

"what? why?" yoongi walks up next to you, leaning towards you slightly. jungkook shrugs with a slight pout, "just 'cause?"

"me too! i wanna hang out!" jimin hops next to jungkook with his hand up, imitating what jungkook was doing a couple moments ago. "i wanna hang out too!" taehyung appears on the other side of jungkook, his hand also raised.

jin, hobi and namjoon laugh, waving you and yoongi off as they all headed home and left the two of you to deal with the three younger members.

"you three wanna come over?" yoongi raises an eyebrow and the three of them nod in sync. you chuckle slightly before resting a hand on yoongi's shoulder, "guys, you have an early schedule tomorrow. you need rest."

"noona, hyung, jebal," jungkook pleads slightly while the other two put on their best puppy-eyed expressions. you and yoongi share a glance of hesitation before yoongi cracks first.

"fine," he sighs, "we'll make some dinner for you." you smiled amusingly at how quickly yoongi folded for the maknaes. the three celebrated and followed the two of you as you headed out to the car assigned for the both of you.

"i didn't expect you to give in that quickly." you mused, nudging yoongi's shoulder. he rolled his eyes playfully, "you would've said no. i'm not as strict as you are." yoongi wraps an arm around your shoulders as you reach the parking lot.

you gasp, hitting yoongi's chest, "i'm not strict!"

"sure you aren't."

—

a couple months later...

—

YouTube

[슈취타] EP.28 SUGA with _____

BANGTANTV

Comments (30k)

Top Topics Newest

user23: bye is this a soft launch because what did i just watch

heartsforjin: SHE CALLED HIM YOON?? HELLO??? ELEPHANT IN ROOM???

armyest2015: omg my heart... they love their noona so much

btsfan01: him forgetting they work together when he asked her to come with him... respectfully is this casual bc i dont think so...

borahae134340: the small acts of service in this video is so cute oh my god even if they aren't together they seem like such good friends they're so adorable

yoongisgirl: yoongi marry me T^T

namjoonieee: why does it feel like im watching a kdrama and why do i want 20 more episodes

Twitter

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#SUCHWITA_EP.28

SUGA IS DATING??

#슈취타

#SuchwitaIsBack

—

the suchwita episode airs while yoongi is making the two of you dinner and you're in the living room, scrolling on your phone. one of the things that you had noticed is that your instagram had been blowing up, with armies tagging you in multiple reels of you and yoongi 'flirting' and more followers than you could keep up with.

how did the boys ever get used to this much attention? you thought as you chuckled a little, looking through the comments of the youtube video.

"what're you laughing at?" yoongi calls from the kitchen. his voice is a little drowned out since the two of you had been watching a series on the tv before he started cooking.

"the fans think you have a girlfriend again," you smiled smugly, looking through twitter for a little and laughing some more. yoongi walks out of the kitchen with a clay pot of kimchi stew and utensils for both of you.

"yeah? who is it this time?" he rolled his eyes playfully as he sets the pot and utensils on the living room table, where the two of you opted to eat dinner at. you paused the show on the tv before facing yoongi.

"me. the suchwita episode aired today," you showed yoongi your phone that displayed the youtube comments full of speculations of your relationship, "i think this one might stick a little longer, yoonie."

"oh, i forgot it was airing today," yoongi's eyes glance over a couple of the comments before he breaks out into a grin, "well, they wouldn't be wrong this time. now, would they?"

"hm. i guess not," you shrugged. out of the corner of your eye, you noticed tang had come over to see what was going on, before jumping onto your lap. you cooed at the black cat, "tangieee!" the cat trills in response, slowly closing his eyes as you pat his head.

yoongi's gaze softens before he heads back into the kitchen to get the two of you some bowls of rice, "can you read some of those comments?"

"yeah, sure," you directed your attention to your phone screen while continuing to give tang soft pets, "suga can't handle allat (he probably could...)" you laugh, the vibrations from your laughter prompting tang to start purring.

yoongi chuckles as he emerges from the kitchen again, "are all the comments about the armies thirsting over you?" he sets the bowls of rice on the table before sitting next to you, peering at the comments over your shoulder.

you scrolled down a little, glazing over some of the top comments, "some of them are pretty similar, i think i saw one that said 'he can't take all of us', or something like that," you turned your head towards yoongi who seemed offended.

"what? i totally could." he pouts a little, wrapping an arm around your shoulder while his other hand pets tang, who is half-asleep on your lap.

"mhm, sure you could," you pressed a kiss to yoongi's cheek, and yoongi is taken aback for a moment before he smiles softly, kissing your cheek in return.

you continued to scroll through the comments before you paused for a moment, "yoon?"

"mm?"

"were we a little too obvious? what if us revealing our connection starts bringing you guys hate again?" you leaned your head on your boyfriend's shoulder with a small frown. yoongi looked at you and reached over to turn off your phone.

"who cares what they think? we never explicitly stated we were together in the video. we were just teasing, it's up to the audience to interpret what they think and that's out of our control."

"and also," yoongi continued, "im positive armies wouldn't care that we were dating. if anything, they'd be supportive."

"really?" you got up to face yoongi, tang getting up to rest on the other side of you. yoongi raised an eyebrow, "of course. why not?"

you rolled your eyes playfully before returning to your place next to yoongi, "thanks yoon." yoongi hums in acknowledgement as you turn your phone back on to read youtube comments.

you chuckle, "yoongi marry me," you read out the comment.

"course i will."

"what?" you got back up to face yoongi, who looked just as confused as you were, "huh? what?"

you showed him the comment that you were reading out loud and yoongi simply laughed, "oops."

you looked at yoongi in disbelief before laughing yourself, "oops?" yoongi shrugs in response, sitting up after you before he softly holds your jaw to guide you towards him, slowly closing the distance with a kiss.

you return the kiss with a small smile before pulling away with an amused expression. yoongi grins, "just something for you to think about. if you're ready."

"you wanna marry me?" you tilted your head with a big grin while it was yoongi's turn to look at you in disbelief, as if it wasn't obvious from the start.

"jagiya, i've been chasing after you ever since i was mature enough to make my own decisions." yoongi's hand rests on your jaw, his thumb gently caressing your cheek.

you chuckled, "wow, jagiya? wait till dispatch hears about this," you joked, still not being used to yoongi calling you that even if its the only thing he calls you when the two of you are alone.

yoongi sighs, "let's eat before the food gets cold." yoongi tries to deflect, but you notice the blush rushing to his ears as he starts to fluff up the rice in his bowl. you can't help but laugh again.

"i can't believe i'm the one that gets min yoongi to say yes to the infamous 'yoongi marry me'. you must be so smitten, aren't you— mmp!" your tease was cut short after yoongi shoved a spoon of rice and stew into your mouth with an amused grin.

you glared at yoongi, who chuckled a little before giving you a peck on the cheek, "you're lucky i love you."

your glare softened at his confession.

"i wulv wou foo, ftupid."

"chew your food, you're gonna choke."

"ofay."

©️ 4reumskingdom

taglist: @magnoliainnmay @spideybv28 @namgimini @forever-atiny @ohnaurshayla

[midnightrchive]

Don't Disappear Yet (Masterlist)

Summary:

He was an idol. She was a fan. It was only supposed to be one fansign event. One conversation. One signed album.

But Min Yoongi looked at her like he’d known her forever, like he’d already decided she belonged in his life long before she realized it herself.

And by the time she understands there’s something deeply wrong with the way he loves her…

it’s already far too late to leave.

Warnings: non-con/dub-con, manipulative Yoongi, yandere Yoongi, forced relationship, abusive behaviour, possessiveness, kidnapping, captivity, eventual smut, etc.

Disclaimer: This is a dark fiction that includes heavy themes and adult content. Do not read if you feel uncomfortable with such topics. You are responsible for your media consumption. Please read with caution!

Chapter 1 - The Fansign Chapter 2 - Where mistakes lead Chapter 3 - Warning bells Chapter 4 - Morning after Chapter 5 - The softness of chains Chapter 6 - The damage of gentle hands Chapter 7 - Punishment Chapter 8 - Cracks Chapter 9 - The cruelty of kindness Chapter 10 - Permanent Chapter 11 - Bargaining Chapter 12 - Terms and conditions Chapter 13 - The shape of a cage Chapter 14 - Normal Chapter 15 - What was never spoken aloud Chapter 16 - The note Chapter 17 - Choices and Consequences Chapter 18 - Chapter 19 - Chapter 20 -

[sglossmin]

Yoongi Fics Rec List!!!

fav yoongi fics!!! most of these are oneshots>< Big love and praise to the authors who made these amazing storiesss!!! Most of these are 18+ so... be mindful when reading!!

Your Universe by @muniimyg (series)

MASTERPIECE<33 also my first ever read here on tumblr

Second Love by @cutaepatootie (3parts)

100%<3

Pour Some Sugar On Me by @yoonia

HOOOTTTTT and also messy lol

Act On It by @joonie-beanie

Vampire Yoongi on topppp

Hug-O-Gram by @cinnaminsvga

FLUFFFFF Yoongi is soooo cute helppp

Rings That Binds Us Together by @joyfulhopelox

it's been long since I've read this

Back-burner by @yoonpobs (series)

YESSSS

Private Lesson by @dntaewithluv

erm...

Vows by @hamsterclaw (2parts w/drabble!!)

PURE COMEDY BYEE-

Friend & Fools by @ktownshizzle

idiots

Till The End of The Line by @kimvvantae

got me BAWLING MY EYES OUT

Yoongi's lullaby by @jiminrings

he's an idiot

Love Grows Where You Go by @hueseok

cute heheh

Friendship Over by @borathae

hot hot HOOOTTT

Cherries by @redrose10 (2parts)

:<<<<<<

A Tiger's Judgement by @borathae

praise praise!! The author slayed once again

Ex-things by @namfinessed

idiots....

His entire world by @serendipitous-seven

softtt:<<<<<<<<

Dating Advice by @taleasnewastime (series)

the BESSSTT got me giggling and shii

Love & Lullabies by @ktownshizzle (series)

UGHHHH CUTE DILF YOONGGIIII

Eternal Sunshine by @ilys00ga

<3333

Lunch Break by @borathae

ahem...

Muse by meeeeee (available on wattpad too, click here)

uh...gonna promote mine ofc!!

[minsyoongi]

#he’s always gotta remind us he’s got that tongue technology