If You Are Still Taking Requests I Found This And I Thought It Was Funny So I Wanted To See If You Could

If you are still taking requests I found this and I thought it was funny so I wanted to see if you could please write something with demon Hoseok and this idea thank you😊

satan: I HAVE COME TO TAKE YOU TO THE DEPTHS OF H-

me: wow you're tall

satan: thanks?

me : how tall are you?

Satan : i dunno like 6'6 6'11 with the horns?

me [ twirling hair] omg with horns! You are so funny

NOT TODAY, SATAN | JHS

If you had known the demon tasked with reaping your soul would be a total #daddy you would have gone to Hell sooner!

» pairing: demon!hoseok x reader

» genre: BTS | 18+ | supernatural | humor | a lil bit of smut

» wc/date: 3.7k | october 2022

» warnings: christian religious themes | discussions about how people have died | some cock fondling | sexual tension | namjoon is the ultimate cockblock and also satan | reader likes one direction serial killer AUs lol

» notes: THIS REQUEST MADE ME CACKLE. i decided to post it for spooky szn~ so i hope that's ok 🥺 (i'm also dying cuz there's like lowkey unintentional parallels to this and my hobi idol au that's really killing me)

» masterlist 

» what was jai listening to? all the good girls go to hell - billie eilish

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Purgatory looked like the DMV. 

You should have expected it, honestly. Wasn’t it represented as some type of waiting room in Beetlejuice? Or maybe you were misremembering. Ever since you’d stepped through the front doors, your mind felt foggy. When you looked back through the windows, no parking lot met your gaze. Instead, a soft gray haze was pressed against the glass, causing a bit of condensation to gather. 

How had you gotten here? 

The answer to that seemed a bit foggy, too. 

“Are you going to take a fucking number or just stand there like an idiot?” 

The bristled voice shocked you into action. Stepping forward, you ripped a number tag from the stand directly in front of the door and moved to the side for the voice behind you. A few droplets of water splattered against your ankles when the person reached for their tag. 

You suppressed a gasp. 

She was completely soaked, so wet that she left a trail of water wherever she walked, like some kind of snail or slug. It was difficult to tell what her original complexion was because her skin was now a deep turquoise. Bits of twigs and what looked like seaweed twisted into her hair. 

You followed the stranger’s water trail through the folding chairs lining the large waiting room. The speckled brown carpet squished beneath your sneakers. A bit of water was leaking inside to wet your socks. 

“Number 746!” 

A robotic voice beeped out the number over the speakers just as you sank into an empty folding chair. A man with large, dirty bandages wrapped around his head and over one eye stood from his seat beside you. He clutched a folder of papers to his chest and limped to the counter at the front of the room. 

Three people in matching black professional uniforms sat behind the counter. You thought they resembled bank tellers from how they were spread out with glass barriers separating each person’s portion of the counter. The first two employees sat too far away to make out important details of their faces, but the third was only a few feet away from you. 

He was easily the most beautiful person you’d ever seen in your life. The sharp cut of his jawline and the thin length of his nose slicing through high cheekbones and deep-set eyes made it difficult for you to pull your gaze away from him. Luckily, he was none the wiser of your ogling, for his attention was spent on assisting the person standing in front of the counter. You were free to marvel at his angular features, eventually shifting your eyes from the bow of his lips to examine some of his gentler features. His hair was dark like his outfit and fell soft against his forehead. Poking out of the layered waves were two thick… horns. 

You pressed your thumbs into your eyes, but when you moved them away the horns remained. 

They twisted at the tips, spiraling in opposite directions. A swirling pattern was etched into each of them. It reminded you of fingerprints. 

“Number 749!” 

You glanced down at the crumbled tag in your hand. 749. 

With a sigh, you trudged up to the counter and stood in front of the beautiful man with twisted horns poking out of dark, luscious hair. 

“I need an official form of identification and your death certificate.” 

You stared at him blankly. 

“An official form of identification and your death certificate,” he repeated with more force. 

“I… don’t have a death certificate.” 

Were you dead? How had you died? How could you have possibly received a death certificate if you were dead? You assumed your mother would have it; that was how things went, right? 

The name badge clipped to his shirt read Hoseok, Assistant Manager. Assistant Manager of what? Purgatory?? What in the fuck was going on. 

Hoseok turned to the computer sitting off to the side of his desk. 

“What is your full name and date of birth?” 

You gave him the information he was looking for and leaned forward to watch him tap away at the keyboard. What appeared to be a profile of you flashed across the screen. There was a photo of you, the one from your driver’s license. A few stats about you like your height and where you were born. Toward the bottom of the screen in large red block letters read TIME OF DEATH. You were pretty sure the date was recent, but you didn’t know what day it was currently. Before you could read further, Hoseok closed out the page. 

“I need you to come with me,” Hoseok said abruptly. He gestured for you to step around the counter. 

You took a look over your shoulder. No one else needed to go behind the counter, as far as you could tell. Although, you hadn’t paid much attention to the other people waiting for… whatever it was everyone was doing here. You still didn’t know. 

With a nervous inhale that tickled your throat, you followed the… man? Whatever he was, through a door marked for employees only. 

(So they were called employees. Hence the Assistant Manager badge, and all. What the fuck kind of job was this?)

Scurrying behind him to catch up with his long gait, you noticed that this person was tall. Like, impossibly tall. Come to think of it, it wasn’t just his height that was staggering. Everything about his presence seemed larger than life, like the very walls of the hallway needed to shift and expand to accommodate the power radiating off of him as he walked. You kept your eyes trained on his lean shoulders, watching the way his shoulder blades and back muscles made his shirt ripple when he breathed or turned around the corner. 

“Ahem.” You cleared your throat. 

Silence. 

“Ahem.” 

You did a little skip to speed up your walking and finally fell in line with the man. You flashed him what you’d consider an award-winning grin. 

“Hoseok, right? You’re really fucking tall.” 

He glanced down at you out of the corner of his eye. 

So, a man of few words. Unless he was snapping at you about IDs and death certificates. Apparently. 

“Where are we going?” 

Hoseok immediately halted, catching you by surprise and nearly causing you to trip. 

“Here.” With an outstretched arm, Hoseok opened the door to a simple office. He held it for you as you crossed the threshold. 

“Please, take a seat.” 

You eased into one of the chairs in front of the desk, which Hoseok sat behind once he snapped the door shut. The fabric scratched into the back of your legs. 

Up close, Hoseok was even more breathtaking. You found that the horns weren’t as much of a creepy turnoff as you may have initially thought. Somehow, paired with the shimmering red tint to his eyes and the slits he had instead of proper circular pupils, you were rather turned on by this… otherworldly look he had going for him. It was spooky, in an “emo kid who works at Hot Topic and thinks Happy Tree Friends is edgy” kind of way. So… not spooky at all. Just endearing to the part of your brain where you’d locked up all your teen angst. 

“Do you know why you’re here?” 

You watched a transparent film slide sideways across Hoseok’s eyes and you realized he blinked with a third eyelid. 

Weird, but kind of hot. Fuck conventional beauty standards! You could dig it.  

“Because a handsome stranger brought me here?” You took a shot in the dark, though Hoseok didn’t appear to have followed you. He stared at you with his third eyelid and his slitted pupils and his sharpened teeth. 

Wow, he had really pointy teeth. 

“You’re here because…” Hoseok drummed his fingers against the surface of his desk. His nails were black and chipped. “You were never reaped.” 

“Reaped? Like, the Grim Reaper?” 

A low hiss came from the back of Hoseok’s throat. The sound made your skin prickle. 

“The Grim Reaper is not real.” His voice slithered out of his mouth at the same time his tongue did. It was red and forked. “You were supposed to be reaped by one of us when you died,” he gestured to himself, “a demon.” 

Well, obviously he was a demon. Or else he had a great sense of fashion. 

You leaned forward to rest your arms on Hoseok’s desk. If he thought his freaky tongue and animalistic eyes were going to scare you, he was terribly wrong. You’d been on Vampirefreaks.com back when it was still a social media platform. 

“Listen, Hoseokie. Can I call you Hoseokie?” Silence. “I don’t know why I’m here and I don’t know how I got here, but I promise you, I am not dead.” 

With a sigh, Hoseok flipped open the laptop on his desk. After a few moments of typing, he slid it toward you, adjusting the screen to make it easier for you to see. 

There was your profile again. Hoseok quickly scrolled down to the section you hadn’t gotten to read earlier, the part about when you’d died. 

“In my records, it states you are dead. As of,” he turned the screen toward himself for a moment, “As of 7 PM yesterday. Yet there is no record of how you died, where you died, nor which demon escorted you here. And no death certificate on file.” 

Clearly, the missing death certificate situation had rubbed the guy the wrong way. 

Maybe you should have felt more concerned that you had a snake-eyed self-proclaimed demon trying to convince you that you were dead and chilling out in Purgatory unchaperoned. But this was all fake, obviously. A dream. There was nothing to worry about. 

“I don’t know what to tell you, Hoseokie.” You gave the man - demon - a shrug. 

Hoseok’s eyebrows pulled toward each other, causing the skin on his forehead to crease. 

“Well, I suppose it doesn’t matter.” 

“Oh really?” 

Hoseok pursed his lips and gave you a curt nod. 

“It already states here that you’ll be going to Hell, so I may as well just reap you myself since no one else has. I need to go downstairs anyway. We’ve been getting a high volume of damned souls recently and working overtime can be sustainable for only so long…” 

Whatever else Hoseok had to say about “demon burnout” during a time when debauchery was at its highest on Earth (“Aside from the 70s, wow, the 70s was a time.”), you didn’t hear the rest of it. There were more important things to worry about. 

You were going to Hell. 

“Wait, wait, wait, Hoseokie, wait a minute.” You curled your fingers around the edge of his laptop screen. “I’m going to Hell? For what?! I have done nothing wrong, ever, in my life.” 

This was the part where Hoseok was supposed to say, “I know this, and I love you.” 

Except he didn’t! The bastard just let his gorgeous mouth hang open and flicked his freaky forked tongue over those pearly fangs. 

“I beg to differ.” 

“How would you know?” 

A small smirk flitted across Hoseok’s face and you felt your stomach twist into knots. 

“Your memories, your experiences, your life - none of that belongs to you.” 

You couldn’t tell which was more unnerving, the words he said or the dark tone he said them in. With a shiver, you chose to ignore whatever riddle he was speaking to you in and tried to change your strategy. 

“Hoseokie, baby.” You ran your perfectly normal tongue along your lips and leaned even further into your companion’s personal space - as much as you could with a desk in between you. “Let’s not get carried away here.” 

“Proper protocol was not followed, so we must rectify that,” Hoseok huffed. His shoulders sagged slightly, causing him to lean inward. Maybe your cute nickname was finally breaking him. 

“Do we really?” 

“Yes.” 

“But, really? Hoseokie, babe, do I look like I belong in Hell?” 

The demon blinked with his third eyelid a few times. You watched the slit of his pupils flicker as he genuinely took the time to look you over. It was a hypothetical question and now you were scared of the actual answer. He was a demon, after all. He’d know what a damned soul looked like, right? 

“Well.” You watched Hoseok’s throat bob as he swallowed. “You did read a lot of serial killer fanfiction on AO3.” 

You scoffed, leaning back in your chair and crossing your arms against your chest. 

“Are you kink-shaming me right now?” 

Hoseok mirrored your scoff and busied himself with tidying up a stack of loose papers on his desk, but you saw the way his cheeks turned a healthy shade of pink. 

Interesting. 

“So, I’m going to Hell because I read One Direction serial killer AUs? Really? That’s why I’m going to Hell?” 

“No!” Hoseok huffed again, louder this time. He ran his fingers through his hair and gave you a pleading look. “I don’t know! I don’t decide who goes to Hell, I just take them there!” 

“Then don’t take me.” 

It seemed like the obvious solution, but Hoseok looked at you like you’d threatened to kill him. 

“I have to take you.” 

“Oh yeah? Or else what?” You were back to leaning against his desk, your head in your hands and your elbows on the surface. “Satan damns you to some horrible eternal punishment?” 

Hoseok turned his head and mumbled to the side, “Something like that.”

You wanted to ask him what it mattered if he was already a demon working for Satan, but you figured that would push him a bit too far. Instead, you were just going to beg. Considering the circumstances, you allowed yourself to do it without hurting your self-respect. Dire times, dire measures. 

“Hoseokie, please,” you whined with your bottom lip jutted out. You reached out to hook your finger around one of his, pulling his hand away from where it rested against his chin. “Please, don’t take me to Hell. Let me stay here, with you.” 

“With me?” Hoseok’s eyes widened, slitted pupils dilating into ovals. 

“Mhmm, wouldn’t that be nice?” you purred, lightly tracing the lines of his palm with your index finger. “You’re so pretty and you look so stressed. What did you say earlier, about burnout? They aren’t taking care of you here, are they, Hoseokie?” 

The demon bit his lip. His razor-sharp teeth pressed deep indents into what you knew were soft pink lips. 

“I could help you out, Hoseokie, baby.” 

Those dark eyes shimmered red and finally met your gaze, though his face was still flushed and his expression almost… timid. 

“Help me out?” he murmured, almost as though he were talking himself through the conversation rather than asking you a question. 

“Mhmm…” 

You pressed your hands flat against the desk and hoisted yourself on top of it. The stack of papers Hoseok had just fixed went flying. He weakly reached out to stop a few of them from slipping off and floating to the carpeted floor. 

“I don’t know.” Hoseok’s voice wavered, though you had to give him credit for his ability to maintain eye contact with you as you scooted across the desk. 

“I think you do know, Hoseokie.” 

Hoseok shook his head, third eyelids putting in work to blink away the shock when you eased yourself into his lap. 

You’d been so caught up on how tall and menacing he’d looked in the hallway that you hadn’t stopped to consider the rest of his details, like how firm and comfortable his thighs were. You wiggled your ass to get settled, eliciting a low groan from the demon whose red eyes still rounded under your gaze. 

“I’m going to get in trouble,” he pleaded with you when you dug your fingers into his hair and yanked his head backward. “I really don’t want to get in trouble.” 

“And I really don’t want to go to Hell.” You dug your teeth into the soft skin of his throat and Hoseok let out a whimpered hiss. “Do you see our problem here?”

Of course, he could see the problem, but Hoseok was driven mute by your free hand palming his cock through his pants. His hold on your waist was bruisingly tight, but you kept a firm grip on his hair and a hot hand on his crotch. There was no way he was getting an upper hand in this, not that you expected him to. He was whimpering and pliant underneath you already. 

Maybe you were absolutely insane, but if you had to suck some demon dick to get out of Hell, you were going to fucking do it. No matter how weird it probably looked. 

“Y/N, wait.” Hoseok shuddered as you popped open the button of his pants and dragged down the zipper. “Listen to me, it’s not, it’s not a good idea.” 

You let your fingertips dance along the waistband of his underwear. You weren’t sure why it was funny that he was wearing underwear; it just seemed like such a silly thing for a demon to need. Out here reaping souls and getting angry over death certificates, and going to the store to buy underwear after work. 

It was just funny. 

“Why not, Hoseokie? Don’t tell me they don’t let you have a little fun around here.” You batted your eyes at him and slide your hand beneath the fabric. 

“It’s not- fuck.” 

Hoseok tried to lean forward, to curl into himself, when you pressed your thumb against his leaking slit, but you kept his head pulled backward by his hair. 

“Now, I’m gonna tell you what we’re gonna do, okay Hoseokie baby?” 

The demon opened his mouth to speak and you shivered as his forked tongue wet his lips. 

“Okay.” 

“Good little demon, thank you,” you cooed praise that made his face flush an even deeper red. “I’m going to suck your dick and then you’re gonna delete whatever record you have of me and we’re going to forget I was ever even here, alright?” 

When Hoseok didn’t speak, you squeezed the head of his cock. 

“Fuck, yes, yes, yes, alright,” he sputtered. 

“Good.” 

The bright side to all of this was that his dick didn’t look any different from any other dick you’d ever seen, although it did seem a bit long. Which was fine. You had hands, didn’t you? You knew how to do a little two-hand twist when needed. 

Just as you were about to slide off Hoseok’s lap and get on your knees, the door to his office flung open so hard it slammed against the wall. 

“Oh fuck,” Hoseok gulped. He quickly stuffed his cock back inside his pants and zipped his pants up with trembling fingers. 

“Oh fuck is right. What the fuck is going on here?” 

You turned to look over your shoulder at the person who owned such a smooth, sinister voice that dripped enough malice for you to drown in it. You felt your entire body grow cold when you were met with slitted eyes that glowed even more brightly than Hoseok’s. The eyes roamed your face, your body, your position still straddling Hoseok’s lap. And you did the same, your human eyes taking in the man’s black fitted suit, the swell of his thighs beneath the fabric, the pout of his lips, the craters his dimples made in his cheeks as he sucked on his teeth in seething anger. 

“I-I-I-I, Your Majesty,” Hoseok’s tongue fumbled over the words as he tried shoving you off of him. 

Oh shit, was this God? He was way too hot to be God. 

You stood when Hoseok did, the two of you blinking with your eyes wide and mouths hanging open like idiots in front of the sharply dressed man. Just past the doorway, you could see a few other men flanking the entrance, as though they were guarding it. 

“Don’t fucking call me Your Majesty while your cock is twitching in your pants, Hoseok. Have some decency,” the dimpled man chastised with a snort. 

Was God allowed to curse? You supposed he was, but multiple F-bombs and a casual “cock” thrown around seemed like a lot for a guy who was meant to be the holiest of the holy.

“And you.”

You poked your index finger against your chest when the man suddenly loomed over you. 

“Me?”

“You’re supposed to be with me.” 

You rose your eyebrows and shot Hoseok a look, but he had his eyes on the floor. 

“Oh… you’re not God…”

You felt fire lick and burn up your chest and across your throat when the man leaned his head back to bellow a laugh so deep you swore the walls moved just as they had for Hoseok when he walked. 

“Sweet of you to think so highly of the Devil, little human.” 

Aw, fuck. 

You were going to Hell.

“Now, listen, the One Direction serial killer AUs weren’t actually that bad. Like, if you’d just give it a chance, you’d understand,” you began. 

“Reasoning with me is futile, pet.” 

The sound of your teeth clamping shut echoed through the room. You probably should have been scared of how poisonous his tone sounded, but excitement thrummed in your stomach. 

No one had ever called you pet before. It was kind of cute. 

“Now, let’s go, shall we?” 

If Satan had a problem with the way you whimpered when he wrapped a smooth, tan hand around your bicep to haul you out of the room, he didn’t make any indication. If anything, you thought he squeezed you a bit tighter. 

“I didn’t think Satan would be so buff,” you murmured and you heard Hoseok choke. 

You’d all but forgotten about the guy. 

“Oh! Hoseokie!” You twisted your neck around to face him as Satan began leading you away. “Thanks for hanging out! I forgive you for being such a rule follower!” 

You turned up to look at Satan’s face which was a bit hard to do considering he was so tall and all legs and pecs that looked better than any boobs you’d ever seen. It was very distracting. 

“You’re not going to damn him to some horrible eternal punishment, are you?” 

“I think working here is punishment enough, don’t you?”  

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

all rights reserved © gimmethatagustd on tumblr & ao3

do not copy, repost, modify, or translate any of my work 

pianos and coffee (myg x reader)

(in which yoongi is a music major and you, the reader, pass by the music room occasionally to watch him as he plays the piano)

dedicated to: @dylanxmin @agustd02 @agustkive @yoongislovecult @softguks @joonglows @sketchguk @sweetheartjeongguk @flowerseok @yourdelights @dreamingofkoo @jksmoongf @gukwluv @gguksbby @yoonminos @minsprings @yoongismykink @outroshooky @kimcritique @brilliantlybasicb @thinksshesawolf @roguebangtan @nahfamily @jungkooksmoon @swanqook @koosgrl @yoonsgiggle  @daechwitas​

word count: 1k (my first drabble thats at least 1k hehe)

genre: fluff, tooth-rotting fluff, college/university au, music major yoongi, arts major reader 

rating: pg (for mild swearing) 

(lowercase intended)

a/n: another yoongi drabble for you all because why not? yoongi’s been providing us with so much content lately, like i stg we are so spoiled:((( anyways, please stream D-2 for good grades, clear skin, and clear skies. also, yoongi is the cutest bub ever and i wanna put him in my pocket but agust d makes me want to light stuff on fire you feel?? 

Czytaj dalej

---

look down on me like that - 10 (explicit)

genre: slow burn enemies to lovers hatefucking coworkers au, smut, angst

pairing: yoongi x reader

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

word count: 13.1k

contains: there are some serious mental health moments and topics discussed in this chapter (and not all of them handled well 😵‍💫) - this includes mentions of anxiety and su1c1dal ideation, reader experiencing a panic attack, and there's just like.... quite a lot of self-loathing, emotional constipation, and horrible choices being made all around. would also maybe say some hints at gaslighting if you squint. please take care of yourselves for this one 💜 and yes..... no smut warnings for this one 😬 sorry 😬

A/N: besties...... hold my hand and trust the process, mkay?

an eternal thank you to @haliiimede and @monimonimoon for betaing and for doing extra hand holding on this one because 😵‍💫 omg it's a lot and it was a lot to write lmao

read on AO3!

chapter nine | masterlist

~*~

The headache hits before you even open your eyes, like an ice pick driven straight through your skull.

You roll over with a soft groan of despair, burying your face between the pillows, reaching one arm out as far you can, as if in search of something. Your splayed fingertips only find the down comforter; it’s cool to the touch.

With the kind of deep inhale that can only be conjured by an early wake-up with a terrible hangover, you blink your eyes open, immediately squinting at the harsh morning light.

The bed is empty on the other side. You sit up slowly, shivering a little. The room feels unsteady around you.

You press your face into your hands, trying to wake up enough to think through your headache. Last night… Last night. It feels like a dream you’ll soon lose the details of. The Grammys, the afterparty, K-town. It doesn’t feel real.

Yoongi said he loves you.

Your stomach churns.

So where the fuck is he?

The sound of a drawer opening makes your head snap up, and you quickly kick the bedsheets off, trying to ignore the way the world tilts as you get to your feet and pad out into the living room.

Yoongi is kneeling beside his open suitcase, folding up the clothes he wore earlier in the weekend and carefully placing them inside. He reaches for his toiletries bag, zipped up on the couch next to him, and sets it atop the last stack of clothing.

“What are you doing?” you murmur, rubbing sleep from the corners of your eyes. The words slide together, almost gibberish. You think you might still be drunk.

“What does it look like I’m doing?” Yoongi mutters, taking a final once-over of the contents of his suitcase before zipping it shut. He gets to his feet, then stoops down to turn it upright and extend the handle. “I’ve got a car to the airport about to pull up downstairs.”

“I— what?” You shake your head, confused. You’re barely alive, let alone packed or ready to go. “It’s so early. Our flight’s not til this afternoon.”

He’s already crossing the room, grabbing his laptop off the desk to slide into his shoulder bag, then reaching for his watch. “I had a change of plans.”

“You what?” You don’t understand how you’re so far behind on this, especially given that you’re the one who’s supposed to have the schedule committed to memory.

Yoongi sighs as he turns to face you, still fiddling with his watch, clearly exasperated. It's only now that he’s held still long enough for you to realize he’s wearing his glasses. “I’m going to Tokyo for a few days to work with some talent. There’s a whole thread in your inbox about it. Feel free to read it at your leisure.”

The dry tone of his voice stings like a slap to the face, enough to make you recoil. You take an unsure step back. “Okay, when did this happen?”

He slow-blinks, and you can’t help feeling like you’ve somehow gone back in time, like you’re standing in front of him on your first day of work. Like he’s your enemy all over again.

“I’ve been up for a while,” Yoongi answers flatly. “Any more questions?”

Your back teeth stick together, tense. The room is too bright, Yoongi’s voice too loud, all of this happening too fast.

“Uh,” you start, less than eloquent. “Can we— talk?” Yoongi stares at you pointedly until you feel forced to continue. “About last night?”

“Let’s see.” He pretends to mull it over, and dread creeps up your spine.

“I lost at the Grammys, almost got in a fight, drank my body weight in alcohol. The last thing I remember is… barking.” You’d smile at the memory, but your lips are pulled too tight at the sour taste of his words. “I assume you dragged my drunk ass back here and I passed out, then I stumbled out of bed around four this morning and promptly became very well acquainted with the bathroom floor. Did I miss anything?”

The question punches an ache behind your ribs.

“Don’t fuck with me, Min Yoongi.” Your voice comes out weaker than you would’ve liked, but it’s getting hard to breathe.

“What else?” he asks, still going faster than you can keep up with. “I was an asshole? Gave you embarrassing intel you’ll be using as blackmail when we go back to work? I didn’t barf on your shoes, did I?”

Why is he asking you?

You bring a hand to your temple, trying to rub out your splitting headache so you can process his words. “Are you… telling me you don’t remember?”

There’s a flash of something in Yoongi’s eyes, and though he drops his gaze, he doesn’t quite manage to hide the way his face twists. “If I said anything, let’s just say I didn’t mean it.”

No. No, no, no. Your world goes spinning. He can’t do this.

There’s a lump in your throat, so thick you can scarcely breathe. You try to swallow around it. “Yoongi, what the fuck is happening right now?”

You swear you can see it in his eyes, the wall going back up. It’s infuriating: he’s right fucking there, yet suddenly somehow unreachable. Impenetrable.

“I am going to Tokyo,” he says simply. “You are… doing whatever you want.” You stare at him, overwhelmed and so fucking confused. He stares right back. “I can still upgrade your seat to first class. If that’s what you’re worried about.”

Some final thread snaps inside you, and your delayed anger finally kicks in. “You think that’s what I care about right now? I’m not your fucking charity case.”

He outright rolls his eyes. “Jesus. Forget I asked.”

As if to signal that the conversation is over, he slings his bag across his shoulder and heads for the door, suitcase in tow.

“Yoongi.” You hate the way your voice shakes when you say his name. He turns back to face you in the threshold, his expression unreadable.

You don’t know how to say it. You can’t say it.

“So what, then?” you try instead. “I’m just supposed to… forget it?”

That you said you love me? That I might have been ready to say it back?

His mouth pulls into a flat line, and for a moment, he doesn’t say anything at all. Each second of silence that passes feels like another twist of the knife lodged in your heart.

“Guess so.”

And just like that, the door is slamming shut behind him.

In your head, you chase after him. Yank open the hotel door, sprint down the hallway, call his name loud enough to stop him. You tell him everything that’s been building up inside of you, let all the ugly truths out for him to see, said aloud for the first time, undeniably real. He drops his bag in the hallway, grabs you, kisses you breathless. He stays.

But you can’t make yourself move. Can’t bear the thought of unzipping yourself right up the middle, standing in front of him with every last wall torn down, defenseless and asking for the worst hurt you can imagine. Life has taught you better than that.

Your knees hit the hotel carpet as the tears start to fall. In your head you might be brave, but here in the real world, you’re scared. Too scared to do anything but watch him leave.

~*~

“I’m so fucking confused, Mochi.”

You’re curled up on the couch in your living room with your face pressed into Jimin’s shoulder and his arms wrapped tight around you. Delirious from a thirteen hour flight and the time change, your suitcase still lying in the hallway by the front door where you dropped it. True to his word, your best friend showed up within the hour, a bottle of rosé and a pint of ice cream in tow.

There’s no room left to keep lying, to pretend you don’t care about Yoongi, that it doesn’t mean anything. Not when it hurts this bad, bad enough that it feels like you can’t fucking breathe. At least the tears have finally stopped, now that you’ve soaked a wet spot into the collar of Jimin’s sweatshirt.

To his credit, Jimin seems to find no joy in your meltdown, and you’re grateful for it. The last thing you need on top of all the pain is him gloating about being right. You both know he is, always has been. The things you spent so long trying to deny seem obvious now, in the harsh light of day, at the bottom of this emotional hangover.

Funny how that works.

When you pull away with a sniff, Jimin sighs a little and gently untangles himself from you to get to his feet. You bring a hand up to swipe at some of the wetness still stuck to your cheeks, then reach for the bottle of wine while he slips into the kitchen.

“How did you know I’d need this?” you ask as you twist open the screw top. Your throat is rubbed raw from exhaustion, and from so much fucking crying. “You had that little faith in shit working out?”

Jimin returns with two wine glasses and two spoons just as you ask the question, and he pauses in the threshold. The unsure look on his face makes your stomach twist. Your best friend never looks at you like that.

“I have to tell you something, babygirl.”

You can feel your chest starting to tighten again as he sinks back down onto the cushion next to you, gingerly taking the bottle from your hands to pour a little in each glass. It’s like he’s biding his time, trying to delay some sort of inevitable reality.

“Please just say it.” Your voice comes out in a thick whisper.

He thuds the bottle back onto the coffee table with another soft sigh. “I’m leaving Seoul.”

The words sweep over you like a tidal wave, heavy enough you drag you under to drown. “You’re… leaving?”

“Not forever,” Jimin says quickly, but the look on his face as he takes a sip from his glass is telling. “You remember the group I did the concert with?” His gaze flits over to catch your nod, and he continues.

“They booked a whole international tour. Asia, Europe, North and South America. It didn’t look like they were going to scout any new dancers, but then someone got injured last-minute and they personally called me to ask if I could cover. And it’s so short-notice but…”

There’s a fire in his eyes when he looks up at you again, all determined passion. “I just feel like this could be the opportunity I’ve been working so hard for. And Wonho has been so supportive and understanding about it. He helped talk me through it, reminded me how much I want this. So I said yes. And I’m going.”

You’re quiet for a moment, and you can only nod, trying to wrap your mind around it all. “For how long?”

He grimaces. “Six months, at least? Could be more if they decide to extend it.”

A fresh tear slides down your cheek before you can stop it. “Fuck, okay. Wow. When do you go?”

Jimin downs the rest of his wine, then finally answers. “I’ll be honest, the timing is bad. I really thought you’d be coming home with good news, so it would soften the blow a little.”

“Mochi,” you press him, more tears already threatening your waterline. You can feel your heart on the precipice of shattering into a million pieces— you just need him to fucking say it.

“Tonight’s my last night,” he admits.

There is a voice in your head that knows how you should respond. You should be enthusiastically happy for Jimin, and proud of him, and you are; you know deep down that you are. And you should be reacting to this unquestionably good news the way a best friend would: excited, screaming, hugging him, pouring another glass so you can toast to his success, telling him how great he’ll be.

But you’re sunk so deep in your own pain, you can’t help feeling… betrayed. Abandoned by your best friend, just when you need him most.

You set your wine glass down and press your face into your palms, trying to breathe, trying to stop the ache of a suppressed sob that squeezes tight in your throat.

“It’s not forever,” Jimin reiterates, and you know he’s trying to be kind, but you whip your head to look at him, suddenly aggravated. You can only imagine what he must see staring back at him: your glassy eyes gone red from crying, inset with deep shadows from exhaustion, tear tracks staining your cheeks.

“A little more notice would’ve been nice,” you respond as you pick your drink up again. The words come out harsh, jagged at the edges.

Jimin’s brows raise in clear surprise. “I’m sorry?”

The sweet wine goes bitter on your tongue, and you swallow it with a grimace. “I just think it’s interesting that you had all this fucking time to talk to your boyfriend about it, but not two seconds for the person who is supposedly your best friend.”

You can see a muscle tighten in his jaw. “Are you fucking serious right now?”

“Are you?”

“Do I really have to remind you what happened the last time we actually spent an evening together?” Jimin asks, and the razor-sharp tone to his voice already tells you that you’ve made a huge mistake, that you should’ve just choked all your bitter feelings down with your drink.

“Because in case you need help putting the pieces together, I believe you left me, alone, at some shitty dive that you specifically begged to go to. And maybe it hasn’t fucking occurred to you yet, but I was actually planning to ask what you thought that night, whether or not I should take the opportunity. Because I love my boyfriend, but you’re right, he’s not my best friend of a fucking decade. You are.”

Fuck. The weight of his words hits you like a truck. You drain the rest of your wine as he continues, relentless.

“And yet that was the night my best friend of a decade decided to ditch me to go hook up with a man she has consistently called an asshole since day one, and it made me wonder if maybe, just maybe, I deserved a little bit more in life. So I went home and told Wonho I wanted to take the job, and he supported me wholeheartedly. Even cooked me dinner to fucking celebrate. And now here we are.”

Jimin spreads his hands in front of him, palms up, as if to set the stage. “You are somehow shocked that the asshole you got yourself involved with turned around and acted… like an asshole. And I am off to go live the dreams that I have worked so hard for so long to finally achieve. Because as it turns out, we are a product of our own fucking choices. So tell me this, bestie: when are you going to take some fucking responsibility for yours?”

It’s only as you move to set your empty glass down that you realize your hands are shaking. It takes a concentrated effort to complete the motion, especially considering the way your eyes have started to blur with tears. You can feel deep, overwhelming shame stretching up from the pit of your stomach, like a black hole that threatens to suck you in entirely.

The sudden warmth of Jimin’s touch makes you flinch, and then you realize his hands are closing over yours, squeezing tight.

“Look at me,” he says hoarsely, and tears spill down your face as you do. You don’t know if you can take any more of his brutal honesty, but you figure you deserve it, so you brace yourself.

“I fucking love you,” Jimin says. The words are so unexpected and voiced in a tone so fierce that a sob wracks your chest before you can hold it back. He squeezes your hands tighter, and you try to return it. “You’re not just my best friend, you know that, right? You are my family. That will never, ever change. You could fucking kill someone, and I’d show up with bleach, two shovels, and a plan, okay?”

You laugh a little despite yourself, and you can feel Jimin’s thumbs brush gently over the backs of your hands. His voice is softer when he speaks again.

“I know shit has been really, really hard for you. For the last few years, and especially lately. But if I’m honest, it’s like you move through the world as if everything is just… happening to you, through no fault of your own. It makes it so fucking hard to root for you sometimes.”

You do your best to breathe through the sting of his words, and you nod, because you know he’s right.

“And that’s all I want to do,” Jimin stresses with another squeeze of your hands in his. “I want to be your personal fucking cheerleader, always, and not just because my ass would look great in the skirt. I know you are more than capable of getting your shit together, but it’s not going to happen if you don’t start taking some accountability for your own actions. And to be crystal clear, I am not a bad person for not wanting to sideline my own life while I wait for you to figure yours out.”

“You’re not,” you agree with a sniff and a small smile. “And I’m sorry for trying to make it about me.” You shake your head as you blink back a few more tears. “You deserve everything, Mochi, seriously. I don’t think there’s another person on the planet who would’ve put up with my shit for as long as you have.”

He rolls his eyes, despite the smile pulling up the corners of his mouth to match yours. “You make it sound like fucking charity work, come on. Have some self-respect! I don’t waste time on people who aren’t worth it.”

“I just thought you kept me around because I was the only person who could keep up with your drinking,” you admit, chasing the words with a giggle, and Jimin makes a face like you’re not wrong.

As if in response, he finally releases your hands, grabbing the wine bottle to top up your glasses.

“I really do wish I had better advice for you and your situation,” Jimin concludes on a heavy sigh as you both pick up your drinks. “But my already limited knowledge on Min Yoongi is also like fifteen years out of date, so all I can say is this: You got yourself into this mess, and I have full confidence that you can get yourself out. Even if it means cornering him and forcing him into a vulnerable conversation. It sounds like it will be great practice for both of you.”

You huff against the rim of your glass. “I have to figure out what the fuck to even say.”

“You will,” Jimin murmurs, his free hand alighting over yours for a final squeeze. “Just start with the truth.”

When your eyes find his again, you can feel your lower lip beginning to tremble. “God, I’m gonna miss you so fucking much.”

Clearly done with the dramatics, Jimin rolls his eyes. “I’m not dying, bitch! If anything it just means I’m going to text and call and FaceTime you more than I already do. Prepare to be sick of me.”

“I could never,” you tease, and he grabs a spoon off the coffee table, gently nudging it against your side.

“Come on, eat your sad girl ice cream before it melts.”

~*~

Even with Yoongi still in Tokyo, the thought of going back to the office and feigning normalcy feels impossible. You end up texting your boss to take a sick day, blaming it on the travel, and he responds quickly, telling you to rest up well and come in the day after.

But between the emotional overwhelm and the jet lag, sleep is hard to come by. You toss and turn, unable to doze off for more than a few minutes at a time, until you kick the blankets off in the early hours of the morning, sick of staring at the walls.

Your body moves as if on autopilot, and you pull your winter coat out of the closet to zip up over your sweats. You grab your phone and your house keys, then slip your feet into a pair of boots by the front door and step outside.

It’s cold, with the barest amount of dawn sun starting to bleed light and color across the horizon, but the fresh air feels good, like it’s easier to breathe in.

Hands shoved in your pockets, you make your way down the stairs to the entrance of your complex and begin to walk, aimless. You’re too fixated on everything whirling around in your mind to pay attention to where you’re headed, and it isn’t until you hear barking that you realize you’ve wandered your way to a neighborhood park down the street from your place, with a fenced-in area for owners to let their dogs run off leash.

It’s a nice place, even now in the dead of winter. You can’t help but wonder why you don’t come here more.

A voice snaps you out of your thoughts, and you blink slowly, your sleep-deprived brain taking several seconds to piece together why it sounds so familiar.

“Bam, Bam! Come here!”

A laugh of disbelief bubbles up in your chest as you take in the scene in front of you: it’s none other than your baby-faced coworker Jeon Jungkook, giggling high and sweet as a large brown Doberman jumps up on its hind legs to playfully tackle him. You recognize the dog as one he’s shown you pictures of, along with the two Italian greyhounds sprinting the length of the fenced-in area, clearly just as energetic as their owner, even at this ungodly hour.

You lean against the fence to watch them, and your heart sinks a little when the memory of your last conversation with Jungkook comes back. It occurs to you that this is probably what Jimin was talking about when he told you to start taking some accountability. But fuck, it’s certainly easier said than done.

You can see your breath in the cold air as you inhale deep and let it out again. Maybe you should just leave him alone, you determine. Turn around and walk home before he sees you.

But then, like the very thought is enough to trigger his awareness, Jungkook’s gaze flits up to meet yours. You wish his Baby Star Candy eyes weren’t so damn expressive— even several yards away, you can see a dozen different emotions flash over his face in the span of a few seconds.

Swallowing down the lump in your throat, you wave a hand in what you hope reads as a peaceful greeting. You’re surprised to see him begin to jog towards you, but even more surprised when someone else beats him to it.

“Can I help you?”

The person standing in front of you looks to be about Jungkook’s age, but immediately hits you with an aura so intimidating that you take a cautious step backwards. He has a black beanie pulled low over his dark hair, and his hands are shoved in the front pocket of his hoodie.

“Oh, sorry, I just, uh— Jungkook is… my coworker,” you offer dumbly, gesturing in Jungkook’s direction. Clearly thinking that they’re still playing, Bam keeps crossing in front of his owner, nearly tripping him up, and you can’t help smiling, watching him stop every few paces to redirect the dog.

“Yeah, I know who you are,” the guy in the hoodie retorts, and your gaze snaps back to him. “Don’t you think you’ve done enough damage?”

The question makes your jaw drop. “What?”

“I mean, seriously, what’s your plan here? Gonna lead him on some more and then tell him he’s not your boyfriend again?”

Your eyes threaten to pop out of your head just as Jungkook makes it over to the fence, Bam still nipping at his heels.

“Chan,” he quickly interjects, breathless. “It’s cool. Let me talk to her, okay?”

Chan eyes you up and down, disapproving, then takes a few steps back, his mouth pulled into an obvious scowl. “Yeah, alright. I’ll get the dogs.” You watch as he manages to divert Bam’s attention away with a well-timed ball throw.

Your mind still reeling from the interaction, you try to keep it together as Jungkook laughs, clearly slightly embarrassed. There’s an ache in your chest when you finally bring yourself to look him in the face.

“Sorry if he said anything to you,” he offers, looking back towards Chan, who is now entertaining all three of Jungkook’s dogs, plus a spaniel that must be his own. “Chan is a really good friend of mine, and he can be… protective.”

You huff a soft noise that comes out in a little cloud of steam. “It’s alright. I deserve it, honestly.”

“You don’t,” Jungkook says firmly, and you open your mouth to argue, but he speaks first. “Do you have a second? To talk?”

Uneasiness twists in the pit of your stomach. “I can talk,” you say, tentative. “But don’t let me interrupt. I think your friend already hates me enough.”

Jungkook shakes his head. “It’s cool. Chan and I always take the dogs for a run in the mornings. We’re just trying to get all their energy out, but we’re about to head back after this.” A smile spreads across your face before you can bite it back, and he quirks an eyebrow. “What?”

“You’re telling me you go on a run every morning before your six AM boxing class?”

A pink flush blooms in his cheeks that you can’t quite believe is from the cold. “Well, I guess I also have a lot of energy.”

“You’re superhuman,” you laugh, and Jungkook glances down as he smiles, like he’s suddenly gone shy. It’s enough to crack your heart right down the middle, and you can’t keep the words in any longer. “Jungkook, I am so fucking sorry. For what happened before.”

The smile drops off his face as he looks up again. “Don’t be. I was way out of line.”

You tear your gaze away from Jungkook, choosing instead to stare at the thin layer of frost beneath your boots as it all plays back in your head. As much as you wish you could just patch everything up and be friends again, you can’t ignore the truth of his feelings for you, and the way it complicates everything else.

But you can certainly relate to wanting to live in denial. To avoid an inconvenient truth.

“You were just trying to keep me from getting hurt,” you murmur. You wonder if he can tell that he was right, that it happened anyway.

“Yeah,” Jungkook admits, and you glance up to see him pause, considering. “But, you know,” he adds. “My own stuff was mixed in there too.”

“Yeah,” you echo, unsure of what else to say.

“I should’ve listened to you,” he continues with a sigh. “I should’ve been more honest. About how I was feeling. Am feeling. I don’t know.”

“It’s okay.” You do your best to shoot him a sympathetic look. “Trust me, I really do get it. And I shouldn’t have been so harsh. I was just– I’m in a really weird place right now. But it’s not an excuse.”

Jungkook nods slowly. “I appreciate that. It definitely… snapped me out of it.”

You can’t help grimacing. “I was a bitch, you can say it.”

“No, no!” he exclaims, but his mouth is already pulling into a smile. “I needed to hear it. Seriously.”

There’s a moment where neither of you speak, and you both gaze across the park, watching Chan as he does his best to tire the dogs out.

“Your sons are even cuter in person,” you finally say, and you hear Jungkook exhale a soft laugh.

“You can meet them if you want,” he offers.

You scrunch your nose up slightly as you turn back to him. “If your bodyguard will let me?”

He shrugs. “Nah, Chan’s fine.” You raise an eyebrow in disbelief, and he waves one hand dismissively, the other already working to fumble open the lock of the fence gate. “All bark and no bite.”

Your eyes roll back at the terrible joke, but you can’t help laughing, too. You really fucking missed this kid.

~*~

Not wanting to worsen your jet lag further, you force yourself to stay awake once you make it back to your apartment, determined to take the day to properly unpack from Los Angeles. The routine of putting your things away and dumping your clothes into the washer is enough to keep your hands busy, and your mind takes the opportunity to retrace back over everything that’s happened in the last few days. It’s all come at you so fast, you feel like you’ve barely had a second to breathe, let alone process everything.

Things with Jungkook feel okay again, but your heart weighs heavy with the understanding that your friendship won’t ever go back to the way it was before, not entirely. That dose of reality stings a little, but you know it’s for the best, for both of you.

The loss just makes you miss Jimin that much more, but you know he’s currently on a plane to Bangkok to go live his dreams: he’d texted you a picture of his airport fashion while you were at the park, and you’d sent back a father/son candid of Jungkook playing with Bam. You don’t think Jimin’s bark bark bark response had anything to do with the dog.

You’re grateful for the conversation you had with your best friend before he left, even though it was hard to hear. The thought of sorting this mess out on your own still fills you with dread, but you tell yourself that if Jimin believes you can do it, then maybe he’s right. He’s certainly been right about everything else.

And that thought just brings you right back to Yoongi. A heavy sigh washes over you when you carefully unpack the rented Grammys dress from your suitcase, and the memories of the weekend flood your mind in waves as you brush your hand down the velvet fabric.

For a split second you swore the two of you had figured it out, that there wasn’t just sex and hatred between you, but something more. But as soon as the idea had come into focus, that one sweet night where it all felt possible, you’d watched it slip right out of your fingers again, with Yoongi acting cold enough to make you question if maybe you’d made the whole thing up after all.

You can’t help wondering how the morning could’ve gone in another universe: one where he’d stayed a little longer, one where you’d been a little braver. If you could’ve maybe met in the middle, somehow.

He told you he loved you. The words repeat in your head, again and again, as you stare down at your borrowed dress. Drunk as you might have been, you know you didn’t imagine that part. You just wish you knew what you were supposed to do now.

With a thoughtful hum, you reach for the garment bag slung over your closet door, unzipping it so you can hang the dress back up inside. You guess this is what Jimin was talking about. A vulnerable conversation. At this point, it feels like the only thing you haven’t tried with Min Yoongi.

“No time like the present,” you murmur to yourself as you tug the zipper up.

~*~

Going back to the office the next day feels like jumping straight into the deep end. There’s plenty to get caught up on from the aftermath of the Grammys and the work days you missed while traveling. It takes you most of the day just to get through your inbox in the brief moments of downtime not spent running between conference rooms.

Your one beacon of hope is the reassurance that Yoongi is scheduled to be in Tokyo for the rest of the week. It gives you time to calm down, to focus on work undisturbed without anticipating him around every corner. You’ve got the weekend to plan out what you want to say, to prepare yourself to push past the fear and actually say it, all of it, out in the open.

The very thought makes your chest constrict, but you try to breathe through it. You’ve got time to figure it out, you tell yourself.

And then you glance up to see Min Yoongi pushing the glass office doors open, and you swear your heart stops beating.

“Yoongi.”

His name leaves your lips automatically while you attempt to try and process this as really happening. Your voice comes out soft, as if in fear that speaking too loud will make it all dissolve in front of you, or make him turn around and walk right back out again.

He doesn’t respond; his stride doesn’t even falter as he walks past your desk and rounds the corner, heading for his own office. Acting on sheer impulse, you get to your feet to follow after, catching up to him as he’s keying the code into his door lock.

“What are you doing back?” is all you can think to say. You can’t read any emotion on his face, save maybe exhaustion.

“The sessions went well,” he answers, not sounding particularly glad for it. “We finished ahead of schedule.”

“Oh,” you answer dumbly, and he pushes down the handle and steps into his lab. You catch the door before it swings shut again, taking a deep breath to steel yourself as you step inside. “Can we talk?”

With a grunt, Yoongi drops into his desk chair, tapping at his keyboard to wake his computer and log in. “Sure. I was going to ask you the same thing.”

His response surprises you enough that all you can manage is another, “Oh.” You cautiously close the distance between you until you’re standing beside his desk, your gaze sweeping over his unblinking profile. It strikes you that you haven’t actually planned out what you want to say to him. You thought you had more time.

“Uh, I guess you can go first, then.”

Yoongi’s eyes don’t move from his screen. “I think you were right. This was a bad idea.”

“I— what?” It takes you several seconds to piece together what he means. The night at the company happy hour, when he’d proposed that the two of you establish some kind of arrangement, you had said it was a bad idea. And then you’d followed him into the bathroom to say yes to it anyway.

But now he’s… changing his mind? Just like that?

“I think we should both just focus on work,” he says, as if it’s that easy. “And stop being so distracted.”

Distracted? Your gut twists. It’s suddenly hard to inhale, like all the air has been sucked out of the room. “So what, then?” you ask, hating that you can’t quite keep the emotion out of your voice. “It’s over? All of it?”

Yoongi’s gaze alights on you for a split second, then flits back to his screen. The realization makes you want to scream: he can’t even fucking look at you. His adam’s apple jumps in his throat as he swallows.

“Look,” he finally sighs. “Whatever it is you think I can give you, I promise you, I can’t.”

A flush of heat creeps up your neck. “What I think?!” you retort, still in disbelief. “You started this, Yoongi, all of this was your idea. And you’re the one who fucking said you l—” He winces as you cut yourself off, your throat constricting too tight to get the words out.

“I was drunk,” he murmurs, unconvincing.

You stare at him for a moment, stunned.

“You know what I think you were?” His gaze finds yours, and you spit the word at him. “Honest.” There’s a flicker of recognition in his face, and it spurs you on. “I think you told the truth for once in your life, without this weird ‘I don’t care about anything’ veneer, and it fucking terrified you.”

Yoongi shakes his head. His voice is soft when he speaks again, and a little uneven. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?” you snap.

“Don’t act like you know me.”

You scoff, too angry to stop yourself, unable to bite back the urge to press him until he says something real. “You think I don’t? Really? I guess you just tell everyone you fuck about the time you almost jumped off a bridge?”

He flinches as he glances up at you again, and your heart drops like a lead weight at the look on his face. You immediately clap a hand to your mouth, as if in a too-late attempt to shove the words back in.

“Fuck, Yoongi,” you breathe. “I-I didn’t mean that, I’m just—”

All at once, he’s on his feet, moving towards you until you have no choice but to start walking backwards, in the direction of his office door.

“Here’s what I know.” Yoongi’s voice is firm and oddly calm as he speaks over your fumbled apologies. “I’m an asshole. I’m a workaholic. I’m way too hard on myself. I push people too far, and then I shut them all out. I’m never satisfied. I get bored easily.” He pauses for a moment. “And yes, sometimes I get so fucking sick of myself that I want to jump off a bridge. To put it bluntly, I am not somebody you want to be with. At all.”

Your breath hitches as your back finds purchase against the door, and Yoongi stops, still several paces apart from you. His dark eyes feel like they’re burning into you, glassy with emotion in a way you’ve only seen once before.

“We hooked up a few times,” he says, as if there’s no room for debate. “That’s all. It didn’t mean anything. And it’s over now.”

As his words crash into you, it occurs to you what this feeling is, itching like fire under your skin and squeezing tight at the muscles of your throat: you’re embarrassed.

It’s fucking embarrassing, standing here in an office you’ve been in dozens of times before, trying to beg a man you’re supposed to hate into a single honest conversation, into loving you when he already fucking said he did. Yoongi said he’s in love with you, and now he’s just… standing here, blinking at you like you’re somehow the unreasonable one for thinking that it meant anything at all.

“I guess you’re right,” you barely manage to choke out as your hand brushes over the door handle behind you. Your skin is flushed so hot that it feels cool against your palm. “You are a fucking asshole.”

You don’t wait around to see the look on his face at your remark. You just push the handle down and stumble out into the hallway.

When the Genius Lab door closes behind you, you slam back against it with enough force to knock the air out of your lungs. You press your palms to the wood grain and squeeze your eyes shut, trying to calm down, but that choked up feeling refuses to dissipate. The world feels like it’s closing in around you, white noise roaring so loudly in your ears you can scarcely think.

It takes you several seconds to realize that someone is speaking to you, and your eyes snap open again to find Jungkook standing in the hallway, his brow furrowed like he’s concerned. It’s hard to focus on him, like you can’t quite open your eyes wide enough. Black spots have started to dance in your vision, and you blink a few times, hoping to clear them out.

“Whoa, are you okay?”

You attempt to take in enough air to answer him, but all you can manage are shallow gasps: it’s like everything is stuck. You’re not even crying, you just can’t fucking breathe. The only response to his question that you can give is a slow shake of your head, and then your knees buckle.

Your brain must lose the ability to keep up with the pace of everything that’s happening, because suddenly you register that your palms are pressed flat to the office carpet. Jungkook is kneeling beside you, one hand smoothing circles against the back of your dress. You’re still heaving, trying to breathe, but your chest is squeezed so tight that it’s like it won’t take. You can feel your heartbeat behind your ribs, slamming so fast that it makes your whole body shake, and there’s a buzzing sensation in your fingertips, like TV static.

“Hey, hey.” You shut your eyes again and try to focus on Jungkook’s voice. “I think you’re having a panic attack.”

“I—” you gasp, but the words are stuck, too. I can’t breathe. I don’t know what’s happening. I think I’m dying.

“It’s okay,” he answers quickly, and you nod, as if it might force your mind to believe his words. “You’re okay. Just— I’m gonna breathe with you, okay?” You immediately shake your head, and Jungkook shifts a little closer. “I know it feels like you can’t right now. But look. We’re gonna go slow. In for four.”

I can’t fucking do this, you want to scream, but you dig your numb fingers into the carpet and try to follow his lead. You can hear him take a deep inhale through his nose, and you do your best to match it. One, two, three, four.

Jungkook’s voice comes back, stilted this time. “Hold it for seven.”

You nod, trying to focus on the feeling of the floor beneath you, his hand against your back. Your chest is spasming with a desperate need to keep hyperventilating, but you force the little air you’ve taken in to stay in your lungs, and you count. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven.

“And out for eight.” You can hear Jungkook push a stream of air out of his mouth, and you echo it, though your own airflow feels pathetic in comparison. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight.

“Can we do that again?” he asks gently, and after a moment, you nod.

You go through the process again and again, and each time it gets a little easier, until you’re finally able to pull yourself up to sit back on your heels. Your head is spinning, your heart still hammering in your chest, but you try to focus on Jungkook, seated cross-legged next to you like he has all the time in the world.

“I think—” you start, and you have to take another breath in before you can get the rest of the words out. A dull ache is beginning to bloom in your temples. Your throat feels like sandpaper. But at least you can breathe. “I think I’m okay now.”

“There’s no rush. Just give it a second,” he says with a nod, and you do, flexing your hands in your lap to try and bring some feeling back.

“Where did you learn to do that?” you ask softly, and the corner of his mouth pulls up into a half-smile.

“My therapist taught me. I used to have really bad panic attacks. Still do, sometimes.”

You blink at him, trying to process the information. It never occurred to you that Baby Star Candy would be the kind of person to have a therapist, or any kind of mental health issues at all. Not when he seems so… well-adjusted.

“Do you need anything?” he offers. “Water?”

You shake your head, not quite ready to be left alone. “I just need this day to be over so I don’t have to fucking be here anymore,” you sigh.

Jungkook makes a face, as if in thought, then shrugs. “How about I drive you home?”

Your eyes widen in surprise. “I— I’m the keyholder, JK. It’s literally my first day back, I can’t just leave.”

“Where’s the key?” he asks, pulling himself up to standing in one smooth motion. Your legs feel shaky beneath you, and you gladly accept the hand he extends for support as you slowly right yourself next to him.

“It’s, uh—” you have to think for a second before it comes back to you, your brain still a little scrambled. You’d taken it back from your cover earlier this morning, and now it’s… “In my purse. On my desk.”

With that, Jungkook heads down the hallway towards your desk, and you follow after, slightly unsteady in your high heels. He stands to the side when he gets there first, like he doesn’t want to just dig through your things, and you reach for your purse to fish the key out of the bottom.

“Can I borrow that?” Jungkook asks, extending his palm. You pause for a second, then nervously drop the key into his hand.

Before you can even ask any follow-up questions, he’s disappearing back down the hallway. Your gaze lingers over your desk as you let another cautious breath out, and it feels like you’re moving in slow motion when you grab your laptop and slide it into your purse.

It seems like less than a minute before Jungkook returns again, rapping his knuckles against your desk. “You’re off the hook for tonight.”

“Really?” you ask, incredulous. “What did you do?”

He just shrugs. “Talked to your boss. Told him you weren’t feeling well and wanted to leave early. He said he’d lock up. It’s not a big deal to ask for help sometimes, you know.”

You blink, attempting to keep up, your reaction time slowed enough that it’s like you’re on a five second delay. “Thanks, Jungkook. I guess your therapist taught you that too, huh?”

Jungkook nods without a trace of shame. “Sure did. Now let’s get out of here.”

Nothing about the world around you feels real as you follow Jungkook into the elevator and down to the parking garage. It’s like floating through some strange dream, everything fuzzy and far away. You slip wordlessly into his passenger seat, and it’s only as he pulls out onto the city streets that a creeping sense of dread starts to dot up your spine.

This scene is too familiar, and that thought alone makes your mouth go dry. When you try to swallow, you can feel your throat threatening to constrict again.

“Jungkook,” you manage to choke out, and his eyes flit from the road to your face and back again.

“Everything okay?”

The silence in the car is suddenly deafening. “Can we, uh— put on some music? Just, anything?”

Jungkook looks a little cautious, like he doesn’t want to do too much too fast. “Are you sure?”

You nod, your eyes fluttering closed as you try to remember his stupid breathing pattern. “Please. I… need a distraction.”

“Okay. Sure,” he answers quickly, and you let out a ragged sigh of relief when he leans over to press a button and the car fills with upbeat pop. It takes you a second to place it, and then you blink your eyes open again as a laugh of surprise rips through you.

“Hype Boy, really?”

“What? This is a great song!” Jungkook’s already tapping his thumbs on the steering wheel in time to the beat. “I just learned the dance, too.”

You tip your head back against the seat with another soft giggle. “Sounds like somebody’s about to go viral on TikTok again.”

The two of you settle into silence, and you let yourself be distracted by the music, your brain still cotton-fuzz numb. You’re grateful that Jungkook doesn’t force conversation or babble on the way he normally does, instead choosing to hum along in a way that’s oddly comforting. You count your breaths and watch the city pass by in a blur, until all at once the car is coming to a stop at your apartment complex. The building seems to loom over you as you blink up through the windshield, one hand fumbling for the car door.

Up those stairs is the safety of your apartment. But now that you’re here, it doesn’t feel so reassuring. It’s not like there’s anyone waiting for you on the other side of your front door. No best friend to come over. It occurs to you now that you’re not ready to be alone just yet, but that’s exactly what you’ll be the minute you step out of Jungkook’s car.

The words leave your mouth before you have time to reconsider. “JK, do you want to come up for a bit?”

“Oh.” Jungkook is wide-eyed and blinking when you glance at him, like he wasn’t expecting the invitation. “Uh, yeah. Okay. For a bit.”

It’s a little funny, stepping inside your front door with Jungkook following after, the two of you slipping your shoes off in the hallway, then padding further in. You never pictured this happening, not even when he came to pick you up for Jimin’s concert.

Jungkook cautiously perches on the edge of the couch, like he’s not quite sure what to do with himself, while you continue into the kitchen, calling back over your shoulder. “Do you want something to drink? Water, tea?”

There’s a shuffling sound, like Jungkook is peeling out of his jacket. “Just, uh. Whatever you’re having, I guess.”

“Wine, then,” you answer.

You make short work of cracking open a bottle of red, then grab two glasses before returning to the living room and dropping down on the cushion next to Jungkook. His jacket is slung over the arm of the couch now, leaving him in his usual business casual uniform, a button-down and slacks.

“What a fucking day,” you sigh as you pour Jungkook a glass of wine, then one for yourself. “Thank you again, for… you know. Reminding me how to breathe.”

Jungkook still seems a little nervous as he reaches for his drink. “Yeah, of course.” There’s a moment of silence as you both take a sip, and then he speaks first. “Can I ask—“ he interrupts himself, as if making a correction. “I mean, I don’t want to pry. I know it’s not my business. At all.”

“You want to know why I had a panic attack in the middle of the office?” you offer, and he nods.

“Outside of Yoongi’s lab,” Jungkook finishes quietly, and your heart briefly stalls out at the mere mention of his name.

“It’s a good question,” you murmur as you stare at the liquid swirling in your glass. Jimin’s words suddenly come back to you in a whole new light. Start with the truth.

You glance up at Jungkook again. “Yoongi and I were…” You trail off, unsure what to even call it. Involved? Hooking up? Enemies with benefits? Nothing feels right. “We were something.”

“But not anymore?” Jungkook’s response is immediate. You shake your head.

“No, I guess not.” There’s a dull ache in your chest, like pressing on a fresh bruise, and you try to breathe through it, your gaze flitting down to the hem of your dress. “When we were in LA, he said he loved me. And now he says it didn’t mean anything. That it’s over.”

“Wow,” Jungkook huffs, sounding dazed and a little pissed off. “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah,” you sigh as you sink back against the couch cushion. “Me too.”

It all feels more real, now that you’ve said it out loud. Hurts just as fucking bad. Maybe worse. “And I’m sorry I lied to you. I should’ve just told you, but. I don’t know. I think I wanted to believe I had it all under control.” A sad laugh flutters out of your lungs. “Clearly, I do not.”

“It’s okay,” Jungkook says, and he pauses for a moment, placing his wine glass on the coffee table before he continues. “Were you— I mean, was it… the whole time?”

You pull your bottom lip between your teeth as you shrug. “Not the whole time, but. Most of it, I guess. It was like a weird slow burn thing.”

“Got it.”

When you glance over at Jungkook, there’s a distant look in his eyes, like he’s still processing everything. You suppose it’s probably a lot to hear all at once. It feels good to be honest with him after so much time spent keeping secrets. A heat starts to bloom in your face as you take another sip of wine, then set the glass down.

There must still be a lingering post-panic disconnect between your brain and your body, because all of a sudden you’re moving on sheer instinct, without giving it any thought at all. You drop back against the couch cushion again, then tilt yourself to the side until your head is pressed gently into Jungkook’s shoulder.

You wonder if you’re imagining the way he tenses slightly at the contact. You glance up at him through your lashes, but he’s not looking at you, and the expression on his face is hard to judge. There’s a faint scar on his cheek that you’ve never noticed before.

It could be so easy, you realize now. All he’d have to do is turn a little and close the distance. He could cup your jaw in his hand, tilt your chin up towards him, brush his lips against yours. Soft and sweet.

And maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. At least you wouldn’t be alone.

“It should have been you, Baby Goth,” you hear yourself say.

Silence weighs heavy in the air between you, and then Jungkook speaks.

“That’s not fair.”

It’s like the words snap you out of a trance. You jump back like you’ve just been burned, purposefully sliding over to put as much distance as you can between your bodies on the couch.

“I’m sorry,” you say reflexively, but Jungkook is still staring at the floor. His leg has begun to bounce, like a nervous tick.

“I don’t—” Jungkook starts, and then he pauses, taking a deep breath in before he begins the sentence again. “I don’t want… this. Not if… if it’s not real. Or just a rebound, or whatever.”

Shame rushes up in your chest, makes you hot all over. You can’t exactly say that he’s wrong, but the thought of a brief distraction from the pain was so promising. Now it’s only served to dig you in that much deeper.

“I’m sorry, Jungkook,” you repeat dumbly. You can feel your heartbeat hammering behind your ribs. “I shouldn’t have said that. I’m just… Fuck, I’m such a mess right now. I keep fucking everything up.”

His gaze finally drifts up to meet yours, and you’ve never seen him look more serious. “You know, Chan said something that stuck with me. When I told him about what happened. He said, ‘if she really wanted to be with you, she already would be.’”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut, and you recoil at the impact. You try to blink away the impending tears as you slowly nod. “Chan’s right,” you whisper, and Jungkook’s mouth pulls into a sad, flat grimace.

“Yeah,” he answers, his voice gone raw. “I thought so too.”

All at once, he’s on his feet and tugging his jacket back on, and you can only sit motionless and watch him. You press a finger to your waterline, trying to catch the tears before they start to spill down your face.

“I’m sorry you had a hard day,” Jungkook says, reaching up to adjust his collar. “And I really do want to be your friend. But I think I just need a little time.” He tucks his hands into the pockets of his jacket, turning over his shoulder to look at you, then quickly averting his gaze again. “We both do.”

“Yeah,” you sniff. “I want to be friends too. But, yeah. You’re right.”

Jungkook keeps his head down as he heads for the entryway. He slips his feet into his shoes, then swings the door open, pausing in the threshold for a final glance back towards you.

“Get some sleep,” he murmurs. You nod. And then the door clicks shut behind him.

~*~

Despite your best attempts and the rest of the bottle of wine, sleep doesn’t come. You stare up at the black of your bedroom ceiling, and it feels like staring at the rubble of every bridge you’ve burned. All from your own choices. The things you said that you shouldn’t have, the things you didn’t do that you should have. All your mess, and all your fault.

You keep your eyes open, because closing them is worse. Closing them is when it all comes back, a looping film strip in your head of everything that’s haunted you, played out in technicolor on the backs of your eyelids.

Extending a mug of coffee to Yoongi on your first day. Stealing food off Jimin’s plate at dinner. Splitting red bean buns with Jungkook.

And then it speeds up.

A locked office door, a stolen set of keys. A four digit code and a smirk. Your fingers gripping the edge of Yoongi’s desk. Dancing close with a dark-haired stranger in a packed club. Yoongi’s hands slipping up your thighs, closing over your throat. The flashing lights and noise of a concert. A full glass of whiskey. Standing outside of a bar in the cold night air. Rain on a windshield. A maple pastry and a paper coffee cup. Seoul lit up at night, cut through by the river. A hotel bed. Yoongi’s hands on the zipper of your dress. Yoongi’s hands on piano keys. Yoongi’s mouth on yours in a conference room, in his shower, in a K-town noraebang. His face pressed into your shoulder on the cab ride home.

And you see yourself, too. Running away. Saying the wrong thing. Fucking everything up, irreparably. Over and over, the movie replays.

Tears slip across the bridge of your nose as you turn onto your side, cheek pressed to the pillow, and wait for morning.

~*~

“There she is!”

Your boss’ greeting rings loud in your ears, and you wince as you duck your head through his office door. He gestures for you to have a seat in the chair across from his desk, and you comply. You can see him taking you in as you sit down, and when his smile falters slightly, you know why: there weren’t enough ice rollers in the world to completely de-puff your face after a sleepless night spent crying yourself dry.

“How are you feeling?” he asks, a little more gently.

You fold your hands in your lap and take a deep breath, willing the words not to get stuck in your throat. You can feel the tension in the room, your knife’s edge poised at the final cord to cut.

“I want you to know that I’ve really enjoyed my time working here,” you begin, doing your best to keep your voice even, squeezing your laced fingers tight to give your mind something to focus on. “But for personal reasons, I think I need to tender my resignation.”

Your boss sits back in his chair, clearly stunned. It takes him a second to recover. “I— wow. Can’t say I saw this coming.” He leans forward again. “It wasn’t something that happened here, was it? Because if we need to report an issue to HR, you should know I take that kind of thing very seriously. I’d hate to see you leave over something we could take care of.”

Another breath in, another squeeze of your hands in your lap. “No, it wasn’t,” you say firmly. “It’s just me. My own stuff. I think… I think maybe I need to leave Seoul for a bit.”

He pauses, considering your words, and you consider them, too. It isn’t a thought you were ever cognizant of having until this moment, but it doesn’t feel like a lie, either. It makes sense. You’ve snapped every tie that once might have kept you tethered to this city. There doesn’t feel like much point in staying, or like there’s anything still here for you.

“Well, good for you,” your boss finally says, his tone serious. “For knowing your own limits. Gotta be a human first, right?” You offer him a half-smile and a nod, and he leans forward to grab a pen off his desk, fiddling absentmindedly with it. “Thinking of going anywhere in particular?”

You shake your head, your smile turning self-conscious. “Hadn’t gotten that far.”

“If I’m overstepping, just tell me to shut up,” he starts, and you can’t help breathing out a laugh. “But you got some rave reviews from the Los Angeles team. Seriously, you blew them away. They asked if it was possible to clone you. Apparently they’ve been looking for an admin for a while, but can’t seem to find anyone who can walk the walk.”

Your eyes go wide as you begin to put the pieces together, and your boss just keeps going.

“I mean, it’s probably a bigger move than what you were looking for. Unless you’re really trying to get away. But you’re such a great asset, I’d love to keep you in the family, if we can.”

He looks at you pointedly, and you swallow around the sudden lump in your throat. “You… can do that?”

Your boss shrugs. “We’d have to get you a visa, but that’s easy enough with a specialty occupation lined up. And we can cover the fees for premium processing so it doesn’t take half a year. But only if it’s something you’re genuinely interested in. If you’re just trying to cut and run, I get it. No hard feelings.”

Your head goes spinning. Los Angeles. It’s about as far away from your mess of a life as you could possibly get. It feels too good to be true, and you drop your gaze to the floor as a tidal wave of guilt surges over you.

You hadn’t planned on this admission, but all at once, the words are coming out of your mouth.

“I lied,” you say, your voice soft, your eyes fixed firmly on the carpet. There’s no way you can look your boss in the face as the truth spills out of you. “On my job application. I don’t have any experience as an administrative assistant. I made it all up, and my reference was fake. I was actually a waitress before this.”

You finally manage a glance up. Your boss’ eyebrows are nearly at his hairline, but he’s quiet.

“It just… doesn’t seem fair to send me off to the Los Angeles team. Not when I don’t even know what I’m doing,” you conclude with an embarrassed grimace.

“You really feel like you don’t?”

His question makes you blink. You don’t know what you were expecting, but it certainly wasn’t that. You’re not sure how to respond.

He drops the pen in his hands to press his palms flat to the surface of his desk, as if he means business. “Look, obviously I can’t condone what you did. But I’ll be honest, if anything, that just makes me all the more impressed with your performance. I thought you adjusted quickly even for someone with past experience. To know you were flying blind…” He huffs a laugh of disbelief. “I mean, that’s a fucking crazy thing to do. But you did do it. I’ve seen you working your ass off to keep this office together. And that’s the thing: you have. You’ve met every deadline, kept up with every deliverable. You’ve taken everything we’ve thrown at you and handled it.”

You pull your bottom lip into your mouth, willing it to stop trembling. Fuck, you’d really thought you were done crying.

Your boss shakes his head as he continues. “Maybe if you’d just started, I’d feel differently about this. But I gotta be honest. When I look at your performance the past few months… I don’t give a fuck what your last job was. Because in this job, you’re killing it. And I know you’d do the same in Los Angeles, if you made the decision to go. They want you out there because they’ve already seen what you can do. They know it, and I know it. And I hope that some part of you knows it, too.”

A single tear rolls down your cheek, and you quickly reach up to swipe it away. “Thank you,” you choke out, your voice thick as you try to keep it together. “I seriously can’t tell you how much it means to hear that right now.”

He doesn’t respond right away, like he’s waiting for you to say more, and you take a shaky breath in as the decision solidifies in your head. “I really enjoyed my time with the Los Angeles team. And I would love to transfer there, if they’ll have me.”

Your boss’ mouth pulls into a smug smirk. “Please,” he says dryly. “As soon as they get wind of this, they’re going to beg me to ship you overnight.” You laugh as you dab at your eyes with the edge of your sleeve, and his face softens slightly. “I can’t do overnight. But do you think you can hang on for just a couple more weeks?”

You chase your nod with a gentle sniff. “Yeah. I think I can do that.”

~*~

Time passes quicker than you would’ve expected, split mostly between preparing for your transfer at work and trying to pack your life up into cardboard boxes at home. Apart from those two things, the days feel aimless, and a little unreal. It’s like you’re living in a liminal space, halfway between your old life and the promise of a new one. Your boss offers to hang onto the office key of his own accord, to give you more time to get your things in order, and you gratefully accept the help.

It’s a weird change, no longer having to worry about being the first one at the office and the last one out. No meeting Jungkook at the doors each morning. No fighting with Yoongi to get him to leave at the end of the day. You see relatively little of either of them, save for the occasional meeting or brush of shoulders in the hallway. You’d think losing both of them in one go might be unbearable if you didn’t already have your eyes on the horizon.

Your boss announces your upcoming transfer in the next team meeting, though Yoongi is naturally nowhere to be found. Jungkook’s eyes go as wide as you’ve ever seen them at the news, but he still slips out of the conference room immediately after the meeting wraps, rather than hanging back to talk to you.

You try not to take it personally; you can’t exactly blame him.

Life goes on. Your boss swings by your desk to excitedly share the news that your visa was approved, and you set a final transition date. You sort out the travel, the logistics of shipping your stuff, and lock down a place to sublet in Los Angeles to get you started. It’s admittedly shocking how easy it is to take your old life apart, piece by piece. To draft your escape plan, to run away from it all one final time. To make a clean break.

It’s nearly the end of your last workday in Seoul before you’re able to put a name to the feeling that’s begun to blossom in the pit of your stomach: it’s hope.

“Hey.” Your boss’ voice cuts through your concentration, and you glance up from your laptop to see him leaned up against your desk. “Can you walk to the break room with me for a second? Got a few last-minute questions for you.”

Your eyes go wide, your mind instantly racing, trying to think of what it is you might have forgotten.

“You’re not in trouble,” he says with a laugh, and you nod as you get to your feet, not quite able to believe it. “Just, uh, follow me and put on a happy face. Alright?”

You have no idea what he could possibly mean until you round the corner and a cheer rises up. The rest of your coworkers are standing around the break room in groups, like they’ve been waiting for you, though that doesn’t seem to have stopped them from already partaking in the assortment of food and drinks that’s been set up beside the vending machines. There’s a farewell banner pinned to the wall, signed with well-wishes from what looks to be everyone at the Seoul office, and someone’s turned on a playlist that you realize upon closer listen exclusively features songs about California.

There’s even a cake.

For a moment, you can’t do anything except stand there in the threshold, dumbfounded, as your coworkers clap and laugh.

“I— wow,” is all you can think to say, and you shoot your boss an incredulous look. “Thank you.”

He makes a face. “Hey, I didn’t do this. Thank JK.” Your boss nods across the room. “That kid loves any excuse to throw a party.”

Your heart immediately sinks at the mention, at all this kindness shown to you by the person you’ve arguably treated the worst.

It takes a while to get to him, with nearly every person wanting to stop you for a chat, but you finally manage to make your way over to where Jungkook is loading up a paper plate with so much food that it’s threatening to cave in.

“Make sure you get something to eat before it’s all gone,” he says by way of greeting, gesturing to the catering dishes with an elbow so he can keep both hands on his plate. “It’s really good.”

“Jungkook,” you say softly, and his gaze alights on you for a second before returning back to his food. You don’t think you’re imagining that he looks somewhat nervous. “I really can’t thank you enough. You didn’t have to do any of this.”

He shrugs, taking a few steps over to a nearby table, and you cautiously trail after him. “I didn’t,” he admits as he sets his plate down, then scoots a chair out. “But you deserve a good send-off. It takes a lot of guts to do what you’re doing.”

You shift nervously where you stand. “It’s either that or cowardice. I’ll let you know when I figure out which.”

A small smile tugs at his lips as he digs into his food, and you suddenly feel like you’ve overstayed your welcome. But then he glances up again, speaking through a mouthful. “Well, whatever it is. I hope it works out for you.”

“Thanks, JK.” You do your best to return his smile. “I hope so, too.”

By the time you grab your own plate, you’ve been swept into another group to answer an endless litany of questions about your move. You tell yourself it’s probably for the best to leave Jungkook alone anyway, so you try to stand there and smile, to assure your nosier coworkers that nothing happened; you just needed a change of scenery.

Eventually the conversation shifts, and you find yourself on the outskirts of it, more than a little relieved to no longer be in the hot seat. You sip politely at your drink and nod along, not really paying attention to whatever’s being said, until a tap on your shoulder makes you start, and you turn around.

You nearly drop your cup when you find Min Yoongi staring back at you.

Your eyes had scanned the crowd for his face when you got here, like they do in every room you walk into, but he wasn’t here. He wasn’t, you’re sure of it, and you honestly hadn’t expected him to show at all. Why would he?

But now here he is, standing in front of you, his dark eyes searching yours. And you have no idea what to say to him.

You might be face-to-face in a crowded break room, but he still feels unreachable, like he’s a thousand miles away from you. It occurs to you that after today he’ll be much, much further.

Your lips part, but you can’t get the words out. You don’t even know where to begin. But then he speaks first.

“I just want you to be happy,” he murmurs, and as he says it, his hand brushes yours for less than a second. It’s a touch so brief, so imperceptible, that anyone else would think it was an accident. But you know better.

Yoongi pauses, as if to take one final look at you, and then he slips between two groups of your chatting coworkers, and you lose sight of him again. As if he was never there at all. It’s like you can feel your heart drop to your feet and shatter against the linoleum floor.

It hurts just as much as it did before— watching him walk away, not having the guts to stop him. Even if you did, you know you’d find a way to fuck it up, the way you always do. So you say nothing. Do nothing. The party turns to white noise in your ears as you stare down at the liquid in your cheap plastic cup. And then it hits you all at once: you need to get out of here.

You’re able to slip out of the break room unnoticed, dropping your drink in a trashcan on the way out. You move down the hallway on unsteady legs, and you don’t stop until your hands are pressed flat to the bathroom door to push it open. Shouldering into a stall, you can barely fumble the lock closed behind you before the tears start to spill over.

You don’t try to hold them in. You just slump against the door and let it all pour out of you. You cry until your throat goes thick, until a muted thud blooms at the back of your skull, until you find yourself distantly wondering if you’ll ever stop crying. You’re so fucking sick of crying.

Occasional groups of coworkers drift into the bathroom, and you stifle your sounds each time to avoid detection, your cheek pressed to the stall door as you wait to hear them trickle out again. The interruptions get further and further apart until there’s a long stretch of silence, and your hands shake slightly as you slip the lock open to make your way out to the sink.

The face looking back at you in the mirror is not a pretty sight, all puffy and tear-stained, your makeup a disaster. You reach for a paper towel to try and clean yourself up, and then the bathroom door creaks open a few inches, just enough for Jungkook to stick his head through the gap.

You can’t help smiling a little at his unexpected presence, though it’s more of a grimace, considering you know full well how awful you look right now. “Hey, JK.”

He blinks, eyes widening as he takes in your current state. “I know I’m not supposed to be in here, but… are you okay?”

The laugh you manage is all self-pity. “Kind of a loaded question.”

Jungkook nudges the door open with his foot, and you realize his hands are preoccupied with two paper plates. “Everyone’s gone; I was just cleaning up,” he explains. “I brought cake.”

“Thanks,” you say softly, watching his reflection in the bathroom mirror as he steps inside.

After a moment of internal debate, you turn to press your back to the sink, flattening your palms against the counter and hopping up to sit on it. Jungkook sets the plates between you before following suit, his long legs dangling over the edge of the marble surface. He reaches into his shirt pocket to retrieve two plastic forks, performing the motion with just enough flourish to make you really laugh as he hands you one with a shy smile.

The two of you take your first bites in silence, save for your own sniffling.

“This cake is really good,” you murmur as you chew.

A longer pause settles between you, and you find yourself relieved for the quiet. You figure Jungkook doesn’t need to ask the obvious question, that he’s perfectly capable of putting the pieces together as to what might’ve led you to lock yourself in the bathroom and cry all your makeup off. And any words of comfort he could’ve once offered would only make you feel like even more of a monster right now.

Jungkook has already finished his slice of cake by the time he speaks again. “Did you… hate the party?”

“No, JK,” you respond immediately, the corner of your mouth pulling up in a sad half-smile. “It was wonderful.” Guilt gnaws at the edges of your conscience, and you can’t help but question what you ever did to be worthy of this friendship. Of Jungkook’s kindness, given freely, even when you didn’t deserve it. “Seriously, thank you. For everything.”

“You’re welcome,” he answers. You look down just in time to see him extend a leg so he can gently tap his foot against yours. His voice is quieter when it comes back. “I’m really gonna miss you.”

“I’m gonna miss you too,” you echo, glancing up at him as you return his foot tap with one of your own. “But you’ll be alright.”

Jungkook’s gaze drifts down to the floor, and he nods as you take another bite of cake, his jaw set firm. “Yeah. I will be.”

~*~

As you pack up the last of your things, there’s a lingering feeling in your gut that you can’t quite manage to shake, and you’re not sure why. Maybe Jimin got in your head with all the TV show drama talk. Or maybe it’s your stupid heart, foolishly holding out hope that things could still change, even at the eleventh hour. That it all can’t just… end like this.

But none of the scenarios you’ve dreamed up come true. Yoongi isn’t standing at your apartment door when you swing it open with your suitcase in hand. He doesn’t step out of the cab that pulls up to your complex to take you to the airport. He doesn’t run through the terminal to catch you right before you make it to security.

Yoongi doesn’t stop you. So you go.

chapter nine | masterlist

---

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

---

look down on me like that - 7 (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: 8.9k

contains: ~explicit sexual content~ !! alcohol mention, baby goth jungkookie 👀 some appreciation of jimin's ass 🍑 wonho is back !!! reader continues to be goin through it, jimin pulls no punches this chapter he rly said the library is open, could it be..... a.... softer yoongi???, i put some of yoongi's actual achievements as a producer in here (yes that's a warning), suckin' dick and fuckin' in the office yktfv (but make it Riskier™️), inadvisable methods of dealing with presentation anxiety, protected sex, a half-kiss that i fully expect to be screamed at about, some Sad Yoongi Backstory is unlocked (and yes it's real 🥲), and???? feelings??? maybe????????

A/N: ohhhhhh man we're back back again 🫡 i really did not think this chapter was gonna go that hard and then suddenly sdkjgdfljg i don't even know what happened. thank you so much for your patience bc i know it's been a minute 🥺 and i really really hope y'all enjoy and can't wait to hear what you think !!!! 💜 AND I CAN ALREADY TELL YOU Y'ALL AREN'T READY FOR CHAPTER 8...... (i'm not even ready 😩)

ALL MY LOVE TO @haliiimede FOR BETA READING ILY SORRY I FORGOT TO CREDIT YOU THROW ME AWAY

read on AO3!

chapter six | masterlist | chapter eight

~*~

“Jungkook?”

His nose scrunches up a little when he laughs. “Were you expecting someone else?”

“I-I… I just—” You stammer, trying to remember how to make words happen. It feels like your brain is on a five-second delay. “You, uh, look different. Your outfit.”

You’ve interacted with your baby-faced coworker literally hundreds of times at this point, and in that time you’ve become well-accustomed to seeing him in his standard corporate attire, slacks and button-downs, or occasionally changed out for boxing class, muscle tees and sweatpants.

But you have never seen him dressed like this. All black, head-to-toe. His t-shirt and over-shirt are both baggy while somehow still managing to hug tight around his biceps and the solid muscle of his chest. A silver chain dangles from one of the belt loops of his slouchy utility pants, which are in turn tucked into chunky combat boots that easily give him an extra two inches of height. A matching thick silver chain is clasped around his neck, glittering in the dim light of dusk outside your front door.

Jungkook frowns as he looks down at himself, like he doesn’t even recall what he’s wearing. “I always dress like this,” he remarks with a shrug. “Just, not at work.”

“I cannot believe you,” you say, somewhat breathless as your eyes trace down his body and back up.

“What?” He laughs again. “What did I do?”

“First you keep from me that you have dogs, and now I found out you’re goth, too? What else are you hiding, Jeon Jungkook?!”

“I’m not hiding anything! These things never came up!” He sounds so flustered that you can’t help but smile, and you see a clear expression of relief flash over his face as he seems to realize you’re not actually mad.

You shake your head, digging into your purse to retrieve your phone as you brush past him, letting the front door slam shut behind you. “That’s it. Baby Star Candy is dead. You are officially Baby Goth now. Changing your contact name and everything.”

When you turn to look at him over your shoulder, he’s still smiling, still standing dumbfounded on your doorstep.

“Come on, Baby Goth!” You can’t quite suppress the laughter in your voice. “I don’t want to be late!”

As the two of you slip into Jungkook’s car and he starts to pull out of your apartment complex, he glances over at you. ”So, what did you get up to today? I feel like I barely saw you.”

Your gut twists as it all comes rushing back— that mere hours ago Yoongi had you pressed against the door of his office, his hand up your dress, while he went through an entire business conversation with none-the-wiser Jungkook on the other side. And that once Jungkook had left, you’d turned around and practically begged Yoongi to fuck you where you stood, right up against his fucking door. And he had.

Your chest constricts a little at the thought. Sex, in the office, in the middle of the workday. Like an idiot.

You wish you could say you regret it.

Heat rushes to your face, and you fumble for an answer to Jungkook’s question. “I just, uh— today… was a lot.” You hope your smile is more convincing than it feels, and you hope you’re just imagining the way Jungkook’s eyes linger on you for an extra second before his gaze flits back to the road.

“Well,” he thumbs at the volume control on the steering wheel, turning up the radio a couple notches. “Now we get to have fun. Work hard, play hard, right?”

Your nerves start to recede again as you fall into the comfortable routine of time spent with Jungkook. It’s funny to you now that you thought it might be any different to interact with him outside of work.

Apart from the mildly distracting fit of his shirt, Jungkook is exactly the same— wide eyes sparkling in the headlights of passing cars as he babbles on about TikTok, then interrupts himself to sing along to the radio. He only pauses for breath when you interject with directions to the venue, until he’s finally pulling into a parking space and turning the key to kill the engine.

Jungkook gazes up in awe as you have your tickets scanned and lead him into the venue entrance, clearly trying to take it all in. This is one of your favorite places to see Jimin perform, and it’s still overwhelmingly impressive, even though you’ve seen it dozens of times now.

“Wow, this place is really nice. Your friend must be a pretty big deal.”

“Jimin is a huge deal,” you say with a nod and a shrug, used to it. “You’ll understand why when you see him dance… And also when you see his ass.” You giggle a little, unable to help yourself.

Jungkook laughs too, eyebrows lifting off his forehead like he wasn’t expecting that response.

You wave him down a hallway towards the center of the venue. “Come on, Baby Goth, we’re in VIP.”

His brows lift impossibly higher. “What does that mean?”

You shoot him a wink. “It means we drink for free.”

You know the route by heart as you emerge from the hallway and lead Jungkook towards the front, where you flash your tickets again to be let into a section close to the stage.

Jungkook eagerly volunteers to get the first round, and you’re thankful he isn’t gone long. Alone with your thoughts is the last thing you want to be right now— at least not while sober. When he hands you your drink, you lean in to tap the plastic edge of your cup against his in a cheers.

“To working hard and playing hard,” you smirk as you repeat his line back to him, then pause. “Just— please do not share anything I say tonight with anyone at work.”

“I swear,” Jungkook nods, and you can’t help but smile when he holds out the pinky of his free hand. You link yours with his to seal the deal. “I’m good at keeping secrets,” he says earnestly.

“Right, like you kept the secret of Yoongi’s lock code?”

His face immediately reddens. “That was different.” He covers the awkward pause— or maybe you’re just imagining it— when he takes a sip of his drink, then continues. “Did you ever end up using it?”

Your heart drops into your stomach, and you exhale in relief when at that moment, the lights start to dim, and the now filled-in crowd begins to cheer in anticipation. You wave a hand at Jungkook as if to indicate you’ll tell him later, and you pray he won’t remember to bring it up again.

As the dancers take the stage, you lean over to point Jimin out to Jungkook, though you know as soon as he starts moving you won’t have to. Everyone is talented, but there’s something about the way your best friend dances that makes it impossible to watch anyone else. He can nail any style, can convey so much story and emotion through his movements, can execute choreography flawlessly while still doing it in his own unique way.

After the first few songs, you’re both on your feet, and when Jungkook leans toward you to be heard over the music, you’re certain he’s about to gush over how good Jimin is, the way everyone does the first time they see him perform.

“You weren’t kidding about his ass!” He half-shouts instead, and you nearly drop your drink. Jungkook stares openly at Jimin as he moves across the stage, both powerful and graceful. His head tilts slightly to one side. “I mean. Wow.”

The alcohol makes you laugh easily and loud. You have to take a moment to catch your breath before you can respond. “Okay, Jungkook!”

“What?” Jungkook is laughing now, too. “I can appreciate a nice ass, regardless of who it’s attached to!” There’s a pause as you both giggle and catch your breath. “But uh— please don’t share that at work.”

You extend your pinky first this time. “Promise.”

Jungkook smiles as he locks his finger with yours, then drops your hand. The song has ended, so he doesn’t have to talk quite so loud as he continues. “He really is talented, too.”

You nod. “Jimin was a trainee for a few years, but I think he’s a lot happier just dancing like this. It was a lot of pressure.”

Soft synths of the intro to the next song have already started to build, and when the beat kicks in, Jungkook’s eyes go wide, and he looks up with a grin. “Oh shit! I fucking love this song!”

You giggle. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you swear before.”

He glances at you over the rim of his cup, his smile growing cocky. “Well, you’ve never gotten drunk with me before. The things you miss when you leave happy hour early.”

Your heart sinks a little at the memory, and you’re grateful Jungkook is already lost in his own world, bopping along to the upbeat song, so he doesn’t seem to notice the way your face falls. It’s like Yoongi has left fingerprints all over your life, and no matter what you do, you can’t get rid of them.

You take a long pull of your drink until you hit the bottom.

Jungkook is a welcome distraction to it all. By the final chorus of the song that you now recognize as an EXO cover, he’s fully gotten into it, unable to stand still and launching into some on-the-spot choreography. When he executes a dangerously well-performed body roll, your jaw drops.

“I think you missed your calling,” you shout over the music. “You should’ve been an idol!”

“Yeah?” Jungkook cocks an eyebrow, hips still moving fluidly. “Think I’d be as good as Kai?”

You nod. “Oh yeah. I can see it now.” You gesture as if reading off a magazine headline. “Heartthrob Jeon Jungkook. But they’d call you Baby Star Candy, of course.”

Jungkook smiles at you, striking a final deliberate pose for the last note of the song. “I thought I was Baby Goth now?”

You smirk as you correct him. “Only I’m allowed to call you that. Your army of fangirls will have to get in line.”

It’s like the lack of music backing him up makes him go shy, and you watch the way Jungkook’s cheeks flush, the way his nose scrunches when he laughs and waves the idea away. “I’m good. Think I’ll stick to TikTok.”

You giggle through another two drinks before the show is over, and as the dancers leave with a final wave, you cheer extra loud for Jimin until he glances your way and sticks his tongue out at you. When the house lights come up, you nod for Jungkook to follow you, making your way past more security to the back of the venue to meet Jimin at the stage door.

You can’t help but laugh a little in surprise when you round the corner to see a familiar face amidst the small group already waiting. Wonho is leaning up against the wall, looking hilariously small and nervous for how large his frame is, and clutching a bouquet of roses as red as his hair.

Biting your lip, you wave at him, and he waves back, but neither of you move to say anything else.

You can’t quite shake the embarrassment that comes with being reminded of the night you first met Wonho. Just another set of stupid Yoongi fingerprints.

Jimin emerges from the stage door a few minutes later, unceremoniously dropping the dance bag slung over his arm when his eyes land on Wonho waiting for him.

“Aw, baby!” Jimin pouts in disbelief as he accepts the roses, only to then immediately be swept up into a bridal carry. He squeaks when Wonho effortlessly lifts him off the ground. 

You roll your eyes despite the smile that creeps across your face. “You two are ridiculous.”

Jimin shoots you a sour look. “Can you let me have a whirlwind romance for once in my damn life, please?” He takes Wonho’s face in both hands to kiss him squarely on the mouth.

Jungkook is clearly still processing all of this, radiating ‘confused but happy to be here’ energy as he scoops Jimin’s abandoned dance bag off the floor to carry it over his shoulder.

Jimin sideeyes Jungkook as he pulls away. “And who is this man touching my stuff?”

Jungkook’s eyes widen, and he glances at the bag like maybe he should put it back down.

You reach up to smack Jimin on the arm. “Shut up. This is my friend and coworker, Jungkook. Be nice to him.”

“I’m not going to be nice to anyone until I get some fucking food,” Jimin snaps. His toes point as he kicks his feet daintily in Wonho’s arms, a dancer through and through. “Can we go eat now?”

Your first stop is a restaurant near the venue where you order a metric ton of brisket at Jimin’s demand. While Wonho and Jungkook easily destroy most of it between the two of them, your best friend still seems to have enough to improve his mood. It probably helps that Wonho hand-feeds the majority of it to him.

When he’s not gazing adoringly at his boyfriend, Jimin is attempting to communicate with you using solely his eyes, which keep darting over to Jungkook, his brows lifting in a silent question.

You tighten your jaw and do your best to subliminally shake your head without attracting Jungkook’s attention. Thankfully Jungkook doesn’t seem to remember that there’s anything else in the world except his plate of food.

Jimin narrows his gaze at you, his universal signal for “we’ll discuss this later”, and dread floods in the pit of your stomach.

Sure enough, when you finish your meal and move to a table at the bar down the street, Jimin sweetly suggests that Wonho and Jungkook go together to grab the first round of drinks, giving no indication that he has any sort of ulterior motive. They shrug and nod, Jungkook immediately starting to quiz Wonho on his protein intake as they depart.

Jimin pounces as soon as you’re alone again. “I’m sorry, you’re having a sordid office sex affair with a coworker and you’re telling me it’s not this man?!”

You roll your eyes. “No, Jimin.”

Jimin sucks his teeth, clearly unimpressed. “I thought I raised you better than this. I’m about to make him my hot goth girlfriend if you don’t.”

“You literally have a boyfriend.”

His brows pinch together, like he’s confused why that matters. “Wonho would love a third. He can barely keep up with me. But don’t change the subject.” He leans forward, arms folded on the table as he stares you down. “Babygirl, why on earth are you wasting your time fucking a man you don’t like, when you clearly have some very nice alternatives available to you?”

“I’m not doing that anymore,” you scowl. “The correct number of coworkers I should be fucking is zero.” It feels like Jimin’s gaze is drilling right to the depths of your soul, and you press your face into your hands as alcohol loosens your lips and the guilt overflows. “…Even though the actual number of coworkers I fucked today is one.”

“Bitch!” Jimin’s hand smacks loud against the wood grain, enough to make you flinch a little. “You have got to be fucking joking!”

You shake your head silently into your palms.

“At the office?!”

You nod pathetically for a few moments before dropping your arms down on the table with a whine, your forehead quickly following. “I don’t even know what happened. It’s like when I’m around him my brain malfunctions.”

Jimin goes uncharacteristically silent, and when you dare to peek up at him, his lips are pursed slightly as if in thought. “Are you sure you hate him?”

The question makes you sit back up. “What does that mean?”

He shrugs, feigning innocence. “I don’t know, it’s just... if I didn’t know any better, I’d say that kinda sounds like a crush.”

You instantly make a face of disgust. “What?! No. Absolutely not. I know I hate him. He’s a nightmare. He’s cocky and insufferable—”

“So am I,” Jimin interrupts, crossing his arms over his chest. “And you love me.”

You open your mouth to argue back, but he lifts a single finger to quiet you.

“I’m not done.” He pauses, and there’s an immediate sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach. “What I see right now—” Jimin gestures in the direction of the bar “—is a fit, handsome, and seemingly very nice man who has spent the whole night looking at you like you put the fucking stars in the sky. And yet here you are, still talking about Suga, like you’ve been doing nonstop for the last month, who apparently has such a hold on you that he can make your panties drop during business hours. Yet I’m supposed to believe you hate him? This math is not mathing, love.”

It’s only when he stops talking that you realize your pulse is racing.

“Jimin,” you breathe. You double-blink, hot all over with a rush of sudden shame, trying to will away the sting at the corners of your eyes. “That’s not fair.”

Jimin’s gaze stays locked on yours as he refuses to back down even an inch. “Answer me this: would you be reacting this way if you really did hate him?”

Your jaw drops in disbelief, but you only get a beat of silence to attempt to process your best friend’s comments before Jungkook is thudding a glass of beer on the table in front of you.

“Sorry that took a second! It’s busy tonight,” Jungkook says brightly as Wonho moves around to the remaining open seat. “What were you guys talking about?”

Jimin fixes Jungkook in a blank stare. “Menstruation,” he replies flatly, not missing a beat.

You cling to your drink for dear life as the conversation continues on around you, and you do your best to smile and nod while you try not to replay Jimin’s words back a million times in your mind. But it’s a losing battle.

As your head spins, you run through the list of things you know to be true. Min Yoongi is your coworker. Min Yoongi is unquestionably an asshole. Min Yoongi has, since your very first day, embarrassed you, belittled you, lied to you, even threatened your job. Min Yoongi has never shown an ounce of evidence that he cares for you in any way. Your eyes flit aimlessly around the room as you try to think. Min Yoongi is—

Your heart drops into your gut. Min Yoongi is sitting at the end of the bar.

It’s not real.

This can’t be real, you tell yourself. It’s just the long, strange day and several drinks you’ve had working together to play tricks on your brain.

You blink hard, willing Yoongi’s face to morph back into that of some stranger, but when you open your eyes again, he’s just as real, exactly the same as before.

Except for the fact that he’s now staring at you.

Yoongi’s mouth goes slack, like he’s coming to the same realization as you— that the two of you have managed to find yourselves in the same place at the same time, completely by chance.

You stand up so fast you nearly knock your drink over. All three heads at the table swivel to look at you, and Jungkook speaks first.

“You okay?”

“Uh, y-yeah, yes,” you stammer unconvincingly. “Just gonna grab another beer.” Your eyes glance back up to search for Yoongi again, but they don’t immediately catch sight of him, and you don’t dare look for too long.

“You still have half of this one left,” Jimin remarks dryly.

Your gaze returns to your drink and you choose the first option that occurs to you: you down the rest in one swig and slam the empty glass on the table. All three pairs of eyes on you go wide.

“I’ll get another one for everyone, be right back!” You grit your teeth in something that you hope approximates a smile, then start to head for the bar, your heart already racing with anticipation.

After a few steps, a hand on the small of your back startles you, enough to make you freeze in place.

When you look over your shoulder, you see it’s Jungkook, also on his feet and right behind you. “Do you want help with the drinks?” He leans into your ear to ask the question, probably to be heard over the din of the bar. Your head is spinning from the rush of alcohol and from getting to your feet so fast. You don’t remember Jungkook smelling this good, or his voice being this low.

You turn to face him to answer and wow, now he’s really close. You sway slightly, a little unsteady on your feet, as your eyes meet his and your face flushes. “Oh, uh— no, I’m okay. But thanks, JK.”

There’s an extra second where neither of you say anything, Jungkook’s hand still pressed to your back, warm against the thin fabric of your dress. Then he nods and turns to head back to the table.

Your brain can hardly hold space for anything else as you spin towards the bar again, trying to catch sight of Yoongi through the crowd of people that only seems to have grown in the last few minutes. You weave through the mass of bodies with a combination of mildly polite apologies and stubborn determination, until you make it all the way up to the bar—

—where there is absolutely no sign of Yoongi. Gone without a trace, the barstool where you swear you just saw him now left empty.

You squeeze your eyes shut and exhale, willing your pulse to return to a normal pace. Maybe it was just your imagination, a trick of the light, a side-effect of an alcohol-dizzy brain and all this overthinking. Maybe you didn’t actually see what you thought you saw. Maybe…

It’s only when your eyes flutter open that you notice it. A nearly full glass of whiskey sitting abandoned on the bar, directly in front of the empty stool.

Before you can even think about why you’re doing it, you’re moving again, now fully shoving your way through the crowd of people until your palms find the glass of the front door and push hard. You stumble out of the bar, the cold night air like a slap to the face as you belatedly realize you left your jacket slung over the back of your chair.

Wrapping your arms around yourself with a shiver, you step out properly onto the sidewalk. Groups of passersby part down the middle to walk around you, and if they shoot you dirty looks, you miss them entirely. Your head whips one way, then the other, looking for— you’re not even sure what. A flash of familiarity, maybe, a glimpse of something, anything. If only just for reassurance that you didn’t make it all up.

Someone calls your name.

You spin around, your pulse thudding in your ears, only to belatedly realize it’s coming from the entrance of the bar, where Jungkook is standing, holding the door half-open as he leans through.

“What are you doing?” He steps out, letting the door fall shut behind him as he crosses to you. You don’t know why something in your gut twists, why you’re suddenly hit with the urge to scream at him. Didn’t you tell him not to follow you?

Jungkook continues when you don’t respond, his brow pinched with concern. “What’s wrong? Why are you out here?”

The question feels impossible to answer. You can’t think straight enough to make sense of any of it— why you went after Yoongi, what you planned to do when you caught up to him, why it even matters to you at all that he was here tonight.

Jimin’s words echo in your skull, deafening.

“I—” you stammer, giving the only answer you can. “I don’t know.”

A gust of cold air makes you shudder hard, and Jungkook’s hands have suddenly closed over yours on your upper arms, dry heat against your icy skin.

“It’s freezing out here,” he murmurs, clearly still confused. He shifts to wrap an arm around you, pulling you into his side, and you don’t fight it. 

Emotional exhaustion takes over, and as you allow Jungkook to lead you back inside, you do your best not to think about anything at all.

~*~

The weekend blinks by far too quickly, and the dread of Monday morning looms over you, all the little moments from Friday stacked like a heavy weight in the pit of your stomach.

You don’t hear from Jimin after Jungkook drops you off that night, and you’re too stubborn to text first, secretly hoping he’ll make the first move and apologize for reading you for filth unprovoked. But considering how busy he’s been with rehearsals leading up to the show, you doubt he and Wonho leave his bedroom all weekend.

Which means that when Monday morning comes, you have to face it alone.

Thankfully, you have no shortage of work to distract yourself with, so you try to keep your head down and focus, flitting between meetings, calls, spreadsheets, emails, paperwork, slide decks. You make polite conversation with Jungkook as always, but you keep it brief. When you take lunch at your desk, you tell yourself it’s just because you’re busy. That’s all.

You work and you work and you desperately try not to think about anything else. Your coworkers slowly start to trickle out as the day wraps up, but you barely pay them any mind, only half-heartedly returning the farewells called over their shoulders as they push through the glass doors.

When you finally sit back, it’s only because your vision is burning from endless screen time. You’re not even sure you’ve remembered to blink. You press your face into your hands to give your weary eyes a break, before glancing at the clock, eyes widening at the realization that it’s already past seven.

A wave of anxiety floods your veins as it occurs to you that you haven’t seen Yoongi leave yet— you would’ve noticed. You set your jaw as you reach for your phone.

Are you still here?

The response is nearly immediate.

Presentation room.

Better than his damn office, you think to yourself, and then two more texts pop up.

Need more time.

A lot more.

Fucking hell.

You shove your chair back and get to your feet, acting on impulse more than anything else. As you storm down the hallway, you will yourself not to be reminded of shoving through the crowded bar and stumbling into the street Friday night. You were just drunk, and surprised. This is different. It has to be.

You bang open the door to the presentation room with enough force to surprise even yourself.

“Now, Yoongi,” you snap.

He’s seated in the chair behind the podium at the front of the room, slouched over his laptop, bottom lip caught between his teeth. Despite your dramatic entrance, he doesn’t so much as glance up.

“Just give me like, ten minutes.” He winces at the screen of his computer. “Maybe twenty.”

You cross your arms in frustration. “Some of us are tired, Yoongi.”

At this, his head snaps up. “Well, some of us got tapped to give a fucking presentation to the visiting overseas team. Tomorrow!”

You take a step back, your eyes widening at his tone. You haven’t heard him genuinely raise his voice like this— not since the argument during your very first team meeting.

“Not like I don’t have shit that I’m supposed to be working on,” he mutters, more to himself than to you, eyes returning to squint at his laptop. You notice now that it’s connected to the screen at the front of the room, and you can see him scrolling through the slides of a presentation, pausing occasionally to add in speaking notes.

You blink, trying to keep up. “Why did they tap you?”

“A great question,” he huffs. “Apparently they’re curious about who the producer with the Grammy nomination is. I’m being asked to do a ‘high-level timeline of my career and accomplishments’. Guess these assholes haven’t heard of Wikipedia.”

“That’s… stupid.”

Yoongi looks up again, his mouth dropping open slightly, like he wasn’t expecting that response. He finally manages to speak as his gaze jumps back down to his slides. “Thank you. That’s what I said. I tried to get out of it, but it appears I am being forced.”

“I didn’t think you could be forced to do anything.”

“You’d be surprised,” he mumbles under his breath, paired with a dry laugh. “I’ve been forced into dealing with your ass, haven’t I?” His eyes don’t move from the screen.

A smirk tugs at the corners of your mouth before you can stop it, and you step further into the space. The room is set up with three large, unnecessarily fancy tables, reclaimed wood, arranged in a U shape facing the podium and screen at the front of the room.

Taking your time, you cross behind the tables and head for the seat furthest away from the podium, dead center. When you get there, rather than pull the chair out, you spin around to sit your ass on the wooden surface, turning in a half-circle so that your legs dangle off the edge, palms flat on either side of you.

You stare Yoongi down from across the room as he continues to fiddle with his laptop. “Let’s hear it, then.” When his eyes find yours, you tilt your head to the side expectantly. “It’s good to practice with an audience. You should be thanking me.”

For a moment, you think he might try to argue with you, but to your surprise, he gets to his feet with a resigned sigh. He presses a button on his laptop, and the presentation goes full-screen, flipping back to the first slide.

His mouth tightens as his fingertips grip the wooden edge of the podium.

“Good morning everyone, my name is Min Yoongi. I’m also known by my producer pseudonym, Suga.” His deep voice is monotone, edged rough like gravel, like there’s nothing he’d rather be doing less.

You fold your arms again, surveying Yoongi carefully as he continues. Your eyes widen in surprise when only a few sentences in, he outright trips over his words, stuttering an impressive amount before he manages to get back on track. His gaze remains at a fixed point on the floor, unmoving, and he speaks like his presentation is one endless sentence, without so much as a pause.

“Stop,” you call from your spot opposite him. The command comes out louder than you expect.

Yoongi’s head snaps up again, but to his credit, he stops talking.

“Start over,” you say simply. “Remember to breathe this time.”

Yoongi blinks once, twice, then silently taps through his slides to the beginning. You hear him take a tentative inhale before he starts. “Good morning everyone, my name is Min Yoongi.”

He takes it slower this time, getting past where you stopped him before, until a moment where he falls silent. You see his face twist slightly as color blooms in the apples of his cheeks. “Uh, shit. I forgot what my next thing was. Fuck, hang on.” He fumbles with the trackpad of his laptop, and you huff a laugh of disbelief.

“Oh my god.” You can’t quite manage to bite back your smile. “You do have a weakness.”

“I just hate presentations,” Yoongi sighs, his mouth pulling up into a flat line. “The whole point of being a producer is that I can stay in my studio and not have to deal with people.”

Your fingers tap against the edge of the table, intrigued. You’ve never seen him like this before. “You just need to fucking relax, Yoongi.”

“You say that like that’s something I know how to do,” he mutters, so low you wonder if you were supposed to hear it.

You’re on your feet and crossing the room before you can second-guess the thought. Yoongi glances up with a face that reads mild confusion, and the expression only deepens when you place both hands on his chest and firmly shove him. As he’s clearly not expecting it, it’s enough of a push to knock him off-balance, and he has to take a few steps back to steady himself.

“What are y—” The question dies in Yoongi’s throat as you sink to your knees in front of him. He’s moved just slightly out of reach, and you gaze up at him through your lashes and beckon him towards you with a single finger.

He steps forward as if drawn in, like a moth to a flame.

If there’s a part of you that tells you to pause and think about this before you do it, you can’t hear it over the deafening silence in the room. And the last thing you want to do right now is think.

Close enough to touch now, you flatten your palms to slide up the smooth fabric of Yoongi’s joggers, teasing your fingers over the waistband when you get there. You glance at him again, half expecting him to tell you to stop, but his only response is the jerk of his adam's apple in a hard swallow.

A thrill runs through you at the idea of doing this here, perfectly hidden behind the podium.

“Start from the beginning again,” you instruct, your voice low and even. “If you can do it like this, you can do it tomorrow.”

A muscle in Yoongi’s jaw jumps, and he nods almost imperceptibly. You don’t move an inch until he inhales and starts over. His voice isn’t quite as steady this time. “Good morning everyone, my name is Min Yoongi.”

With a self-satisfied smirk, you hook your fingers under both his joggers and boxers at once and firmly push them down. His dick has only barely started to harden, which makes sense, given his nerves and your wholly unexpected ambush.

The thought of feeling his cock grow in your mouth, get heavy on your tongue, makes arousal start to pool in your gut.

He’s still talking, hasn’t even stumbled once yet, so you reward him with a finger curled under the head of his dick, lifting it up to be flush with his stomach. You take your time as you drag your tongue up his exposed shaft, laid flat against the prominent veins there. When you reach the tip, you shift to grip him at the base so you can kitten lick at his frenulum, purposefully teasing.

Yoongi just barely manages to disguise his groan as a cough, and you pull back, smirking a little. “What was that?”

He exhales, clearly trying to regain focus as he continues where he left off. “I have over 100 KOMCA credits as a songwriter and producer.” You hum approvingly and take him into your mouth. 

As you hollow your cheeks and begin to suck, you can feel the way he swells to stretch you, pulsing warm, and it only encourages you. Your hands move to grip at his thighs, and when you take him deeper, head bobbing steadily, you taste the salt of his precum as he starts to drip.

You let your tongue loll out past your bottom lip to lap further down his shaft, and this time there’s no questioning the sound he makes: a distinct, breathy whimper. It’s enough to coax a wicked smile out of you, and you have to pull off his cock briefly to keep from gagging. You pause to admire the way it shines, glossed wet with your drool.

Your lips chase after him almost immediately, sucking just the tip in, and you swirl your tongue over it in lazy, sloppy circles.

Yoongi is clearly struggling to keep his composure now. “I was the first— oh, fuck.” He cuts himself off with a proper moan when you take him down as far as you can without warning. He hits the back of your throat and you keep him there, forcing yourself to swallow, your throat spasming around his length as you choke on it.

He tries again. “The f-first artist to win MAMA's 'Best Collaboration' award— m-multiple times.”

You finally pull off to gasp for air, a few strings of spit still connecting his now leaking-hard cock to your lips. Yoongi makes another soft noise at the loss, and you gaze up at him as you pant, reveling in the look of near-distress on his face.

“Finish the presentation,” you purr, your voice slightly hoarse from having just shoved his cock down your throat.

Yoongi’s eyes squeeze shut as he continues, and you lean forward, taking him into your mouth again tongue-first. You waste no time sucking him back into the tight clutch of your throat, and your fingertips dig bruises into the skin of his thighs to keep him from bucking his hips up.

You refuse to relinquish control. Not yet.

His hands cup the back of your head like he’s clinging on for dear life as he keeps trying to get the words out. “T-the collaboration netted me my first fuck—ing Grammy nomination. I— nnh— look forward to attending the ceremony in person next week, and I— I-I feel confident about our chances for success. Shit.” 

With this, you realize that he’s made it all the way through his talking points, and you pull off his dick with a wet pop.

“There,” you smirk, pausing to wipe your mouth with the back of your hand before getting to your feet again. The steady pulse between your legs is hard to ignore. “Was that so hard?”

“God dammit,” Yoongi’s voice is heady and dark as he steps in to close the distance between you. “I need to fuck you.”

You quirk an eyebrow, a little surprised by the bold statement. “Need?”

There’s a flash of something in his eyes that makes your cunt clench. “Get on the fucking table.”

Even as you follow his order, you can’t shake the feeling of still being in control, nor the smug satisfaction earned from making this man come undone so very easily. You hike your dress up slightly before perching on the table closest to the front of the room, your teeth raking over your bottom lip in anticipation.

Yoongi’s already standing in front of you, and his hands slide under your hips to firmly drag your ass to the edge of the table. In two swift movements he shoves your dress further up your thighs, then hooks his fingers under the lace of your panties and pulls them down, tugging them off one ankle entirely and leaving them to dangle from the other.

It’s only when your legs drop open that his hurried pace slows. He pauses, with a soft hum.

You inhale sharply when he lifts a hand up to brush over you. His fingers press against your folds in a V shape, teasingly pulling your pussy lips apart. Just the small motion is already enough to earn him a slick noise.

“Or,” he murmurs, “maybe I should repay the favor?”

Your chest constricts at the thought when you realize what he means. Going down on you, here, in a conference room, where anyone could technically walk in and see. It’s after hours, but you didn’t lock the front door— it’s not unheard of for someone to forget something at the office and double-back for it. It feels too luxurious, too dangerous. In more ways than one.

“We don’t have time, Yoongi.” Your hands fist in his shirt to pull him closer, and he steps in between your spread legs. “Just fuck me.”

The look on his face makes you wonder if you’re missing out. “Suit yourself.”

He fumbles into the pocket of his still pushed-down joggers to retrieve his wallet and fish out the condom tucked inside. A shiver runs up your spine as he tears it open and rolls it over his length.

Yoongi glances up at you when it’s all the way on, one hand pressing into the table behind you for leverage as he uses the other to line himself up with your entrance. It’s only now that you realize how very close to you he is. You’ve never done this face-to-face before.

With no prep, the stretch of him is nearly overwhelming when he pushes in, and you gasp. Yoongi stops when you do, only the very tip of him nudged inside of you.

“Hurts?”

“Not in the bad way,” you murmur, and he pushes in a little further, slow enough that you can feel every inch of him working your pussy open. Your fingers grip the edge of the table and dig in hard as you whimper at the sensation.

“That’s it, fuck.” Yoongi gives a grunt of effort as you take the last of him, until he’s pressed in to the hilt, your cunt clenched tight around him, your walls already fluttering softly from the pressure. You’re both breathing heavy as his hips momentarily still.

It takes you by surprise when his hand shifts to grab your jaw, tilting your gaze up to meet his. His tongue swipes over his bottom lip as he surveys you for a moment.

“Say it again,” he murmurs.

You swallow hard. “Fuck me.”

With the hint of a smirk, he starts to move. He rolls his hips to drag his cock nearly all the way out, then fucks it in again in one heavy stroke, angled perfectly to hit your g-spot. Your eyes roll back in your head.

“God, Yoongi,” you whine when he does it again, and again. “We— nnh, we shouldn’t be doing this.”

The hand on your jaw grips tighter. “Not even a lock on the door. Anyone could walk in and see.” Your cunt throbs at the low growl of his voice. “Do you want to stop?”

“N-no,” you groan as he picks up the pace of his thrusts, enough to make you dizzy. His hand slides down to splay broad over the column of your throat. “Please don’t fucking stop.” 

“Yeah?” He grunts, dark and raw, his grip tightening slightly. “Want it that bad?”

Your legs hook around his hips to urge him deeper, harder. “Need it.” Your voice is hardly more than a whisper from the pressure of his hand. You blink up at him, your eyes searching his— for what, you’re not sure.

“Need,” Yoongi breathes a laugh, more air than sound. “Makes two of us.”

Desperate for an anchor, you reach up and wrap your arms over his shoulders to pull him into you. Your mind is reeling with the adrenaline rush of doing something so reckless, and you press your bodies together until your noses bump with every stroke of his cock fucking into you. His parted lips are so close to yours now, you swear you can feel electricity sparking in the barely-there space between.

You feel like a live wire, like every sensation is amplified a thousandfold. Yoongi releases his grip on your throat to slip the same hand between his hips and yours, and his fingers circling your clit are enough to send you over the edge, fast.

“Yoongi,” you gasp into his mouth, your hands clawing at his shoulders as the pleasure builds until it’s too much, and your thighs start to shake. “Just like that, oh fuck, Yoongi, I-I’m gonna—”

“Come.” His lips brush against yours when he says it, a touch so light it could’ve been an accident.

You throw your head back with a strangled sob as your orgasm rips through you, and he leans into you, forehead dropping down against your collarbone, clearly close behind.

“God,” Yoongi groans hoarsely as his hips start to rut even faster. You’re so lost in pleasure, you can barely process that he’s speaking. “What are you doing to me?”

It only takes a few more thrusts and then he’s coming too, your cunt still spasming around him, both of his palms pressing flat to the table behind you as his voice breaks on a wordless rough-edged gasp.

You stay pressed into one another as you come down from the high together, all flushed skin and shaky breaths. Yoongi shifts first, lifting his head off your shoulder, and you take the cue to unwrap your arms from around his neck. It’s a slow, strained untangling, his spent cock starting to soften inside of you.

“Alright,” Yoongi still sounds breathless as he pulls out, and when he steps away, you reach down to tug your underwear back up over your hips.

Your saving grace is a box of tissues at the podium, and Yoongi makes short work of peeling the condom off, wrapping it in as many layers of tissues as he can before tucking it into the conference room trash can with a grimace. He uses a few more to clean himself up, then exhales a stream of air as he pulls his boxers and joggers back up.

“Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

When you make it back to your desk, you pack your things up in a mindless haze. It’s only a minute or so after you finish that Yoongi emerges from his lab, and you follow after him out the glass front doors, neither of you speaking as you lock them from the outside.

The elevator ride down to the lobby is equally silent, until you step out and see gray-black stormy skies and a steady downpour of rain through the glass walls of the atrium.

“Shit,” you groan.

“Allergic to water?” Yoongi’s smug voice over your shoulder immediately makes your jaw clench.

“Shut up,” you snap. “I didn’t bring an umbrella, and the bus stop is a few blocks from my apartment. I’m gonna fucking drown.” Not that you care, you tack on silently.

“You take the bus?”

At this, you whip around to glare at him. “We’re not all millionaire music producers, you know.”

He shrugs, like you’re not wrong. “I can give you a ride. My car’s in the garage.”

Your eyebrows nearly shoot off your forehead, but Yoongi is already crossing to the elevator bank on the other side of the lobby. He presses the button, then looks back at you nonchalantly, like he’s just offered the most normal thing in the world.

Which, maybe it would be, under different circumstances. But there is absolutely nothing normal about your relationship with Min Yoongi.

As if to make the decision for you, a clap of thunder rumbles outside, so loud it feels like the building rattles. You swallow the last bit of dignity you have as you follow Yoongi into the garage elevator. Once the doors close, you can’t help but shoot him a look out of the corner of your eye, but his gaze is fixed on the indicator, watching the numbers tick down as you descend.

“Why are you being nice to me?” Your voice comes out harsher than you mean it to, and Yoongi turns his head to look at you, one eyebrow slightly raised.

“What does that mean?”

“Driving me home? We don’t do this.” You cross your arms over your chest, indignant. “As soon as the sex is done, you don’t want anything to do with me.”

You’re surprised when he laughs a little. “That’s funny.”

You narrow your eyes. “What’s funny?”

He stares at you pointedly, tongue poking at the inside of his cheek for a moment before he continues. “You say that, but if memory serves, you’re the one who keeps running away after.”

You open your mouth to respond, then close it, unsure of what to say. He’s not exactly wrong. Finally it comes back to you. “That’s not true. I saw you, on Friday, and I know you saw me. You left so fast you didn’t even finish your drink.”

Yoongi’s face scrunches up in a slight wince, like he’d rather not recall the moment.

“Yeah, well. That was different. I was trying to respect your privacy. Let you go on your date in peace.” He smirks slightly. “Though I guess it can’t have gone that well.”

You roll your eyes, your patience really starting to thin. “Jungkook and I are just friends, Yoongi.”

“Okay,” he says flatly. “In any case, I certainly didn’t plan to show up and ruin your night or anything. Just an unfortunate cosmic coincidence.”

You pull your bottom lip between your teeth for a second. “We seem to have a lot of those.”

“Yeah,” Yoongi sighs. “We do.”

The elevator doors slide open, and you lapse into silence again as you follow Yoongi to his car and slip into the passenger seat. After you give him your address and he plugs it into the GPS, there’s no sound at all other than the fall of rain and the swipe of his windshield wipers once you pull out of the garage.

You worry at your bottom lip until the words bubble up. “You don’t listen to music?”

Yoongi’s eyes flit from the road over to you for just a second, like he wasn’t expecting the question. “Uh, I— no, not really. I do that all day. I don’t mind the silence.” You take that as your cue to fall quiet. To your surprise, he keeps talking.

“You know, when I was a teenager, I had a part-time job at a music studio in Daegu.” He squints out the rainy windshield, like he’s recalling the memory. “I started making my own beats there, and I learned a lot of stuff that fueled my drive to be a producer.”

He glances at you again, and you nod, unsure where this is going.

“But, uh—” He huffs a laugh, like he’s embarrassed. “They didn’t pay me. Just kinda how things were back then, and I was too young to know better.” Stopped at a light now, Yoongi drums his fingers over the steering wheel. “I remember there were a lot of nights where I couldn’t afford both food and the bus ride home. If I wanted to eat, that meant a two hour walk home.”

Your jaw drops. “Jesus.”

Yoongi’s mouth presses into a flat line. “Yeah. Wasn’t easy.” There’s a heavy silence, and then he shrugs. “Anyway. Just made me think of it, when you said you take the bus. I haven’t thought about that in a long time.”

“Wow.”

The light changes color and he eases off the brake. You think maybe that’s all you’ll get, and then he nods. “It’s almost like I forget sometimes. That life isn’t still like that. It still feels like it could all get pulled out from under me any second.”

You hum as you take in his words. “And… that’s why you don’t know how to relax?”

The corner of his mouth turns up a little. “Pretty much.”

You can’t suppress the soft laugh that slips out, so you look out the passenger window, letting the sound flutter out to the rain-streaked glass. “Your villain origin story.”

When you glance back at him, a smile has stretched over the whole of Yoongi’s face, though his gaze is still fixed on the road. “Spoken like somebody who wants to walk home.”

There’s a gentle buzzing in your brain, and you wonder if it’s just a post-orgasm high. “Nice try, Min Yoongi,” you tease. “You don’t scare me anymore. I know you’re all empty threats now.”

His eyes flash, and in that moment his expression goes somewhere you can’t quite follow.

“Maybe so.”

The conversation lulls again, and you watch the rain fall fast and heavy on the car windshield, fat droplets scattered aside over and over by the relentless wiper blades.

Try as you might to not think about it, you can’t help but be hyper-aware of Yoongi sitting next to you. He drives one-handed, like it’s easy, his free arm resting on the center console between you. You can see the prominent veins of his hand in clear detail each time the car slips under the glow of a streetlight. Close enough to touch, if you wanted.

The silence has you counting your inhales. It occurs to you that this is the most time you’ve spent in such close proximity to Yoongi where you weren’t actively having sex. You don’t know what to make of it.

He turns into your apartment complex, pulling to a stop in front of your building when you point it out to him. You automatically reach for the door handle, then pause and turn back to look at him, figuring you should say something. “Uh, thanks. For the ride.”

Yoongi smirks. “Thanks for the public speaking lesson.”

You roll your eyes, but you’re smiling a little despite yourself. “I guess we’ll see tomorrow if it worked or not.”

“Guess so.”

There’s a pause, and your heart squeezes into your throat. You don’t know why it feels like you’re waiting for something to happen.

That thought alone is enough to spur you into action, and you quickly avert your gaze from Yoongi’s face. “Have a good night,” you murmur as you fumble open the door, grab your purse, and slip out of the car without waiting for a response.

As you climb the stairs to your apartment and hear the slick of Yoongi’s tires turning out of the complex, you can’t help but wonder if this counts as running away, too.

chapter six | masterlist | chapter eight

---

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

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