Look Down On Me Like That - 5 (explicit)

look down on me like that - 5 (explicit)

genre: slow burn enemies to lovers hatefucking coworkers au, smut (w some eventual angst)

pairing: yoongi x reader

summary: your asshole coworker min yoongi has made it his personal mission to ruin your life.

word count: 11.4k (you're welcome 😌)

contains: ~explicit sexual content~ !! *deep breath in* YES THERE IS ACTUAL FUCKING HAPPENING - EVERYONE REMAIN CALM. also i promise this is the most unhinged reader gets lmao. alright let's go: one night stand/stranger sex, semi-public sex (bathroom of a bar), fingering, spanking, a truly gratuitous blowjob, orgasm denial, a smidge of dirty talk/namecalling, finger sucking?, protected sex, semi-awkward sex lmao, the hatefucking is HERE 🙌🏻 plenty of alcohol mentions as always,, so much alcohol. this chapter also features a couple fun cameos - kihyun of monsta x and wonho 💜

A/N: hope y'all enjoy this absolute CHAOS!! i have so many lovely friends who cheered me on while i was writing this, far too many to name, but i fucking adore you all 🥺🥺 and i do want to specifically shoutout @kiestrokes because the ~spicy twist~ in this chapter would not be HALF as good if it wasn't for her and her big beautiful brain. srsly she took a half-baked idea i had and made it insane. god i love that woman. ALRIGHT ENOUGH BABBLING - ENJOY!!!!!

read on AO3!

chapter four | masterlist | chapter six

~*~

“Try this.” Jimin yanks an emerald green dress off the hanger and chucks it over his shoulder, nearly hitting you.

“Ugh, I hate this one,” you groan as you hold the offending item up for inspection, pinched between index finger and thumb. “The fabric is so itchy.” 

Your best friend whips around, hands on hips, when you question his taste. “I’m sorry, did I just hear you going back on our agreement? Is that what this is?”

You groan, flopping over onto your bedspread, doing your best not to mess up your hair. Jimin had, understandably, been pissed when you’d called him immediately upon leaving the office last night, hands still shaking as you cradled the phone against your cheek. You think you have permanent hearing damage from the anguished wails your best friend made as you finally admitted everything you hadn’t told him. And you certainly could have done without the appreciative noises he made after he forced you to describe Suga’s dick in explicit detail. 

It’s not like you aren’t constantly thinking about it, anyway.

Especially now that Yoongi has specifically told you everything, everything he wants to do to you. The words swim back to you in pieces whenever you aren’t actively trying to suppress the memory. Finger that tight little pussy. Spank you until you bruise. Fuck you like the slut you so clearly are.

God. You’ve been horny for 24 hours straight. This can’t be good for your health.

Jimin had nearly disowned you for letting secrecy infiltrate your friendship for the first time in over a decade, but then he’d realized how truly distraught you were as you just kept babbling into the phone about Suga, too far gone to make any sense.

“Jesus fucking christ, it’s not the end of the world!” He’d finally interrupted with a frustrated groan. “You really think Suga is the only man in the world who can fuck you senseless? He was probably overselling it anyway. Having a pretty dick doesn’t guarantee he knows what to do with it.”

At this point you’d stumbled onto the bus home, and you remember smacking your forehead against the cold glass of the window with a whine at the words pretty dick, your mind already departing on another Yoongi spiral.

Jimin’s peal of laughter rang in your ears. “I’ve never heard you down this bad in my life, good god girl! We just need to get you laid so your fucking brain can work right again.”

“Please,” you’d grunted.

“Alright, I’m coming over tomorrow, and we’re going out.” He’d paused then, and you knew there was more even before he continued. It was like you could hear his evil smile. “And I get to pick your outfit.”

You’re snapped out of the memory as a second dress is tossed your way, this one hitting you square in the face.

“Either the green or this one. You’re still in the doghouse, ma’am,” Jimin reminds you.

You pull the second option up to examine it, already grateful for the softer feel of the material. Jimin loves to put you in shit that you’d never wear— usually dresses that he bought for you, or bullied you into buying. You think you already dress pretty racy when you go out, but Jimin likes to take it to another level, always encouraging you to show more skin, more tits, more ass. He’s definitely responsible for this number even being in your closet: dark burgundy in color, it’s tight, short, and the cutouts leave very little to the imagination.

You whine softly despite yourself. “Do I have to? I’m going to freeze to death.”

Jimin has already moved to sit at your desk, examining his hair in the mirror you use to do your makeup. He’s in one of his favorite going-out shirts, one he claims “makes even the straight boys look twice”, a blue and white striped button down with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He doesn’t even bother making eye contact with you as he peers at his reflection, fiddling with the silver hoops in his ears. “I dunno. Depends on whether or not you value my friendship.”

You roll your eyes at his dramatics. “I can’t stand you.”

“Will you shut up and put your damn freakum dress on already?” He rummages through your makeup bag without asking until he finds what he’s looking for, a tube of Fenty gloss that he dabs in the center of his bottom lip.

“That is not what freakum dress means,” you say with a laugh as you stand to strip out of your sweats, but he’s already reaching for his phone that’s connected to your Bluetooth speaker, another requirement for the evening in order to keep your friendship intact. Beyoncé starts to blast as you pull your shirt over your head and suck in for dear life.

“So, what exactly is the plan?” You ask as soon as you swallow down another shot, nearly shouting to be heard over the noise of the bar. Jimin made you do a couple in your kitchen before you left, and though you haven’t even been out for an hour, you’re already straddling the line between tipsy and drunk.

He shoots you a look. “Don’t act so innocent, like I haven’t personally seen you go home with random dudes.”

Your gaze flits over the mass of bodies out on the dance floor. “I mean, yeah, but…” You shrug, grimacing slightly. “I don’t know, it’s been a while. And we’re not in college anymore.”

“What about him?” You look back at Jimin and he nods his head behind you. You do your best to be subtle as you glance over your shoulder to see two guys a couple of tables away.

“Which one?”

Jimin makes a face like it’s obvious. “Are you kidding me? The absolutely built daddy with the red hair?”

You examine them more closely, scrunching your nose up a little. He’s cute, big as hell, and you certainly notice his bubble butt in those tight pants. But it just doesn’t feel right. “I don’t know that he’s my type.” When your gaze lands on his friend, dressed in all black, dark hair skimming over his eyes as he leans in to say something, your heart flips in your chest. Now that could work.

Turning back to Jimin to say as much, you realize that he’s already brushing past you. “Well I’m not stupid,” he scoffs, and you scramble to follow after him as he stalks confidently across the room.

He’s already talking to them when you catch up. “Hi boys. Care for some company?”

They glance at each other, and you can tell Jimin’s presence is clearly unexpected but not unwelcome. He wasn’t wrong: nobody can resist him in that damn shirt.

“Sure,” red-haired daddy says with a shy giggle, and you have to bite back a smile. You were not expecting a guy that built to react so softly, and you already know your best friend is going feral on the inside. There is nothing Jimin loves more than a man he can fluster. Especially one who can make him pay for it.

His friend flags down a server and orders a round of shots for the table, then gives you a small wave as Jimin takes the liberty of giving his name and yours. “I’m Kihyun.”

“Hoseok,” Jimin's target is clearly squirming under his intense gaze. “But my friends call me Wonho.”

“Can I be your friend?” Jimin purrs. You’re nearly laughing at how quickly he lost the plot of trying to get you laid, but he’s also such an intense flirt that it nearly works as a wingman maneuver, in its own weird way.

You scoot a little closer to Kihyun as Jimin and Wonho disappear into their own conversation. Up close you can really admire how attractive he is, full lips and a wickedly sharp jawline.

“Hi,” you say with a smile, surprised to find yourself slightly nervous despite the alcohol coursing through your system.

“Hi,” he says back, and he looks like he’s about to say more when the server reappears with a tray of four shots.

“Thanks again for these,” you say as you reach for one, and he waves it off. You glance over at Jimin and Wonho, assuming they might want to toast as a group, but Jimin is already hooking his elbow around Wonho’s ridiculous bicep and making a not-at-all-subtle comment about how big he is, intertwining their arms before they each throw the shot back.

You look at Kihyun again, who is biting his lip nervously, and you can feel your face heat up. You’re no Jimin, so you settle for gently tapping your shot glass against his. “Cheers.”

He echoes the sentiment and you down your drinks simultaneously. You shiver a little as you swallow, but you’ve had enough that you don’t even feel the burn of the alcohol.

“So,” Kihyun’s eyes flit over to Jimin, then return to you. “Do you two come here a lot?”

You shrug. “We rotate. Jimin likes this place more than I do. You?”

He laughs softly. “Not really. Honestly, we’re both homebodies, but we try to get out every so often. Always nice to meet new people.” It’s so quick you nearly miss it, but you swear his eyes jump down your figure and back up again.

You try to ignore the little voice in your head reminding you of another pair of eyes; dark, calculating, wandering over your body. Not now.

“I couldn’t agree more,” you say, because it’s true: a new person is definitely what you need in this moment.

Before you can ask a follow-up question, you hear Jimin, talking loudly so that he’s audible over the music. “Your thighs look so good in those pants!” You have to resist the urge to smack your head against the table when you look over to see him attempting— and absolutely failing— to wrap his small hands around the circumference of Wonho’s leg, who is giggling like a schoolgirl.

You glance back at Kihyun, who is equally enraptured. “I’m so sorry,” you say quietly. “He is unfortunately always like this.”

“You know where else those thighs would look good?” Jimin’s voice lowers as he asks the question, and you watch Kihyun’s eyes go wide.

“Do you want to dance?” You say quickly, and he nods so fast you think his head might fall off. You start to break away from the group, his hand slipping to your waist, when Jimin smacks the table so loud that it makes you jump.

“Hey!” He yells, and you turn back, but he’s pointing at Kihyun, who instantly looks terrified. He leans in, as if to divulge confidential information, and Kihyun takes a tentative step towards him.

“Just so you’re aware,” Jimin starts, and you know it’s going to be bad. “She needs to get dicked down. Severely. Hope you’re ready.”

You close your hand around Kihyun’s wrist and drag him towards the dance floor, eager for a distraction to keep you from murdering your best friend.

Now that you’re actually in motion, you can feel the last couple of shots quickly catching up to you, the room blurring slightly at the edges. At the center of the dance floor, the thudding bass is loud enough to make it hard to think, which is exactly what you need right now.

You’re grateful not to have to force any more conversation, both of Kihyun’s hands slipping to your hips as you start to move in time to the music. It gives you free reign to admire him up close, and damn, he really is gorgeous. He’s only a little taller than you in your heels— probably about the same height as Yoongi, though his frame is slighter, smaller. You watch as his dark hair falls into his eyes again and he reaches up to sweep it off his forehead— Yoongi’s hair is a little longer, and he certainly has much better hands, but other than that—

You have to squeeze your eyes shut when you realize what the fuck you're doing. The whole point of this encounter is to stop thinking about Yoongi. Not pick apart this absolute stranger in comparison to him.

You desperately wish you could get another drink, but you know that would push you all the way into “drunk” territory. As much as you hate admitting it, Jimin was right: you really need to be able to consent to sex tonight. You’re gonna have to get through this the old-fashioned way, with sheer fucking willpower.

“Are you okay?”

Your eyes flutter open to meet Kihyun’s concerned gaze. “Yeah, yeah, sorry. Just, uh. Thinking about work.” Not a complete lie.

“Well, don’t,” he says with a soft laugh. “It’s the weekend. You should enjoy it.” His hands press a little tighter, pulling you close until your body is flush with his. His breath ghosts over your neck as you hear his voice in your ear. “That dress looks really good on you.”

A different voice echoes in your mind before you can stop it. Spread your legs for me. Show me what’s under that dress. You can’t help but wonder if this is what it feels like to literally go insane, and then you grab Kihyun’s face with both hands and kiss him in a desperate attempt to not think anymore.

You can feel him freeze, clearly not expecting it, but after a second his mouth starts to move against yours. His hands slip further down towards your ass, and fuck, it occurs to you that you are still incredibly horny. You need this to happen as soon as possible.

Pulling away and sliding your hands to Kihyun’s shoulders, you tilt up to speak into his ear. “Do you live near here?”

His eyes go wide for at least the third time tonight. “Y-yeah, not far.” You see his tongue dart out to lick his lips.

“I don’t know how to say this politely,” you admit with an embarrassed smile. “But my friend wasn’t wrong. About… what I need.”

He pauses for a moment, and your stomach twists as you prepare for rejection, the reasonable reaction considering you basically jumped this man like a crazy person. But then he smiles, leaning into you so he can keep his tone soft. “Come on, then.”

You follow Kihyun as he guides you towards the exit, keeping one hand pressed to the small of your back. It’s hard to miss the other half of your group making their way through the crowd— Wonho is large enough that people quickly shrink to get out of his way, but his gaze is entirely transfixed on Jimin’s ass in front of him. You nod in their direction and Kihyun follows as you push past bodies to reunite.

“Are you leaving?!” Jimin asks, and you can only nod. His eyes jump to Kihyun. “I told you, you better give it to her!” He shouts it so loudly that people standing behind him glance over their shoulders, but he is fully unfazed, now brandishing his cellphone. “And I always have her location on, so if you murder her, I will come find you!”

With a roll of your eyes, you lean across the circle so that Wonho can hear you. “Take good care of him, okay?” When you pull away, you swear he’s blushing as red as his hair, and he nods sheepishly.

You turn back to Kihyun. “Ready?”

The door to Kihyun’s apartment barely has time to close behind you before you find his lips with yours again. He presses you up against the wall of the entryway, and you waste no time in moving your hands over his body. His shirt and pants hit the floor in quick succession.

When he reaches for the hem of your dress, you cover his hands with yours to stop him. “Do you— is it okay if I keep it on?”

“Yeah,” he murmurs, breathless. “Yeah, okay.”

He kisses you again and you let him guide you backwards through an open door into his bedroom until you feel the mattress hit the backs of your knees. You perch on the edge of the bed and glance around the room, taking it in. It’s clean, if minimally furnished, and your stomach flips when you see a nondescript work desk tucked into one corner.

You look at Kihyun when you feel his hand gently rub your thigh, encouraging you to spread your legs.

“Kihyun?”

“Yeah?”

Your gaze jumps to his desk, then back to him. “Do— uh… Do you think you could bend me over your desk?”

He seems a little dumbfounded, and takes a second to find words. “Wh— I— yeah, yes, I can do that. I just—” he clears his throat. “Do you need, like, foreplay, or…?”

You stand up again, knees shaking slightly. “I’ll tell you what to do, does that work?”

It must, because he kisses you, eventually starting to move towards the desk. When you’ve gotten far enough, you feel him tug at your hips, encouraging you to spin around so your back is flush with his chest. His hand slides up to your shoulders to gently press you forward, and you brace your forearms on the desk, already breathless.

“P-pull my dress up,” you manage to instruct. His hands caress over your thighs, then move to the hem of your dress, pushing up until your ass is fully exposed for him.

Get a good look at that ass you were tempting me with, the voice in your head finishes for you. You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to focus on this moment, this man. Not any others.

You look back at Kihyun over your shoulder in an attempt to stay present, spreading your legs a little wider. “Touch me.”

He slowly moves a hand from your thigh up towards your core, and you feel his fingers just barely brush over the fabric of your underwear. The rush of contact after so much anticipation is enough to make you shiver slightly, but his touch is so light, so gentle.

Gentle is not what you need right now.

Keeping yourself held up on one arm, you reach the other behind you to forcefully tug your panties to the side. “Your fingers, Kihyun,” you hiss.

You tip your head forward and swallow down a whine of relief as he presses a digit into you and starts to rub circles. “How’s that?” His voice purrs in your ear, and you whimper as you nod.

It feels good, especially when he adds a second finger, but it’s not enough. He’s too soft, too tentative.

You look back at him again. “Can you spank me?”

You’ve officially lost count of the number of times you’ve surprised this man tonight. “I— what?”

“Like, smack my ass?”

“Like this?” He asks, but you barely feel it when he brings his hand down over your ass.

“Harder,” you say almost instantly, realizing after the fact that you could probably stand to be a little nicer to this random stranger. “Please.”

Kihyun’s second attempt is better, enough to make you groan softly as the sensation of the sting mixes with the movements of his fingers pressing against your front wall. He does it again, harder still, and you wiggle your ass back towards him— you need more, more than his hands can give.

“Kihyun,” you gasp, “want you to fuck me.”

“Yeah? I’ll fuck you right here,” he grunts. At least he seems to be genuinely into it, you think to yourself gratefully. He smacks your ass a final time and you bite down on your lip as he withdraws his fingers. “One second.”

You hear the sound of him opening a drawer somewhere in his room and retrieving a condom, and you let your eyes flutter closed until his hands brush over your hips again.

“Ready?”

“Yes, Kihyun, please,” you beg, your head dropping down onto your forearms. “Please fuck me.” Desire is wound up so tight inside you that you can’t think about anything else; you need this so fucking badly.

He makes a strangled whine as he presses into you, and you move your hips back onto him, gasping slightly at the stretch. “Fuck.”

“God, you feel so fucking good,” Kihyun groans, and he starts to roll into you with steady thrusts that brush the head of his cock right over your g-spot. You push backwards, matching his rhythm, and he’s not wrong: it feels good.

But it’s not enough.

“Harder,” you groan, your voice muffled in the crook of your elbow, and you hear Kihyun grunt as he picks up the pace, hips snapping against your ass. Better, but somehow still not what you need.

“Please, Kihyun,” you encourage again. “Fuck me like a slut.”

“Jesus,” he breathes, and for a second, you wonder if you’ve finally broken him. But then his hand cracks over your ass, hard enough to take you by surprise, and he starts to thrust even faster.

“Is this what you want?” He asks, and his voice is tense, almost angry; something about it makes your walls start to flutter. Your orgasm is so frustratingly close, yet somehow beyond your grasp.

And then you hear that all-too familiar voice in your head. I want to make you come so hard that your legs shake. Before you can help it, you moan a little at the memory. The way Yoongi leveled his gaze on you as he spoke so calmly, in a way that had you believing every single word. You can feel your core starting to tighten at the very thought, and once your brain realizes that’s what will get you there, it’s like the fucking floodgates open.

“Oh fuck,” you groan, and you can hear him grunt in agreement, like he’s close, too.

You’re helpless to stop it now, too desperate to come. Yoongi’s voice, his face, his tongue, his hands, his cock. It’s all you can think of. You gasp as everything inside you tightens and starts to pulse.

“Shit, shit, I’m gonna come,” you whine. So hard that you have no choice but to scream my name as I wreck you, the voice in your head finishes, and you dig your nails into the desk beneath you as you reach your climax.

Your back arches, pleasure washing over you, and you cry out. “Yes, Yoongi, yes!”

There’s a moment where his hips stutter, and then he pushes all the way into you one last time with a grunt of effort as he comes, too. Your heartbeat starts to slow.

And then it occurs to you that the man fucking you is absolutely not named Yoongi, and you smack a hand over your mouth.

“Oh my god,” you say softly, voice muffled, and you remove your hand as you start to straighten up. You can hear Kihyun still breathing heavily behind you, but he’s otherwise silent as he releases his grip on your hips and slides out of you.

“Kihyun,” you turn to watch him cross the room to the en-suite bathroom, where he briefly disappears to dispose of the condom. Face burning with embarrassment, you awkwardly maneuver to readjust your underwear and pull your dress back down over your ass.

When he reappears in the doorway, you try again. “Kihyun, I am so sorry. I—I don’t—” you fumble for what to say, knowing full well you don’t have a good explanation. At least not one that doesn’t make you sound insane.

“It’s cool,” he says, but he’s clearly uncomfortable. “I mean, you know. Shit happens.”

You glance around nervously for your phone before realizing it’s back on the table in the entryway where you tossed it in the throes of passion. You shoot Kihyun a weak smile. “I should— let me call Jimin. I can get a ride home.”

Kihyun laughs dryly. “Yeah, I’m gonna take a wild guess that he might be a little busy. I can take you home. It’s not a big deal.”

As much as your pride wants to refuse, you don’t exactly have a backup plan. “I would really appreciate that,” you murmur.

The drive is silent and painfully awkward, Kihyun turning up the music just loud enough that you get the indication that he doesn’t want to talk. As the lights of the city stream by, you can’t help but wonder how everything got so fucked up.

When Kihyun pulls up to your apartment complex, you indicate where he can drop you off, and he reaches over you as the car slows to a stop to politely open the door.

“Have a good night,” he says firmly, and you can barely manage a word of thanks before you slip out of his car and head up the stairs to die of embarrassment.

Jimin shows up at your door late Sunday afternoon, a takeout bag of haejangguk tucked under one arm, gushing incessantly about the various ways Wonho threw him around all night. It feels like he babbles for an hour, until he finally takes a break to sip from his own container of soup, and prompts you with a raise of his eyebrows.

“Your turn. Was your mission successful?”

You keep your gaze firmly planted on the floor as you recount what happened.

“Oh, you’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

~*~

Jimin decides that you’ll try again next weekend, promising he’ll be less distracted. You’re not positive you’ll survive that long. You preemptively text Jungkook asking to take the week off from boxing class - your stomach is such a fucking bundle of nerves that you barely sleep at all Sunday night, and you know the next five days spent in constant fear of running into Yoongi is only going to make it worse.

Those same nerves creep up into your throat when you unlock the doors Monday morning, Jungkook waiting patiently behind you with his hands wrapped around the straps of his backpack.

Dread blooms inside of you as you move to place your purse on your desk, and then you make a split-second decision, spinning back to face Jungkook.

“Hey, JK?” The nickname is unplanned, just sort of comes out, but you see him visibly brighten. “Are there any open desks on your side of the office? I think I need a change of scenery.”

He nods, eyes wide. “Yeah! I’m actually all by myself right now. Sunye is on maternity leave for the rest of the month. You can use her desk.”

You gesture for him to lead the way and he does, heading past the break room and walking backwards down the hallway to keep talking to you. “Is there something wrong with your normal desk? We can always put in a work order.”

“Uh, no,” you scramble, trying to find a good excuse. “It can just be a little distracting, you know. People coming in and out all day. I’ve got a lot of stuff I need to be heads-down on this week.”

The excuse sounds flimsy and false to you, but he seems to buy it. “Yeah, makes sense! I’ll try not to distract you too much.”

He does a full 360-degree spin on his heels as you turn the corner at the end of the hall, and it’s enough to make you laugh softly despite yourself. There’s a small alcove with a desk pressed against either wall, and you don’t even have to ask which one is Jungkook’s. The standing desk is dotted with tell-tale signs of Baby Star Candy: an empty shaker cup, a mini tub of protein powder, several fidget toys tucked beneath his monitor. A small collage of polaroids is taped to the wall where you see him smiling with friends, throwing up a peace sign in nearly every single one.

Sunye’s desk is mostly empty, save for a few framed photos of her with her husband and two young kids. You drop your purse down and take a seat as Jungkook chucks his backpack under his desk, both of you reaching to retrieve your laptops.

Outlook hasn’t even loaded before he’s turned around and talking to you again. “So how was your weekend?”

You grimace reflexively at memories you’d rather forget, and Jungkook misinterprets the look. “Oh, sorry, no distractions. I’ll be quiet.”

“No, no,” you shake your head. “It’s not you. My weekend was fine. What about yours?”

He laughs, looking a little embarrassed. “I mean, honestly? I’m super addicted to this new mobile game that just came out. I feel like I blinked and lost two days.” He’s already reaching for his cellphone. “Want to see?” You roll your chair across to his side of the room as Jungkook leans over to show you the little island world he’s nearly 500 levels into. After a few minutes, he seems to remember himself.

“Shit, you specifically said you came here to focus. I’m sorry, I really will leave you alone now.”

You bite down on your bottom lip. “No, it’s okay, JK. I— honestly, I wasn’t being entirely truthful when I said that. I don’t mind the distraction at all, actually. It’s kind of complicated, but… it would be nice if I could hide out here for the foreseeable future.”

He looks at you, clearly surprised. “Of course. Whatever you need. Is everything okay?”

You wince a little, with no idea how to answer that question.

His voice drops. “Is it Suga?”

“It’s complicated.” You repeat with a sigh.

An unfamiliar emotion flashes in Jungkook’s eyes. You’ve never seen him angry before, but you’d guess this is what it looks like. “Hey, seriously, if he’s being aggressive with you, we should do something about it. Report it or something.”

You have to suppress the urge to laugh in his face. Like Yoongi being aggressive with you isn’t exactly what you’ve been fantasizing about for days.

“No, it’s not like that,” you reassure him. “I think we’re just two people who are better off kept apart from each other. That’s all.”

Jungkook nods slowly, and it’s clear from his expression that he wants to pry more, but is forcing himself not to. “Okay.”

There’s a heaviness of unasked and unanswered questions in the air, but the two of you manage to lapse into corporate smalltalk as you roll back over to your desk and dive into your workday.

Jungkook eventually has to peel off for a few virtual meetings, and watching him work is its own source of entertainment. If it’s a meeting that requires his focus, you can tell because he leans in close to his monitor, staring at spreadsheets or data visualizations with a look on his face like he’s using every single brain cell he owns. 

You can also tell when he’s put on calls where he clearly isn’t needed, because he’ll spin in a full circle at his desk with a glazed over look in his eye. There are even a few times where you glance up to see him silently doing what you vaguely recognize as TikTok dances, and you have to clap a hand over your mouth to keep from outright laughing.

The day rolls on, and you’re neck deep in drafting a communication when Jungkook’s voice breaks your concentration. “Do you like ramyeon?”

Your head snaps up to see him lean down under his desk to grab his backpack. He unzips it to retrieve two containers of instant noodles, and when he offers one to you, you give an approving nod. “I usually bring two in case I get extra hungry. I’ll make it, come meet me in the break room when you finish what you’re doing.”

You genuinely believe him on the first day, but when he just so happens to bring a second lunch on Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday, you start to get a little suspicious.

Friday has you stuck on a working session straight through your usual lunch hour, and Jungkook disappears without a word, returning as you’re pulling your headset off with two to-go salads in a plastic bag.

“I ordered one, and they gave me two. Crazy, right?”

You quirk an eyebrow at him to signal that you don’t believe a damn word, but you still thank him as you follow him down the hall to the break room.

“You’re coming out tonight, right?” He asks over lunch, and it takes you a second to remember the planned happy hour your boss has scheduled for the office. You’re torn between never wanting to see the inside of a bar again, and the overwhelming desire to drink as much as you can on the company’s dime. Ideally enough to obliterate the brain cells that store your memories of last weekend.

In the end, your cheapness wins out. Plus, given that it’s a social work event, you’d bet your entire salary that Yoongi will be nowhere to be found. You figure it might actually prove to be a good distraction. “Sure, yeah. At least for a couple drinks.”

“Cool,” Jungkook smiles a little as he spears a piece of chicken on his plastic fork. “Let me know when you’re done for the day, we can head over together.”

As much as you’d like to blow off early, a phone call that was supposed to take fifteen minutes ends up lasting over an hour. You mute your headset briefly to give a loud sigh, and shoot Jungkook a silent pout in apology when he meets your gaze, but he just flips his phone around to show you the progress he’s making on his island. At least he’s good at keeping himself entertained, you think with a smile.

Finally the person leading the call seems to come to the extremely delayed realization that no one is going to make any more progress on the issue after 5 PM on a Friday, and things wrap up pretty quickly after that. You and Jungkook gather your things and head for the front, and the office is a ghost town.

Your eyes drift down the opposite hallway towards the Genius Lab, your pulse quickening a little. You’ve checked the lab every evening this week and have luckily only found it empty, but you’re nearly an hour ahead of schedule today. And you don’t exactly have a great track record with Yoongi when it comes to Fridays.

“I should probably…”

“I can do it,” Jungkook cuts in softly. You’re hit with the automatic urge to say no, to shield him from this chaos in any way you can. But it would be really nice to not have to deal with Yoongi for one fucking day.

“I would appreciate that,” you reply, and Jungkook is already striding down the hall. You pretend to busy yourself on your phone as you hear a knock, then the electronic beeps of him punching the code into the door lock. When you glance up, you see him push the door open and stick his head inside, then promptly close it again.

“He’s gone. Let’s get out of here.”

The bar your boss has chosen is only a few blocks away from the office, and Jungkook holds the door open for you to enter first when you arrive. You don’t see your group right when you first walk in, and you have to round a bend in the layout of the building before you spot the long table of familiar faces.

You move to take a step forward, but Jungkook nearly imperceptibly brings a hand to your elbow to stop you. He says nothing, which is unlike him, and you start to ask a question.

“Wh—” the words die in your mouth when you see Yoongi smiling politely into a glass of whiskey, seated at the table next to your boss. His gaze flickers up to meet yours. Your stomach twists as you watch the smile immediately drop off his face. 

“We can go,” Jungkook says quickly, but you know you can’t give him the satisfaction.

“It’s fine,” you say, and it comes out a little more harsh than you mean it to. “We don’t have to sit near him.” Jungkook follows your lead to the opposite end of the table. When you take your seats, he almost immediately gets sucked into a conversation with some of the audio engineers. You do your best to at least act like you’re following along, but it feels like the room is spinning despite the fact that you’re entirely sober.

That absolutely needs to change, you quickly determine. You’re sitting at the corner of the table, so it’s easy enough to slip out and get to your feet. Jungkook glances up when you do.

“I’ll be right back,” you say, and your tone must be direct enough that he doesn’t ask any follow-up questions or offer his company. Which is fine, you think to yourself as you cross the room. You’re perfectly capable of walking to the bar and ordering a drink on your own.

At least it feels that way until you sweep your gaze across the room, waiting on a bartender to acknowledge your presence, and realize Yoongi is headed straight towards you, empty glass in hand.

Fuck fuck fuck.

You set your jaw, determined not to let him smell your fear, and renew your conviction to flag someone down and get a drink as fast as possible. When Yoongi takes a seat at the barstool next to you, you will your face not to react. But you’re not quite fast enough to remember to tell your mouth to stay shut, too.

“What are you doing here?” You snap, refusing to look him in the eye.

“I wanted to talk to you,” he says, voice even, and you blink hard. You don’t know what you were expecting, but it wasn’t that. “I figured an event with free alcohol was a good place to start. Let’s hope no one wore their good shoes tonight.”

Setting your jaw has turned into fully gritting your teeth, and you’ve never been more grateful to see a bartender when one approaches. You order quickly, and see Yoongi silently lift his empty glass as a request in your periphery.

“What do you want, Yoongi?”

When he hums and doesn’t respond right away, you glance over to see him running a finger around the rim of his finished drink. Just his fucking hand is enough to send a shiver up your spine, and you tear your gaze away.

“Well, for one, I honestly have to say I was surprised when HR didn’t personally escort me out of the building Monday morning.”

Your head snaps up to look at him again as you parse out his meaning. “Really?”

Yoongi’s gaze meets yours, his brows slightly pinching together as if he’s surprised that you’re surprised. “Uh, yeah.”

You’re so shocked it takes you a minute to form words. “I— I mean, it’s not like it was unprovoked.”

He makes a face as if he’s considering it, shrugging a little. “I suppose.”

As you drop your gaze to the wood grain of the bar, you can’t help but wonder if that was meant to be an apology. You barely have time to process that thought before the bartender returns, setting your drinks down, and you reach for yours like a woman dehydrated. When you take a sip, it’s strong— exactly what you need in this moment.

You’re already halfway off the barstool, very ready to get back to your seat at the table, when Yoongi speaks up again.

“Do you want to hear a funny story?” Something in his tone makes you pause, and he keeps going.

“I heard from an old friend a few days ago. We used to be really close, but lately I don’t think we’ve talked in…” He shakes his head in disbelief, like he’s trying to think. “God, probably years. I’ve been so focused on work. You know how I get.”

You physically recoil at his strange candor, how comfortable he suddenly is with implying that you know him. Your stomach is already starting to turn, though you can’t put a finger on why. It just feels like he’s playing with you.

Yoongi rolls his glass between his palms as he continues. “So you know, we catch up, ask how life is going, all the usual shit. And then my friend— Kihyun, that’s his name— Kih starts telling me about this crazy hookup he had last weekend.”

You nearly drop your drink as your blood runs cold. Yoongi continues the charade, pretending like he’s telling you something you don’t already know first-hand.

“He said he got approached by this super hot girl out of nowhere, and that she was fucking desperate for it. Barely said two words to him before she was asking him to take her home. And once he did, he said the sex was wild. I mean, it definitely sounded great to me when he gave me the play-by-play.” He pauses for a moment, and when he speaks again, there’s a new tone to his voice, almost aggressive. “Straight out of one of my own fantasies, really.”

You take a nervous gulp of your drink in hopes that it might help cool down your burning face— whether it’s from shame or rage, you can’t tell.

“And get this.” Yoongi’s voice is grave now, all pretense of telling a funny story gone as he turns to fully face you. “You’re never gonna believe whose name she cried out when she came. Because it sure wasn’t Kih’s.”

The shock of his words, at the fact that he knows this, is enough to freeze you where you stand. You’re nearly shaking with the chaotic storm of emotions swirling in your brain, and it takes every ounce of willpower you can muster to keep your voice steady as you fix him in your gaze. “I don’t see that it’s any of your business who or how I fuck, Yoongi.”

“Oh, I think it’s absolutely my business when you’re calling them my fucking name. And I don’t understand why you’d settle for imitation when you could have the real thing.” Despite how livid you are, you don’t miss the way your pussy flutters at the smug look on his face.

“Maybe it’s because your friend doesn’t come with all the strings attached that you do.”

“Strings?” He quirks an eyebrow. “I wasn’t planning on dating you, sweetheart.”

You can’t believe how dense he is, and you slam your drink down on the bar. “No, Yoongi, but you’re my fucking coworker. Have you ever heard the phrase, ‘don’t shit where you eat’?” He chuckles dryly into the rim of his glass. “It’s a bad fucking idea.”

He examines you as he takes a sip of whiskey, then finally speaks again. “Here’s the way I see it. We are both sane, consenting adults, very capable of being rational about this.” You scoff in disbelief at how calmly he can say such a thing as you take another long pull from your drink. “There’s obviously a lot of pent-up feelings going on. I’m not saying we have to be friends. Hell, we don’t even have to like each other. Sometimes it’s more fun when you don’t.”

Not expecting that commentary, you nearly choke on the ice in your glass. Yoongi gives you a moment to recover before continuing.

“It seems to me like we could establish something that would be mutually beneficial. Get some of that energy out. If anything, I think it might help both of us actually focus on our work, and that would in turn benefit everyone. It’d certainly be a lot better than the two of us running around like a couple of horny teenagers the way we have been lately. It’s not a purely selfish thing.”

You hate that his stupid logical argument makes sense to you. You hate it so much that you finish your drink in one swallow.

“Look, I’ll make it easy for you,” he says, eyes locked on you, his voice dropping into a lower register. The tone immediately takes you back to the last time you were in his lab. The things he said to you. The things he wanted to do to you. Heat pools in your belly before you can tell it not to.

“I’m going to head back to the group. You get yourself another drink, come join us, and take some time to think about it.”

He leans in to speak the next part directly into your ear, his voice quiet. Every nerve ending in your body lights up at the feeling of his breath against your neck. “Then I’m going to get up and go to the restroom. I’ll give you three minutes to discreetly excuse yourself and join me. If you don’t show, I’ll drop all of this and leave you alone. Promise.”

Yoongi pulls away, shooting you that trademark smirk, knowing full well that he doesn’t have to explain what will happen if you do decide to join him. He already has. Then he slips off the barstool, glass of whiskey in hand, and strides back towards the table.

When you order the next round, you ask for a double.

You do your best to act like the world isn’t ending as you return to your seat at the table. The conversation continues around you, without you; you can only stare dumbly at the empty space between two of your coworkers as you take a long swig of your drink. You’re vaguely aware of discussions of upcoming mixtapes and the Grammy’s, but your brain can’t process anything over the roaring in your ears, the pounding of your heartbeat in your gut— and a little lower.

You feel insane, enraged, and deliriously aroused.

You have no concept of how quickly time is passing, no clue if it’s been an instant or an hour when you see movement from the other end of the table out of the corner of your eye. There’s no self-control left in your system to keep your jaw from going slack, to keep you from unabashedly watching as Yoongi gets up from the table and strides confidently across the bar toward the restroom. He doesn’t so much as glance in your direction.

“Are you alright?”

You whip around at Jungkook’s voice, having completely forgotten there was anyone else in the room. It takes a second for you to snap your mouth shut, and then you realize you have to open it to answer his question.

“I— uh—” You can barely string a sentence together. “My drink is really strong.”

“Do you need some water?”

When you nod, he’s up in a flash, heading towards the bar, and you realize as you watch him disappear that it might have been a bad idea to let yourself be left alone. Because now you have no distraction from the way every cell in your body is screaming at you.

It’s obvious that there is a right choice and a wrong choice here. And you’ve tried so hard, for so long, to be smart. To deny the truth, to say no and go home, to channel the energy out in any other way. But none of it has worked. You still want this terrible man to do terrible things to you, maybe now more than ever. And you’re so fucking tired of making the right choice.

So tonight, you resolve with a final sip of your drink, you’ll make the wrong one. Fuck it.

You slip away from the table before Jungkook returns, following the same path Yoongi did towards the back of the bar. When you reach for the handle of the restroom door, your pulse is racing, enough that you nearly jump out of your skin when the door swings open before you can even touch it. You glance up to find yourself face-to-face with an equally shocked looking Yoongi.

“Your three minutes are up,” he says dryly. Rather than bother with a response, you bring your hand to his chest and firmly shove him back inside the single stall room. You hear him laugh a little as you follow after, pulling the knob and turning the lock into place behind you.

When he takes a step toward you, there’s nowhere for you to go except flush against the door. You watch his eyes drop down your body and back up, taking his time, shameless. His gaze lingers on your mouth.

“Didn’t think you’d really do it,” he murmurs, eyes glinting.

“Call it a lapse in judgment.”

There’s something about the situation that makes you feel like Yoongi has the upper hand— like he expects every part of this to go according to his plan. That, you decide, simply will not do. And then you drop to your knees in front of him.

“Oh my god,” Yoongi breathes, taking a small step back to give you room. “You’re a whore.”

You do your best to shoot a death glare up at him. “I don’t have to do this.”

He smirks. “I meant it as a compliment, honestly. Respectfully.”

That’s it. You’re determined to suck that smug fucking look off his face. “Hands to yourself,” you say firmly. “If you touch me, this all ends.”

Yoongi’s eyes widen, as if he wasn’t expecting you to be giving any orders. But then he nods, raising both hands in the air as if to indicate compliance. You lower your gaze and realize he’s already straining against the fabric of his joggers, which do nothing to hide how hard he is, the thin material clinging to every inch.

In one swift motion, you tug both his pants and boxers down his hips, and you have to actively suppress a soft sigh of appreciation. Yoongi’s ego doesn’t need any more feeding, but damn, his dick is even better up close: long, pale, and pretty.

Glancing back up at him, you maintain eye contact as you lean forward to teasingly trace your tongue along one of the prominent veins that runs the length of his shaft. His eyes are dark with lust as he watches you. Despite being on your knees, a thrill of sheer power runs through you when you see him swallow hard, his Adam’s apple jerking in his throat.

It occurs to you that you are extremely ready to torture this man.

When you reach the tip, you just barely slide your lips over it in an open-mouthed kiss to the head of his cock, your tongue swirling in sloppy circles. You can hear Yoongi breathing now, clearly trying and failing to suppress his shaky exhales at your work.

Tilting your head to find the right angle, you take more of him into your mouth, then bring a hand to his shaft to guide the head of his dick to one side. You don’t miss the quiet groan you elicit from him as you let him press against the soft wall of your cheek to create a bulge. He makes the same sound again, louder, when you rub your tongue firmly along the underside of his shaft while you do it.

His hips jerk under your touch as you start to move the hand wrapped around him in slow, deliberate strokes. You recenter him in your mouth and bob your head along his length in time, now sucking firmly. Yoongi’s breath catches on a moan as you keep your tongue pressed tight to his shaft and match the movement of your head to the deliciously slow pace of your hand.

The sound only encourages you, and you lean forward to take even more of him until his cock briefly brushes against the back of your throat. You hold him there for a second, then swallow.

“Fuck,” Yoongi hisses. You can feel him twitch a little in your mouth, taste it as he leaks precum onto your tongue. You tip back for a few more shallow thrusts, just tormenting him, then repeat the action, humming this time as he hits your throat. His knees nearly buckle.

You glance up at Yoongi as you pull back again, lashes fluttering, and you have to keep yourself from laughing around his cock at the look of pure distress on his face. Now that you’re watching him, you realize his hands are flexing desperately at his sides— it’s clearly taking everything in his power to follow your no touching policy.

Good, you think, and then you lean forward to swallow him down and keep him there, taking as much as you can until your nose is nearly flush with his pelvis. You bob your head, guiding him up and down your throat, choking slightly but too determined to stop even as your eyes start to water.

“Oh my god,” you hear him groan, and your eyebrows raise at the sound of a loud smack. When you look up, still working him in your throat, you realize that he’s helplessly banged a fist on the bathroom door and is now bracing himself against it. You watch as he rakes his other hand through his hair, his head tipping back with a gasp as you increase your pace in response. His hips shudder as he starts to buck softly into your mouth. “Y-yeah, keep doing that, oh fuck, fuck—”

At what feels like the last possible second, you pull off his cock with a soft, wet pop, swallowing down the precum in your mouth. You wipe at the corners of your lips before getting to your feet, legs shaking a little more than you’d like from how long you’ve been on your knees. As you meet his gaze, now at eye-level, it seems you’ve certainly achieved your mission: Yoongi’s usual smug appearance has been replaced with a look of frustrated desperation, courtesy of one denied orgasm.

“Why should I let you get off that easy?” You ask simply, and he makes a noise low in his throat, something between a groan and a laugh.

“Fuck, you are such a bitch.” He advances towards you, and you find yourself backing up, this time until your ass is pressed against the countertop of the bathroom sink. He’s staring at your mouth again, looking at it with what seems to be a little more reverence now that he knows what it’s capable of.

“Am I allowed to touch you yet?” His voice is so low, his mouth so close to yours, that it makes your core ache. The noises you sucked out of him have unfortunately only turned you on even more. “Or are you going to make me beg?”

As much as you’d love to see that, the desperate throb that’s been steadily building between your legs has now overtaken your desire to tease. “Yes, Yoongi, you can touch me.”

The words have barely left your mouth and his hands are already on your hips, firmly spinning you around. You have to clutch the edge of the countertop just to stay upright, but you only feel yourself getting that much wetter at the rough way he handles you. You shiver as he shoves the hem of your dress up to expose your ass, and you can’t help yourself, leaning forward to give him the best possible angle, too desperate for anything less.

“Fuck,” Yoongi breathes, and you’d swear he almost sounds appreciative.

You don’t even have time to process that thought before his hand cracks down over your ass, so hard that it nearly knocks all the breath out of your lungs. You inhale a shaky gasp, your mind reeling in its attempt to catch up, but Yoongi is already pulling your panties to the side, perfect fingers sliding between your folds. There’s no hiding how drenched you are; your upper thighs are starting to stick together with arousal.

Without warning, he presses two fingers firmly into you, and it’s enough to make your jaw go slack. You outright moan when they find purchase against your g-spot, rubbing in tight, expert circles. He could make you come right now if he wanted to.

“You’re so wet for me,” Yoongi’s voice is low and smug, and you don’t need to see his expression to know that cocky smirk has returned to his face. “Been ready for it all night, huh?” You whimper a noise that isn’t disagreement.

“Good,” he says firmly, pairing the word with another smack to your ass. You’re too far gone to try and hold it back now, not with the way his fingers are working inside you, and you moan again. “Because we can’t take too long,” Yoongi continues. “Don’t want anyone getting suspicious. Which is really a damn shame, because there’s so much I want to do to you.”

When he smacks your ass one more time, even harder, and couples it with an insistent press of his fingers against your front wall, you have to grip the edge of the sink for dear life. Your cunt squeezes around him; the noise you make is practically a sob.

He huffs a laugh as he withdraws his fingers, and you glance up to see him retrieving a condom from his pocket and tearing it open. “Wrecked already? And I haven’t even fucked you yet.”

You try to compose yourself, but just watching the way his hands work as he rolls the condom over his leaking cock has you aching, clenching around nothing. You really are fucking wrecked— nothing has ever come close to this.

Yoongi’s hands come to your hips, pads of his fingers digging into your skin, and you feel the head of his cock against your entrance, sliding lazily through your folds but purposefully not pressing into you.

“Yoongi,” you whine. You’re too far gone for this teasing.

“You have to tell me what you want,” he says, his voice dark.

You can barely even think a sentence, and you try to push back on him instead, but he keeps you held firmly in place, hands squeezing into the flesh of your hips. “Tell me,” he insists.

“I want you to fuck me,” you manage, and you look up to meet his gaze in the bathroom mirror.

He licks his lips, and you realize that he’s having just as hard a time restraining himself. “That much is obvious,” he says, and you can hear the unsteadiness in his voice now. “How would you like to get fucked?”

You’ve had enough alcohol to brazenly tell the truth. “Like you hate me.”

It may be the first genuine smile of his you’ve ever seen.

“Gladly,” he replies, and then he thrusts all of himself into you at once. You collapse forward on the countertop, crying out at the feeling.

“Yeah,” Yoongi grunts, a little breathless. “You like that?” He pulls nearly all the way out and slams into you one more time, pressing his hips flush with your ass until you feel overwhelmingly full. Then he starts to properly thrust, moving at a pace that can only be described as ruthless.

“Oh, fuck,” you gasp, your head dropping down as you scramble to brace yourself against the counter. You practically yelp when his hand cracks over your ass again.

He leans forward; you can feel his chest graze over your back, his hips still snapping into you as he grabs your jaw with one hand and forces your gaze up to look at him in the mirror again. You watch as he runs two fingers along your bottom lip in an unasked question. You let your jaw go slack to allow him to slip into your mouth.

When your lips close around his fingers, you find yourself a little grateful to have something to keep you grounded to reality. Your eyes flit up to Yoongi’s face, and his gaze is piercing, eyes totally fixed on you.

“You look so good like this.” His voice is hoarse, strained from effort, and he continues to drive into you, never slowing. Your own hip bones dig into the bathroom counter, shocks of pleasure-pain rippling through you with each thrust. Little moans and whimpers spill out from your mouth around his fingers at the sensation, and you can feel your climax starting to build.

Yoongi withdraws from your mouth, that same hand moving down your body to slip into your panties and circle your clit, earning a gasp from you. His other hand keeps a death grip on your hip as he thrusts, and he straightens up again, the head of his cock now rubbing so perfectly over your g-spot that you hiss.

“Did Kihyun fuck you like this?”

The question catches you off-guard. “N-no,” you gasp, and the hot coil of your arousal tightens in your core. Yoongi’s cock stroking into you, his hand working your clit, the feeling is overwhelming, dizzying. “Oh, god.” Your head presses into your forearm as you give yourself over to the pleasure. You can only distantly hear Yoongi’s voice continue, somewhere between coaxing and demanding.

“I didn’t fucking think so. So why don’t you say it? Tell me who fucks you right. Tell me who you fucking hate.”

The fingers on your clit are unrelenting now, and your edge approaches fast and hard.

“Y-Yoongi,” you breathe, and it feels too good to say his name and mean it. “Yoongi, fuck, Yoongi.” A loud moan rips through you as your legs start to shake. “Oh fuck,” you gasp, “I’m coming, fuck, yes—” You nearly sob as your climax hits you hard, and your walls flutter around Yoongi’s cock over and over in what feels like an endless orgasm.

The pleasure rolls through you, and you look up in the mirror to see Yoongi grit his teeth as he picks up the pace of his hips. A look of desperation paints his face, not unlike the way he looked when you were blowing him, and you know he must be close.

“God fucking damnit,” he grunts, each word punctuated with a thrust, and then he tips his head back and pushes all the way into you with a moan as he comes.

For a moment he pauses like that, gazing up at the ceiling, chest heaving with effort as his dick twitches inside of you. “Holy shit,” he breathes, and then he starts to laugh softly in what appears to be disbelief. “Fuuuuck.”

You haven’t fully recovered, so you can only watch, still gripping the countertop for dear life, as he slips the condom off, chucks it into the trash can, and pulls his boxers and pants up. He gives his reflection a once-over in the mirror, running a hand through his hair, and you’re amazed at how quickly he’s put himself back together. The only indication that he was literally just railing you is the way he’s breathing heavily.

Yoongi notices you watching him and gives your ass one more firm slap, hard enough that you flinch a little.

“Wait a minute or two before you head out,” he instructs, and you nod dumbly. He crosses the room, opens the door, and slips out, all before you can even so much as think a coherent thought.

It takes several more minutes for you to get your shit together, but you eventually manage to readjust your underwear and smooth your dress down, though your legs are certainly still unsteady when you make your way back to the table. You can’t help but shoot a glance over at Yoongi as you pass, and you’re shocked to see him laughing and chatting it up with the group of coworkers seated around him. You see clear expressions of surprise on their faces, too— because he’s never like this. Except, apparently, mere minutes after fucking you.

You don’t even bother to sit down, instead grabbing your purse off the table and slinging the straps over your shoulder.

“Wow, there you are,” Jungkook’s voice drags you out of your thoughts, and the look of concern on his face just makes your stomach turn. You genuinely have no idea how long you were gone for. “Are you okay? Your face looks flushed.”

You don’t know how to answer his question, so you don't. “I think I’m gonna go home.”

“Do you need a ride?”

You shake your head quickly. “I’ll call a friend.”

Perched on the curb outside, you clutch your phone for dear life as you pull up Jimin’s contact to call him. The line rings and you realize you’re shivering; you don’t think it has anything to do with the weather.

You don’t even give him a chance to say hello when the call connects. “Can you come get me?”

He groans on the other end of the line. “Why? I already took my pants off for the night.”

“Baby mochi, please.” You whine, but you know only the full explanation will get him out of bed. You drop your voice a little. “I just hatefucked Suga in the bathroom at the company happy hour. I need you to come pick me up immediately.”

Jimin’s apartment is a ten minute drive away, but you swear he makes it in five.

“Well, well, well,” Your best friend’s voice is smug as you slide into his passenger seat. “If it isn’t the company whore.”

“Shut the fuck up, Jimin.”

~*~

Come Monday morning, you’re racing down the hallway to the conference room, quietly cursing yourself for being late. You’d seen the email from your boss moving the usual Tuesday pull-up to first-thing Monday, but then you’d gotten so tied up with other projects you’d forgotten about it entirely. It was only once you were in the break room, trying to get your caffeine fix in, that you’d glanced up at the wall clock and realized it was already ten after.

Focused as you are on getting to the meeting quickly— and just as importantly, not spilling any of your coffee— you’re completely unaware of your surroundings until it’s too late. You nearly smack directly into Yoongi as you approach the conference room simultaneously.

He smirks as you jump back in surprise. “We have got to stop meeting like this.”

It’s the first time you’ve seen him since Friday; you’ve been hiding out in Baby Star Candy’s corner all morning. “We’re late,” you say, flustered enough to state the obvious, and he shrugs like he can’t disagree.

“I got distracted.”

Yoongi must notice the way your eyes start to widen. “With work,” he clarifies quickly. He reaches around you to place a hand on the conference room door, and you hear his voice low in your ear. “Amazing how much easier it is to focus today, huh?”

Straightening up to put some space between you, he pushes the door open and gestures for you to go first. You swallow hard and try to keep your composure as you enter the room, briefly apologizing for being late. Yoongi follows behind you silently, slumping into the open seat across the table. You take a sip of your coffee to settle your nerves, which turns out to be a horrible idea when your boss speaks.

“There they are, perfect timing. You’re the very two people my next announcement concerns.”

You just barely manage to keep your drink in your mouth. When your gaze flits to Yoongi across from you, he looks similarly shell-shocked. You can’t help but wonder if you’re about to get fired in front of the entire team.

“We’ve managed to secure funding for the Grammy’s at the end of the month,” your boss says brightly. “We’ll be flying Suga out to do a press circuit as well as attend the award show and surrounding events in-person. We think it will be a great opportunity to network with American artists, try to get his name out there and work on our international appeal.”

“And of course,” your boss’ gaze lands on you, “we all know that our Suga isn’t the most extroverted, or good with schedules, for that matter. We figured he needs a wrangler, and who better than our very own admin?”

You swear your heart stops beating. Your boss keeps going, reminding the team to connect with you about temporarily taking back any deliverables you’ve been handling while you’ll be out of pocket for Grammy’s weekend and subsequent travel time, but you barely process a word. This can’t be happening.

An entire weekend of forced professionalism, in Los Angeles, with the man you just hatefucked in a bathroom. What could possibly go wrong?

chapter four | masterlist | chapter six

look down on me like that - 3 (explicit)

genre: slow burn enemies to lovers hatefucking coworkers au, smut (w some eventual angst)

pairing: yoongi x reader

summary: your asshole coworker min yoongi has made it his personal mission to ruin your life.

word count: 8.2k

contains: explicit sexual content for real this time!! 🍆 the smut has arrived 🍆 we've got masturbation and accidental voyeurism in this one 👀 and of course still lots of alcohol mentions,,, along with all the usual suspects: dumbass reader, bestie jimin, coworker JK, and grouchy asshole yoongi

A/N: this is my first time posting a chapter of this series and knowing there are actual people out there waiting for/excited about it and ouchhh my heart 🥺💜 y'all are seriously the best and i can't tell you how much i appreciate every positive comment/reblog/ask i get about this series, it rly helps me push through on the days when i feel thoroughly incompetent ;v; i hope you enjoy!!!!

read on AO3!

chapter two | masterlist | chapter four

~*~

“Let me get this straight,” Jimin says through a mouthful of tteokbokki. He’s still in his sweats and t-shirt from dance practice, and his tiny bean sprout ponytail bobs up and down as he chews. “The coworker who is a jerk to you, and who you think suspects that you faked your way into this job, and who locked you out of the office tonight… is Suga?”

You stab angrily at a fish cake, your voice sullen. “Yes.”

“Like, the Suga?”

“Is there another?”

“The extremely famous and talented and all-around big fucking deal producer, Suga? That’s who you picked to be your arch-nemesis?”

“Shut up!” You flop back angrily onto the floor of your living room. “I didn’t pick him! If anything, he kind of picked me. He could’ve just been nice to me, and none of this would be happening.”

Jimin nods, returning to his food. “Well, he does have great taste in tteokbokki, if that counts for anything.”

You throw an arm over your eyes and groan. “He’s such a fucking… smug asshole jerk face.”

“You have such a way with words,” Jimin giggles, and you grab a pillow off your couch and launch it at him. He only barely manages to duck out of the way. “Hey!”

You flop over onto your side, cheek rubbing against the carpet. After a few moments of silence, you feel Jimin’s socked foot wiggle against your ear. You instinctively reach out and grab it. “What are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking,” you grunt, “about all the things I’d like to do to destroy that man. Like maybe trash his office, key his car… and you had a good idea with the rat poison in the coffee thing.”

“I actually specifically told you not to do that—”

“I don’t understand why he has to make my life so hard,” you steamroll over Jimin, giving his foot another squeeze. “I didn’t do anything to him, and it’s like he takes every opportunity he has to question me, belittle me, berate me, embarrass me, and just generally drive me fucking insane.” Your grip tightens reflexively with each word as you get angrier and angrier.

“Okay, ow! Don’t take it out on me!” Jimin jerks his leg and you release. He rubs tenderly at the top of his foot, which you were nearly crushing to death moments before.

Too indignant to apologize, you roll onto your back once more and stare up at the ceiling. “Maybe I should just quit. I can find a job where all my coworkers are nice and normal.”

“Are you really going to give in like that? You know that’s exactly what he wants you to do!” Jimin pauses for a moment, a sly smile on his face. “And besides, this is only the beginning of your story.”

You give him a look. “What on earth does that mean?”

“I’m just saying, if your life was a drama, this would be like… episode 2.”

You groan, your head smacking back against the carpet. “You watch too much TV.”

“I’m serious, this is a perfect set up. You’ve got the enemies part down, tensions are high, you’re both scheming to get back at each other— then BAM!” He smacks his hand on your coffee table for emphasis.

“Please, tell me what happens.” You deadpan with a roll of your eyes.

Jimin pauses as if considering the options. “Well, it depends. There’s a few directions the story could go. One of you could develop amnesia—” he makes a face. “Bleh, so overdone. You might realize you knew each other when you were kids.”

He pauses to shove a rice cake in his mouth, then continues as he chews. “But the most likely outcome is, of course, discovering that under all that hatred, you actually deeply desire one another.”

At this, you sit up. “What?!”

“Come on, enemies to lovers. It’s a classic.”

You glare at him. “Are you trying to get smacked?”

Jimin puts his hands up. “No more physical violence! I’m an innocent man.” He scoots back, attempting to get out of your range. “It’s just… basic physics. All that tension’s gotta go somewhere. When you and Suga end up hatefucking on the conference table, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

He’s not fast enough to avoid the second couch pillow, which hits him squarely in the face.

~*~

You’re up an hour before your alarm the next morning, fueled purely by anger, and you make it to the office so early, Jungkook is still in his boxing class. This time, the door gives when you push, and you slam it open so hard you nearly dislocate your shoulder.

You storm down the hall to Yoongi’s lab—he’s lost the privilege of you calling him by his stupid producer name now—and smack your fist against the door.

“Open the fucking door, Yoongi!” You shout, realizing only a little too late that you didn’t censor yourself. Hopefully no one is around to hear; it’s not even 7 AM so you’re almost definitely the first one in the office. Even if you aren’t, you’re too far gone to really care.

The second the door cracks, before you even catch a glimpse of him, you jam your foot in the opening to prevent him from closing it again. “Give me my keys back, and give me one good reason why I shouldn’t have you fired today,” you hiss.

The door swings open a little wider until you can actually see him on the other side. He looks… bad. The deep purple circles under his eyes could nearly pass for bruises, and you realize he’s wearing the same clothes he had on last night.

Irrelevant, you tell yourself. Still stole your keys. Still an asshole. No mercy.

“Fine,” he grunts, and his voice sounds like gravel. He crosses back towards his desk, and you take the opportunity to push your way inside and slam the door behind you.

You round on him. “I don’t know what kind of game you think this is, but I am not fucking playing.”

Yoongi stifles a yawn as he grabs the keys off his desk. “It’s not personal, I just needed to get this track done, and I couldn’t focus with you banging on the door and yelling about how hungry you were.” He turns back to you, keys in hand, and smirks. “And blasting your awful music.”

You open your palm for the keys and he drops them into your hand.

“Track’s done,” he continues with a shrug, “so I’m good now. Until next time.” He walks past you, so close he nearly shoulder-checks you, and collapses onto the leather couch in the corner of his office. He curls up on his side, facing away from you. “Turn off the lights when you leave.”

You stand there, bewildered. “Hey, no, I’m not done! You don’t get to sleep.” You stalk after him and kick the base of the couch for emphasis, which doesn’t do anything except hurt your foot. “We need a better plan for next time, because I am not repeating last night ever again,” you say firmly. “I don’t care how much you hate me, you need to figure out a way to work with me, because I take my job seriously. I’ll wear these keys around my fucking neck if I have to.”

Yoongi gives a frustrated groan, most likely at the fact that you’re still talking, and rolls over to cross his arms behind his head and look up at you. He sighs for a moment, examining you in a way that makes you long to put your hands around his neck and squeeze. Then finally, he speaks.

“Yeah, you take this job so seriously. That’s why you’ve never used a computer before.” He laughs dryly. “Where did they find you? Don’t tell me…” He hums sleepily as he pretends to think. “You decided you couldn’t hack being a bartender anymore. I mean, you aren’t personable enough to make decent money, that’s obvious. So, you had someone, maybe a coworker, fake a reference so you could break into the corporate world.”

He yawns again; your stomach drops as his words hang heavy in the air. What hurts even worse is how close he came to the truth.

That stupid smirk is back on his stupid face. “Seems like I got it. You really have no poker face, has anyone ever told you that?”

You cross your arms with a huff, embarrassed by how easily he can read you. “Shut up.” You hate that he makes you feel like this, always so flustered and unprepared, even when he’s half asleep.

Yoongi fishes in the pocket of his sweatpants for a second, then pulls out his phone. “Give me your number.”

Your stomach drops. “What? No. Why?”

“I’ll call you when I need to get into the studio,” he says, like it’s obvious. “Then you can come unlock it for me, miss key-holder.”

You make a face. “And what makes you think I’ll drop everything to help you?”

Yoongi stretches and groans, one hand reaching up to rub the back of his neck. His shirt just barely rides up, exposing a stripe of pale skin and the black band of his boxers that peeks over his sweatpants.

Your eyes linger for a second, and Jimin’s trashy TV show theory comes back to you. You force yourself to avert your gaze and not think about hatefucking on a conference table– because that is never, ever happening. You turn away from Yoongi entirely and take in the so-called Genius Lab.

It dawns on you that you’ve never actually been in here before. Half the room is taken up by a desk which boasts a sleek desktop and six monitors that you’re sure would easily cover more than a year’s worth of your rent in price. A massive second screen is mounted on the wall, and littered across the desk are things you only vaguely recognize as mixers, interfaces, and drum machines.

To your left is a gorgeous keyboard, to your right, an entire electric drum kit. Hidden LED lights run along the edges of the walls, bathing the room in a soft purple glow, which you don’t hate. You spin in a full circle to take it all in.

Against the back wall is the leather couch, next to the door. For a split second you wonder how many times he’s slept there instead of going home— or gone without sleep at all, like he apparently did last night. The thought makes your heart sink a bit.

Your gaze lands back on Yoongi, who you realize has been watching you. When he speaks, his voice is even and serious.

“You’ll answer when I call because, supposedly, this job means a lot to you. I doubt you’d be too happy if I started planting ideas in the boss’ head about your complete lack of experience.” He shrugs. “The way I see it, you can probably make it a couple months here before people start to catch on. Or, I can go talk to the boss today, and we can expedite the process. Just depends on whether or not you give me what I want.”

You instantly regret feeling any ounce of empathy for him when you realize he’s fucking blackmailing you. “You wouldn’t,” you hiss, but you already know he absolutely would.

“Do you really want to take that chance?”

You open and close your mouth, trying to think of a way out, but you’re very much backed into this corner. Defeated, you recite off your number, and he types it into his phone.

“But I am not pulling all-nighters here,” you clarify. “I don’t care how behind on a deadline you are, when I’m tired, I get to kick you out so we can both go home.”

“Whatever.” He lets his phone drop to the floor next to him and throws an arm over his eyes. You can see you are effectively dismissed, and you make sure to leave the lights on as you storm out, just to spite him.

When you get back to your desk, Jungkook is standing at the front door, looking confused. “There you are! Wow, how early did you get in? Everything okay?”

You press the cold metal of your key against the palm of your hand and try to remind yourself that you do still have power. Fuck what Min Yoongi says. You don’t have to do anything for him. You’re the one in control here.

“Yep, everything’s great,” you say with a smile. Jungkook gives a nod that looks equal parts affirming and confused.

“Oh hey, Jungkook?” You stop him before he disappears off to his own desk. “Any chance I could join you at that boxing class?”

~*~

“Wow, have you done this before?” Jungkook is short of breath as the two of you circle each other in preparation to review the final combination of class.

“Nope.”

The instructor gives the signal, and you run it again.

Right hook. Stupid floppy hair always falling in his face when he’s threatening you. Left uppercut. Stupid patronizing smirk when he’s laughing at you. Right hook again. Stupid dark eyes that make you feel like you can’t do anything right when he’s looking at you. 

Cross, jab, cross. “Stupid— fucking— asshole!” You grunt under your breath as you slam your fists into Jungkook’s gloves. When the instructor calls time, you drop to your knees on the mat, panting hard and unfortunately still fucking furious. This class wasn’t exactly the release you were hoping for.

“That’s it for today, great work everybody! And remember, we should only ever be hitting at 50% strength while we’re partnered!” The instructor gives you a not-so-subtle look as the class disperses, and you glance sheepishly up at Jungkook. He wiggles a hand out of his glove and offers it to help you to your feet.

“Be honest, did I break you?” You ask, still trying to get your breath back.

Jungkook shrugs like it’s no big deal. “I can take it. It was kind of impressive, actually. You’re really good, especially for your first time.” He pauses, and you can tell he’s trying to be polite and not ask the extremely obvious question.

You answer it anyway, wiping sweat from your temples. “I’ll tell you at breakfast.”

One body shower and a speed-run application of your makeup later, you’re standing in line for egg sandwiches and pretending not to notice Jungkook tenderly rubbing his thumb over the center of his palm. You do feel a little bad for hitting him so hard. It’s not like any of this is his fault.

“So, I get back to the office with the food, and that’s when I discover that he locked me out,” you say with a frustrated sigh. It’s still embarrassing to admit it out loud. “I left my keys on my desk and he managed to grab them without me noticing.”

“Wow,” Jungkook breathes. “That’s terrible. I mean, I feel like you should tell someone.”

Your pulse quickens as you realize you can’t exactly share the entire story. Jungkook has done way too much for you already, and the thought of revealing that he’s stuck his neck out for someone who is a complete fraud and is now being blackmailed about it is more than you can handle.

You sigh. “I think it’s okay now. I mean, I was picturing his face on your gloves. My ego definitely still hurts. But we worked it out, I guess. Sort of. It’s hard to explain.”

You pause, wondering if that sounds weird. Jungkook has a strange expression on his face that you can’t decipher. “At least, he won’t take my keys anymore, I can tell you that,” you continue. “I’m never letting them out of my sight again.”

You fidget with the strap of your purse over your shoulder. “The only thing that pisses me off is the fact that he gets an extra lock on his door. Even I can’t stop him from locking himself in that stupid fucking lab. And then what am I supposed to do?”

Jungkook looks like he’s going to say something, but you’re called up to order, and by the time you have your breakfast in hand the conversation has changed entirely and he’s pulling up his phone to show you his most recent viral TikTok. You welcome the distraction— you’re honestly tired of talking about Yoongi. The rage hasn’t dissipated, but it’s at least a little more contained, enough that you think you can probably make it through the day without being escorted from the building in handcuffs.

With a few different projects you’re a part of all starting to ramp up, you’ve got plenty of things to attend to when you sit down at your desk to begin the workday. In fact, you don’t think about the conversation with Jungkook again until an email from him pops up in your inbox just after lunch.

The subject line “use it for good” is enough to pique your interest, and you click the message open and scan down. There’s no greeting or signature— there actually aren’t any words at all. Just four numbers stare back at you: 0 7 0 5.

Your heart jumps into your throat as you realize what it is. The code.

“Can’t lock me out now, asshole,” you mutter happily to yourself as you file the email away for safekeeping.

~*~

A week passes in a relative truce, or at the very least a stalemate. Yoongi says nothing to you, and you say nothing right back, more than happy with the silence. You don’t have any scheduled projects or meetings together for the foreseeable future either, thank god. He keeps to his 5:55 exit schedule, and you wake up an extra hour early to beat the shit out of Jungkook’s hands every morning.

But of course, you know it’s only a matter of time; eventually, giving him your number does indeed come back to bite you in the ass.

Tuesday night, you split the last of the bottle of prosecco between two glasses on the coffee table as Jimin tilts his head back to readjust the lay of his sheet mask. Ahn Hyoseop’s beautiful face is paused on the screen as the two of you are neck deep in your third rewatch of Business Proposal. You pick the remote up, but right before you can unpause, your phone rings loudly from between the couch cushions.

Jimin does his best to keep his face still as you dig for it, instead opting to make a noise of surprise. “Who is that? Everyone who calls you is already here.”

You smack him hard in the side as you finally retrieve your phone, only to groan when you see PROD ASSHOLE as the listed caller.

You’d dug Yoongi’s number out of the company’s HR database specifically so you could save it in your phone and ignore his calls. The rude contact name is a fun bonus, but it doesn’t make it any less annoying that he’s able to ruin your relaxation whenever he so chooses. It’s like he purposefully waited for the perfect moment to disturb you. 

You make a mental note to sweep your apartment for cameras later, and then you swipe to ignore the call.

Jimin returns a smack in kind on your upper arm. “I’m sorry, you gave Suga your phone number? And you’re ignoring his calls?! And you’re telling me this isn’t my new favorite drama?”

“Shut the fuck up, Jimin.” You unpause the TV, eager to squash this line of conversation and get back to Taemu and Hari sucking face.

When your phone starts vibrating repeatedly as texts flood in, one after another, you turn it on silent and flip it facedown on the coffee table. Then you drain the last of your glass of wine in one swallow. Not tonight, Yoongi.

Of course, you don’t know what else you expected when Yoongi barges into work on Wednesday morning and strides right up to you, stupid iced Americano in one hand and his phone in the other.

Before you realize what he’s doing or have any time to react, your phone starts buzzing against your desk, PROD ASSHOLE flashing across the screen. You snatch it, but you’re certain he had plenty of time to see his not-so-professional contact name.

He seems taken aback for a second and ends the call, then laughs. “I really thought you gave me a fake number. I see now you were just ignoring me.”

You roll your eyes, doing your best to continue the email you were midway through typing. “No, Yoongi, I was sleeping. What normal people do at night.” You can tell he’s glaring at you even without looking, because you instantly start forgetting how to spell basic words.

“Hmm,” he grunts after a moment. “Well, a normal person like you might want to keep your phone on, unless you want to go back to bartending at night instead of sleeping.”

Yoongi stalks off down the hall towards his lab, clearly uninterested in anything else you have to say. It takes every shred of willpower in you to restrain yourself from throwing a stapler at his retreating head.

~*~

Thursday morning, you tell Jungkook you can’t grab breakfast after class. You don’t share the specifics with him, and he doesn’t pry. You have something much more important to attend to.

The minute the boxing instructor dismisses everyone, you rip your gloves off and race to be the first person to shower and change out in the locker room. You don’t even bother with your makeup, opting instead to bring it with you to put on in the bathroom. You nearly get run over as you fully sprint down the street towards the office.

When you unlock the door and push it open, panting from the effort, you glance at your phone for the time.

7:05 AM. Perfect.

Setting your purse down, you lean up against your desk and scroll through your contact list until you find the name you’re looking for, working to get your breathing back under control. The line rings once, twice, and you almost think it will go to voicemail until the very last second.

“…Hello?” His voice is even lower than it normally is, and rough with sleep.

“Hi,” you try for your warmest corporate tone, but your voice still shakes a little. “Is this Min Yoongi?”

“Mmm?” You hear shifting on the other end of the phone, like he’s sitting up in bed.

“Good morning, this is your admin. Just wanted to inform you that the studio is now open for the day.” You will yourself to keep your voice neutral. “If you get hit by one of your big genius breakthroughs, you’re more than welcome to come in anytime between now and close.”

Yoongi makes a frustrated, exhausted sound, and you have to bite down on your lip to keep from laughing. “…Goddammit. I was sleeping.”

“Aw, so sorry.” You quickly hang up and nearly throw your phone onto your desk, your heart hammering in your chest. You can’t manage to keep the self-satisfied smirk off your face as you ride the high of that phone call for the rest of the day.

You’re stifling a yawn on the bus ride home that night when your phone rings. For the briefest moment a thrill of fear runs through you, but it’s just Jimin. You drop your head against the window as you slide to answer the call, watching the lights of the city stream by.

“Hi bestie.”

Jimin wastes no time. “Two questions, ranked in order of importance from least to most. One, are we still going out tomorrow night?”

“A thousand percent yes, I need a drink. Several drinks. And I promise, no puking this time.” You’re curious what his next question could be; what could possibly be more important?

“That brings me to two.” He pauses, building some sort of tension that is entirely lost on you. “How do you feel about the Grammy news?”

Your eyebrows pinch together, and you shift sideways on the bus seat to stretch your legs out. “What?”

“Uh, hello, don’t you work in the music industry? You know Grammy nominations dropped today, right?”

“I—” You falter. “Well, no, actually, I wasn’t aware. It didn’t come up. I mean, I wouldn’t be surprised if all our talent was snubbed, they’re not exactly known for their global inclusivity—”

Jimin laughs over you as if in disbelief. “You really don’t know. Oh, this is so fun for me. You’d better think again, because your very own male lead was, in fact, nominated.” You clap a hand over your mouth. “He produced one of the songs up for Song of the Year. Look it up, bitch.”

You partially uncover your mouth so you can speak. “First of all, call him my male lead again and this friendship is over.” Jimin scoffs on the other end of the line, and you do your best to keep your voice quiet despite the overwhelming shock. “But seriously, what the hell, Jimin?! You better not be fucking with me right now. Actually, hang on.”

You pry your phone away from your ear to do a quick Google search. The results that stare back at you quickly confirm that Jimin is, in fact, not fucking with you. When you press the phone to your cheek again, he’s still going.

“I seriously can’t believe I’m the one telling you this. You literally work with him.”

“He didn’t say anything about it.” You shake your head as you say it, trying to understand. “Nobody did. This doesn’t make any sense.” You rub wearily at your temple, suddenly filled with dread at the thought of how insufferable Yoongi might be when you see him next.

But come Friday morning, to your surprise, Yoongi isn’t insufferable at all. In fact, he’s not even there. You can barely focus on getting anything done— you feel like you’re glancing up every five minutes, anticipating the moment where he’ll finally burst through the doors, officially a Grammy-nominated producer, hellbent on driving you insane about it.

But the hours slowly tick by, and he never shows.

You convince yourself that surely, a third cup of coffee is what you need to be able to concentrate on your work, never mind the fact that your hands are already shaking from the first two.

When you step into the break room, Jungkook is sitting at a table, scrolling through his phone while absolutely destroying a to-go salad. You fix your mug of coffee and take the seat across from him, and he waves his fork at you. “Happy Friday!”

You only grunt in response, then wince inwardly when you realize you sound like Yoongi, and then that thought alone is enough to make your pulse race all over again. You have to resist the urge to bang your head on the table, and instead do your best to smile back at Jungkook and control the emotional chaos inside your brain.

“Sorry. It’s been a long week.”

“Tell me about it,” he says through a mouthful of chicken.

You take a sip from your mug, contemplating whether or not to leave it alone. But you know you can’t. “Hey, can I ask you a question?”

“Always.” Jungkook locks his phone and sets it down, giving you his undivided attention. “What’s up?”

You pause, trying to figure out how the hell to word it. “Did you see the… news?” You lower your voice a little. “The Grammy nominations?”

Jungkook’s eyes widen and he chews a little faster. “Yeah, it’s crazy right?”

You stare blankly at him, waiting for more, then shake your head. “I don’t understand why nobody’s talking about it! I feel like that should kind of be a big deal, you know? At least worthy of a team meeting? Or an email?”

He shrugs. “Suga probably asked them not to. He’s weird about that kind of stuff.” Jungkook must be able to read the look of pure confusion on your face, because he pushes his salad away and continues.

“For instance, a couple months after I started working here, he had a track hit number one on Billboard, which I thought was pretty cool. So—” his face reddens a little, and he honestly looks embarrassed, almost cringing. “I was just trying to be nice, so I threw a little surprise thing here, just to congratulate him after work.”

You pull your bottom lip into your mouth, biting back the urge to tell Jungkook that he is genuinely too pure for this world.

“But yeah, we get maybe fifteen minutes into the party and then we realize nobody can find Suga. Turns out he went back to his studio and locked himself in.” He shakes his head as he reaches for his salad again and stabs at a few pieces of lettuce. “I even got him a cake. I don’t think I saw him take one bite.”

You smile sympathetically. “It sounds like a really sweet gesture.”

Jungkook shrugs, talking with his mouth full. “Yeah, it was good, too. Red velvet.”

Everything whirls around in your head and you do your best to make it make sense as you walk back to your desk. You can’t understand how the puzzle pieces of “smug asshole” Min Yoongi and “hiding in his office to avoid his own party” Min Yoongi fit together. More importantly, you don’t understand why you care about Min Yoongi at all. If anything, you should be rejoicing in this Min Yoongi-free day– god, you can’t even stop thinking his name, what the hell is wrong with you?

You shake your head in hopes that it might get your brain to calm the fuck down, and as you pull your chair out, you notice a red blinking light on your desk phone, indicating the mailbox is full. When you pick up the receiver and start to play back the messages, your jaw drops.

It is not an exaggeration: every music publication you’ve ever heard of, plus many more that you haven’t, has called within the last 24 hours, all with the same agenda— to schedule an interview with the Grammy-nominated producer Suga. You groan internally as you play back dozens of messages in a row from eager reporters, all of whom have left a number to call back. You’d rather rip the phone out of the wall, you think to yourself, but then a much better idea starts to take shape in your head.

No one has technically told you to avoid discussing the Grammy nomination— gossiping in the break room with Jungkook doesn’t count as a legitimate channel for workplace communications.

So it stands to reason that in this situation, you should do what any good admin would do and set up as many interviews as possible. If they just so happen to be for a producer who hates meetings, and apparently hates recognition of his successes… Well, how were you to know that?

You practice your innocent smile, keeping the receiver pressed to your ear with your shoulder as you navigate to Yoongi’s calendar and start scheduling.

~*~

“Drink up, bitch!”

Hours later, you lock your arm through Jimin’s as you each throw back another shot, far from the first of the night. You lost count somewhere after four. He immediately scrunches up his face and shakes his head, trying not to gag, but you’ve had enough that yours goes down like water.

“Amateur,” you giggle, bopping your head to the thudding beat of the music as Jimin grabs the lime from the rim of your last drink and pulls it into his mouth for some relief.

It takes you a minute to differentiate the buzz against your hip from the all-encompassing pulse of the music, but when they eventually end up on different tempos, you automatically fumble for your purse. Your limbs feel heavy and delayed as you work to dig out your phone, which has inevitably sunk to the very bottom of your bag.

You’re definitely well past tipsy and hurtling pleasantly towards drunk, which is why you don’t even think to check the name on your screen before you slide to accept the call.

“Hello?” You instantly realize that trying to take a phone call in a club is not one of your better ideas.

“Hang on,” you tell whoever’s on the other end. “It’s loud. Hang on. Shit.” You stumble away from your table, waving over your shoulder to Jimin and hoping he can telepathically understand that you’ll be right back. At first you head for the restroom, but halfway there it starts to seem like a bad idea, so you swing in a circle, immediately colliding with the person behind you. Profusely apologizing, you head for the back of the building, trying not to smack into anyone else.

There’s a door that leads outside to the patio, where a few groups of people stand in semi-circles, smoking or vaping or just getting some air. You continue walking unsteadily along the side of the building until the bass-boosted speakers are reduced to a dull thud, and then you hear someone calling your name on the phone in your hand.

Oh, yeah. You’d forgotten the purpose of going out here in the first place. You press the phone back up to your ear, wobbling in place in your heels.

“Are you there?” The voice nearly yells, and you wince.

“Hiiiiii,” you start, and then immediately have to choke back a laugh because wow, you’re more fucked up than you realized. The combination of walking and talking has provided you with a solid reality check. “Um, who is this?”

There’s a pause on the other end, long enough that you’re about to pull your phone away and make sure the call didn’t drop, but then an uncomfortably familiar voice speaks. “I thought you had me saved. As a very colorful name, if I remember right.”

You blink, trying to focus your mind enough to process the words. That voice… The name swims back to you. “Prod Asshole?”

“Hi,” Yoongi says flatly. “You know I have you saved as Admin Bitch?”

Oh, fuck. You let out an accidental whine, kicking your head back so far you smack it against the wall of the building. You do not want to talk to Min Yoongi– ever, really, but especially not right now.

“You’re the fucking bitch,” you retort. Any semblance of professionalism has disappeared somewhere in the many rounds of drinks you’ve thrown back over the evening.

“Sure,” he says, sounding unfazed. “I need to get into the studio.”

You turn your head to press your cheek against the brick wall, keeping your phone tight to your other ear. “Yoongi, it’s Friday night.”

“I’m aware,” he says dryly, and you can see the stupid fucking smirk on his face when you close your eyes. “You’ve clearly been celebrating. You know it happens every week, right? No need to get alcohol poisoning about it.”

“Fuck off,” you groan into the wall.

“Where are you? I’ll send an Uber. I just need a couple hours.”

Hours? Now he’s pissing you the fuck off. You pull your face off the wall, pivoting to lean up against it instead, and nearly eat shit when your ankle rolls. Stupid high heels. You manage to right yourself and realize Yoongi is waiting for an answer.

“Why should I do literally anything for you?” You start, indignant. “You’re just a fucking… smug bastard asshole.” Ugh, not your best work. You really are drunk. You press the hand that isn’t holding your phone up to your forehead, as if that might make your brain work better.

“You’re not wrong,” Yoongi says. “But I finally figured out what my project is missing, and you already blew me off once this week.”

“I don’t caaaaaare.”

“Well, you probably should.” He pauses, almost definitely trying to be dramatic, and you hiccup. “You see,” he continues, “I found something today.”

Are you gonna puke? No, you’re not gonna puke. You’re strong. You’re fine.

“You there?”

What you are is fucking sick of this asshole. Why is he still talking? “What, Yoongi?”

“Remember those expenses you had to reconcile?” He asks, and you really don’t. You squint, trying to recall, but he just keeps going. “I was looking back on my financials for the quarter so I pulled them up in the system and…” He pauses and you swear you hear him laugh softly. “Well, it’s kind of funny. The charge codes are all wrong. Literally all of them.”

Is he enjoying this? You think he might be enjoying this.

He’s still going. “Which, of course, everyone makes mistakes, but I mean… They aren’t even close, really. Certainly not the thing someone with years of experience would fuck up. It would be pretty questionable, if I was upper management. How could an experienced admin assistant make such a rookie mistake?”

You groan, leaning forward slightly. You actually might puke.

“Of course, I fixed them.”

At this, you snap your head up. “You what?”

“I mean, they are fixed. Right here, on my laptop. All I have to do is hit enter. But...” Your fist involuntarily clenches at the over-acted sigh he lets out. Oh, it would feel so good to kill him. You don’t think you’d even mind the jail time.

“It seems wrong, you know? I think I need to be in the studio to do it. Work-life balance, right?” Yoongi gives a small, self-satisfied chuckle, and now you know he’s enjoying this. “It’s just unfortunate, since that report’s gonna auto-generate tomorrow morning. By the time you or I get in on Monday, the boss will already have it on his desk. All those very, very wrong codes. It’s such a shame, really. If only someone could do something.”

A thrum of actual panic runs through you; you’re not quite so drunk that you’re immune to the very real threat of losing your job. You smack one heel backwards against the brick wall, helpless to do anything else. “I fucking hate you.”

“That’s fine. I just need your location.”

Yanking the phone away from your ear, you slam the button to end the call and shoot him a quick text with the club’s name before you can talk yourself out of it. You’d cry if you weren’t so fucking pissed off, but instead you sling your purse over your shoulder and storm back inside to find Jimin.

“What the fuck happened to you?!” He shouts to be heard over the music, and you roll your eyes and shake your head.

“We don’t have time. I have to go, baby mochi. It’s a stupid fucking asshole work emergency.”

He must be taken aback because he doesn’t even pause to make a joke about the TV show that is your life. “I’ll come with you?”

You scrunch your face up at the thought. “Trust me, you don’t want to deal with this. I don’t even want to deal with this, but I’m literally going to get fired if I don’t.” You squish his cheeks between your palms. “Just go. Be wild and free. Remember me and tell my story.” Jimin’s eyes narrow as he laughs between your hands, and you press a kiss to his nose. “I love you. I’ll text you when I get home.”

You do your best to sober up in the car on the ride over, but it’s no small task, and when you reach the company’s floor, Yoongi is waiting for you, leaning up against the glass doors looking impatient and tired.

He raises an eyebrow as you step off the elevator and it’s only a split second, but you see his eyes rake over your body and back up. Fuck. You weren’t exactly sober enough to consider that he’d have to witness you in your clubbing outfit: a black mini dress and sky high heels, much racier than anything you'd wear to the office. Heat creeping up your neck, you dig in your bag for the keys and will yourself not to read into whatever the fuck that look was.

You get the door unlocked and step through, then purposefully let it slam back in his face, because you’re absolutely going to be a petty bitch about this entire thing.

Seemingly unbothered, Yoongi follows you inside and brushes past you. It’s not lost on you that neither of you have said a fucking word to each other. He heads straight for his lab and you hear the door shut a second later.

Nothing else to do, you pull out your desk chair and slump forward, resting your head on your arms with a frustrated groan.

When the world spins back into focus, it takes you a second to remember where you are and the events that led you here. Your head is pounding, your throat dry as sandpaper. You blink blearily at your phone, realizing you must have fallen asleep at your desk, and it takes you almost a full minute to digest the time on your screen. 2:43 AM.

You have approximately one billion texts and voicemails from Jimin, so you quickly shoot back a reply so he knows to call off the search party. Then you drag yourself out of your chair and down the hallway to Yoongi’s lab.

So tired you can barely stand, you slump against the wall next to the door and give a loud bang of a knock. Another minute ticks by with no response.

Maybe he fell asleep too, you reason. You’re staring at the door, trying to mentally force it open, when your eyes glance over the combination lock. Jungkook’s email jumps into your mind; your heart leaps into your throat. God bless that Baby Star Candy.

Quietly and carefully, you lean forward to press the numbers on the number pad in the right order. 0 7 0 5. You close your hand around the handle and feel it turn; the lock gives. You realize you’re holding your breath as you slowly push the door open and step over the threshold.

Yoongi is slumped in his desk chair, headphones on, half turned away from his computer so all you can see is his side profile. For a second, you think he’s sleeping— his head is tipped back, the column of his neck exposed. His eyes are closed, his lips parted slightly, his breathing shallow. But then you see a flash of his tongue working at the corner of his mouth and it suddenly dawns on you that he is very much not asleep.

Your brain processes the rest of the picture in rapid succession. The muscles of his right arm are tensed in a tight grip. The silver jewelry on his wrist catches the light as he motions up and down. His white t-shirt is riding up, and his sweatpants are pushed low enough that you can see the flat plane of his stomach. And then your eyes trace even lower, to where his delicate fingers are wrapped firmly around his completely exposed and fully erect cock.

It is, unfortunately, the most attractive thing you’ve ever seen.

You should leave. You know you should. You are not supposed to be seeing this. But you’re still more than a little drunk, and Yoongi’s dick is pale and long and unfairly pretty. Precum leaks from the tip and he slows his pace just slightly, using his thumb to rub the wetness over the head of his dick. He gives a hoarse groan at the feeling and the sound thrums though you.

Your imagination takes off running before you can tell it not to. You wonder what it would feel like to replace the hand on his cock with your own. What other noises you might elicit from him if you were to tease your tongue up his shaft and then swallow him down.

His eyelashes flutter and you take a step back, bumping into the half-open door behind you and grabbing it to steady yourself. The movement is enough to make Yoongi open his eyes. When his gaze locks with yours, his pupils are blown black with lust. You swallow hard, and you see a flicker of recognition in his face as he processes that you’re in the room, too.

The gravity of the situation finally lands. “F-fuck, sorry!” You stutter, then you scramble to push the door open and back out of his lab as fast as you can.

You race to your desk, hands shaking, head reeling, and your heart feels like it’s about to beat out of your chest. What the fuck what the fuck what the fuck. Your mind instantly jumps to denial: maybe you’re still asleep at your desk. If this is a nightmare, you’d really like to wake up now.

You take a seat and do your best to steady your breathing and calm down. It’s fine, you tell yourself, it was a mistake. Just don’t think about it. Don’t think about Yoongi, or his dick, or his hands, or his mouth, or his tongue– it occurs to you that you’re in way too fucking deep here.

It’s been entire minutes of trying to get your shit together by the time you hear his door open again, but you’re no more composed than you were the second you sprinted down the hallway.

Yoongi is, remarkably, even quieter than usual. You drop your gaze when you hear his footsteps approach; there’s absolutely no way you can look at him right now. There’s a pause as he stops in front of your desk, and then after what feels like an eternity, he finally speaks.

“How did you know the code?”

You wince, still staring down at your lap. “Jungkook gave it to me. In case I needed it.”

“That traitor,” Yoongi huffs under his breath. You say nothing.

“Look,” he starts again with a sigh. “I–-obviously you weren’t supposed to see that. It’s just something that helps me, sometimes, to get unstuck. This is embarrassing. I really didn’t mean…”

You think he might actually be about to apologize for once in his life, but then he stops talking. You can feel him studying you, and you try to hide how badly your hands are trembling, how hot your face is, but that only makes both conditions worse.

Yoongi says your name like a question, but you shake your head and keep your gaze lowered. He can clearly tell now that you are completely unable to make eye contact with him. 

“Don’t tell me that was the first dick you’ve ever seen.”

That makes your head snap up. “Shut up. I’ve seen dicks. Plenty.”

Yoongi gets a strange look in his dark eyes and flattens both of his palms on the front of your desk, leaning forward. He looks like he’s debating whether or not he should say something, and then he gives a little shrug. You can’t really blame him for foregoing the filter. You are still drunk, and you just saw his penis.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you liked what you saw.”

Your face drops and you swallow hard. You can’t help it.

His eyes widen. “Oh. Oh, wow. You seriously need to work on your poker face.”

“Shut up,” you hiss.

“This is incredibly useful information.”

“Stop talking, Yoongi.”

He rubs his hands together with a soft laugh. “Huh. Well. In any case, I’m done for tonight. Definitely can’t get back to it now. Would you like a ride home?”

You fix him in the most murderous glare you’re capable of. “I’d rather fucking walk. Barefoot. Through broken glass. In the ninth circle of hell–”

“Point taken. Let me get you another Uber then. It’s the least I can do.”

Your ego jumps to decline, but you have no idea how you’d get home otherwise. You wince at the thought of tonight’s bar tab and your rent bill that’s due tomorrow. You’re really not in the financial position to say no to a free ride.

“Fine.”

Yoongi schedules the car while you gather your things, and you’re almost out the door when your stomach turns and your knees go weak. You nearly twist an ankle in your heels as you scramble backwards towards your desk.

“Wait, wait, shit! The charge codes, Yoongi, the codes. Did you fix them? What time does the report run? Oh my god, I totally forgot. I’m so fucked.”

He watches you with a furrowed brow at first, then recognition lights up his face. “Oh, yes. The codes.”

Yoongi pauses for a moment with that infuriating expression, like he’s holding all the cards and trying to figure out how much he should tell you, then he slowly walks towards your desk to close the distance between you.

“Ahh, you’ve had a hard enough night, I won’t keep it going. I lied to you.”

“You what?” Your mouth goes dry.

“Your codes were perfect. Exceptional, really, especially for a first-timer.” He claps you on the back once and your stomach turns. “You’re a natural. Keep it up!”

There’s a rush of something in the back of your throat, and for a moment, you think you might be about to literally murder him. It’s only when you open your mouth that you realize what’s actually happening, and by then there’s no time to give a warning or do anything at all.

Helpless to stop it, you lean forward and puke your guts up all over his pristine sneakers.

A/N: just in case you want to suffer a little more, the song that gets me in yoongi's head at the end of this scene (and moving forward bc you KNOW he's about to ruin this poor girl's life sdklfjlsdkf) is fan behavior by isaac dunbar. so feel free to queue that one up and enjoy ;)

chapter two | masterlist | chapter four

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Vows (Part 2)

aka 10 ways to win your husband's heart: an arranged marriage AU

You're five years into your arranged marriage with Min Yoongi, and he's never once retaliated for anything you've done to him. One day you realise you've lost your appetite for provoking him, and you set about trying to win his heart instead.

Pairing: Yoongi x F! reader

Rating: 18+

Genre: Arranged marriage, e2l, smut, angst

Word count: 5k

Warnings: Sex and swearing

Read part 1 here.

Nara puts a slice of sashimi on your plate.

‘How’s making up with your husband going?’ she asks.

You shrug. ‘I’ve got five things left to do.’

‘Five?’ Nara asks. ‘Surely he’s already soft for you? Why do you even have to do any more things?’

‘It’s not about making him soft for me. It’s making up for all the things I did to him.’

‘Is he even asking you to do any of this?’

‘He never asks for anything,’ you say. 

‘Figures. I’ve always pegged him as the strong silent type.’

You don’t think it’s that, though. Yoongi has no problem being vocal when it comes to telling you off. 

You think Nara has a point.

‘Maybe I’ll just ask him what he wants.’

You can’t believe that Yoongi would ever ask you for anything, but it’s worth a shot.

***

You stare at your husband over the dining table in disbelief. 

‘A month?’

‘You asked,’ Yoongi says, shrugging.

‘No. I never did anything that bad.’

Yoongi just picks up another dumpling and pops it in his mouth, chewing nonchalantly.

‘You asked how you could make things up to me. Do everything I say for a month and we’ll have a clean slate.’

‘I’ll do everything you say for a day,’ you bargain.

‘A week,’ counters Yoongi. 

‘It’ll probably just be sex things,’ you mutter to yourself.

Yoongi raises an eyebrow. ‘And you wouldn’t enjoy that?’

You bite your lip. ‘A weekend?’ you offer.

Yoongi considers this. 

He puts out his hand. 

You shake it.

***

It’s your weekend of enforced subservience to Yoongi. You’ve been subtly prying all week, trying to get a hint of what he’s got planned, but your husband’s been a closed book.

Well, as closed off as he normally is.

Although he’s been more open lately. You think of the night in the cabin you fell asleep in his arms and woke up to him stroking your hair.

You think your husband’s starting to warm towards you. 

He even gave you a kiss yesterday morning on his way out.

Beside you, Yoongi turns over. ‘Morning, princess.’

You never thought you’d enjoy being called princess but it’s different when Min Yoongi’s saying it in his gravelly, early morning voice.

‘Morning,’ you say.

Yoongi lays on his back, running a hand through his hair. ‘I was thinking, I call you all sorts of things, but you don’t call me anything.’

‘You mean, like, baby?’ you ask.

Yoongi laughs. ‘Am I a baby?’

You can’t think of anyone less baby-like than your confident, capable husband.

‘You’re more of an oppa,’ you say, honestly. ‘Or a daddy.’

Yoongi props himself up on one arm. ‘Not sure about daddy but I could probably get behind oppa.’

‘Noted,’ you say cheerfully. You sit up, and Yoongi holds you back as you swing your legs onto the floor.

He sweeps his slippers out of the way with his arm.

‘Don’t trip,’ he orders. 

‘Yes oppa,’ you say, half joking.

Yoongi laughs. ‘Maybe we should save it for when we’re in bed together.’

‘I like Yoongi,’ you tell him, heading for his bathroom. ‘Two syllables is nice to wrap my tongue round.’

‘I have something else you can wrap your tongue round,’ Yoongi says. 

You laugh and pull your t-shirt, well, Yoongi’s t-shirt, over your head. 

You pause just before you step into the shower. ‘Wait, was that an order?’

Yoongi’s already brushing his teeth. ‘I won’t order you to do any sex things with me. I’d rather you begged for it.’

‘I have another ouvert,’ you say, turning the shower on.

‘Wear it,’ Yoongi says instantly. 

You both laugh. 

‘Yes, sir,’ you say.

Yoongi cocks his head to one side. ‘Sir,’ he says, considering.

You lather up your hair. 

‘No way.’

***

At breakfast Yoongi says you’re going to visit his grandmother. 

It’s not at all what you were expecting. 

You like Yoongi’s family, and you think they like you too. His grandmother’s always been warm towards you.

‘I like visiting your family,’ you say.

Yoongi glances at you. ‘Did you think I was going to make you do things you don’t want to?’

‘I’ll be honest, I thought anal was on the agenda.’

Yoongi scoffs. ‘Like I said, I won’t make you do anything sexual. You’ll have to beg for it.’

‘I’ll never beg,’ you say, just out of defiance. You’re perfectly aware Yoongi’s brought you to the point to begging in the past.

Yoongi’s expression shows he knows it as well as you do.

‘My grandmother’s having a family get together today. Most of my family will be there.’

‘Sounds lovely,’ you say, enthusiastically. 

You love Yoongi’s nieces and nephews.

Yoongi says, ‘they’re expecting us for lunch.’

‘One dutiful, pliant, obedient wife coming up,’ you reply.

Yoongi shakes his head. ‘Not too pliant, they’ll think you’re being sarcastic.’

‘Yes oppa.’

Yoongi scoffs, but you see the way his lips twitch as he turns away.

***

Ah shit.

You’d forgotten about Yoongi’s cousin. 

Yoonseok and Yoongi have always been competitive, from what you can glean.

They grew up together, but took wildly different paths. 

Yoongi, as the eldest son of the eldest brother, was always set to take over the company.

Yoonseok, with a similar drive and ambition but a different set of talents, became a professional basketball player.

You’ve always had a thing for athletes, the man you dated on and off before you married Yoongi was a football player.

Fresh out of your whirlwind marriage to your aloof, distant husband, you’d turned your attentions to flirting outrageously with Yoonseok in front of Yoongi.

You’d initially wanted to just get a reaction out of Yoongi, but as he’d shown no discernible reaction, your antics, encouraged by Yoonseok, had got progressively more outrageous.

You have a vague memory of cavorting in a tiny bikini in the pool of Min family home with a shirtless Yoonseok. Also of grinding drunkenly with Yoonseok at a family wedding anniversary. 

You cringe at the memory. 

Yoonseok approaches you when Yoongi’s drafted to help with the barbecue.

‘Hey, Y/N,’ he says.

You’re not going to lie, Yoonseok’s stunning, all muscles and height, but for the first time, you’re left cold. 

He’s not a patch on your grumpy husband.

‘Hey, how’ve you been?’ you ask, politely.

‘Great,’ he says, smiling warmly at you. 

He takes the tray you’re holding out of your hands, and you realise there’s another opportunity to make something up to Yoongi. 

You’d planned to do it at his parents’ wedding anniversary next month, but you can do it right now. 

You’ve always been a fan of ruthless efficiency. 

‘Hey, Yoonseok,’ you say, putting your hand on his arm. 

His gaze falls to your hand, and you take it away hurriedly. 

‘I’m trying to make up for all the things I’ve done to Yoongi, and this —’ you gesture between you and him, ‘is right up there.’ 

‘You’re gonna need to be more specific,’ Yoonseok says, the bastard. 

You guess being a gorgeous asshole runs in the family. 

You look up at him. Damn. He’s really going to make you say it. 

You say, voice as flat as possible, ‘flirting with you every chance I got.’ 

Your timing couldn’t be worse. Yoongi walks into the kitchen to see you and Yoonseok, and in time to hear your sentence. 

He looks at both of you carefully. 

‘I was just saying to Yoonseok that I’m trying to make up for all the outrageous things I did in the early days of our marriage,’ you say to Yoongi. 

Yoongi’s face is expressionless. 

‘Like flirting with a bunch of men I really had no interest in,’ you finish, determined. 

‘Ouch,’ says Yoonseok. 

You feel like dumping the entire tray over his gorgeous head. 

‘Ah,’ says Yoongi. 

You stand between the monosyllabic Min men awkwardly, then decide there’s no salvaging this. 

‘I should — ‘ 

You’re out the door without finishing your sentence. 

Yoongi says barely anything to you at the meal, and for once, Yoonseok doesn’t try to sit next to you. 

When Yoongi’s nephew Junho suggests a game of ultimate frisbee you’re the first to volunteer. 

Thankfully you’re dressed appropriately enough to get dirty. 

Ah shit. 

There’s enough of you to play three-a-side, and somehow you end up on Yoongi’s team with Junho. 

You consider protesting over Yoonseok, a professional athlete, being allowed to play, but seeing as he’s paired with twin ten year olds, Sana and Mina, you think you can probably let it slide. 

Yoongi and Junho are discussing strategy, and you pretend to listen. 

‘Got it?’ asks Yoongi, looking at you sternly. 

You think you’re less of a liability than nine year old Junho but you nod meekly anyway. 

The game starts easily enough, you quickly work out that Junho’s quick and Sana’s highly competitive. 

Yoongi snaps the frisbee to you, and you catch it, tossing it to Junho. 

Yoonseok plows into Yoongi for no discernible reason. 

You’re about to run to him when Yoongi jumps up and into him. 

You hadn’t realise Yoongi was so quick. 

No one acknowledges the goal you score when you run into the end zone and Junho tosses the frisbee back to you. 

Sana and Mina score a goal whilst Yoongi and Yoonseok continue to wrestle. 

You consider getting involved as the only other adult present, but Yoongi looks kind of hot like this, teeth gritted, sweaty, panting. 

Also, he hasn’t looked at you once, arms trembling with the effort of holding Yoonseok down.

Mina intercepts a careless pass from Junho, and she scores another goal. 

Junho yells, ‘Come on, we got this!’ 

You’re torn between not letting down your 9 year old teammate and feeling a little worried and a lot horny for your sweaty, intense husband. 

Junho throws another careless pass, and the frisbee thwacks Yoonseok on the head. 

He turns to look at you, incredulous. 

Now you’re torn between selling out your 9 year old teammate and being mown down by a sweaty-ass man built like a brick wall. 

‘RUN!’ you shout. You grab Junho’s hand and, no questions asked, he runs with you. 

You can hear that you’re being pursued, but you don’t dare turn. 

You can hear Yoongi’s low voice. ‘Come back, motherfucker!’ he hisses. 

Ah shit. Ah shit. 

Junho trips and you turn, fully expecting to be mown down by Yoonseok. 

Instead, you see Yoongi starfishing on top of Yoonseok. 

‘Get off!’

‘Make me,’ Yoongi grunts. 

Shit. Again, you think how fucking hot Yoongi is when he’s angry. 

Junho turns over, and at first you think he’s injured, and then you realise he’s laughing. 

‘Motherfucker!’ he yells. 

You, Yoongi and Yoonseok freeze. 

‘Damn,’ Yoonseok says, smug. ‘Good luck explaining that to halmeoni.’ 

***

Yoongi steps out of the shower, towel around his waist.

You’re already showered, lounging on the bed in a silky slip. 

He barely raises an eyebrow at you. 

‘Are you going to give me the silent treatment all weekend?’ you ask. ‘How are you going to get me to do what you want if you won’t talk to me?’ 

Yoongi towels his hair, and you stop him. 

‘Sit, let me dry your hair.’ 

He’s been growing his hair out lately. It suits him. 

You grab a frizz-tamer from the toiletries you’ve been gradually moving into Yoongi’s bedroom and pump some into your hand. 

Yoongi sits, quietly, looking at you in the mirror whilst you dry his hair. 

‘There,’ you say, when you’re finished. 

You’ve styled his hair away from his forehead, it’s a look you love on him. 

‘I’m just going to bed,’ Yoongi says. 

‘Am I going to bed with you?’ you ask. 

Yoongi sighs. ‘I’d never kick you out of bed,’ he tells you. 

‘Not even if I —’ you fall silent as you click through all the things you’ve done to Yoongi over the last five years and realise you’ve done all the worst things you can think of already. 

Yoongi looks at you. It feels a little bit like he’s waiting for something. 

‘I’m sorry for being such a terrible person,’ you offer. 

‘I’m sorry for not being the husband you wanted,’ Yoongi says. 

‘Damn, I should have said that. Can I change my apology?’ 

Yoongi gives you a half-smile. He starts to stand, and you reach out and tug his towel. The two sides come apart, and you kneel between his legs. 

‘Please,’ you say, looking up at him. 

Yoongi strokes your hair away from your face. ‘I’m always thinking about this,’ he says. 

‘Me sucking your cock?’ you ask, kissing your way up his thigh. 

‘You and me,’ he replies. 

He hardens as you lick along his cock. You curl your fingers around him and put him in your mouth.

Soon, he’s hard enough to push against the roof of your mouth. 

You lick a stripe along the underside of his cock, and he hardens even more. 

‘You like this, oppa?’ 

‘I like it, jagiya.’ 

Yoongi’s cock is beautiful when it’s fully hard -- perfectly straight, veiny and thick enough to make you gasp when he first enters you, no matter how many times you’ve had him. 

He seems to know how much you like the stretch as he pushes into you, he’s always slow about it, teasing at your entrance, pushing in slowly until you’re writhing under him. 

He leads you onto the bed now, somehow hitting the lights as he goes because he knows you like it when it’s dark. 

You get on your hands and knees for him, poised at the end of the bed. 

You can hear him approach you. He puts a hand on your bare ass, groans and slides his hand up your naked back.

‘Always so quick to get naked for me, princess,’ he says.

‘I love being naked for you, daddy.’

His hand stops on your hip. 

‘Yeah sorry oppa I was just trying it out.’

Yoongi laughs and slides a finger down your slit, pushing your thighs apart.

‘When you’re wet and naked like this, baby, you can call me anything you want.’

‘I want to call you Yoongi,’ you tell him. 

You can feel the head of his cock against your cunt. 

He slips in, and you moan.

His hand splays across the curve of your spine, angling you for him.

‘You’re always so perfect for me,’ he says. He kisses your back, following the line of your spine. 

His hands come around to cup your breasts, toying with your nipples. You cry out as he pinches.

‘Yoongi!’

He shoves his hips against your ass. ‘I’m here,’ he tells you. 

You put your hand on his, over your breast. Yoongi stops, and then he pulls out, flipping you over on the bed.

‘Look at me,’ he says. You look up at him as he enters you again.

He knits his fingers through yours, holding your hand as he rocks into you. 

His lips meet yours in a slow, tender kiss. He slides all the way into you, until his cock feels so deep you don’t know where he ends and you begin.

He stays still like that, hard and heavy within you, as he kisses your lips, your cheeks, your eyes.

It feels like he’s loving you more than he’s fucking you.

‘Are you ok, baby?’ he asks, and he sounds so tender you feel a surge of emotion. You haven’t got the headspace to unpick it right now.

So you nod and smile up at him. ‘I’m good, Yoongi.’

He smiles back. 

‘You’re so soft, like this.’

You shift your hips. ‘You’re very hard,’ you observe, grinning.

He thrusts, once, and you moan.

‘Don’t stop,’ you say. 

You can feel his cock jerk at the pleading in your voice.

He lifts your leg to his shoulder, and you both moan at the change in position.

Yoongi turns his head to kiss your calf as he starts moving again. 

You’re so wet now you can hear yourself over the slap of his skin on yours.

His lips seek yours again, swallowing your cries as you pulse around his cock. He shudders and you feel his warmth fill you.

You pull him down on top of you in a tangle of limbs and sweaty skin, and you’ve never felt so complete.

***

You’ve planned out the final three stages of your plan to make things up to Yoongi with laser precision.

Well, as precise as you’re capable of being.

You meet Yoongi for lunch sometimes these days, and today you’ve taken the afternoon off because you know he’s playing tennis with Seokjin after lunch.

In the first couple of years after you got married, Yoongi had forgone his driver and driven you around in his car, a vintage sports car he’d seemed to like. 

You’d had it sold to a classic car collector and used the money to buy him a completely different car, the antithesis of the car he’d had. It was flashy, and brand new, and soulless. 

You still remember the way his jaw clenched when you presented it to him. 

You hope today goes better. You’d tracked down the collector you’d sold Yoongi’s original car to and repurchased it from him.

Thankfully, it still seems to be in perfect condition. Namjoon had a friend check it over for you.

You can’t wait to see Yoongi’s face when he sees it.

Yoongi smiles at you as he parks up in your driveway. ‘Why are you so excited?’

‘I have a surprise for you,’ you tell him. ‘It’s —-‘

His phone rings and he murmurs a quick ‘sorry’ before answering.

You fidget impatiently in your seat as he talks. You pick up that he sounds tense, irritated.

Yoongi hangs up and turns to you. ‘I need to go back to the office, baby.’

‘Sure, of course. Want me to drive you?’ 

‘You should probably just get lunch. I might be back late.’

‘Sure.’ You lean over and give Yoongi a kiss and hop out of the car.

You wave at him as he drives off, but you’re not sure he sees you.

***

Yoongi ended up coming home after you fell asleep, and he was gone by the time you woke up, so you’re not sure if he saw his new car.

You’re in your office replying to emails when Mr Jee, your boss and one of the directors, a good friend of your father’s, knocks at the door.

‘Congratulations,’ he says.

For one wild moment you wonder if he’s congratulating you on reaching the last two stages of your plan to atone for your past sins with Yoongi.

‘For what?’ you ask.

‘For reaching all the milestones on the Juno launch,’ he says.

Juno is a new service you’d launched a few months ago, a food delivery service with a USP of being able to order from multiple places at once.

It’s doing better than all projections, you’re pretty proud of it and your team for seeing it through.

‘You’re getting an award at the company dinner next week,’ Mr Jee says, smiling kindly at you. 

‘Does it come with a raise?’ you ask, because you aren’t your father’s daughter for nothing.

Mr Jee nods, serious. ‘Come see me in my office in the morning and we’ll talk about it.’

As soon as he leaves you pick up the phone to call Nara and tell her, and it occurs to you for the first time that Yoongi might be interested too.

Impulsively, you call him. 

He answers on the second ring. ‘Are you ok?’ He asks.

He sounds worried.

‘I’m fine,’ you say. ‘I just —‘

‘Before I forget, I saw the car.’

You forget your own news temporarily.

‘Do you like it?’

‘I love it. Thank you, baby. Maybe we can take it for a spin once this Novatech thing is over.’

‘Love to,’ you say, immediately.

Yoongi says, ‘ah, sorry. I need to go. I’ll be back late, hopefully see you at breakfast tomorrow?’

‘Yeah, see you, Yoongi.’

You’ve hung up before you remember you didn’t tell him your news.

***

Nara’s pulled some strings at her publishing company to help you with your penultimate task.

To make up for sending Yoongi’s STI screen to his entire company, you’ve managed to get him to be featured in one of those lists of hot up and coming tech multi-millionnaires. 

You hadn’t really had to do much more once you got in the door to meet the editor than to wave a picture of your gorgeous husband at her.

Yoongi’s got enough of a reputation that he had made their shortlist anyway.

The picture had just been the icing on the cake.

Thinking about it, you aren’t sure that sending Yoongi’s STI screen was that bad a thing to do. At least his employees knew their boss was responsible for his sexual health. 

You remember Yoongi’s thunderous face as he’d pointed out that half his staff were his parents’ age, his parents’ friends and deeply conservative. 

Anyway you’ve been sent an early copy, and Yoongi’s feature is so hot you feel like running around and showing him off.

Yoongi’s aware, of course, he’d had to consent to the feature, but it’s come out even better than you could have wished for.

You’re lying in bed, still awake, when he comes home. 

He sits on the edge of the bed, putting his hand on your thigh. 

‘Still awake, baby?’

‘I’m glad I got to see you before I fell asleep,’ you tell him.

He loosens his tie, tugging it off. 

‘Want me to rub your back?’ you ask.

‘Nah. I just want to sit here with you for a bit.’

‘Hey,’ you say, remembering. ‘Are you free this Friday?’

‘Ah, I have dinner plans. Why?’

‘Just I have this company dinner to go to and I was hoping for some company.’

You giggle at your inadvertent pun and you can sense Yoongi rolling his eyes.

‘I promised I’d take my team for dinner to thank them for their hard work with the Novatech deal.’

‘Ah, ok.’

You roll over to hide your disappointment. 

‘Good night, Yoongi.’

‘Good night, my love.’

‘Say that again,’ you say.

‘Demanding little brat. I said good night.’

‘What did you say at the end?’

‘Nothing.’

You huff in annoyance. 

You’re falling asleep when he finally gets into bed with you.

‘I said you’re my love,’ he tells you.

‘Thought so,’ you murmur. 

Yoongi reaches around you to hold your hand and you fall asleep in his arms.

***

You don’t normally invite Yoongi to events at your company, well you haven’t prior to this.

Nara sometimes comes with you, and she’s with you tonight.

She cheers the loudest when you’re presented with your award, and you can’t help laughing when you get back to your table.

‘How’s your voice?’ you ask, teasing.

‘Always here to scream on your behalf,’ Nara says, loyal friend that she is.

You hug her tightly. 

‘Come on now that I have my raise and my award, let’s go celebrate. Drinks on me.’

You wake up in Nara’s bed with fifty missed calls and messages from your husband.

Ah shit.

You call Yoongi to assure him that you’re fine and say you’ll meet him for breakfast. 

Nara’s already up, looking disconcertingly healthy in her gym clothes.

You hug her goodbye, pull on some sweats and dark glasses and go to meet Yoongi.

He’s at a coffee shop you both go to sometimes because the pastries are good.

Seokjin’s with him. 

They both look frighteningly bright and chirpy in your hungover state.

Yoongi passes you a coffee. 

‘You should let me know if you’re going out,’ he says. ‘I was worried.’

‘I’m sorry, I will next time. We were just celebrating.’

You fish your award out of your bag and put it on the table in front of him. 

‘I got an award at the company dinner last night for Juno.’

For the first time ever since you’ve met him, Seokjin actually looks impressed. 

‘You were involved with that? I use Juno all the time.’

You nod proudly.

Yoongi frowns. ‘Why didn’t you tell me? I would have come —-‘

‘You had plans, anyway,’ you say. 

You break off as Park Gyuri approaches your table. 

Like everyone else in your life, she looks bright, chipper, fresh.

You resist the urge to pull your hoodie over your head and tie the strings, taut.

‘Thanks for dinner last night, Yoongi,’ she says. ‘We probably should have rescheduled considering it was just two of us, but it was great, anyway.’

Her words make you glad you’ve got sunglasses on that hide half your face.

Ah shit. 

You’re tired, and emotional, and too fucking hungover for this. 

You think you’re going to cry. 

You get up, quickly, mumbling something about forgetting something in your car.

As soon as you’re out of the line of sight of the coffee shop, you speed up. 

‘Hey,’ a voice says. ‘Hey stop.’

Kim Seokjin is beautiful, but he’s not the asshole you want right now.

You press your lips together so they don’t tremble. 

You turn your face up to his, hoping he can’t see how teary you are.

Seokjin says, ‘Min Yoongi’s my best friend, but he’s a goddamned idiot half the time.’

He waits until he’s sure you’re looking at him.

‘Say the word and I’ll get my bodyguard Sungho to fuck him up right now.’

You can’t do anything but stare at him in astonishment. 

He holds out his arms. ‘They say I’ve got a good chest to cry on. Broad shoulders, and all that.’

You’re half-crying, half-laughing as he hugs you. ‘Who says that?’ you ask.

‘Shut up, brat,’ he advises. ‘Just enjoy the Seokjin shoulders to cry on.’

‘Not a thing,’ you say, snarkily, but you let him hold you anyway.

***

Seokjin drops you off at home.

Yoongi’s waiting by the door.

‘Are you ok?’ he asks.

‘Yeah, just a little tired,’ you reply.

Yoongi says, ‘I’ve never been unfaithful to you, Y/N.’

You’re worried you’re going to start crying again. 

‘If I’d known I’d have rescheduled the team dinner,’ he tells you. ‘I’m sorry I wasn’t there.’

His words soothe your sore heart like a balm.

He reaches out to slip your sunglasses off, your last flimsy layer of protection.

You know now that you’re firmly, irrevocably in love with your husband.

You melt into his arms.

***

It’s the evening of your final task to make things up with Yoongi.

You’re not even sure what the real world significance of ten tasks means.

It’s arbitrary.

Your relationship with Yoongi has been mending itself purely through getting to know each other.

You know Yoongi cares for you. He’s been showing it with his actions even if he can’t bring himself to say the words.

But you, you love words. You love romance and dreaming and all those other things people get ridiculed for loving.

You check in your bag to make sure you have the ring you picked out for Yoongi.

You’re going to ask him to marry you tonight.

He’s meeting you at the tallest building in the city because you wanted the gorgeous view when you propose.

You’ve just arrived at the front steps when Yoongi pulls up in the car you bought him.

He gets out, and you walk over to him.

He greets you with a kiss, and it’s so sweet it gives you butterflies.

‘Hey, I want to tell you something before we go up there,’ he says.

‘I know you have this idea that you want to make things up to me for things you’ve done in the past, but you should know I don’t think you need to do any of that. You were young, and hurting, and I wasn’t your choice. I don’t blame you for any of that.’

You go to speak, but he stops you. 

He reaches out to hold your hand. 

‘I’m sorry I wasn’t the husband you wanted,’ he says, ‘because you’ve always been exactly the wife I wanted.’

Yoongi’s lips curve in that half smile you’ve grown to know so well. ‘I’ll always choose you, my love.’

You lean into his arms. ‘Damn. Why do you always say everything better than me?’ you ask. 

You reach into your bag. ‘Since we’re doing this here on the road.’

You drop to one knee elegantly. ‘Will you marry me, Min Yoongi?’

Yoongi looks down at your face, at the ring you’re holding out to him.

‘Come up here, brat.’ 

He pulls you in his arms again. 

‘Is that a yes?’ you ask, between kisses.

‘I hate to break it to you, but we’re already married,’ Yoongi says, dryly.

‘I wanted to propose to you up there, with the world at our feet,’ you complain.

Yoongi ushers you into the car, closing the door and sliding in after you.

‘The world’s already at our feet,’ he tells you. ‘Can I take you home?’

You put your hand on his. ‘Yes.’ 

Read next: Sorry - a drabble

©hamsterclaw 2022

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would u? (3tan717) | myg

3tan717 drabble #1: would u? pairing: 3tan!yoongi x reader(f) series: masterlist | three tangerines | 3tan717 rating/genre: pg (18+) ; fluff ; brother’s best friend au, implied age gap au summary: you see a certain fruit-centered trend online.. and decide to test it on yoongi note: i am so so so sorry this is out on the very last day of feb but things have been absolute bananas lately! tbh i’m surprised this is even getting posted on time and i have even more to do after this is shared but eff it shibal!!! note 2: as promised, this is dedicated to the people that submitted the answers i’m using for this drabble: anon, grapes / @yoongrace, and apryl @aprylynn for this idea hehehe! also i literally just finished this so it's legit unedited so i'm sry for any mistakes! off to go prep for events now! warnings: 3tan yoongi as always, working yoongi??, kitchen, period cramps suck but yoongi to the mf rescue drop date: feb 29th, 2024, 10:03pm est word count: 2.3k

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Ugh. 

Why does this have to happen every fucking month. Why can’t it happen every three? Or six? Or never ever ever? 

Groaning, you roll over, burying your face into the pillow on Yoongi’s side. 

To some degree, you feel placated, probably due to his scent still lingering next to your dismay. He had to get up early to finish a track, but he assured you can be in the room. 

You can hear a little bit of what he’s working on as it bleeds through his headphones, and even just this sliver of sound gives you chills. Not just because of what it sounds like, but the sole fact that Yoongi’s letting you even listen in the first place. 

Huffing out a bit of amusement, you remember the last time Yoongi let you stay while he worked—albeit at his place while he went to the studio. 

Damn, how much you’ve grown since then. All those memories, those quiet times and tumultuous times, everything leading up to now. How time has molded you with knowing hands. 

However, no matter how much has changed all these months, some things have not wavered, like the fact that you needed to be sure he was okay with it—and his answer making you absurdly shy. 

Did he really have to say that you’re either staying or he’s gonna leave? That scheming motherfucker! 

Some drum beats hit your cheek before you realize the menace himself is playing multiple different ones. It’s only a couple hits before he moves onto the next, and you’re about to lift your hea—

“Fuck, where the hell is that kick?” 

Your laugh is stifled by cotton. As tickled as you are to hear Yoongi like this, you don’t wanna do anything to distract him. 

But by doing so, that causes your body to tighten and fuck, it hurts. It hurts to move, it hurts to laugh, it hurts to just exist. God, you want him to come back and join you so bad, but you don’t wanna be that person. 

…Yet. Maybe if it gets so bad you can’t even sleep? 

“Found you! Fucking finally. Thought you could hide from me, huh?” 

Oh, fucking hell, he’s adorable. 

Yeah, there’s no way you’re making him drop everything right now. This is too precious of an afternoon to stop. 

Exhaling a mile long breath, you fight through your pain and feel for your phone, groaning as you shift yourself. When in position under sheets and warm sunlight, you cycle through apps as a distraction. 

Scrolling. Scrolling. Smiling at some animal videos a bit before scrolling again. 

After all of five minutes, you start to see a trend on your feed, and suddenly get the idea to try it on Yoongi. It’s simple and harmless, right? 

You [3:30pm]: would u peel an orange for me 

Yoongi doesn’t say anything, and you lift your head slightly to see if he looks at his phone. 

When he does, he checks it really quick before setting it back down on his desk, back to clicking on his screen. 

Ah. Damn. He must really be in the zone because… 

Uhh. 

Blinking, you watch as Yoongi rolls his chair out to get up, setting his glasses down and heading out of the room with a light swing of his chains. 

Uh. What just happened? Did you upset him? You’re so stunned that his swift exit has you wanting to get up and follow him.  

But ow. Ouch. It’s maddening how much your cramps are getting to you. 

Bearing the punches to your gut, you start sliding out of the bed, straining and sucking in sharp breaths just to stand and pull Yoongi’s comforter over your tension. 

Padding out the bedroom, your worries make your steps tiny and heavy, and you regret sending that text because you literally just said you weren’t… gonna…

On the dining table—quiet—lie three tangerines, peeled and placed next to vibrant scraps while your lover peels a fourth with diligent, devoted hands. 

And you can’t even form words that match how you feel. 

Your vision swims right as Yoongi looks your way, his body stilling before he puts the fruit down. 

When he approaches with concern, you answer his silent questions through hiccups, “I—I thought you left cus—you were mad.” 

“Huh?” 

“I don’t even know,” you swallow, gesturing to all of your lower half and feeling him hold the slipping blanket. “It’s just… this, I guess.”

“Does it hurt?” 

“Like a motherfucker.” 

“Oh, shit, I’m sorry, doll. Hold up.” Handing you the comforter, Yoongi goes to his cabinets in the kitchen, grabbing a bottle of medicine before walking it over. “You gotta take something as soon as you feel it. Don’t let it get this bad.”

“I know,” you groan, resting your head on his shirt and inhaling his healing presence. “I didn’t wanna bother you.” 

Your forehead is kissed. “You’re not bothering me. Especially with something like this.” 

“Okay.” 

He walks away again to grab some water, and you watch as he pours some into an electric kettle before starting it up. 

Glancing back at the fruit, you sigh, clutching the bottle of pills while feeling the weight of his comforter. He’s probably not pleased with the way it might drag on the ground, so you gather it and pick the end chair to sit on. 

And then you sigh, “Sorry for making you peel those. I didn’t even plan on eating anything.”  

“Too bad. You’re gonna eat what I make you anyway.” 

Wait, he’s cooking? He has work to do! “You’re working, though. Don’t worry about me right now.” 

“It’ll be quick.” 

“What are you making?” 

A glass bowl and pan are procured from random places before Yoongi blinks in place. “Uhh.. You’ll see.” 

As he clunks them onto his counter and stove, you watch with hearts for eyes as he bustles around the kitchen space. Even doing things as simple as washing his hands, opening his fridge, and simply grabbing a knife gives you pause. 

And this is when you realize that you can watch Yoongi do absolutely anything and be amazed. 

Even when he stands, watching you with a look that’s wait why doesn’t he look—

“Take the medicine, baby girl.” 

Oh. 

Snapping out of your trance, you nod. “Sorry.” 

Yoongi continues to give you glances until you swallow down the painkillers, satisfied enough to continue his cooking venture when you take the second one. 

As the sun paints the apartment in marigold and light, you keep watching with a smile as he brings the kitchen to life. Butter sizzles in a pan, tangerines are getting halved on a board, and something is getting mixed with a whisk. 

Who knew that the neighborhood fuckboy would have a whisk on hand? Not the younger you, that’s for damn sure. 

But here Yoongi is, in the flesh, whisking away with veiny forearms that have you thinking the most absurd thoughts during this time of the month. The only thing that would cut through the raging horniness would be getting up to see what the hell he’s making. 

It’s starting to smell familiar though. But he put the tangerines in the pan so you don’t even know what to expect right now. 

Walking up—blanket left behind—you observe the kitchen before peering over his broad shoulder. “Mm.. Smells like pancakes.” 

Yoongi doesn’t answer, but when you see the consistency of the batter, you realize you’re correct. “Oh, it is! I’m smart.” 

“You are,” he laughs. “But you didn’t get it all the way right.” 

“No?” 

“Nope.” Yoongi then gently gets you to move before he pours the batter over the slices, and you crane your neck to watch as he evens it all out. “Just one tangerine pancake.”

“Oh, okay,” you scoff, earning a laugh at your side. “Whatever, chef.” 

“We’ll see what you say in a bit.” 

Is he gonna leave it or flip it? Probably the latter. 

“K. Gonna flip that once it’s done.” 

Nice. You smile to yourself, loving how you’re starting to really be on the same page. Nudging him, you keep watching as he lowers the heat and sets the lid on the pan. “What now?” 

“We wait,” he responds, dusting his hands together before cleaning up his mixing bowl. “And I’m gonna see if we have any sugar.”

Damn it, Yoongi cannot keep saying that two-letter word. It’s starting to be detrimental to your health. “I can help.” 

“S’ok,” he assures, nose upturned. “Just watch me work.” 

“Oh, I’m very good at doing that.” 

At this, Yoongi turns and gives you a smile that immediately reminds you of summer, and you almost feel like crying again. 

“I’ve actually never tried this, but. We’ll see if this works.” 

With nothing snarky, or teasing, or fake to say, you reply with a smile and a genuine, “I’m sure it will.” 

When he keeps staring, his eyes lower to your lips, and you don’t care that you probably look like a wreck, or feel like one. Because the way he’s looking at you now makes you glow. 

If only the kettle didn’t decide this was the moment to stop boiling. 

You were probably about to get the kiss of your life. 

But Yoongi halts in his tracks before shifting to get a mug, setting it down with a thud before checking on the pancakes. Pancake. Whatever that delicious-smelling thing is gonna be. 

“There’s some tea packets in that right drawer. Help yourself cus I’d rather you pick.” 

Chuckling, you oblige before scooting over. After seeing a small jar of granules on the counter, you start rummaging through the drawer, exploring the various options while hearing the sound of a plate behind you. 

Ah, Yoongi’s flipping it. 

As you turn, you’re just in time to watch the muscles in his back protrude through his shirt as he flips the pan, impressed as he sets the plate down because holy hell that looks great. 

“Sugar, sugar, sugar… Suga, suga, suga.” 

Laughing, you interrupt his silly search as you grab the jar you just saw. “Suga suga, how you get so fly?”

Yoongi stops to see what’s in your hand, and he huffs through a grin before grabbing it. “Thanks, doll.” 

You keep humming the song that’s now wedged into your head as you watch him sprinkle bits on the pancake. 

“I don’t have a blowtorch,” he admits, “But I do have this.” 

Rolling out a drawer, Yoongi takes out a long lighter before holding it to the sugary top, humming the same song you were just singing without even knowing it. As the sugar slowly but surely heats, you both keep humming and basking in a calm afternoon. 

And you don’t even feel the pain anymore. 

“Go ahead and sit, babe.” 

“You sure?” 

“Uh huh.” 

Following instructions, you make your way to the table, cocooning yourself in his comforter again as you await the cutest meal you’ve had in weeks. Months. Lifetimes. 

Speaking of lifetimes… You hope every version of you meets every version of him. No matter when. No matter where. Because you want every version of yourself to find happiness, and Yoongi has been the one to help you finally find it. 

And he certainly passed whatever the hell this orange theory thing was supposed to be. 

Plates are set down to break you out of introspection, and you glance up with eyes sparkling. 

When Yoongi raises a brow, you just smile. When he asks what’s gotten into you, a chuckle escapes before you shake your head, 

“Nothing, baby. Just didn’t expect all this from that text.” 

As he plops into the next chair, you love the way the sun settles on his skin. Highlights his hair. Shimmers in his eyes. 

“Don’t even need to ask, babe.” He captures your attention with a calm look. “I was waiting for any distractions anyways.” 

So this was for him, too? Good. 

Grabbing your fork, you giggle. “Sounded like you were having a little trouble over there.” 

“I was! This is what I get for not saving my shit.” 

Both of you sit back in laugher as you throw your hands out. “Do that!” 

“I’m lazy!” 

“Tough shit!” 

“I know!” 

Grinning, you loll your head before waving your fork out. “You’re gonna save those sounds, and you’re gonna remember this day and thank me.” 

Yoongi just tightens his lips in a smile, eyes creased and glimmering. “Maybe.” 

“Yes. I’ll stand there and watch you until you do it.” 

"Really.."

For the rest of the afternoon—with full bellies and clear minds—you rest on the edge of Yoongi’s bed, forcing him to find the files he needs and watching him groan his way through saving everything. 

Constantly laughing at the ridiculously random names he’s assigning them.

When he’s done, you watch as he spins around in his chair, heart thumping with anticipation as you’re met with a waiting pair of eyes.

Breathtaking. 

When he leans in, you feel incredibly shy. Always, always, always. This will forever remain the same.

And—just as well—Yoongi's kisses will forever taste like tangerines. 

Three of them, to be exact. 

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fin. :)

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how did the first 717 drabble go! | join the discord hehe

a/n: nothing much to say other than i love y'all so much! i will try responding to anything when i can (there's literally still all the 3tan12 feedback to get to) but i do read all the commentary sent in and it keeps me going strong :'))) so thank you again for being here and being amazingly patient with me. off to work on more things but i shall be back once the wild weeks are over!

a/n 2: suga suga how you get so flyyyy hahaha

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Vows (Part 1)

aka 10 ways to win your husband's heart: an arranged marriage AU

You're five years into your arranged marriage with Min Yoongi, and he's never once retaliated for anything you've done to him. One day you realise you've lost your appetite for provoking him, and you set about trying to win his heart instead.

Pairing: Yoongi x F! reader

Rating: 18+

Genre: Arranged marriage, e2l, smut, angst

Word count: 12k

Warnings: Sex, swearing

Ah shit.

You lift the arm curled around your waist off you and commando roll out of the luxurious california king you’ve woken up in.

The beautiful man you woke up with shifts and his face presses into the pillow. 

You tear your admiring eyes away from him guiltily and grab his shirt from the floor, slipping it on, buttoning quickly.

You’re tiptoeing to the door when a grumpy deep voice makes you freeze.

‘That’s my favourite shirt,’ your husband says.

You reach for your patience and don’t find it. 

Min Yoongi has exhausted all your reserves of goodwill towards him.

‘I was trying to be considerate and not wake you up,’ you say through gritted teeth.

He snorts. 

Your blood pressure spikes.

You unbutton the shirt and seriously consider throwing it at his beautiful head.

You’re so annoyed it takes you longer than it should to register the way his gaze is roaming your naked body.

‘Min Yoongi,’ you say, injecting as much ice into your tone as you can, ‘you know we can only tolerate each other when we’re drunk.’

‘My morning wood’s not picky,’ he drawls, like it’s a compliment.

You roll your eyes. You know Yoongi’s always been attracted to you physically.

It’s your personality he can’t stand.

‘I’m sore,’ you tell him briskly, putting your dress back on. 

You’re not lying. You think Yoongi sometimes takes his anger with you out on your cunt.

You love it, really, but he’s got a generous dick and impressive stamina and you really are sore.

Yoongi, unusually, looks concerned. ‘Was it too much?’

You ignore the flutter in your chest as he picks your panties off the floor and passes them to you, smoothing a soothing hand over your lower back.

You step away from his touch as though his hand is burning. 

His sigh of irritation gives you life.

‘You’re deeply annoying,’ he tells you.

You smile, brilliantly, at him.

‘Oh Yoongi, are you this sweet to all the women you sleep with?’

‘Are you this annoying to all the men you fuck?’ he snaps.

Your smile falters for a second before you pull your mask firmly back in place.

You turn away from him and leave his bedroom without a goodbye.

***

Yoongi stares at the mark on his neck, just above the collar of his shirt, and thinks of you as he gets dressed for work.

Of course you’d had to mark him, even after he’d warned you not to. 

Sometimes you’re so fucking exasperating he can’t stand you.

Now he has to meet his entire board, including his father and grandfather, looking like a horny teenager.

He has a flashback to your beautiful thighs wrapped around his hips, ankles crossed behind him, as you begged him not to stop.

Yoongi tries to shut that image out of his head before the erection he’s had all morning returns, but the image is burned into his retinas.

Shit, it’s in living technicolour with fucking surround sound. 

Yoongi finishes getting dressed and stops by the kitchen for a coffee.

Mrs Gye, his housekeeper, smiles politely at him as she hands him his flask.

Yoongi thanks her, and is about to leave when he remembers.

‘Can you make some herbal tea for Mrs Min, please? She’s not feeling too well this morning.’

Mrs Gye nods, ‘of course, Mr Min.’

‘Don’t tell her I asked you to do it, just say you made some,’ Yoongi instructs. 

Mrs Gye looks like she’s about to protest, but Yoongi’s already out the door into his waiting car.

***

You sigh with pleasure as you sip your herbal tea on your way into work. 

Mrs Gye, your housekeeper, is truly a treasure.

She’d assured you that Yoongi hadn’t noticed anything different about his morning flask of coffee.

Yoongi’s a man of habit, so much so that he’s predictable in every way. 

One of the cleaners had dropped his favourite flask and cracked it yesterday. 

She’d been apologetic, but you’d been worried.

You know he’s got a big meeting with the board of his company today and you’d been determined not to let anything detract from his focus.

You’d driven to three places after work before you’d been able to find a replacement. You’d bought five, just to futureproof against any other flask mishaps.

Of course, all that driving around had made you late for dinner and Yoongi had been sure you’d been late on purpose.

You can’t blame him, it’s the sort of stunt you’d have pulled five years ago when you first got married.

You’ve changed but you’re pretty sure Yoongi sees you as still the same spoiled, immature heiress he’d been forced to marry, as the oldest son and heir to his family’s vast business empire.

Anyway, Yoongi’d been seething throughout dinner. 

He’d spanked you until your ass was red raw.

You’d begged for more.

You stifle the delicious shiver that runs through you at the memory.

Your mood drops as you remember him accusing you of fucking other men.

Sure, you’d accused him of the same, but you’ve always been faithful to him.

You just don’t know if he’s been as faithful to you.

You’d heard the rumours about him and his breathtakingly beautiful and terrifyingly talented media director.

Park Gyuri was a model and actress before she went to grad school and earned an MBA. She waltzed into Yoongi’s family company, and she’s been doing a bang up job of everything since then.

She’s also the woman Yoongi was dating before he was forced to marry you.

You stopped seeking out the rumours because it became upsetting.

In your heart of hearts, you don’t think Yoongi’s any more in love with you than he was when you got married.

In truth, you wouldn’t blame him.

You’d spent years being the exact cold hearted bitch he’d eventually accused you of being.

You’re surprised it took him that long to finally snap.

***

Yoongi smiles at Gyuri as she walks into his office.

She’s beautifully put together as always, and she’s wearing green silk today, a shade that complements her colouring well.

‘Free for dinner tonight?’ she asks.

‘What’s the occasion?’ Yoongi asks. 

‘Nothing, I just want to have dinner with my friend,’ Gyuri says, smiling affectionately at him.

There’s a pause before ‘friend’, so brief Yoongi knows anyone else probably wouldn’t have noticed it, but he did.

Yoongi would be lying if he said he’d never considered what his life would be like now if he hadn’t married you. 

He’d probably be less annoyed on a day to day basis.

He’d probably still be a member of the country club you’d got him kicked out of.

He might be married to Gyuri instead.

He’s about to say yes when your face floats into his head. The look in your eyes when he’d accused you of being annoying, which is definitely true, and of fucking other men, which he doesn’t think is true. 

Yoongi says, politely, ‘Rain check? I’d like to have dinner at home today.’ 

He’s been thinking about how you said you were sore, and he wants to check on you.

You’ll probably ignore him like you always do but he wants to see you’re all right for himself.

Also, he’s aware there’s an underlying frisson between him and Gyuri, and he doesn’t want to explore that just yet.

For once, Yoongi doesn’t linger in his office after everyone leaves. He picks up his bag and calls for his car and heads home.

When he reaches home, he walks into the kitchen. Mrs Gye is at the sink whilst something’s simmering on the stovetop. She startles when he sees him.

‘Ah, Mr Min, you’re back early.’

Yoongi murmurs something about working at home and hands her his flask. Then he stops, looking at another identical four flasks sitting to dry on the draining board by the sink.

Mrs Gye sees his line of vision.

‘Mrs Min bought them yesterday.’

Yoongi’s first thought is that you’re plotting something devious.

‘Where is Mrs Min?’ he asks.

‘She went up to her room.’

Yoongi doesn’t often go to your rooms, in fact he doesn’t think he’s visited you there this year at all.

He knocks on the door and there’s a muffled response.

‘I’m in bed, is it important, Mrs Gye?’

Yoongi says, ‘it’s me.’

He senses rather than hears your response. In moments you’re opening the door, pulling a robe tight around your waist.

Your hair is messy, your face devoid of makeup.

You look up at him self consciously. 

Yoongi puts a hand on your arm. ‘Are you ok?’ 

You frown at him. ‘You didn’t kill me with your dick. I’m on my period.’

Yoongi bites back the laugh that threatens to erupt.

You ask, ‘would you like to come in?’

Yoongi follows you through your bedroom to your living area. 

You pour both of you water and sit in your favourite chair, legs curling underneath you.

‘How are you doing, Yoongi?’ you ask, yawning.

‘Do you want to sleep with me?’ Yoongi asks, suddenly.

You choke on your water. 

Yoongi waits until you’ve recovered enough to speak.

‘Right now? Jesus Yoongi I said I was on my period.’

Yoongi looks unperturbed. ‘I didn’t mean fuck, although if you’re down, I am. I meant sleep with me. Do you want to sleep in the same room?’

You stare at him.

‘Are we in danger?’

Yoongi stares at you.‘What? No, don’t be ridiculous.’

‘You can tell me, Yoongi, my family have security contacts everywhere.’

Yoongi massages his forehead. ‘No. Forget it. Just forget it.’

You get up hurriedly as he looks like he’s about to ditch you. ‘Yoongi!’

He stops. 

‘You want to spend more time together?’ You ask, doubtful as to what he really meant.

‘We’re married,’ Yoongi points out, patient. ‘We’ll probably have kids eventually. Shouldn’t we try to get to know each other?’

You have a flashback, vivid, of Yoongi calling you a spoiled, stuck up bitch.

‘Yes. Let’s sleep together.’

Yoongi looks at you for a moment. 

He holds out his hand. 

With a sense of trepidation, you take it.

***

‘It’s weird not to be fucking,’ you say to Yoongi, pulling the covers up to your neck, looking around his room curiously. 

‘It’s also 9pm. Why are you already in bed?’

You hop out and trip over a pair of Yoongi’s slippers, sprawling on the floor.

Yoongi looks at you, shirt half unbuttoned.

‘I’m tired,’ you say, crawling back into bed.

You pull the covers over your head.

A moment later you feel him sitting on the bed.

He pats over where your head is.

‘Come have dinner with me.’

‘Is that an euphemism for a blow job?’ you ask from under the covers.

You sit up suddenly and realise Yoongi’s sitting on the bed in his briefs.

You can feel heat rush to your face. 

It’s not like you haven’t seen your husband naked before, hell, it’s not even been 24 hours since you last fucked.

But this is different.

This is intimacy when you’re more comfortable with fucking.

Yoongi’s watching the way your eyes rove over his thighs.

‘See something you like?’ he asks, coolly.

You scoff. ‘Of course I like the way you look, Min Yoongi.’

You get up. ‘Let’s eat.’

****

Yoongi eyes you over the soup you’re stirring.

‘Why did you buy so many flasks?’ he asks.

Your eyes snap to his. ‘How do you know that?’

‘I saw them.’

You shrug. ‘You like them. I want you to have replacements if one breaks.’

‘That’s thoughtful.’

‘Just being a dutiful wife,’ you chirrup cheerfully.

Yoongi stares at you like you’ve grown another head. ‘You are definitely not that.’

You nod in agreement. ‘You’re right.’

‘Are you feeling ok? You’ve barely touched your soup and you already tried to get into bed.’

‘I’m on my period,’ you tell him, again. You get up. ‘I’m going to go get some of my things and bring them to your room.’

‘It’s our room,’ Yoongi corrects, gently.

‘Our room,’ you repeat. 

By the time you’ve finished gathering your things, Yoongi’s just got to his door.

‘After you,’ he says, strangely formal.

You shoot him a look and head to his huge dressing room.

‘You can use that side,’ he says, pointing.

The entire wall he’s pointing at is made up of bare clothes rails at varying heights. 

You pull open a drawer, intending to deposit your toiletries and underwear in it, and stop when you see the packages inside it.

‘What’s this?’ you ask.

Yoongi walks over from his side of the dressing room.

Together you look at the boxes from a well-known underwear brand. It’s the same brand you tend to wear.

You look up at Yoongi, and to your surprise, the tips of his ears are red.

Your impatient, unsentimental husband actually looks… embarrassed.

You wait him out.

Finally, he mutters, ‘sometimes if I see something I like, I buy it for you.’

You can’t believe your ears. 

‘Did you buy this for — someone else?’ you ask quietly.

Another thought occurs to you. 

‘Did you buy this for yourself?’ you ask. 

Yoongi groans, irritably. 

‘I bought all this shit for you. My wife.’

He opens the top box and rifles through what looks like a beautiful red silk and lace teddy. You glimpse the tags. It’s your size.

‘I got this after that night when you wore that red dress to meet the Hans because you look fucking breathtaking in red.’

‘How do you know my size?’ you ask weakly, stalling to give your brain time to catch up.

‘Your size is the only fucking thing I do know about you,’ Yoongi says, still irritable. ‘How many times have I taken your lingerie off?’

You stare each other into an uneasy stalemate.

‘You really didn’t buy this for anyone else?’ you ask.

‘Believe me or don’t believe me,’ Yoongi says, at the end of his tether. 

He stalks out of his dressing room, and you blink blindly at the stack of boxes in the drawer.

By the time you re-enter Yoongi’s bedroom, the lights are off and he’s a lump under the covers.

You climb in the other side and after a moment, scoot over to be closer to him.

He’s got his back to you, rigid, cold.

You put your hand on his shoulder to warn him, then kiss the back of his neck.

‘Thank you,’ you tell him.

You’re half- asleep by the time he turns onto his back. His hand brushes yours under the covers, not holding it but touching you.

‘You’re welcome,’ he says. 

You curl your pinky finger around his, like a promise, and go to sleep.

***

When you wake up the next morning, Yoongi’s already gone.

His side of the bed is rumpled, and when you run your hand over the sheet it’s cold.

You need to think. 

Even better, you need a third party to do your thinking for you.

You send your best friend Nara a text, then notice the time.

Shit. You need to get to work.

You hop out of bed, trip over Yoongi’s slippers again and scurry to your own room to get dressed.

Your morning is pretty dull, a bunch of meetings with clients, a team brief before your new product launch tonight.

Nara meets you for lunch. 

Kim Nara has been your closest friend since junior tennis club. She has an impressively strong backhand, a competitive streak a mile wide and is the most loyal person you’ve ever met.

She pours you some wine from the bottle she started whilst waiting for you, then sits back in her seat.

‘What was so urgent you had to meet today?’ she asks.

Her eyes narrow. ‘Did Min Yoongi knock you up?’

‘What? No. I’m on my period right now,’ you protest. 

You take a gulp of wine to fortify yourself.

‘But it does involve him.’

Nara takes a matching big sip. ‘Hit me.’

‘I think I should try to get him to forgive me.’

‘For what?’ Nara asks. There’s a mischievous light in her eyes now.

‘For buying Kim Seokjin instead of him at that bullshit charity auction? For sending that chain email to all his employees with his STI testing results? For getting him blacklisted from every golf course in the country?’

You cringe.

You’d been young when you married Yoongi, spoiled and impulsive and naive and terribly, terribly selfish.

Nara sucks in a breath to power what you know is going to be a litany of crimes. You’d write it all down if it wouldn’t kill you to read what an asshole you were to him.

You have no idea why he hasn’t divorced you.

You guess this is why he tries to break you every time you have sex.

Nara’s talking about the time you ran off to Switzerland for three months, but you tune her out.

You need to make all this up to Yoongi, a man who buys you gifts even when you’re barely talking, and who wants to be closer to you despite everything you’ve done to him.

You figure ten is a nice round number.

You’re going to do it. 

You’re going to find the ten worst things you’ve done to Min Yoongi and make up for every single one of them.

***

‘I’m sorry, Mrs Min, Mr Kim says he can’t see you until his bodyguard gets here.’

You gape at the expressionless secretary who’s been dispatched to give you the news. He nods apologetically, then withdraws.

The nerve of Kim Seokjin.

Kim Seokjin is Yoongi’s best friend, and instrumental in your plan to make things right with Yoongi.

It looks like he’s going to make you work for it every step of the way. You’ve been waiting outside his office for ten minutes already, and there’s no end in sight.

The first attack you’d launched on Min Yoongi after you got married was at a charity fundraiser where there had been, to your devious delight, an auction.

Not just any auction. Seokjin and Yoongi had been part of it, and you’d very intentionally bid on Seokjin despite wearing the Min heirloom pendant around your neck.

You’d bid a ridiculous amount and won him, a record that was shattered not long after by the ‘purchase’ of a man with a rakish glint in his eye, Jungkook, you think his name was.

Even worse, you’d paid a horny elderly society lady, Mrs Kang, known for her constant innuendoes and wandering hands, to purchase your then new husband.

He’s never told you what happened on their date. 

On your date with Seokjin you’d dressed so provocatively you were a quick move away from being arrested for public indecency.

To his credit, you hadn’t once caught Seokjin’s eyes wandering below your neck.

He’d spent the whole date scolding you on Yoongi’s behalf.

You’ve had other shenanigans with Seokjin, but the auction is the most scandalous one by far. You’re not surprised he doesn’t want to see you.

You glance at your watch and realise you’ve been waiting for over twenty minutes.

You get up to leave and you hear your name called in a deep voice that’s definitely not Seokjin’s.

It’s a man, around six feet tall, who looks the size of a refrigerator. He looks like he could break you in half and not break a sweat.

You’re escorted into Seokjin’s office.

‘Y/N,’ Seokjin says, formally, from behind his desk. ‘Have a seat.’

You aren’t sure if Seokjin realises that you practically grew up in boardrooms much more intimidating than this. 

You sit behind his desk obediently.

‘I wanted to talk to you about Yoongi,’ you say, rushed, because you don’t know how much time you have.

Seokjin looks at you evenly. ‘I have no interest in discussing my best friend with you.’

‘We don’t have to discuss him. I just want to make up for all of the things I’ve done to him over the years.’

Seokjin raises an eyebrow. You’ve always found him intimidating, if you’re honest. 

‘Anyway, can you convince him to put himself up for auction at the Rose Ball next month?’

‘Why?’ Seokjin snaps. ‘So you can humiliate him again?’

Your hackles rise at his tone, but you remind yourself of your end goal. You’re not sure you can make Yoongi cuddly but you think you might be able to make him like you.

‘I won’t humiliate him,’ you say, humbly.

Seokjin glares at you. ‘I need more assurance than your word, funnily enough.’

You like how loyal Seokjin is to Yoongi, but he’s sure being an ass right now.

‘I’ll pay you.’

Seokjin frowns. ‘Do I look like I need the money?’

‘I’ll cook dinner for Yoongi and you,’ you offer.

He snorts. 

‘Can you even cook?’

‘Jesus what do you want Seokjin?’

You stand, and immediately his bodyguard takes a protective step forward.

You throw your hands up in exasperation.

‘Yoongi really wants to go to watch the Portland Trail Blazers when they’re in town next month. It’s right before the Rose Ball. Take him and I’ll get him to auction himself off at the Rose Ball.’

You put out a hand, forgetting about the bodyguard for a moment.

You pull it back quickly when he steps in front of Seokjin. 

‘Deal,’ you call happily over the bodyguard’s shoulder.

‘Wait.’

Seokjin steps out from behind the human wall and holds out his hand.

You shake it. 

‘Don’t fuck me or Yoongi over,’ Seokjin warns.

‘I won’t,’ you promise.

***

Yoongi’s already home when you get back after work. 

He’s dressed in basketball shorts, a sweatband around his forehead.

‘You look hot,’ you say, absently, as you search through your drawer in his dressing room for a loose tee.

‘Here,’ Yoongi says. He tosses you a plain tee, one of his own. 

You put it to your face and inhale. 

‘It’s fresh,’ Yoongi says, dryly.

‘It smells like you,’ you say. ‘I like it.’

You step out of your work clothes and pull it over your head. 

‘I’m going to bed.’

You pause before you leave the dressing room. ‘Hey, Yoongi. I got tickets to the Portland trail blazers game next month. Wanna go together?’

Yoongi gapes at you. 

‘You didn’t seriously just ask me out to a basketball game with my favourite team whilst wearing my t-shirt and nothing else.’

You hadn’t been thinking about anything naughty but you snap to attention at his words.

‘Are you still on your period?’ Yoongi asks.

He’s already rounding the central island in the middle of his dressing room, where he keeps his watches and jewellery.

He’s heading straight for you.

You squeak and retreat to the bed.

He’s a second behind you, landing right on you before you can even yank up the covers.

‘Let’s make out,’ he says, voice husky.

‘Yeah,’ you agree.

His lips are almost on yours when you stop him.

‘Do you still want to make out even if we don’t—‘ you trail off, and Yoongi looks at you oddly.

‘Fuck?’ he supplies, helpfully.

You nod.

‘Are you serious? What do you think I am? Some sort of brute?’

‘We usually just skip to the fucking,’ you point out.

Yoongi stares at you for so long you think he’s had a stroke.

Then he leans over and kisses your forehead. 

Your eyes closed automatically when his lips touched you, so it takes you a moment to realise he’s pulling away. 

‘I’ll see you at dinner,’ he says. 

He’s out the door before you get a chance to say goodbye.

***

You’re trying to pick something to wear to the game with Yoongi. You’re not really a fan of basketball, not like he is. Your only knowledge of basketball consists of what you’ve gleaned from pictures of celebrities courtside and what you’ve seen in movies.

Once you’re dressed, you run downstairs to where Yoongi’s waiting. 

‘They’re not courtside,’ you say, apologetic, as Yoongi drives.

‘You’ve said that a few times,’ Yoongi says mildly, signalling to turn.

‘I just don’t want you to be disappointed,’ you say.

‘I won’t be,’ Yoongi says. 

‘I don’t know anything about basketball,’ you tell him. 

Yoongi looks at you with such disappointment it feels like you need to seek his forgiveness for yet another thing.

‘I’m calling the best divorce lawyer in town right after this,’ Yoongi says. ‘But first, let’s watch the game.’

‘What? You’re divorcing me over a —- sport?’

‘Not helping the cause,’ Yoongi retorts.

You want to pout but you’re pretty sure he’ll just get annoyed with you. 

Yoongi drives into a multi-storey car park and backs into a space so sexily you get a little wet just watching him. 

He even does that thing where he rests his arm against your seat, as though it’s a habit he can’t break even though his car has a rear camera.

You want to hold hands with him as you walk to the arena, but you rarely ever touch when you’re not fucking. 

Yoongi says, without looking at you, ‘what is it now?’

‘This is kind of like a date,’ you observe.

Yoongi sighs. 

He’s never really indulged your fondness for romantic gestures, you guess he’s always seen them as childish. 

‘It’s a date,’ he confirms. He leads you to your seats as though he knows the arena well. 

You look around curiously. The seats aren’t courtside, but you’re only a couple of rows back, and the view seems fine to you.

‘Is this ok?’ you ask.

‘They’re perfect seats. Stop asking me or I’ll kiss you and ruin your lip gloss.’

‘This is kiss proof, actually,’ you say, seriously. 

Yoongi turns fully to look at you. ‘Is that an invitation for me to test it out?’

‘Let’s just see how the date goes,’ you say, leaning back in your seat.

You can feel his eyes on you. He scoffs, but he doesn’t sound annoyed. 

The game is an exciting one, but you spend it mainly watching Yoongi. He’s pretty even-tempered most of the time, but watching basketball really seems to get his blood going.

He cheers so loudly and enthusiastically you’re almost deafened. Once the game gets going he barely even seems to notice you.

You’re glad he’s enjoying himself. 

At half time, you get him to take a selfie with you to send to Seokjin as proof. 

You’ve just sent it when he leans over and kisses you on the cheek, quickly.

You turn to him, but he’s already turned away.

You think about the feel of his lips on your cheek for the rest of the game, and somehow the second half flies by.

Yoongi’s so hyped by the time the game ends that you keep smiling at how endearing he is. 

‘I feel like you need to talk about this to someone who knows about basketball,’ you remark as you walk back to your car.

He grins at you. ‘I might stop by Seokjin’s place.’

‘Ah sure,’ you say, a little crestfallen that he doesn’t want to go home with you.

You fiddle with your phone, realising you don’t even know where Seokjin lives. ‘Is home on your way?’

‘I’ll drop you off,’ he says. 

You’re quiet on the drive home. Yoongi pulls into your driveway and shuts the engine off. 

‘Hey,’ he says.

You turn to him. 

‘Thanks for getting us tickets. And thanks for coming with me.’

You smile. ‘It was Seokjin’s idea,’ you demur. ‘See you later, Yoongi.’

You get out of the car and are walking to the front entrance of your home when you hear the car door close behind you.

There’s footsteps, and by the time you turn, Yoongi’s standing in front of you, barely two feet away.

‘Hey,’ he says again. ‘Can I get a kiss goodnight?’

You reach into your brain for a snappy remark but come up with nothing.

All you can do is look up at him as he leans over you and kisses you. His tongue flicks at the seam of your lips, once, and then he’s pulling away.

He smooths your hair back from your face, tucking it behind your ear.

The action makes your heart flutter helplessly in your chest. He rarely ever touches you like this. 

Yoongi rubs his thumb over your bottom lip, gently.

‘I’ll see you later. I’ll try not to wake you up when I get in.’

He waits, engine idling, until you’re safely indoors before he drives off.

***

You’re nervous. It’s the night of the Rose Ball, and the charity auction where you’re going to orchestrate the first stage of making up with Yoongi.

You’ve picked a red dress because of what he said about you looking pretty in red.

Yoongi knocks on your bedroom door, because you’d wanted to get ready alone.

You open the door and take in the vision of your husband in a white dinner jacket, hair pushed back from his forehead and styled beautifully.

There are silver earrings glinting in his ears, and his hair is currently silver to match. 

‘You look very handsome,’ you tell him, honest.

He holds out his arm. ‘I think you’re wearing red on purpose to fuck with me, aren’t you? Quick, say something annoying so the universe can tilt back to its normal axis.’

Gamely, you pout at him and whine, ‘why didn’t you get me any new jewellery to wear, Yoongi?’

‘I’ve got some pearls I can put around your neck,’ Yoongi suggests. 

‘I’d rather you put them down my throat,’ you say, suggestively.

‘There’s my spoiled little horny heiress,’ Yoongi says, approvingly.

You roll your eyes. ‘I’m not spoiled.’ 

‘Try saying that in a less whiny tone,’ Yoongi tells you unsympathetically.

‘I’m not whiny.’

‘I hope you saved up some money to buy Kim Seokjin again tonight,’ Yoongi says.

You frown.

‘I’m gonna buy you, not Seokjin.’

He snorts. ‘I hope you’re not expecting me to buy you.’

You pause. This is an angle you hadn’t even considered. 

Yoongi raises an eyebrow, but says nothing.

At the ball, you read through the list of names up for auction. To your annoyance, Seokjin, Yoongi and you are all one after another, clustered together.

You think it’s an attempt to capitalise on the scandal of the previous time Seokjin and Yoongi were up for auction.

You’re nervous all throughout dinner, and by the time the auction starts you’re vibrating with nerves.

Seokjin stands when his name is announced, nodding at the emcee. Across the table from you, you can feel Yoongi’s eyes burning into your head. 

The bidding starts at a cool 5 million won, and rapidly escalates.

Seokjin, devastatingly handsome in a beautiful tux that emphasizes the broadness of his chest and shoulders, doesn’t even have the decency to pretend to be surprised.

You look at Yoongi and keep your hands perfectly still in your lap.

‘50 million won, do I hear 55?’ 

It’s a relief when the bidding closes at 75 million won. You don’t even see who the highest bidder is, concentrating on your husband sitting across from you.

When Yoongi’s name is announced, he stands and nods. 

You think to yourself again how beautiful your husband looks.

You keep up with the bids easily. To your annoyance, the bidding is fast and furious, and it’s only moments before you’re holding at 90 million won.

‘Do I hear 95?’ 

‘100 million won.’

You turn, aghast, and look into the diabolical and devious eyes of Kim Seokjin. 

Why the hell is Kim Seokjin driving up the bidding war on your husband?

Yoongi just looks amused when you stare at him, accusing.

‘110 million,’ you snap.

You try to stare the evil bastard down between bids.

By the time you get to 150 million won, you’re glaring daggers at Seokjin and Yoongi.

‘Sold to Mrs Min.’ 

There’s barely time to breathe a sigh of relief before you realise Yoongi and Seokjin are now patting each other on the back. 

To your chagrin, they leave the room as your name is announced.

As the bids escalate on you, you pull your phone out and send Yoongi a rapid fire text.

Y/N: Buy me or I won’t fuck you tonight.

Yoongi, the bastard, makes you wait on read.

You’re dialling his number when you realise two things. 

One, that the bidding’s somehow reached a hundred million won.

And two, that the main bidder is a very beautiful man whom you’ve never met.

‘Going once….’

You squirm in your seat as Yoongi and Seokjin walk back into the room.

If there’s any urgency in Yoongi at all that his wife is about to be sold to a random stranger, his face doesn’t show it.

You suppose this is exactly how he felt when you let Mrs Kang buy him.

‘Going twice to Mr Park Jimin.’

Yoongi lifts a brow, and his eyes snap to the beautiful man. 

He nods to the auctioneer, and bidding resumes.

Park Jimin seems pretty determined, but he’s no match for your husband.

Yoongi buys you for a shade under two hundred million won.

***

You’re trying to unfasten your necklace whilst Yoongi gets changed after the ball.

‘Two hundred million won,’ you say, teasingly. ‘Guess I’ll need to put out.’

Yoongi grunts, and a moment later he says, ‘lift your hair.’

You pull your hair away from the back of your neck and he unfastens your necklace for you. 

‘You don’t need to do anything you don’t want to,’ he says. 

Later, in bed, you’re lying awake next to Yoongi, thinking about the night.

‘Yoongi,’ you whisper.

He sounds like he’s stifling a groan. ‘What?’

‘Thanks for buying me.’

It’s so dark you can’t see any of his features.

Eventually, he says, ‘there was never a possibility that I wouldn’t.’

‘What?’ you ask, surprised. ‘Say that again.’

‘Good night, Y/N.’

***

You think that one of the things that irritated Yoongi the most about you when you first got married was your total lack of interest in getting to know his friends.

And so part two of making up with Yoongi involves Kim Namjoon.

He’s an interesting man, from what you know of him.

Like Yoongi and Seokjin, he comes from a privileged background. Unlike Yoongi and Seokjin, though, he’s not in the family business. He runs an art gallery in the city with his partner, Nayeon.

You’re apprehensive about approaching Namjoon at the gallery but you can’t think of any other way to meet him.

Seokjin’s less icy to you since you took Yoongi to watch basketball and since the successful completion of step 1, but there’s no way he’d voluntarily help you. 

You push open the glass door and decide to just walk around.

Unlike Seokjin, Namjoon doesn’t make you wait. 

You’re barely in the cool comfort of the gallery before he’s standing next to you. 

‘To what do I owe this pleasure?’ he asks, politely.

You search his expression for hints of sarcasm, but he seems perfectly sincere.

To be fair, you’ve never tried to provoke him like you did Seokjin.

You decide to be as direct as he is.

‘I was hoping to invite you and Nayeon for dinner at ours,’ you say.

He doesn’t answer straight away.

‘I haven’t really tried to get to know Yoongi’s friends, since we’ve been married,’ you say, pointing out the obvious. ‘I’m trying to remedy that.’

Namjoon gives you a long look. 

You wonder what Yoongi’s been saying about you to his friends.

Judging by how wary all his friends are around you, you don’t think he’s been singing your praises.

You’re just about to speak again, when Namjoon says, ‘Yoongi often comes to ours on a Sunday night for dinner. I’m sure Nayeon would be really pleased if you could make it with him this Sunday.’

You smile, grateful. ‘I’d love that.’

Namjoon gives you another long look, then a dimple flashes in his cheek.

It transforms his face, which up until now had been rather stern and intimidating.

‘I’ll see you Sunday.’

***

Yoongi’s watching you polish off the last of the bread at dinner, bemused.

You figure now’s as good a time as any to tell him about how you’ve invited yourself to dinner on Sunday.

He takes it in his stride.

‘I’ll try not to embarrass you,’ you say, jokingly.

‘Like when you sent my sexual health test results to my entire company?’ asks Yoongi.

You look down at your plate. 

Shit, another thing you need to atone for. 

‘Sorry about that,’ you tell him, contrite.

‘It’s fine,’ Yoongi says, rolling his eyes. ‘I became a meme for a few months, I can cope with that.’

You put your hand on his arm. ‘I really am sorry. Want a blow job?’

Yoongi rolls his eyes again. ‘Are we so emotionally stunted we can only communicate through sex?’

His tone is cutting. 

You’ve been so soft for him lately that there’s a pang of hurt in your chest.

‘You’re a lot more tolerable when you’re fucking me,’ you say, coldly.

‘Likewise, princess,’ Yoongi snaps.

You get up from the table and go to watch TV alone in your rooms.

By the time you go in to Yoongi’s bedroom, it’s dark.

You slide in next to him and turn away, back facing him.

You hear a sigh, then his hand pats the sheets, looking for yours. 

You tuck your hands between your legs.

Yoongi’s hand travels down your arm, seeking your hand.

His thumb brushes over your clit, and you let out a surprised ‘oh’.

Yoongi shifts over, spooning you, chest pressing against your back.

‘Can I touch you, princess?’ he asks, voice low. ‘I’ve been thinking about how you pouted at dinner and I’m so fucking hard.’

‘I don’t want to cum for you,’ you tell him, petulant.

Yoongi nibbles at your neck, sharp teeth sending shocks of pain and pleasure through you.

‘I’ll make you cum anyway, princess. Get you grinding against my hand and crying my name. You always sound so pretty for me.’

‘Yoongi,’ you murmur, but your legs are already spreading to make room for him.

‘That’s my girl,’ he says, fingers slipping through your slick heat like he hadn’t expected anything less. ‘Let me fuck the spoilt brat out of you until only my baby’s left, hmm?’

Yoongi talks dirty to you until you’re creaming around his fingers, then his cock.

***

Yoongi looks up from his phone and gives you a quelling look.

‘Stop fidgeting.’

You hug the bottle of wine you’re bringing to Nayeon and Namjoon’s place to your chest.

‘Who else is going to be there?’ you ask.

‘Usually it’s Seokjin and me. Sometimes Gyuri comes.’

You think about that and wish, childishly, that you’d chosen a nicer outfit.

You realise Yoongi’s watching your face.

‘I appreciate you wanting to meet my friends,’ he says, carefully. 

‘Oh it’s about time I made an effort, don’t you think?’

Yoongi gives you a long look and rings the doorbell.

You’re greeted by a relaxed-looking Nayeon.

You don’t know her well, but she’s always struck you as nice. You feel an odd pang as you see the affectionate way Yoongi greets her.

Here’s a whole other aspect of his life you’ve never been involved in.

You volunteer to help Namjoon cook the rice. To your bemusement, he’s frighteningly accident-prone.

Within five minutes, you’ve saved him from putting his hand on a hot pan twice. You shudder when you see him pick up a knife to chop vegetables.

Nayeon nudges you. ‘Don’t worry. He’s not too bad. Someone always keeps an eye on him.’

‘Like a toddler,’ you mutter, then you remember where you are.

Nayeon just laughs. ‘I think of it as he’s still getting used to his size.’

You laugh. ‘Let’s hope he doesn’t get any bigger then.’

You look up as Seokjin enters the kitchen with Yoongi.

Your eyes meet Seokjin’s. He nods coolly at you.

You smile back.

To your surprise, Yoongi claps a hand on Seokjin’s back. 

‘Yah, Jin, greet my wife properly.’

Seokjin pulls Nayeon into a hug, then stops just in front of you. 

You put out a hand for him to shake, and instead, he pulls you into a hug too. 

You look up at him, a little wary.

‘Don’t you need your bodyguard?’ you ask, unable to resist.

Seokjin narrows his eyes at you. ‘I’m watching you, brat,’ he replies, so softly only you can hear.

‘And Yoongi’s watching you,’ you return, snarky.

Seokjin’s eyes darken. ‘Clearly Yoongi’s too soft on you, given your attitude.’

‘Break it up,’ Yoongi’s voice says from behind Seokjin.

You slide around Seokjin and stand next to Yoongi. When Yoongi turns to talk to Nayeon, you flip Seokjin the bird.

He glares daggers at you but has to quickly rearrange his expression when Yoongi and Nayeon ask him a question.

You’re so busy fielding all the interactions that it’s a relief to sit down to dinner.

Ah shit. 

There are prawns in the broth, the one thing in the world you’re allergic to.

It’s your own fault. Early on in your marriage, for reasons known only to you, you’d decided to let Yoongi think you were a snob about seafood rather than just telling him you were allergic. Cue a very uncomfortable dinner when you’d refused to eat anything one of his chef friends had cooked.

Seokjin, next to you, looks at your untouched bowl pointedly. ‘Don’t you like it?’ he asks, voice so velvety it’s not immediately obvious he’s jeering at you. 

You grit your teeth and pray the epi-pen in your bag is in date. 

It’ll probably be fine, unless you have a whole prawn….

As if on cue, Yoongi hands you a prawn he’s just peeled.

You’d always thought Yoongi would be the death of you, but you’d thought the mechanism would be from hate fucking you into oblivion, or irritating you into apoplexy.

Not a fucking prawn that he’s peeled for you because he’s decided to be a solicitous husband for once in his life.

You can feel a few eyes on you.

‘Oh that looks delicious,’ you chirrup brightly. You accept the prawn, swallow it quickly, wait a beat, then excuse yourself.

You grab your bag on the way to the bathroom, fumbling for your epi-pen. 

You jab it into your thigh just as the familiar tingling starts in your throat.

The door opens, and you’re faced with Yoongi, staring at you. 

‘What the hell are you doing?’ he hisses. 

He grabs the epi-pen you’ve just dropped on the floor. 

‘Are you shooting up in my friends’ house?’ he snaps.

You shake your head, voice raspy. 

‘I’m allergic to prawns.’

Yoongi stares at you like he can’t quite believe his ears. 

‘What?’

You want to repeat yourself but your voice is getting hoarser. 

Yoongi seems to click into action then. ‘Fuck. Do you need the hospital?’

You nod. 

Moving faster than you’ve ever seen him, Yoongi grabs your arm and hustles you out of the bathroom.

He scolds you all the way to the hospital.

‘You’re an idiot, you know that? Why would you eat something you know you’re this allergic to?’

Two blocks away. 

‘Why couldn’t you just tell me? Of all the stupid stunts you’ve pulled—‘

At the entrance of the emergency room.

‘If you die from this I’m going to follow you into the afterlife and kill you again.’

You’d snap back if he didn’t sound more worried than angry.

Yoongi sits beside your bed, filling in a form on a tablet with your details. You can see him typing in your name. 

You grab his arm. ‘Not my name,’ you rasp.

Yoongi frowns at you. You fumble in your bag and pass him your driver’s license.

He looks at it for a long moment. 

‘You changed your name? You said —-‘

He cuts himself off with visible effort. You can see a vein throbbing in his forehead.

He fills in the rest of the form, swearing softly under his breath. 

You close your eyes and lose yourself to nightmares about prawns.

When you wake up, Yoongi’s sitting by your bed.

You say his name.

He runs a hand over his face. ‘How are you feeling, princess?’

‘I’m fine. Can we go home?’

‘They want to keep you in a little longer.’

You sigh. 

‘Why didn’t you tell me you were allergic to prawns?’ Yoongi asks.

He sighs. ‘That time, with Mingyu, when he made us all that food. I thought you were being such a bitch.’

‘I am a bitch,’ you say. ‘I hated you back then. I hated our marriage and I hated that it felt like I didn’t have any choice in anything.’

‘And so you decide to die because I fucking peeled you a prawn?’

‘Why did you do that? You always say if you can’t peel a prawn you don’t deserve to eat it.’

‘Jesus fucking christ. I just wanted to.’

‘What a time to choose to be the doting husband,’ you say, regretfully.

Yoongi snorts with laughter. ‘Are you allergic to anything else I need to know about?’

‘Assholes,’ you mutter. ‘That’s why Seokjin and I don’t get along.’

Yoongi laughs again. ‘You’re such a rude brat. He won’t stop calling me. He wants to apologise for putting pressure on you to have the broth.’

‘Nayeon and Namjoon want to know if you’re ok, too.’

‘Tell them I’m fine.’ 

‘Here,’ Yoongi says. ‘I’ll add you to the group chat and you can tell them yourself.’

You send off a few texts and put your phone down.

‘I need to call my lawyer,’ Yoongi says, running a hand through his hair.

‘You’re divorcing me over a prawn allergy?’

‘No,’ says Yoongi, patient. ‘Now that I know your real name, I need to get it changed in my will and also on all the properties I’ve invested in for you.’

‘Ooh, I’m in your will?’ you ask, intrigued. ‘What do I get?’

‘None of your business,’ Yoongi says.

You wave a hand threateningly. ‘I could kill you right now and find out.’

Yoongi fends you off easily. ‘You should be resting.’

‘We could be arguing about this at home,’ you point out.

By the time you’re discharged from the hospital, it’s the early hours of the morning.

When you get home, you’re greeted by Mrs Gye. 

‘I took care of it,’ she tells Yoongi.

Yoongi nods and thanks her.

‘Took care of what?’

‘Mr Min rang earlier and told us to get rid of all the prawns in the kitchen and pantry,’ Mrs Gye says. She’s apologetic. ‘We didn’t know you were allergic, Mrs Min.’

You glance at Yoongi, who’s slipping off his shoes. 

‘You didn’t have to —‘

He cuts you off. ‘It’s a risk I’d prefer not to take again.’

He starts up the stairs, heading for his bedroom. ‘I’m going to try and get some sleep.’

You hurry after him, because he’s not waiting for you. 

***

You’re coming out of your meeting with the manager of the third country club you got Yoongi blacklisted from when you spot a familiar face.

A familiar, beautiful but unwanted face.

‘Seokjin,’ you say, nodding politely.

He leans down, and automatically you present your cheek to him for a kiss.

‘How are you doing?’ he asks, courteously.

You narrow your eyes at him suspiciously. ‘I’m fine. And yourself?’

To your astonishment, he actually seems to be a little shamefaced as he says, ‘I’m sorry I urged you to have the broth at Namjoon and Nayeon’s the other day.’

‘It’s fine, you couldn’t have known,’ you say, neutrally.

‘What are you doing here?’

It’s your turn to look repentant. 

‘I got Yoongi blacklisted from all the country clubs. I’m getting him re-invited to all of them.’

Seokjin’s gaze is penetrating. 

‘You seem like you’re really trying to make amends,’ he observes.

‘Yeah well, I was, like you keep pointing out to me, a brat.’

He’s been walking with you to the lobby. 

‘Can I offer you a lift anywhere?’ he asks. 

‘Ah, I’ll just wait for a cab.’

He raises an eyebrow. ‘Doesn’t Yoongi have a driver?’ 

‘He does. I don’t.’ 

Seokjin nods to the car waiting for him. ‘Do you have other country clubs to go to?’

‘I have four left,’ you say. 

Seokjin looks at you in firm way he does. ‘Come on. I’ll take you.’

You climb into the back seat with Seokjin. 

‘You’re not taking me somewhere to murder me and dispose of my body, are you?’ you ask, only half-joking.

Seokjin settles back in his seat and loosens his tie. 

‘I’ve got the afternoon off, and I’d prefer not to commit murder during it,’ he says, not reassuringly. 

With Seokjin by your side, the next meeting is almost enjoyable. You even get offered champagne, which you gulp down.

Seokjin looks at you, amused. ‘Stressful day for you?’ 

‘You make me nervous,’ you admit. 

‘I just don’t want Yoongi to be hurt anymore.’

You digest the idea that Yoongi wasn’t just inconvenienced and embarrassed, but actually hurt by your actions of the last few years.

That would imply he cared.

You’re staring out the window, thinking, when Seokjin says. ‘Of course, he didn’t want to marry you either, at the beginning.’

You chew on your lip. 

‘But he was willing to make his best effort to be a good husband to you. He’s decent like that.’

You turn your head so Seokjin can’t see your face.

He’s not wrong. Yoongi’s never once retaliated for anything you’ve done to him. 

Instead he’d grown progressively more cold and impatient and distant.

The wave of guilt surprises you with its depth.

‘I’ll make it up to him,’ you say, quietly. 

Seokjin puts his hand on your arm so you’ll look at him.

‘He has a real soft spot for you,’ he tells you. ‘God knows why, I would have punished you long ago.’

You flick your eyes up at him. ‘Luckily I married a more forgiving man than you,’ you say, summoning your haughtiest tone.

Seokjin just laughs. ‘We both want the best for him,’ he says. ‘Maybe you’re not such a cold hearted bitch after all.’

‘Don’t get ahead of yourself. We aren’t friends,’ you sneer, out of habit.

Seokjin turns away and laughs quietly to himself.

At your next meeting, Seokjin gets whiskey served to you. 

You’re a total lightweight, and with your empty stomach, you know you’re heading to a danger zone.

But damn, it’s also intoxicating having polished, suave Seokjin by your side at these meetings with older men. 

It’s after your final meeting, three drinks later, that Seokjin says, ‘dinner?’

You hold on to his arm to steady yourself. 

‘Maybe we can have dinner at mine,’ you suggest. 

‘Great idea,’ Seokjin beams. ‘I love Mrs Gye’s cooking.’

You never actually make it inside the house. 

Yoongi finds you and Seokjin sprawled on the front steps, arguing about which country club offered the best membership package.

You slap a brochure onto the steps between you. 

‘This was clearly the best deal,’ you announce. You squint but it doesn’t make the words any clearer. 

Seokjin sweeps the brochure away dramatically. 

‘Wasn’t.’

‘Wassss.’

Yoongi says, dryly, ‘why do people who can’t handle their alcohol go drinking?’

Both you and Seokjin glare at each other, then at him.

Yoongi sighs. ‘I can’t carry both of you at once.’

‘Take the asshole first,’ you snap.

Seokjin leans towards you menacingly. ‘What did you call me?’

Yoongi hurriedly lifts you up under the arms, and you curl into his chest. 

‘Take me to bed, Yoongi,’ you say, looking up at him. 

‘You’re heavier than you look,’ Yoongi grunts.

‘It’s my brain,’ you say, trying be helpful. 

Seokjin snorts rudely behind you.

Yoongi says, voice low, rumbling in his chest, ‘ignore him.’

You press a kiss to Yoongi’s chest. ‘Sorry I’m so heavy.’

He smiles at you with that looks like affection. 

‘It’s fine. I’ll just drop you if it’s too much for me.’

Yoongi helps you into bed and unzips your dress. 

‘Can you do the rest so I can get Seokjin?’ he asks.

You nod, convincingly. You’re still trying to tug your arm out of the sleeve when you give up and pass out.

Yoongi helps Seokjin into your bed and returns to his room to find you sprawled exactly where he left you, half undressed.

He slips your dress off you. You crack an eye open.

‘Yoongi,’ you say, whiny.

Yoongi replies, ‘yes?’

‘I just want you to like me,’ you say. For a moment you look completely lucid, and sad.

His heart gives a dangerous jolt then, like somehow, you’ve worked your way into it. Like a household pest.

Yoongi can’t bear the thought of exterminating you.

‘Stop being so annoying then,’ Yoongi says, trying to be stern but it comes out weak. He’s not even convincing himself at this point.

You put your hand over your heart. ‘I’ll try my best,’ you promise.

***

At breakfast, Yoongi frowns at his phone. 

‘Why am I getting invited to become a member of every country club in the vicinity?’

Seokjin, dressed in Yoongi’s clothes, mumbles something unintelligible into his cereal.

You look up from your pancakes and through your sunglasses at your husband.

‘I got you blacklisted from every single country club in the area when we first got married, so I spent yesterday getting you reinvited.’

You point your fork at Seokjin and say, grudgingly, ‘Seokjin helped.’

Seokjin sips his juice. 

‘Why did we drink so much?’ he asks.

‘You’re the one that kept asking for drinks,’ you point out.

Yoongi holds up a hand between you to break you up.

‘Why?’ he asks.

‘I’m making up for being awful to you,’ you tell him.

Yoongi frowns. ‘Is that why you’ve been so erratic lately?’

You’re offended. ‘I’m not erratic.’

‘Taking me to that basketball game? Buying me at the auction? Dinner at Namjoon and Nayeon’s?’ Yoongi asks.

‘Riding you in the shower yesterday,’ you add.

Seokjin covers his ears.

‘I’m being nice,’ you say.

Yoongi says, ‘I appreciate your efforts, but you don’t have to make anything up to me.’

‘She does,’ Seokjin interjects.

You toss a pancake at him. 

Yoongi rolls his eyes.

‘We’ll talk later,’ he says to you.

‘I don’t know why he’s still here,’ you say to Yoongi, like Seokjin’s not in the room.

Yoongi pushes your coffee towards you. ‘Drink. Finish your breakfast. Seokjin and I have a meeting to get to. Let’s talk later.’

‘I have a surprise for you tonight,’ you say, remembering.

Yoongi leans down to kiss your cheek.

‘I don’t like surprises.’

‘You’ll like this one,’ you promise. 

***

You once sent a troupe of strippers to put on a show at an important business meeting Yoongi had organised with a notoriously conservative client.

The deal had fallen through despite months of preparation and expense.

It was then that Yoongi had finally snapped and called you a cold hearted bitch for the first time.

You’d thought long and hard about how to make this up to him, and you don’t know enough about his company to source an equivalent deal.

You’re hoping dancing for him in the red teddy he got you will help.

You’re not a bad dancer, and you’ve been taking lessons for weeks, enough that you’re pretty confident you can pull it off.

You’ve hired a room in an underground sex club, hoping the gritty feel will add to the thrill of it.

Yoongi raises his eyebrows when you lead him through the private entrance off the street, down a flight of stairs, to a darkened corridor.

You lift the keycard out of your thigh-high stockings and unlock the door. 

You’d shared a bottle of wine at dinner, and you’re feeling good.

There’s a chair in the middle of the room, like you’d specified. The lights are off apart from a blue glow. It’s dark enough to lend a sense of intimacy, but light enough that you can see Yoongi’s gorgeous face clearly.

God, your husband looks beautiful tonight, all in black, his lips stained from the wine.

He leans back on the chair, legs spread, watching you.

The one thing you’ve always liked about Yoongi that he knows when to keep his mouth shut.

His lips part as you turn in front of him and unzip your dress. It puddles on the floor in a shimmering heap.

You hit play on the music and start dancing.

Yoongi’s gaze focuses intensely on you as you dance for him. You put your legs on his thighs, pushing them apart to make space for yourself as you shimmy between them.

Your ass brushes his crotch, deliberately, lingering longer and longer with each pass until you’re grinding against him.

Yoongi, like a seasoned strip club connoisseur, keeps his hands to himself, braced on his thighs.

You turn so you’re facing him, leaning forward to encourage him to look down the top of your silky teddy. Your nipples are stiff, pushing against the silk, and you put two fingers in his mouth.

He needs no prompting, sucking on your fingers, tongue delving between them suggestively.

You put a hand on his shoulder and run your wet fingers over your nipples. 

Yoongi grunts, eyes fixed on your tits.

You slide your hand down between your legs and lean over him to whisper in his ear.

‘I’m imagining your fingers here, Yoongi,’ you purr, gratified by how you can see his skin prickling with goosebumps.

Yoongi licks his lips. His voice, when it comes out, is so deep you’re wet just listening to him.

‘You know you really fuck me off sometimes,’ he says. 

For the first time since you started dancing for him, you falter.

You look at him uncertainly. 

His hand comes out, landing on your silk-covered hip, long fingers splaying over your ass.

‘I think it’s your face,’ he muses, almost like he’s talking to himself. ‘Your face is so fucking bratty I want to shove my dick in your mouth just to shut you up.’

He pulls you down so you’re sitting in his lap, straddling him. 

He cups your jaw, pulling your face closer to his. His thumb traces over your bottom lip, teasing at the seam of your lips until your lips part enough for him to slip his thumb in.

Automatically, you suck. 

‘There,’ Yoongi says. ‘You always look so pretty with me in your mouth.’

You can’t help yourself. You whimper around his thumb.

‘I like this even more though,’ he says. 

Eyes on you, he moves his hand down your hip, cupping you between your legs, parted on his lap.

Like this, you’re spread out on top of him.

Yoongi hisses as he feels how slick you are. He teases at your clit, one finger slipping into you.

You say his name. God, he feels good.

He curls his finger, and you whimper again.

‘Your little pussy knows it belongs to me,’ he says, almost conversational, as he strokes your clit.

He presses an open-mouthed kiss to your breast as he fingers you, tongue laving the red silk.

You slip a strap down your shoulder so your breast is exposed, nipple taut for him.

‘Do it properly, Yoongi,’ you whine.

Yoongi laughs darkly. ‘Where’s your manners, baby?’

Your mouth snaps closed, lips thinning into a straight line. Your eyes flash at him.

Yoongi’s looking at you. 

‘There you are,’ he says, but oddly, there’s affection in his voice. 

He tilts his head to slant his mouth over yours in a slow kiss at the same time his fingers start scissoring inside you.

He smells so good. He pulls away and leans his forehead against yours. 

‘I kiss you all the time, brat, how could you say we skip straight to the fucking?’

You’re hazy with pleasure, his fingers haven’t stopped moving inside you, and he always seems to go unerringly to the spot that makes you cry out his name and beg for more.

You’re begging now. 

‘Yoongi,’ you moan. 

‘Who fucks you like this, brat?’ he hisses.

‘You,’ you answer, ‘please, Yoongi.’

‘That’s right,’ he says. ‘That’s fucking right.’

You’re grinding against his hand now, each movement making you flutter around his fingers. You’re so close you can taste it, chasing your high.

Yoongi pulls his fingers out, and you cry out. 

‘Yoongi!’

‘Cum on my cock, let me feel you.’

You fumble with the zipper on his pants, and he hisses as you draw him out. 

He grabs your hips and sinks you down onto his cock.

Fuck, he’s so thick and hot you could cum even if he stayed perfectly still.

Yoongi shudders. ‘Fuck. Fuck. Feel me, baby? You get me so hard for you it hurts.’

Your eyes are squeezed shut, concentrating on the feel of him.

‘So fucking tight for me, shit.’

You’re already starting to tighten around his cock when he slaps your thigh. ‘Go on, this is what you wanted isn’t it? Fucking take it, baby.’

His voice is low, slurred, pupils blown all the way.

He’s rude as fuck, and you’re about to cum your brains out thinking about it.

Only Min Yoongi could do this to you.

He knows it. His breathing is ragged, but he somehow has the presence of mind to say, ‘fuck. Does my baby want tenderness too?’

His lips press against yours, he slides his tongue into your mouth, and he cradles the back of your head, fingers tangling in your hair.

‘Fucking cum for me,’ he murmurs. 

You slam your hips against his again, and finally, finally, you cum.

You curl into his chest, and he’s there, mouth on your hair. 

‘You did so well,’ he tells you. ‘Waving that ass in the air for me, shit. Wearing this. You’re gonna need to do this again.’

‘I want to be good for you,’ you say.

Yoongi tilts your face so you’ll look at him.

‘Why? I’m a cold bastard most of the time.’

‘You have a nice cock,’ you offer.

Yoongi laughs. ‘You can have my cock anytime. It’s all yours.’

‘Oh are we exclusive now?’ you tease.

‘I’m wearing your ring around my finger,’ Yoongi reminds you, showing you his hand. 

You tilt your head, pretending to think about it.

‘I’ll get you another ring to put around your cock.’

Yoongi grins and slaps your ass, gently. ‘Come on, get dressed. I want to get into bed with you. It’s my favourite part of the day.’

You want to ask if he really means that, but he’s already opening the door. 

***

Yoongi looks pretty sexy when he’s concentrating, you decide. 

You’ve graduated from sleeping together to also spending time together in his study sometimes in the evenings.

You’re trying to concentrate on reading a brief your social media manager prepared for you, but really your husband who isn’t doing anything other than frowning at his work, is distracting you.

Yoongi glances at you. ‘Need help with anything?’

You hum. 

He walks around his desk to stand next to you. 

‘What are you working on?’

You show him your brief. ‘Just prepping for a meeting tomorrow.’

Yoongi looks like he’s concentrating again, reading over your shoulder.

‘I’ve got it, Yoongi,’ you tell him.

He glances at you. 

‘I didn’t say you didn’t.’

You try to ignore the flare of irritation as Yoongi walks back to his desk.

You know Yoongi has a sharp intellect and great business instincts. He’s earned every bit of his impressive reputation.

You’d be a fool to turn down his help.

Maybe you are a fool. But you don’t want him to see you as the impulsive devil-may-care hellion he married. You want to show him that you, too, have earned your right for respect in your role.

You chew on that for a bit, and finally, sighing, give up and go to bed.

You guess it’s going to take a bit longer to change Yoongi’s perception of you.

***

You got up to a lot of shenanigans on your honeymoon with Yoongi. 

You were drunk for a lot of it, so you don’t remember much, but the bits you do remember are all bad.

You’d started drinking on the plane and spent the first night throwing up in the hotel bathroom.

And the second. Possibly the third.

You’d straight up disappeared after breakfast one day and had spent a day wandering the city on your own.

You’d also refused to sleep with him, claiming you were being treated for gonorrhoea. You’d accused him of giving it to you, which was how you’d ended up getting your hands on his test results to send to his company.

At least this is an easy thing to make up to Yoongi.

You couldn’t possibly make it a worse experience.

You’ve organised a weekend away with him, in a rustic little cabin by the lakes.

It works on many levels. The cabin’s a fair drive away, which means you get to watch your husband drive sexily. You think Yoongi likes nature, and you envisage doing a bit of paddling, maybe some fishing. 

Also, the isolation of the cabin means you won’t get any noise complaints, important because you intend on fucking Yoongi constantly this weekend.

You’re still congratulating yourself on your genius when Yoongi wakes up the morning you’re due to leave.

You’ve been awake for hours.

The smile you turn on him is so bright he grimaces.

Ah. You keep forgetting he’s not a morning person. Also you have no idea what time he got in last night.

You scurry out of bed to grab him a coffee and promptly trip over his slippers.

Yoongi swears behind you. ‘Why do you keep falling over my slippers? They’re in the same place every time.’

‘Maybe you shouldn’t leave them there,’ you retort, hurt. 

Then you remember you’re on your best behaviour. 

You bite your tongue and go to grab him a coffee. 

When you get back, he’s on his back, staring at the ceiling. 

‘Got you coffee,’ you say, holding out his mug.

He accepts with a gravelly ‘thanks.’

You’re brushing your teeth when he says, ‘there’s been a supply problem with the new line we’re launching. I may need to spend time this weekend on the phone.’ 

‘That’s fine,’ you say, brightly. You’re determined not to let anything mar your new honeymoon weekend.

Yoongi says, gently, ‘is there any way we could reschedule?’

You stare at him. ‘Do you not want to go?’ 

The words are out before you get a chance to think them over. You could kick yourself at the neediness in your tone.

Yoongi says, ‘of course I want to go, I just don’t want you to be disappointed.’

You’re starting to wonder if he’s trying to tell you he doesn’t want to go. 

‘I won’t be disappointed,’ you say, watching his face carefully.

Yoongi smiles at you. ‘Then let’s set off after breakfast.’

Yoongi’s quiet as he’s driving, and you notice how tired he looks. You’re just about to suggest he pulls over to let you drive when he says, ‘something on my face?’

‘You look tired,’ you say. 

‘I am tired,’ he tells you. He smiles at you, faintly. ‘This upcoming collaboration with Novatech will be the biggest, most high-stakes project I’ve started since I took over from my father. I can’t afford for it to fail.’

‘Why would it fail?’ you ask.

‘There are a lot of moving parts,’ Yoongi says, vaguely.

‘I’m sure it’ll be a roaring success,’ you say, faith firmly in your capable, successful husband.

Yoongi says, ‘just don’t try to sabotage me.’

You say, earnestly, ‘those days are behind me.’

‘It’s a shame,’ Yoongi says, ‘I’m going to miss spanking you for misbehaving.’

That reminds you. 

‘You can spank me anytime,’ you tell Yoongi. ‘Also, check out these new panties I bought.’

Yoongi glances at you and nearly swerves off the road.

‘Are you wearing crotchless panties?’ he asks, and he looks intrigued and flustered all at once.

‘It’s called an ouvert,’ you explain. ‘That’s French for open.’

Yoongi mutters something to himself you don’t quite catch.

‘What did you say?’ you ask, sweet as pie.

‘I said, your fucking pussy is going to kill me,’ Yoongi says. 

He gives you a half smile, lazy, devastating. 

‘I can’t think of a better way to go.’

***

Yoongi’s phone rings the moment you step into the cabin.

You wonder if you should have plumped for somewhere more rustic with no cell reception.

You unpack half-heartedly, watching from the window as he paces around outside the cabin.

He rubs a hand over his forehead, looking more stressed and tired than you’ve ever seen him.

Maybe he’s been stressed like this before but you haven’t been paying attention.

You come out to bring him a glass of water.

He smiles at you, still on his phone.  

You flash him your ass and glance back to see if he’s watching. 

He isn’t.

When Yoongi’s done on the phone you grab him. 

‘Want to go for a walk? I’ll protect you from the wolves.’

‘I am the wolf,’ Yoongi says, but it’s half hearted.

‘Hey, why don’t you take a break. I’ll rub your back.’

Yoongi perks up at your suggestion, and it’s the most animated you’ve seen him all day.

You get him to lay on the bed just in his briefs.

You wonder if you’ll ever get used to how beautiful his body is.

You put your hands on his shoulders and knead, and his deep groan makes you feel good in so many ways.

You can feel Yoongi’s muscles relax as you massage over his shoulders and down his back. When you get to his legs he twitches a little like he’s falling asleep.

By the time you get to his feet he’s dead asleep.

You cover him with a blanket and a kiss and head out for a walk.

When you get back he’s still asleep, so you make a space for yourself next to him and join him.

You’re awakened by Yoongi’s hand on your shoulder. 

‘Hey, I made dinner for us.’

You blink, disoriented. ‘What time is it?’

‘It’s late. Come on. We’ll sleep better when we’re full.’

Yoongi’s made ram-don. You sigh happily as you sit down in front of the steaming bowl. Instead of sitting across from you, Yoongi slides in next to you.

His thigh nudges yours. He puts his free hand on your thigh. 

You look at him curiously.

Yoongi says, ‘eat.’

The noodles are delicious, but you find you’re enjoying Yoongi’s hand on your thigh just as much. 

You put your hand on his, and smile at him as he knits your fingers together. 

It’s sweet, and silly, and something you wouldn’t expect from your normally brisk, impatient husband.

Yoongi watches you finish your noodles, enjoying the warmth of your thigh and hand. He shifts a little, because he’s quite sure he shouldn’t have a raging hard-on from doing something as innocent as holding your hand.

You’re smiling at him so happily. If Yoongi’d known that holding your hand would be enough to make you smile like that he’d have tried to hold hands with you this whole time.

You’re finished with your late dinner. Yoongi stops you when you get up to start clearing up.

‘Let me do it. Why don’t we watch a movie? You set it up and I’ll clear up here.’

By the time Yoongi finishes clearing up, you’re ensconced on the couch, so covered in blankets he can barely see you. The lights are low, the TV on playing some movie Yoongi knows he’s not going to get into. 

He’d rather watch you.

He slides in next to you and holds out his arm.

You look at him like you’ve never been invited to snuggle before.

To be fair, Yoongi doesn’t think you’ve ever done this together.

He lowers his arm like he’s changed his mind, and you’re next to him so quickly he has to bite back a smile.

You rest your head in the curve between his neck and shoulder, cheek on his chest.

Your hand flutters over his torso, finally landing on his stomach. You turn in, nose against his chest, breathing him in.

It’s adorable. You’re adorable.

Yoongi wants to fight dragons for you. 

He leans down and sniffs your hair as quietly as he can. 

Your breathing is easy, slow, and Yoongi realises you’ve fallen asleep when you go boneless in his arms. 

He wonders if you know how much he’s prepared to do for you if you ever asked.

Part 2

©hamsterclaw 2022

---

look down on me like that - 6 (explicit)

genre: slow burn enemies to lovers hatefucking coworkers au, smut (w some eventual angst)

pairing: yoongi x reader

summary: your asshole coworker min yoongi has made it his personal mission to ruin your life.

word count: 6.2k

contains: ~explicit sexual content~ !! alcohol mention, some mildly twisty conversations about consent/regretting sex (everything in this series is very consensual tho just wanna reiterate), teasing, dirty talk, VERY semi-public sex with risk of being heard/caught, fingering, lowkey fingerwarming, hold the moan, light choking, finger sucking, dumbification if you rly squint, protected sex (in the office... oop 👀), fucking against a door lmao 🙌🏻

A/N: sooooo excited to post this hehe 💜 i know this chap is a lil bit of a shorty but they can't all be 11k, and i'm trying to give y'all a mild refractory period before we launch into even more chaos 💀 AND SORRY NOT SORRY FOR THE CLIFFHANGER ENDING..... i promise i won't keep you hanging for long 😘

read on AO3!

chapter five | masterlist | chapter seven

~*~

“So… it’s been nearly a week,” Jimin prompts just as you tip your head back to take a long swig of your beer. The bratty tone in your best friend’s voice only encourages you to chug another swallow before you set the glass back down. He doesn’t even have to say the since you fucked your coworker part out loud.

Using the provided scissors and tongs, he starts to cut up the strips of pork belly laid flat on the grill between you. “When’s the wedding? Have you named your kids yet?”

“I can’t stand you,” you whine, torn between wanting to kick him under the table and wanting him to share the meat he’s been so carefully preparing. The aroma is making your mouth water as it sizzles on the hot surface.

You settle for fixing him with your best death glare.

Jimin shrugs, unbothered. “That’s fine. I just wanna know how you’re handling the fact that you are now officially sleeping with the enemy.”

“Aht aht. Slept with.” You raise a finger to correct him, using your other hand to maneuver your chopsticks to pick up a marinated cucumber and pop it into your mouth. “Past tense.”

Jimin purses his lips, looking unconvinced. “Is that so?”

“Are you kidding me?” You make a face. “It was a moment of weakness, and now it’s done. What would be the point in letting him have it again? In letting him win like that?” You wave a hand dismissively. “Absolutely not.”

“You are so dumb,” Jimin laughs as he starts to extoll pork onto your plate. “I cannot believe you found good dick and now you’re actively declining it. After how insane you nearly went? You think that won’t happen again?”

“I got it out of my system,” you say with a proud shake of your head, popping a piece of meat into your mouth. It’s so hot it nearly burns your tongue off, but the flavor is well worth it, and you continue with your mouth full. “And I’m good. Moving on with my life.”

Jimin hums like he doesn’t believe a damn word. “And how’s that gonna work out for you in a couple weeks, when you and Suga are in Los Angeles together, breathing that sweet American air? And sharing a hotel room that just so happens to only have one bed?”

With the pork belly successfully secured on your plate, you have no reason to hold back from kicking him this time. “You watch too much TV.”

“Speaking of!” He pauses with food halfway to his mouth, dropping it back onto his plate as he digs into his pocket for his phone. “My comps finally came in for the show I’m dancing in this weekend. I’m not even going to ask if you have plans because I already know the answer, so you better fucking be there.”

You pick up your phone to see his text come in, face scrunching up as you chew. “Two questions,” you prompt. “One, I fail to see what this has to do with watching TV. And two, why did you send me two tickets?”

Jimin rests his elbows on the table, fingers laced together under his chin, somewhere in between posing cutely and looking like he’s about to read you for filth.

“Out of the kindness of my heart, because I am such a good fucking friend, I am giving you a chance for a little Business Proposal moment. Bring your Suga, see what happens.” He shrugs a shoulder. “One concert could change everything, you know?”

You grind your teeth together and reach for your drink as he uses your favorite show against you, humming the theme tune under his breath. “I really hate you.”

“You love me.”

“Unfortunately. But I am not bringing Suga to your fucking concert,” you clarify, glass halfway to your mouth. “There is a world of difference between wanting to fuck someone and wanting to spend an evening with them.”

“So you do still want to fuck him,” Jimin presses his lips together and raises his eyebrows. “Very interesting.”

“Don’t make me leave you with the bill.” You roll your eyes and down the rest of your beer in one swig.

An hour later, you’ve eaten your body weight in grilled meats and have thrown back enough beers that the world blurs gently at the edges, vignetted, as you slip out onto the sidewalk and say goodnight to your best friend.

You’d managed to convince Jimin to meet at the place that’s just a few blocks from your apartment, and it’s not a terribly cold evening, all things considered. The alcohol certainly helps keep you warm as you make the short walk back home, the still-busy streets humming and blinking soft around you.

It takes a concentrated effort to use your phone without tripping in your current state, and you thumb slowly through your texts until you land on the concert tickets from Jimin. When his words echo again in your brain, you do your best to chase them off with a frustrated sigh.

It will be a cold day in hell before you voluntarily spend an evening with Yoongi, you tell yourself. But it’d be nice to go with someone.

You’re scrolling down your contact list and lifting the ringing phone to your ear before you can decide whether or not it’s a good idea.

After two rings, the line connects, and a voice answers. “Hello?”

“Hi, Jungkook.” You giggle a little despite yourself. You’ve never spoken to your coworker in any state of inebriation before, and once his name leaves your mouth, you realize you’re a little more fucked up than you bargained for. But it’s fine, you tell yourself. You’re fine.

“Hi— is everything okay?”

You double-blink, not expecting the check-in. “Yeah, no, everything’s great.” It only occurs to you now that maybe you’ve interrupted whatever his post-work plans might be. “Sorry, I— were you in the middle of something?”

He lets out a sheepish laugh, and you imagine that his cheeks are flushed pink, the way they sometimes get after boxing class. “Nothing important. I was brushing my dog’s teeth, actually. You just, uh, usually text—”

“Wait,” you fully interrupt him. “You have a dog?”

“I have three dogs,” he corrects, with another light laugh that’s almost musical. “My sons.”

“Jungkook!” You exclaim in mock-anger. “I am hurt and betrayed that you have kept this information from me!”

“I’m sorry!” He giggles back, clearly flustered. “It didn’t come up! I’ll send you some pictures, I promise. They’re very cute.”

“You better,” you huff. “And here I was getting ready to be nice to you.”

“Oh?” Jungkook sounds intrigued. There’s a soft shifting sound on the line, and you find yourself wondering if he’s laying down in bed, phone pressed to his cheek. The image makes your heart sink a little, and you shove the feeling away to process when you’re less tipsy. “How were you going to be nice?”

You pause for a moment to cross the street, letting your fake-hurt charade drop. “Well, my best friend is a dancer, and he was booked to perform in this concert that’s happening tomorrow night. He gave me a free ticket and an extra, and I was wondering, if you’re not doing anything… if you want to go with me?”

“Yeah, for sure!” You swear you can hear Jungkook’s smile light up the phone. “That sounds awesome.”

You linger at the front of your apartment building, phone tucked to your ear, watching cars and bicyclists roll by in the neon smear of the city at night. “Awesome,” you repeat back. “I’ll text you my address if you want to come pick me up after work?” A little bubble of excitement floats up and pops in your chest.

“I can definitely do that.”

~*~

“You need to fill all this out for the Grammy’s trip.”

The large stack of registration paperwork lands on Yoongi’s desk with a resounding thud, but he doesn’t so much as bat an eye. Though you’ve put on a brave face and moved back to your desk in the lobby after the happy hour incident, you’ve still avoided any alone time with the genius in his lab, as much as you can help it.

Today, it could not be helped. Especially given your need for a change in schedule.

“And I’m leaving early tonight.” You add, trying to feign confidence, just be direct and to the point. “I need you out of here at five, Yoongi.”

He grunts a noncommittal response, but doesn’t look up from the screen of his computer. His eyes are squinting slightly at the tracks on his mixing software. You wonder for a moment if maybe he needs glasses.

You furrow your brow as soon as you process the thought—what the fuck do you care about this man’s eyesight? You give your head a subtle shake in hopes of dislodging the idea.

Yoongi waves a hand silently, as if to imply you’re dismissed.

You really don’t know what makes you say it. “Jungkook and I are going to a concert.”

At this, Yoongi’s concentration seems to falter. He glances away from the screen, head tilting slightly to one side as he eyes you. “A date with Kookie, huh? Cute. I knew you two would get there eventually.”

You’re not sure what other conclusion you expected him to draw from the information, but suddenly your face is hot. You have to suppress the physical urge to squirm in frustration, to literally stomp your feet like a toddler.

“Can you just be normal?” You snap. “It’s not like that. Not everyone wants to fuck their coworkers all the time.”

He spins a quarter-circle in his chair to fully face you with an eyebrow raised. “Does Jungkook know it’s not like that?”

You stammer at being put on the spot. “I-I’m sure he does.”

Yoongi blinks lazily at you. “Uh huh.”

Rage flares up in your gut before you can stop it. “Jungkook is a nice guy. He’s not a boundary-crossing creep like you.” The words sting like acid as they leave your mouth. 

Yoongi gets to his feet so quickly you barely have time to process it.

For every step he takes towards you, you take one towards the door of his lab, walking backwards. “You know,” he mutters darkly, “I liked your mouth a lot better when it was on my cock.”

Your back finds purchase against the closed door, and you swallow hard, refusing to show fear.  “Well, remember it fondly, because I’m not making that mistake twice.”

Yoongi falls quiet for a moment, eyes searching yours. You’re a little surprised when he takes a step back. “Do you really feel like I violated a boundary?” His voice is flat, nearly monotone, when he asks the question.

You fumble for your words, for the truth; both are hard to find. “I-I don’t know.”

He surveys you with an expression you can’t decipher. “I gave you plenty of opportunity to say no. Do you feel like you were too drunk?”

“No. I mean, I consented. I’m not saying I didn’t. I just… we’re coworkers.”

“I’m aware. You called it a mistake. Do you regret it?”

“Do you?”

He huffs a dry laugh. “You keep acting like I’m not stating it plainly here. I would love to fuck you senseless again any time, sweetheart.” The pet name is biting. “I’d take you right up against this door, if you wanted. But not if you’re going to regret it.”

Your mind swims as you try to make sense of this conversation. “What if I don’t?”

Yoongi takes a single step closer to you. “Well, then I’d ask you when you want it again.”

The expression on his face, as if he’s won some smug game, is endlessly infuriating. You don’t want to give him the satisfaction. “And what makes you think I’ll just give it up again?”

He just keeps smirking, eyes locked on you. “You tell me. I’m the one asking permission here.”

You tilt your chin up towards Yoongi, suddenly very aware of how close he is to you. Something in you pulls taught as you recall your conversation in the bathroom after he nearly came in your mouth.

“If you want it so bad, then beg for it.” The words spark between your teeth as you say them.

There’s a glint in Yoongi’s eyes, and a muscle in his jaw jumps, as if he wasn’t expecting that response. Then he slowly starts to nod. “Is that what you want?”

You refuse to look away. “Did I stutter?”

His tongue darts out briefly to wet his lips, and then he laughs an exhale, a single indignant breath. Eye contact never faltering, you watch as he drops to his knees in front of you.

“Can I touch you?” He asks. The silence of the room hangs heavy between you, roaring in your ears like white noise. Yoongi blinks once, dark lashes fluttering. “Please?”

You feel some last mechanism of inner restraint shatter as you nod.

Yoongi’s touch is deliberate but, surprisingly, not rough. His palms meet the backs of your thighs and begin to slide up, encouraging you to pull your hips off the door and allow him room, your shoulders still pressed flush against the wood behind you.

His hands keep moving, slipping under the back of your dress with no hesitation, only stopping when he finds what he’s looking for: the band of your panties, which he hooks his thumbs under and swiftly pulls down your legs, leaving the lacy fabric to pool around your ankles. You shift to kick them off and suddenly realize your mouth has gone dry.

“Do I have to use my words?” Yoongi asks, voice low. His hands retrace their path back up your thighs, but he takes his time with it now. You hate the way your breath is starting to go shaky from his touch.

“What else would you use?”

“My tongue.”

Yoongi has pushed the hem of your dress up, his mouth devastatingly close to your center and his hands cupping your ass. He stares up at you, waiting patiently for a response, dark eyes brimming with want.

You’re still not even sure of your answer as you start to say it, but then a firm knock at the door cuts you off, loud enough to rattle your brain inside your skull. Ice floods your veins as your eyes go wide.

“Min Suga?” Jungkook’s voice calls from the other side.

Your breath hitches in your chest. This can’t be happening.

“Hey, JK,” Yoongi calls, not moving from where he’s knelt on the floor in front of you, both hands still firmly grabbing your ass. “Sorry, I’ve–” he glances pointedly up at you, and it takes everything you have not to slap him when he continues, “I’ve kinda got my hands full right now. What’s up?”

“No worries, you gave me the code, remember?” Your stomach twists violently as you hear the distinct beeping of Jungkook starting to type into the number pad.

You tear your gaze away from Yoongi to your lacy underwear, in plain sight, too far away that you can’t possibly retrieve them in the mere seconds you have to react.

Adrenaline surges through you, enough to make you lightheaded, to make your limbs go numb. There’s no time to do anything. You flatten yourself against the door as the handle starts to turn and the overwhelming urge to cry rushes up into your chest.

Yoongi seems to finally take the situation seriously, because in a flash, he’s on his feet, arms caging you in on either side to push firmly back against the door. His forearms peek out from under the short sleeves of his black t-shirt— you can see the defined muscles there flex and work, the way his veins bulge under his pale skin as he presses all his weight into the door with a look of real, concentrated effort.

Fuck. You’re not sure you’ve ever been simultaneously aroused and on the verge of tears before.

“Sorry, Jungkook,” Yoongi tries again, and you can hear him attempting to keep the strain out of his voice. “I’m, uh– redecorating a bit in here. I’ve got some stuff blocking the door right now. Can we just talk like this?”

“Oh yeah, sure, okay!” Jungkook answers brightly. You squeeze your eyes shut, desperately willing this nightmare to be over. While you’re pretty sure Jungkook won’t try the door again, an animalistic part of you is still too terrified to do anything, frozen in fear at what nearly just happened.

You’re only distantly aware of Jungkook babbling on about work. “I’ve got a few questions about upcoming release scheduling, so I can know what content we need to get ready. Can you talk me through the rest of Q1 real quick? Just so I know what’s coming when.”

A shiver runs through you at the feeling of a touch, so barely-there that at first you think you might be imagining it.

Your eyes flutter open to find one of Yoongi’s large hands pressed to your throat, delicate fingers splayed over the column of your neck.

It could be aggressive, but it’s not. Decidedly not. His touch is featherlight, and he applies no pressure to your windpipe. If anything, the gentle weight of his hand is oddly… comforting. A word you would never have thought to associate with Min fucking Yoongi before this moment.

The silver chain bracelet on his wrist winks in the soft purple glow of his studio lights, and you stare at it in a daze, entranced. You can feel your adrenaline high beginning to crash: the world feels muted, faded, far away.

“Go ahead, Jungkook,” Yoongi prompts, and you wonder if you’re imagining that his voice has softened just the slightest bit.

You drag your gaze up to him as he starts to talk through scheduling with Jungkook, his tone all business. He’s not looking at you, eyes instead fixed firmly on the door in front of him, occasionally rolling up to glance at the ceiling when he’s trying to recall something.

As your heart rate starts to settle, you take a moment to drink in Yoongi’s features unobserved. The line of his jaw. The slight furrow of his brow. His full, pink lips.

Your throat jumps when you swallow under his touch, and he doesn’t look down, but his hand begins to move. His palm stays heavy over the slope of your throat, but his fingers and thumb move smoothly, tracing faint patterns over your skin, stroking along the muscles of your neck and setting every last one of your nerve endings alight.

Your eyes are heavy-lidded with lust now, and your head tips back against the door, all thoughts blotted out at his touch. Fuck, it feels good.

A gasp slips past your lips when you feel Yoongi’s other hand brush over your leg, and you pray the door is thick enough that the sound doesn’t carry. He’s still talking through scheduling with Jungkook, answering questions as calmly as ever, as his whole palm comes to rest on one of your thighs below the hem of your dress, fingers just barely teasing under the fabric.

When Yoongi finally meets your gaze, his dark eyes pierce straight through you, as if to pin you to the door. He raises one eyebrow in a silent question, and the meaning is unmistakable: another request for permission.

Arousal rolls through you like a riptide, and you’re dragged under before you can even think to fight it. The dramatics of the previous close call linger— it feels like you’ll die if he doesn’t touch you right now. The fact that you shouldn’t be doing this only makes you want it more.

You don’t look away as you nod your consent.

You spread your legs to allow him room, hips tilting up, and Yoongi slips his hand under your dress to snake between your parted thighs. Fresh desire mixes with the cotton-numb fuzz of dwindling panic in your brain, the knowledge that Jungkook is still inches away from you and talking as Yoongi’s hand approaches your center. You have to bite down on your bottom lip at the first brush of contact.

Their conversation continues on, but you don’t process a word of it.

Yoongi traces two fingers gently over the lips of your cunt, teasing devastatingly close to your clit before moving down to circle at your entrance, where he slicks them in the wetness that has already started to pool there.

He keeps his movements so slow, his touch so light; your mind belatedly catches up to realize that anything more will surely start to elicit an audible sound.

You wonder if maybe this is it, if he’s just going to torture you, his fingers running through your folds in long strokes that have your core throbbing until you can’t take it anymore. And then he laughs a little at a comment Jungkook makes and uses the moment of sound coverage to deftly press those two fingers into you.

You bite down even harder on your lower lip in an attempt to stay quiet. Yoongi’s fingers push in to the hilt, long and thick enough to fill you up entirely. It’s all you can do to keep your breathing steady— the feeling of him inside of you jolts through you with every inhale.

Desperate for movement and nearly shaking with hypersensitivity, you clench your pussy around his fingers in a silent plea for more.

As if in response, the hand around your throat just barely tightens. You don’t know whether to read it as encouragement or a warning, but it makes your eyes flutter closed all the same.

His fingers begin to curl at a truly torturous pace, and then they press so firmly into your g-spot that your knees nearly buckle.

You’re hardly cognizant of the room around you anymore, or the wood of the door digging into your back; nothing else seems to matter in this moment except the weight of Yoongi’s fingers and the way your walls grip tightly around them.

Your eyes snap open again when his other hand suddenly leaves your throat. You feel exposed without it, but you shiver all over as the warmth of his palm trails along your collarbone before traveling down the slope of your body to settle at your waist.

As soon as that hand stills, the other pulls back from the heat of your cunt, and he brings his fingers up to brush over your bottom lip. His eyes roam hungrily over your face as he asks another silent question.

You open your mouth like a reflex, and you willingly let Yoongi pet the taste of you over your tongue. Your lips close around his fingers, and your gaze stays locked with his as you hollow your cheeks to suck diligently, swallowing down your own slickness.

With a heady groan, he withdraws, leaning forward to brace the same hand against the door just next to your head.

It occurs to you now that he’s no longer speaking, no longer afraid of making noise. Jungkook must have left– you can’t say when that happened.

The returning silence of the room pulses like a heartbeat. Yoongi is hovering over you, lips slightly parted, close enough that you can feel the heat of his breath, and you swear the distance between you is narrowing by the second.

“Nervous?” He murmurs, so quiet you easily could’ve imagined it.

“Fuck me.” Your voice comes out a little hoarse.

“Hmm?” Yoongi freezes where he is, sounding almost dazed when he hums the question. Just shy of your mouth but invitingly, dangerously close.

Your hands are already fumbling to undo the buckle of his belt. “I said fuck me, Yoongi,” you snap. “Up against this door. Before I change my mind.”

The corner of Yoongi’s mouth just barely pulls up. “God, you’re bossy,” he murmurs, but then his arm is no longer caging you against the door, and he makes quick work of getting his pants and boxers pushed down.

When he backs off, you draw in a breath that’s like coming up for air.

Your head reels a little when you see that he’s fully hard and starting to drip precum: you’re not sure when that happened, either. He retrieves a condom from his wallet and makes short work of tearing it open with his teeth.

The thought of his mouth so close to yours again is terrifying in a way you don’t have words for. Before he can step back towards you, you turn and press both hands flush with the door. You reach down briefly to hike the hem of your dress up over your hips.

It’s mildly humiliating to present yourself like this for him, exposed, back arched, your pussy aroused enough to slick your thighs and just waiting to be filled again. And yet, not unlike the risk of getting caught, the shame only makes it hotter, in some twisted way.

​​Yoongi braces one hand against the door, gripping your hip tightly with the other. You breathe in shallow gasps as his cock teases your entrance, and then he slowly starts to press into you.

“Shit, Yoongi,” you whine softly, overwhelmed by the feeling of him fucking you open. The stretch of him makes your eyes roll back in your head, just as perfect as you remember, and all you can do is take it. When he bottoms out, you do your best to bite back a moan, wiggling your ass to fully sheathe him inside of you, wanting every inch.

“Fuck,” he hisses. You whimper again in response.

“We still have to be pretty quiet— these walls aren’t that thick. Guess you can’t scream my name this time.” His voice is dark, sardonic, and you grit your teeth as you look at him over your shoulder.

“Will you shut up and fuck me?”

“Didn’t realize you were my manager,” he huffs, but then he starts to thrust, hard and fast, and you choke on a barely-suppressed noise. You arch up higher to push back on him, your body begging silently for it, your walls fluttering as the thick head of his cock drags over your g-spot again and again.

Yoongi’s hand on your hip shifts, fingers splaying over the soft flesh of your ass, digging in hard enough to bruise. You inhale sharply at the sweet sparks of pleasure-pain, already edged close and losing the fight to stay quiet.

“How does it feel?”

You’re surprised by the question, and even more so at the sincerity with which Yoongi seems to ask it, voice low in his throat and a little raw. You have to scramble to find words through the haze of your impending climax.

“I-it’s good,” you manage. His hips snap into you even harder and you gasp again. “Fuck, really good.”

He exhales a dark laugh. “Yeah, I can tell. You’re squeezing me so fucking tight, shit.”

Your head nearly smacks against the door from how forcefully his cock is now pounding into your tight heat. You roll your eyes– of course he wasn’t sincerely asking. You want to kick yourself for even entertaining the idea that Min Yoongi could be anything other than a selfish asshole.

Despite that fact, his rough, relentless thrusts are enough to leave you breathless, and the pleasure builds hot and fast in your core. Your head is spinning, and a shiver rips through you when you suddenly feel his breath over your neck, hear his voice in your ear.

“Gonna think about getting fucked like this on your date tonight?”

The stifled whine you let out and the way your pussy throbs around him betray any denial you could’ve tried to make. You look back over your shoulder at him, attempting to say something, anything, and then Yoongi’s hand slips down to circle your clit and you lose the ability to think coherently at all.

“Wanna feel you come on my cock,” Yoongi murmurs, and you swear your legs almost give out.

It’s just white-hot pleasure now, and you have to clamp a hand over your mouth and sob into it as your orgasm crests, your thighs shaking violently under his touch.

“Fuuuck,” Yoongi groans hoarsely as you start to pulse around him, over and over. His breathing comes in ragged gasps that match the pace of his hips as he keeps rutting into you, until he pushes all the way in with a last grunt of effort and you milk his release out with yours.

You slump forward, heart racing, and brace your forearms on the door to let your head loll between them. Yoongi stays stationary for a moment too, the hand on your hip absent-mindedly kneading into your skin, before he finally shifts and withdraws from your still-quivering cunt.

With a steadying exhale, you slowly right yourself on shaking legs while he steps away to deal with the condom.

Once your path is clear, you don’t wait around to suffer any small talk. You move to retrieve your panties off the floor and pull them back on with the last scrap of dignity you can manage. Then you shove your dress down over your hips and cross back to the door.

You leave without a second glance back at Yoongi. 

When you emerge from the Genius Lab, you make an immediate beeline for the bathroom, which is thankfully empty. It’s only once you press your palms flat against the cool marble countertop of the sink that you feel like you can breathe again, and you have to make a conscious effort not to hyperventilate.

Your mind is racing as you take in your reflection in the mirror and attempt to put yourself back together, trying your best to look like you didn’t just get fucked against a door.

A door in the office. Because you are at work. Where you just had sex with a coworker you hate.

The realization of what you just did, how stupid you just were, hits you like a train. Fuck. You’re met with the overwhelming urge to scream at yourself. What is wrong with you? Your eyes roam over your own face, as if you might find the answer hidden there somewhere; your bottom lip is slightly swollen from how hard you were biting down on it.

Can you call something a mistake if you’ve voluntarily made it twice now– and while stone cold sober the second time, no less? And what if it’s a mistake you want to make again?

That can’t happen, you firmly tell your reflection. You won’t let Yoongi get a third strike on you, and you certainly won’t let him fuck up this job for you any more than he already has. He is now officially out of your system.

You gently smooth out your hair, and then you pause, fingertips lingering over the skin of your neck. You tilt your chin up slightly to get a good look in the mirror. There aren’t any visible marks, but you can’t quite shake the memory of Yoongi’s hand closed over your throat— the way everything in the world seemed to blink out of existence under his touch, if only for a moment.

It’s over, you tell yourself again. It has to be.

With a resigned sigh, you run your hands down over the front of your dress, then check the back to confirm there aren’t any weird stains. As much as you want to hide away in the bathroom for the rest of the day, you force yourself back out the door and down the hallway towards the lobby.

Your heart creeps into your throat as your footsteps bring you closer to the Genius Lab, and you forcefully tell yourself that it’s not a big deal. You’re just going to walk right by and head to your desk to proceed with the rest of your work day, thoroughly unbothered.

At this point you wonder why you’re even surprised when the door swings open and Yoongi practically runs into you. You jump out of his way, startled— and you are surprised to see that he has his bag slung over his shoulder and his dark sunglasses on.

“Just heading out,” Yoongi mutters, and your only answer is to keep your gaze fixed on your shoes when you brush past him and continue down the hall.

You’re sure he must be following after you, and you have to swallow the urge to interrogate him— ask why he’s leaving so early, where he’s going. You don’t care, you remind yourself. Not having him around is a good thing.

As you approach the office lobby, you glance up to see Jungkook walking towards you from the other direction. He holds up a hand in a lazy wave, and you come to a dead stop.

It’s the first time you’ve ever felt anything other than happy to see your coworker. Now panic rises in your chest, a wonder if maybe, somehow, he knows what happened on the other side of the Genius Lab door.

“I was just coming to find you,” he says as he crosses to meet you where the two hallways join and spill into the lobby.

You can tell from the look on his face that he means it. There’s no hidden agenda. Nothing to hold over your head. It’s enough to make you exhale a small laugh of relief.

“Well, you found me,” you say.

“Leaving already, Min Suga?” Jungkook’s gaze jumps to look behind you, and dread pools in your stomach. You couldn’t imagine a more mortifying exchange right now if you tried.

Yoongi doesn’t dignify Jungkook with a response, only hums noncommittally as he slips past the two of you and heads for the exit. Your stomach clenches as you wait to hear the doors open and close, praying there’s no sarcastic remark coming, praying he’ll just leave.

His hand presses flat against the glass, and then he turns over his shoulder, as if he’s just thought of something. “You kids have fun tonight,” he quips dryly. Then he pushes the door open and slips out into the hallway.

Jungkook looks a little lost. “Oh, uh, did you tell Suga that we–”

You roll your eyes. “Yeah, it sort of came up. When I said he needed to leave early.” Jungkook nods, and you’re eager to change the subject. “What did you want to ask me?”

“I realized we didn’t agree on a time for me to pick you up tonight. I was thinking seven, if that works?”

Your heart sinks a little in your chest as you take in Jungkook’s sweet smile, the expectant but patient look on his face, Baby-Star-Candy eyes blinking. Your earlier conversation with Yoongi echoes in your mind like a knife to the gut.

“Actually, JK, can I talk to you? About tonight?”

“Yeah, absolutely. Is everything okay?”

“Yes, yeah, I, uh– I just wanted to make sure you knew that…” You tense up as you prepare to deliver the blow. “This… isn’t a date. I was asking you as friends. That’s all.”

“Okay,” Jungkook says simply. His face betrays no hurt feelings.

You’re rambling, unable to believe it could be this easy. “I mean, I-I just… don’t think it’s a good idea, you know? For coworkers to date.” Or fuck, a snide voice in your head adds.

Jungkook nods. “No, I totally get it, but seriously, you don’t have to explain yourself to me. I really like being your friend.” He shrugs, as if that’s all there is to it. “So, I’ll pick you up at seven?”

Relief floods through you like a balm. “Seven sounds great.”

“Cool.” He’s already reaching into his back pocket for his phone. “Can I show you pictures of my dogs now?”

~*~

At 6:55, there’s a firm knock on your door, and you squeak as you dig through the bottom of your closet in search for the right pair of shoes.

You spent most of the last hour on FaceTime with Jimin, who did what a good best friend is meant to do: viciously tear apart nearly everything in your closet while bent forward in a straddle split, warming up for his performance.

The two of you had eventually (more or less) compromised on a black t-shirt dress with a denim jacket thrown over top. Though Jimin had derided the look as “basic”, you’ve decided you’re just fine with that.

You finally find what you're looking for, retrieving your white Air Force Ones and stumbling to pull them on your socked feet as you trip out of your room and towards the front door.

You lean down to tie the laces as quickly as you can, then flip back upright, blood rushing to your head so fast you feel a little faint. You’re not sure why your heart has started to pick up speed, but you let out an exhale as you reach for the door handle, hoping it might help offset these strange sudden nerves.

You turn the handle and swing the door open to greet Jungkook with a smile– and your jaw drops at the sight waiting for you on the other side.

chapter five | masterlist | chapter seven

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