Karmadona - Karma Dona - Tumblr Blog

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 - 9 (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: 16k 🙈

contains: explicit sexual content 👀 literally jumps immediately into it (well.... you'll see 🤭) so buckle up!!! serious warning that this chapter does contain a few instances of racism directed at reader/yoongi (being denied customer service, implying they need a translator, and comments insinuating yoongi is psy/bong joon-ho. pls proceed with caution and take care of yourselves 💜) also features: hotel drama, reader being v dumb in classic reader fashion but she gets there, a whole lotta tension and angst and misplaced anger, some new friends!!! and yes they're 3 idols see if you can figure out who 🤪, erotic bed sharing and handholding lmfao, probably the most drinking that has happened in a chapter yet (which is saying a lot honestly), of course the GRAMMY RESULTS.... oh yeah and yoongi in glasses, yoongi in a suit, yoongi playing piano, yoongi almost getting in a fight, yoongi rapping, yoongi WEARING CAT EARS (yes these are all warnings!!!!!! 😩) - ok and here are ur smut specific warnings: semi-public sex (mile high club anyone ✈️), cunnilingus, fingering, sex dreams, nipple play, dirty talk, reader has a voice kink 🥴, clit stim, unprotected sex AGAIN 💀, she squirts again don't @ me lmao, aaaaand some lovely mouth/throat fuckin 🫡

A/N: i feel like i have nothing to say that isn't just overwhelming gratitude to you all for being here 🥺 so i'll keep it short!!! sit back and get comfy bc this one's a lot, here we go y'all..... you ready?? 💜

an eternal thank you to @haliiimede and @monimonimoon for their help betaing!!!

read on AO3!

chapter eight | masterlist | chapter ten

~*~

You don’t know how you let Yoongi talk you into this.

You honestly can’t remember, at least not right now, not with your ass perched on the edge of the sink counter and his hands making quick work to tug your sweats and underwear down and off, one ankle at a time.

The place is cleaner than any airplane bathroom you’ve ever been in, and certainly much less cramped. First class really spares no expense, you’ve learned. It’s an upgrade Yoongi made for both of you at the check-in counter unprompted, his only explanation mumbled into the rim of his iced Americano once you’d settled at a table in the fancy lounge: “Economy seats fuck my back up, and I figured if I left you behind you’d push me into LA traffic at your first opportunity.”

You might still do it, if only because he’s managed to convince you to do this again. Weren’t you supposed to be mad at him?

“I’m starting to think you have a bathroom fetish,” you murmur, not quite managing to keep your voice steady. Your fingers rake through Yoongi’s long dark hair as he situates himself properly on his knees between your legs, his hands pressing your thighs to spread you wider.

“Are you complaining?” he grunts back, and you lose the ability to form a coherent response as he leans in and traces his tongue up your folds.

You nearly bang your head on the mirror with the way your spine instinctively arches at the feeling, your hips tilting up for as much of his mouth as you can get.

“Shit,” you hiss as he starts to fuck the muscle of his tongue into your entrance, his thumb swiping up through your wetness before settling into rough circles over your clit. “Why are you so fucking good at this?”

Once he’s thoroughly tasted you, Yoongi quickly replaces his tongue with his fingers, flexing against your front wall at a brutal pace, like he’s realized you can’t take too long in here. His lips close around your clit as his tongue laps over it in thick strokes, and your hips circle hungrily, grinding on him.

“That’s it,” he pulls off just enough to gasp. “Ride my face. Wanna make you come so I can fuck this tight little pussy.” Just the rough tone of his voice is nearly enough to send you over the edge.

When his lips and tongue return to your cunt, you don’t hold back.

You fist the hand tangled in his hair, your other palm smacking flat to the counter for balance as you throw a leg over his shoulder, and you swear you can hear him laughing while you press your heel into his back to pull him even closer. His mouth is warm and wet and divine, the way he licks and sucks at your throbbing clit overwhelming. He strokes his fingers deftly into your g-spot, working up enough arousal that it’s started to run down the crux of your thighs. You roll your hips again and gasp at the way his tongue drags just right over you.

“Oh god, Yoongi,” you groan, squeezing your eyes shut, too lost in it to worry about being quiet. You can feel it as he keeps his tongue laid out flat for you to use as you please. Everything in you pulls tight as you rut yourself against his face in time to the building pressure worked up in your core by his unrelenting fingers. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, I’m gonna—”

The plane dips sharply, and you lurch upright with a gasp as your eyes snap open. There’s a few more seconds of shuddering bumps, and then you seem to find clear skies again.

Your heart hammers in your chest as you sit back and try to steady your breathing, the world slowly coming into focus: the TV screen in front of you, your purse tucked into the shelf beneath it, beige privacy walls surrounding you on all sides.

Fuck. You lean forward, letting your head drop between your knees as reality sinks in. You’re not in the bathroom. You’re in your stupid first-class seat. It was a dream. A fucking airplane sex dream.

Panic carves through you like a knife as questions bubble up in your mind: What if you said something in your sleep? Did Yoongi hear you? Is he sitting on the other side of the wall with that fucking smirk on his face, endlessly smug in the knowledge that he haunts you even in your dreams?

Immediately convinced that he is, you can’t help yourself. You press your hands flat to the divider between you and just barely lift out of your seat so you can peek over it.

But Yoongi looks entirely unchanged from the last time you saw him several hours earlier: he’s got his headphones on and is slouched over his laptop, frowning down at the screen, thoroughly engrossed in work.

Just as you’re breathing a sigh of relief, he glances up, and your eyes widen.

“Can I help you?” he grunts, not even bothering to pull his headphones off. You don’t think it’s a double entendre, but you don’t want to entertain him long enough to find out.

“No,” you snap, and then you slump back down to the safety of your seat, slamming the controller on the wall until you’re fully horizontal. You tug the provided headphones over your ears, hoping they might block out your racing thoughts as you desperately try to ignore the dull ache between your legs.

~*~

Getting any more sleep proves to be an impossible task, your mind too keyed up at the possibility of another airplane bathroom dream. By the time you make it through the rest of the flight, and customs, and the car ride to your hotel, you’re nearly delirious with exhaustion, and your body is thoroughly confused about what fucking time it is, though your phone says it’s apparently the middle of the night.

Your brain feels like it’s been in a blender, your reaction time so slowed that, standing at the hotel check-in counter, it takes you several seconds to process the words leaving the front desk agent’s mouth.

She must be able to read the dumbfounded look on your face, because she repeats herself. “King bed executive suite for three nights?”

“Um, no,” you finally manage to stammer, and though he makes no discernible noise of reaction, it’s like you can feel Yoongi smirking over your shoulder. “No, we need— I booked a room with two queens.”

The agent purses her lips slightly, then shakes her head as she stares down at her computer. “Mm, I’m seeing in the system that we have you down for one king.”

Your exhaustion steamrolls over whatever professionality you might normally have while conducting a business transaction. “I don’t care what your fucking system says, it’s wrong. That’s not what I booked.” Scrolling through your phone for a few seconds, you manage to dig up the email, and you’re almost more compelled to show it to Yoongi, just to make sure he’s well aware— you did not fuck this up.

“See, two queens,” you reiterate helplessly as you extend the receipt on your phone toward the agent.

She tuts once, her eyes barely glancing over at your phone before returning to her computer screen. “Unfortunately, it doesn’t seem like we have any availability to switch you. Given the Grammys are on Sunday, this is quite a busy weekend for us.”

You set your phone on the counter and try to keep your breathing steady, to remain calm despite the overwhelmed panic starting to rise in your chest.

“About that,” you say, doing your best to speak in an even voice. “We wanted to keep a low profile, but my… associate here is actually a nominee. For Song of the Year?” You hate that it comes out more like a question as your gaze flits to Yoongi for the briefest of seconds, then back to the front desk agent. “So, really, if there’s anything at all you could do, we would appreciate it.”

There’s a pause as she regards you for a moment, her lips pressed into a tight smile, and then she speaks again. “I apologize, but due to the volume of bookings, our prioritization for room distribution is based on attending to the needs of our highest priority clients.”

Your jetlag-addled brain can’t keep up with the corporate talk. “And who are your highest priority clients?”

The smile on her face doesn’t falter. “As I'm sure you can imagine, we have quite a wealth of…” she pauses, as if choosing her next words carefully. “Local talent booking with us for the weekend.”

Your eyebrows nearly shoot off your forehead. “I'm sorry, you’re saying you can’t fix the mistake you made because we’re not from here?!”

A muscle in her jaw twitches as she blinks back at you. “I would certainly never say anything of the sort. If something was unclear, I'm happy to get a translator on the phone. It might make things easier for you to understand?”

“Are you fucking kiddin—”

“Hey.” 

A hand pressed to your bicep nearly makes you jump out of your skin. Despite every cell in your body urging you to lunge over the counter, you don’t fight it when Yoongi pulls you back a few paces, giving enough room for him to take your place at the counter.

“It’s fine,” he mutters over his shoulder.

You’re so hot with rage that you can hardly keep up with the soft apology he concedes to the agent. She hands him the room keys without another word, that same fake smile still plastered over her face. With one last nasty look over your shoulder, you angrily follow Yoongi toward the elevators, dragging your suitcase along behind you.

Practically seething, you can barely manage to wait until the doors slide shut before you pounce.

“I can't believe you let her get away with that shit. She was being fucking racist, Yoongi.”

“Yeah,” he sighs wearily, eyes fixed on the overhead number as it counts up to your floor. “I know she was. I've traveled overseas a lot more than you have.”

“What the fuck does that mean?!”

“It means,” Yoongi grunts as the doors slide open with a soft chime, “I've learned to pick my battles.”

You storm after him down the hall to your room, and he continues, pressing the key to the reader and pushing the door open. “Besides, I've stayed here before, and I know these suites have couches.” He holds the door and gestures for you to enter first, and you do.

He's not wrong: there’s a small living room area with a sofa, a desk, and a television mounted into a wall that effectively separates it from the bedroom on the other side, though there isn’t actually a door. The bathroom is immediately to your left as you step inside.

“So,” Yoongi says simply as the door shuts behind him. “I'll take the couch. All good.”

Of fucking course.

The rational part of your brain knows that he has done nothing to upset you. He's been quiet and polite on your long day of travel, and is treating you simply as if you were business acquaintances. It all makes perfect sense, given that you told him your night at his apartment couldn’t mean anything. He's done everything you’ve asked of him, really.

And yet it’s all of it: your stupid sex dream, the lingering bad taste of your encounter with the hotel agent, and the fact that Yoongi can’t seem to even fathom the idea of sharing a bed with you, not here and certainly not at his apartment. Everything has you simmering with a sudden vicious, unreasonable anger.

“Do whatever you want,” you snap as Yoongi sets his suitcase down on the floor of the living room. “I don’t give a shit.”

The rage burns like acid in your gut as you move through your night routine in the bathroom, and it’s only worsened by the knowledge that your alarm will be going off in just a few hours, and you’ll have to drag yourself through a long day of press and prep for Sunday. And that Yoongi will be there, through all of it, just like he’s on the other side of the door right now, inescapably and overwhelmingly present.

It doesn’t make sense to you how he can somehow manage to be too distant and too close at the same time. As you spit toothpaste into the sink, you wonder why the fuck you ever agreed to go on this stupid trip.

~*~

You don’t think you manage more than ten minutes of sleep the whole night. Despite exhaustion weighing heavy in your limbs, you toss and turn and kick at the blankets, too frustrated by all the confusing feelings churned up inside of you to be able to slip into any kind of real rest.

When you glance at the clock for the millionth time, it’s now only thirty minutes until your alarm is due to go off. With a sigh, you decide to give up.

Your mind is already racing with the schedule for the day, and you go over it a million times in your head as you shower and dress and apply your makeup. When you emerge from the bathroom already entirely put together, Yoongi is on the couch blinking blearily at his phone, clearly having just woken up.

“The car will be here at seven,” you call over your shoulder without a second glance back at him.

He grunts his acknowledgement, and after a few moments you hear the sound of the bathroom door sliding shut again. You dig your work laptop out of your purse to double-check everything, and before you know it you’re sucked into confirming specifics and answering emails, and you completely lose track of time.

The sound of Yoongi clearing his throat snaps you back to reality, and you shut your laptop as you glance up to find him standing in the threshold of the bedroom. He’s dressed nicely for his many interviews, in a sky-blue button-down, and you have to blink twice as you take in his appearance.

“You wear glasses?”

The warm lamplight of the bedroom reflects off his lenses as he shrugs. “I don’t like to. But I forgot my contacts.”

“We can stop for some on the way to your fitting,” you answer, adding it to your mental to-do list. The reminder of your booked itinerary is enough to get you to your feet, one arm wrapped around your laptop to press it close to your chest. Trying to remember what else you need to do to get ready proves impossible as Yoongi steps closer, and then you hear him laugh softly under his breath.

“Wow, glasses? Really?”

“What?”

“You have that look on your face,” he says simply, and you can feel an embarrassed heat creep up your neck. You hate that after all this time, he can still read you like a book.

You swallow hard. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He continues to close the distance between you, and you take a reflexive step backward, only for your thighs to bump against the mattress behind you. “Would’ve worn these more often if I knew they’d get you all flustered.”

You attempt to argue that you’re not flustered, but the words die on your tongue with the realization of how close Yoongi is to you now. His eyes are fixed pointedly on your mouth. “I—” you try again, your voice breaking slightly. “I’m not—”

The sharp buzz of your phone vibrating on the nightstand makes both of you start, and it’s like you can think clearly again when Yoongi steps back to give you room to grab it. You thumb open the text with one hand as you shove your laptop into your purse with the other. “They’re downstairs.”

Yoongi doesn’t say anything else to you until you’re in the car, crawling through Los Angeles traffic. “Remind me what all we’re doing today?”

You stare out the windshield, not wanting to meet his gaze as you recount the schedule that’s permanently seared into your brain. “You have press interviews in Studio City all morning until one. We’ll pick up lunch— and we can grab you some contacts, too— and then you have a fitting in Beverly Hills at two. After that, your boss wants us to tour the office out here and take a few meetings with the team, so that’ll be the rest of the afternoon. And then I guess whenever we’re done with that, the label execs want to take us to dinner after.”

He’s silent for long enough that you’re forced to glance over at him, wondering if he was even paying attention. There’s a small smile on his face, but it doesn’t quite read as smug. You don’t know what to make of it.

“Huh,” Yoongi finally remarks.

“What?” you snap in response, probably a little harsher than he deserves, but you haven’t had coffee yet.

“Nothing,” he says innocently. “It’s just funny, compared to when you first started.” He crosses his arms over his chest, shifting back slightly in his seat. “I remember when you couldn’t even use Outlook.”

You narrow your eyes in his direction. “I guess people change.”

“Guess so.”

The day passes in a hectic blur, and though ostensibly all of your scheduled engagements are meant to be about Yoongi, you find yourself just as busy as he is, if not moreso.

His press interviews run long because of course they do, and you’re forced to drop him at his fitting while you run out to pick up lunch and contacts— and most importantly, more coffee, which you desperately require to survive the rest of the day.

You’re admittedly thankful for the extra tasks. Even if you do feel dead on your feet, it’s still preferable to sitting around and watching Yoongi try on a suit. You can easily recall firsthand how deadly the image is, and putting off that suffering until the real thing tomorrow is perfectly fine, as far as you’re concerned.

The coffee gives you just enough of a caffeine boost to power through your afternoon meetings, reviewing branding strategies and opportunities for collaborative promotions with the label’s overseas team. Your heart sinks a little when you go through the marketing summary slides prepared by Jungkook, not a single detail out of place, and you try to shove thoughts of him to the back of your mind so you can focus on the work.

At dinner, it’s all you can do to not fall asleep over your extremely overpriced sashimi. Yoongi’s been pulled away to the far side of the table for what you can only assume are deeply boring conversations with the Los Angeles production team. Thankfully, your side is a bit more lively.

“Matthew,” the A&R rep who you’re pretty sure introduced herself as Tiffany stage-whispers. You realize she’s speaking to the tall and ridiculously built guy seated next to you when her gaze flits up to him, and then she resumes poring over the extensive drink menu. “Can we get sake bombs?”

“Why are you asking me?” Matthew responds, and you look over to see his face scrunched up in confusion.

“You’re in finance! I need you to tell me that I can get white-girl wasted on the label’s dime tonight.”

He sighs for a moment, like he’s trying to think. “I don’t… actually know if we’re allowed to reimburse that.” Tiffany’s lower lip trembles, dangerously adorable, and he exhales as if he’s been defeated. “Fuck it. I’ll cover it out of pocket if we can’t.”

“God, I love you,” she breathes, chasing the comment with a throaty laugh and quickly flagging down a server to order. “Can we please do thr— Vernon, baby, how old are you?”

The intern seated next to her blinks slowly. “Twenty four?” You’re pretty sure those are his first words of the evening.

“Huh. Your skincare’s doing wonders,” Tiffany shakes her head disbelievingly. “Four sake bombs, please?”

They arrive in an instant, and Tiffany smiles proudly to herself as she balances her shot glass on a pair of chopsticks laid across the top of her beer. You follow Matthew and Vernon’s lead as they set their drinks up to mirror hers.

“To Matthew’s wallet,” Tiffany toasts solemnly. “The only thing bigger than his tits.”

As if in hearty agreement, Matthew bangs his fist against the table so hard it makes everyone in a five foot radius flinch, and all four of your shot glasses plummet into the awaiting beers beneath them.

“Kanpai, motherfuckers!” Tiffany cackles, and you throw your drinks back in perfect sync.

The rowdiness of your corner is too loud to be ignored, and your stomach twists slightly as you set your empty glass down only to catch Yoongi staring from across the table. When your eyes meet his, he quickly lowers his gaze and adjusts his glasses, his mouth pulling into a flat line.

You turn back to your new friends as Tiffany finishes her own drink. As if she just witnessed the silent exchange, she leans toward you.

“So,” she drops her voice a little lower, “What’s it like working with Suga?”

Doing your best to keep your face neutral, you inhale deeply, wondering where to begin, or what would even be workplace-appropriate to say. The jetlag makes your mind move that much slower. “It’s—”

“Oh my god,” she immediately interrupts you. “You’re sleeping with him.”

Vernon nearly spits the last swallow of his drink back out.

“Tiffany,” Matthew interjects, sounding exhausted, like this is a regular occurrence. “Don’t fucking say that to someone you just met.”

“I mean,” you concede, your lips loosened by the warm rush of alcohol. “She’s not wrong.”

Matthews eyes widen, and he purses his lips for a long pause before he finally speaks. “Shiiiiiit, okay. Alright then.”

You sigh, slumping to rest your cheek in your hand, so exhausted that you can barely stay upright. “I don’t know if ‘sleeping with’ is the right term. It’s just a… mistake that we’ve made. A few times. Several, I guess.”

“I bet he’s even richer than Matthew,” Tiffany says, awestruck, clearly more to herself than to you.

“If it’s a mistake, why do you keep making it?” Vernon asks bluntly.

“Damn, Vernon with the deep cut,” Matthew remarks, and you shake your head.

“I don’t know,” you murmur, your words running together slightly. “I’m just trying not to think about it, at least not while we’re on this stupid work trip.”

All three of them nod like they understand, and then Tiffany leans in again. “Let me guess: there’s only one bed in the hotel room.”

“Please ignore her.” Matthew sounds as tired as you feel.

“Yes!” you exclaim, your anger from the night before temporarily reigniting. “The hotel fucked our room up, and the lady wouldn’t fix it because she was fucking racist—”

“Naturally,” Vernon interjects.

“And even though we only have one bed, he chose to take the couch. Like, that’s where we’re at.”

“That’s sweet,” Tiffany murmurs, and you make a face.

“Is it?”

“He’s being respectful. I bet he doesn’t wanna make you feel uncomfortable, or like… pressured. ‘Cause sleeping with somebody is a world of difference from… sleeping with them, you know?”

You roll your eyes. “Or he wants to be as far away from me as possible, even while sleeping.”

“If I was the one nominated for a Grammy, I’d make you take the couch,” Vernon scoffs around a piece of edamame.

“Right?” Matthew chimes in. “Ain’t no way I’m getting good sleep on a hotel couch. Them things are like fuckin’ cement blocks.”

A yawn escapes you before you can manage to stifle it, and you press a hand to your mouth, suddenly overwhelmed from exhaustion as well as the conversation. You scoot your chair back from the table to stand and politely excuse yourself to the restroom.

“You gotta cool it with that shit, Tiff,” you hear Matthew mutter as you depart.

Your mind swims while you traverse the long back hallways of this bougie restaurant. It’s almost laughable now, but you really never thought to give Yoongi the benefit of the doubt for sleeping on the couch— not here, and not at his apartment.

You’re still so used to expecting the worst from him that you’ve just assumed the intention is laced into his every action. Even the nice things have felt like a cause for concern, like a reason to keep your guard up, small gestures meant to distract you so he can get the upper hand, somehow. It’s hard to shake the idea that he’s your enemy, even after everything that’s happened.

And yet you can’t help wondering if Tiffany is right. Is Yoongi really just being… respectful? And if so: what does he want? And how does he feel? You’re torn between wanting to know and hoping you never find out.

A voice saying your name drags you out of your thoughts. You turn back just shy of the restroom door, unable to stop another yawn from slipping out, and you bring a hand to your mouth to hide it. Your eyes widen as your brain works on a delay to process the familiar voice, then the sky-blue shirt and the dark framed glasses. It distantly occurs to you that Yoongi has you all alone in this fancy hallway.

You blink a few times, willing the weight of sleepiness out of your eyes, then finally respond with the first thing you can think of. “I’m not fucking you in the bathroom, Yoongi.”

He blinks right back at you, clearly not expecting that. “I… wasn’t asking you to.”

“What do you want then?” you snap, crossing your arms over your chest.

“I—” he sighs, and you can’t help but wonder if he suddenly regrets coming after you. “You’re tired.”

“Yes, because I barely fucking slept. And?”

You tell yourself that you’re just imagining the way his voice has softened slightly. “Dinner’s over. We don’t have to stay. They’ll get it.”

“I’m having fun,” you retort. “I made friends.”

“I saw,” he remarks, not quite able to hide his smirk.

“So please, don’t cut your boring producer conversation short on my behalf,” you continue dryly.

Yoongi rolls his eyes, to your surprise. “Yeah, it’s brutal. I’d much rather be sleeping.” He quirks an eyebrow. “Or doing sake bombs.”

The question rushes out before you can second guess if it’s a good idea to ask. “How did you sleep? On the couch?”

Yoongi shrugs, then rubs a hand at the back of his neck, making a face as if you’ve put him on the spot. “Like shit.”

You nod, your gaze dropping to the carpeted floor. “Well, I mean. Maybe it would make more sense if, uh—”

“’Scuse me—” a new voice causes your head to snap up again, and you take a step away from Yoongi as Tiffany slips between the two of you, moving quickly toward the women’s restroom.

“Sorry love, I have to break the seal!” she calls over her shoulder before the door slams shut.

The interruption is enough to make you swallow your suggestion, and Yoongi reaches into his pocket for his phone.

“I’ll call a car, because I’m tired,” he murmurs defensively. “You’re welcome to get your own later, if you want to stay out—”

“I don’t,” you say firmly. “It’s fine. Just tell me when the car’s here.” Before Yoongi can so much as respond, you shoulder the bathroom door open and fast-walk to the safety of a stall.

After breaking your own seal, you make your way out to a sink, and you’re a little taken aback to find Tiffany still there waiting for you. She’s hovering over the mirror, blotting at her forehead with a paper towel.

“I wanted to apologize if I came on too strong,” she says softly as you turn on the tap. “Matthew says my mind-reading abilities can be intimidating to people who don’t know me well.”

You can’t help but laugh. “It’s cool. You remind me of my best friend.”

“The highest honor there is,” she says with a knowing nod. When she turns to fully face you, shifting to rest her hip on the sink as you dry your hands, you have a feeling there’s more coming.

“So, can I be honest?”

“Go ahead,” you say, suddenly a little nervous.

“I know I just met both of you today, but— the way Suga was looking at you? Girl. He’s not taking the couch because he wants to.”

You smile politely at her reflection, and her eyes narrow. “I know you don’t believe me, and you don’t have to. Matthew doesn’t believe that he’s in love with me either, but we both have Leo Moons, so obviously we’re each waiting for the other person to cave first.” She shrugs, nonchalant. “Which is fine for us, but all I’m saying is, if you want something, there’s really nothing wrong with asking for it.”

The urge to shut her down is strong. It’s slightly unnerving to feel like a relative stranger is peering into your soul. “You make it sound easy,” you murmur with a dry laugh. “I don’t think bed-sharing is part of our… arrangement.”

Tiffany preens a little more in the mirror, deftly flipping her curtain of dark hair over one shoulder. “Maybe it’s not supposed to be, but trust me on this one. He won’t say no. And if he does, I owe you a sake bomb.”

A genuine smile blooms across your face, and it only widens when she holds up her pinky finger. You lock yours around it for a single shake. “Deal.”

Arm-in-arm with Tiffany, you return to your corner of the table, where she entertains you by bullying Matthew into buying another round of drinks while he groans about burning a hole in his pocket.

“If it helps,” you giggle, “I’m about to head out. So make it three instead of four.”

“Thank god,” Matthew breathes a sigh of relief. “This girl is so damn expensive.”

Tiffany pauses with a spoonful of matcha gelato— also ordered on Matthew’s dime— halfway to her mouth. “I literally have a Leo stellium, what the fuck do you expect?”

While they continue to bicker, your gaze floats down the table. You wonder if Tiffany’s mind-reading powers might be catching as your eyes land on Yoongi just in time for him to look up from his phone and meet your gaze. He nods his head once toward the entrance, and you nod back.

A shoulder bumps into yours, and you turn to see Tiffany subtly shoot you a thumbs-up. “Fighting!” she murmurs under her breath, and you laugh as you get to your feet and bid everyone goodnight.

Yoongi holds the door of the restaurant for you to exit first, then follows you into the large black car waiting for you on the curb.

The drive back to the hotel gives you just enough time to immediately talk yourself out of Tiffany’s suggestion. The thought of asking for what you want feels like a trap, like displaying weakness to the one person who could hit you hardest. Besides, what if she misread Yoongi entirely? She doesn’t know him at all, and has no idea of the way things are between you. It’s a terrible idea, you decide.

So you find yourself right where you were the night before, like a bad dream you can’t wake up from: face washed, teeth brushed, tossing and turning in a bed far too large for one person. You can feel your final thread of resistance snap clean in half as you angrily kick the blankets off, then get to your feet and storm into the living room.

Yoongi is still up, peering down at his phone screen on the couch, his glasses deposited atop the coffee table.

“You’re being stupid,” you huff, and he glances up, clearly not expecting the interruption.

“I am?”

“You’re going to the Grammys tomorrow,” you say, as if that will explain anything.

“So are you,” Yoongi counters.

“Well yeah, but nobody’s going to give a shit about me.”

“I’d argue that’s also true for me,” he murmurs dryly, then squints at you. “Sorry, why am I stupid?”

“Because you’re going to sleep terribly on this couch.”

Yoongi nods once. “Probably, yes.”

You sigh, because of course he’s going to drag this out of you. “And the bed is perfectly big enough for two people. We wouldn’t even be touching or anything. So…” Fuck, saying what you want is hard. “Can you just… stop being stupid?”

There’s a flash of recognition in his eyes, and you’re surprised when that trademark cocky smirk doesn’t spread across his face. If anything, he just seems hesitant as he slowly sits up. “You’re sure?”

You fold your arms across your chest, suddenly feeling exposed like this, standing in front of him in only your thin sleep clothes. “Please don’t make me say it again.”

The corner of Yoongi’s mouth just barely pulls up, so slight you could be imagining it. “I’ll be there in a sec.”

In the bedroom, you leave the lamp at the empty side of the bed switched on, then crawl back under the sheets on your side. Heat blooms in your face as you press your cheek to the cool pillowcase, purposefully facing out, then reach one arm up to turn off your own bedside lamp.

True to his word, a few minutes later you hear the unmistakable sound of Yoongi’s steps across the carpet, then feel the shift of the mattress as he slips into bed on his side. He fumbles on the nightstand with what must be his glasses and his phone, and then you hear the click of the light, and the room disappears into darkness.

There’s a rustle and a sigh as he makes himself comfortable, and you were right: the two of you can easily share the bed without touching, plenty of space on the mattress between you.

Even so, having him closer is somehow… better. Comforting. You try not to dwell too much on it.

Flipping over onto your back, you stare up at the infinite black of the ceiling above you, your eyes already starting to weigh heavy. You don’t know where the question comes from, or why you ask it.

“Are you nervous?”

When he answers, Yoongi sounds half-asleep, too. “About what?”

“The Grammys?”

“Oh.” There’s a stirring sound, and then he speaks, like he’s just remembered you can’t see him shrugging. “I don’t know. A little.”

The only reply you’re capable of is a soft hum, and now you really can’t keep your eyes open. You curl up on your side again, cheek smushing into the pillow, and your consciousness whirs up one last coherent thought before you fully slip under: What else would he be nervous about?

~*~

You wake up to the warm glow of morning beneath your eyelids, and when you blink them open, the room is lit soft, dappled in sunlight that has managed to sneak between the thick hotel curtains. It’s warm in this bed too, and comfortable, and you sigh quietly to yourself as you stir a little under the covers. With a stifled yawn, you move to turn onto your back, and it’s only when you meet a gentle resistance that you realize why you’re so warm.

Yoongi must just be waking up too, because you immediately feel his body start at the realization that he pulled you close at some point during the night: an arm thrown over your waist, his hips pressed flush against yours.

“Fuck,” he mutters, his voice low and rough with sleep. “Sorry.” As the mattress starts to shift behind you, you respond on pure physical instinct and close your hand around Yoongi’s wrist.

“Stay.” The word comes out hoarse, barely more than a whisper.

Yoongi’s response is a soft grunt, and a bolt of panic quickens your pulse. You’re suddenly worried he might not want to stay, that he might even laugh at you for thinking you could have it like this, wrapped in his arms and waking up slowly. The furthest thing from hatred— and isn’t that what this is supposed to be?

But then his grip tightens to pull you that much closer, and he wordlessly presses his face into the crook of your neck. Your heart flutters in your chest, sweet and terrified. The heat of his breath over your skin makes you lean into him instinctively, and when your hips tilt, you can feel the unmistakable bulge of his clothed cock against your ass.

“God,” Yoongi groans. The deep gravel of his voice is enough to tighten your nipples beneath your tank top. “You make me so fucking hard. Dreamt about fucking you in this bed.”

“We woke up early,” you murmur. “So. There’s time.”

He grunts a low note in response. You can already feel the thin material of your sleep shorts growing wet between your legs as you slowly grind your hips back on him. 

Yoongi’s hand slips up your body, fingertips dragging over the fabric of your top until his palm is pressed to the column of your throat. You inhale softly, your head tipping up to allow him better access. His grip just barely tightens, and when he speaks in your ear, you can hear the smile around his words. “Tell me what you want.”

“Want you to fuck me, Yoongi,” you breathe. “In this bed.”

When you repeat his words back to him, Yoongi exhales a laugh, and then you feel him press a kiss to the hinge of your jaw. Something melts open inside of you at the brush of his lips, a sudden rush of an emotion you haven’t felt in a very long time. Something you certainly never expected to feel with Min fucking Yoongi, of all people.

He releases his hold on your throat, and his hand makes short work of slipping the straps of your tank top off your shoulders, then yanking the loose fabric down to expose your tits. You shiver a little at the morning air against your bare skin.

Yoongi’s palm closes around one of your breasts, lazily massaging it, and you rut your ass back on him with a small whimper. The heat of his mouth trails more kisses up your neck, and then his deep voice is in your ear again.

“Did you sleep okay?” He pairs the question with his thumb dragging circles over the stiff bud of your nipple, earning another soft noise from you.

“Y-yeah,” you manage to respond. “Better than the first night.”

He hums against the shell of your ear, the timbre of his rough voice setting every last one of your nerve endings alight. Overcome with desire, you can barely focus on his words as his hand traces along your waist to slip down the back of your shorts.

“Me too. So much better than the fucking couch.”

Two of his fingers tease over your slit, and he huffs a disbelieving laugh at how wet he finds you, how turned on you already are. When he swipes between your folds to circle at your entrance, you can hear your own slickness, chased with a soft noise of appreciation that escapes Yoongi’s mouth as he plunges both digits into your pussy. You can’t help but moan, too.

He could easily make you come just like this, but you want him too much.

“Yoongi,” you murmur, twisting slightly to reach a hand behind you. You trace down the hard muscles of his stomach, apparent even through the thin fabric of his t-shirt, until your palm drags along the thick outline of his cock straining beneath his boxer briefs. He’s so hard that he pulses under your touch, and you’re sure he must be able to feel the way your pussy flutters at the thought of this cock filling you up.

“Needy,” he purrs, his mouth against your neck.

“Shut up,” you answer automatically, not quite able to keep your voice steady with the way he’s fucking his fingers into you.

But Yoongi doesn’t torment you— you only have to give his clothed length one slow pump before his hands are pushing your shorts over your legs, like he can’t get them off fast enough. You kick them the rest of the way off while he works his boxers down, and then you arch back as his cock starts to tease your pussy lips apart.

He slips easily through your folds, painting you both in a mixture of pre-cum and arousal as he grinds himself over the whole of your slit. You bite back a moan when the head of his dick rubs up to your clit, smearing wetness there in steady strokes that make you gasp and writhe.

“Can I go raw again?” he asks so softly in your ear, and your cunt throbs as you whimper your consent.

It’s impossible to keep quiet now, not with how perfectly his cock pushes into you, stretching you open to take him. You press your face into the pillow to slightly muffle your sounds, and you can hear Yoongi groan behind you.

“Fuck,” he hisses roughly. “You’re ruining me. I may never be able to go back to condoms.”

“Yoongi,” you whine as he sheathes himself fully with a grunt of effort, giving you a few moments to adjust before he moves. “If you keep fucking talking in my ear with your morning voice like that—” your own voice breaks off mid-sentence as he drags his cock out just to fuck it back into you, and you have to take a breath before trying again. “I’m gonna come in five seconds.”

When he presses his mouth to your shoulder, you can feel the smirk on his lips. “Is that right?” The low rumble of his question buzzes through you, and your walls tighten around him in response. “You like it that much?”

You can barely remember how to form words with the way he’s started to thrust, the head of his cock sparking hot pleasure each time he rubs himself over the ridges of your front wall. “What if I do?”

Yoongi hums into the crook of your neck, purposefully drawing the sound out to make a shiver run up your spine, and you can’t help moaning. His hand slips between your thighs to nudge them apart, and you’re easily pliant for him, spreading yourself at his guidance so his fingers can find your clit.

“I’d tell you how fucking good you look like this,” he murmurs against your skin. “How well you take my cock.” You roll your hips in time with his strokes, and his free arm slips between your shoulder and the bed to wrap around your chest, giving him leverage to fuck you harder.

“Oh my god.” You nearly choke on your words as he pounds into you, unrelenting now, and your fingertips claw desperately at the pillow beneath your head.

“Pussy’s always so fucking tight, shit,” he groans. “Should’ve just done this the whole weekend. Don’t know how I even let you leave the room.”

Your feet flex helplessly against the bedsheets as Yoongi’s hand rubs a steadily building pressure into your core that threatens to overflow. His fingers move in tight circles over your clit like he knows your body well— which, you guess, he does. The thought of him keeping you here all weekend, tangled up in these sheets, fucking you senseless and making you come again and again and again is dizzying, enough to make your pussy start to pulse around his length.

“Yoongi,” you gasp. “Fuck, fuck, you’re gonna make me come.”

His lips brush over your shoulder, his voice stilted by how roughly he’s fucking into you. “Yeah, come on this cock. Make a mess for me.”

The pleasure is so overwhelming you almost want to squirm away from it, but then his fingers press your clit just right to snap a final thread and send you over the edge. Your thighs shake violently as your climax rips through you, and a rush of fluid squirts out of your cunt to coat the length of his dick and soak a wet spot into the sheets.

Yoongi groans unabashedly at the sight, still fucking you through the waves of your orgasm, his thrusts slowing as if to hold off his own end while your pussy keeps shuddering around him.

You take your time coming all the way down, lost in how good it feels, and then you slump back against the pillow with a ragged sigh, your head swimming. “Holy shit.”

His throbbing-hard cock is still clenched inside your heat, and the bed shifts when he gently pulls out. Dazed, you turn over to watch him as he kneels up on the bed next to you, his knees sinking soft divots into the mattress, and starts to slowly pump himself.

And fuck. He looks so good like this: long hair mussed from sex and sleep, with a half-awake look of concentration on his face, his tongue toying at the corner of his mouth and the muscles of his arm flexing with every stroke. Watching him get himself off has only gotten hotter since you saw it the first time, and you didn’t think that was possible.

It feels like it takes all the effort you have left in your body, but you manage to sit up and turn to face him. In one assured move, you reach down to grab his wrist and pull his hand off his cock.

Yoongi whines a little at the realization of what you’re doing, and he leans back to give you full access as you settle yourself on all fours in front of him.

“Oh fuck yeah, please suck me off.”

“Please?” you laugh, pausing to glance up at him. “Who taught you manners?”

“That fucking mouth did,” he growls, and it’s punctuated with a relieved moan as you drag your tongue up his shaft. One of his hands tangles in your hair while you lick the heady taste of yourself off his cock, then breathe deep through your nose so you can swallow him down.

Yoongi’s breath comes in ragged pants as you hollow your cheeks around him and start to bob your head, letting his tip rub against the back of your throat on every pass. You feel his fingers in your hair tighten, and his hips shove up to match your strokes, like he’s already close to coming undone.

This thick cock weighs heavy and familiar on your tongue, warm like the rays of morning sun that have reached far enough into the room to wash over the bedsheets now. Drool spills out from the seal of your lips around Yoongi’s shaft, and the sound of him fucking your mouth is obscene, pornographic as it floats up to the ceiling.

“God,” Yoongi gasps. “Gonna come down your pretty fucking throat.”

And it’s funny— once, this would have made you feel powerful, in control, like the person with the upper hand. The winner. But in this moment, it occurs to you that you don’t really give a shit about winning anymore. Now his words just make you hum and suppress a smile around his cock in your mouth. When you notice the way his thighs tremble in response, you keep going, vibrating his length while you sink as far down as you can take it.

The hand in your hair releases, and then his palm just barely brushes over the bulge of his cock in your throat as if in admiration. Eyes rolling back, you let your jaw slacken and swallow hard on the stretch of him there.

“Jesus, fuck,” he groans, and then he’s coming, and the throb of him in your mouth still feels like a reward. You pull back a little to keep from gagging as he paints fat ropes of cum into the tight clutch of your throat. Sucking firmly around him through spasm after spasm, you swallow it all down greedily until you feel him going soft on your tongue. 

You finally pull off with a wet pop, dazed and laughing as you roll over and collapse into a heap against the mattress, thoroughly spent.

“Okay,” Yoongi manages to say on an exhale, though you can hear he’s still short of breath, too. You glance up to see him raking a hand through his hair, looking fucked out of his mind. “I’m ready to go win a Grammy now.”

There’s just enough time for each of you to shower and get dressed before a whole team of people arrive for Yoongi: stylists, hair and makeup, and most importantly, coffee delivery. Yoongi blinks wide-eyed at you as you press the largest iced Americano you could find in downtown Los Angeles into his hands, and then you step back to let everyone get to work.

Meanwhile, you spend the next few hours in a rush of attempting to get yourself ready, all while double-checking the schedule, answering emails on the fly from your phone, and trying desperately to ignore the anxiety that’s started to hum in the pit of your stomach.

Once your hair and makeup are as decent as you can get them, you slip the black dress you packed for tonight— a rental, because buying a black tie dress was absolutely out of your price range— off the hanger and step carefully into it. Watching yourself in the mirror, you reach behind you for the zipper only to realize you can’t quite manage to pull it up past the small of your back.

Fuck. You didn’t even think about the fact that Jimin helped you zip this thing up when you tried it on initially, during a night at your place where you split two bottles of wine and he performed his own personal critique of all your dress rental options. This was the only one he’d liked.

With a nervous sigh, you head for the bathroom door, figuring that you’ll be able to subtly grab the attention of one of Yoongi’s many stylists to help.

But when you slowly slide the door open, one hand pressing the fabric of your dress in place over your chest, you realize the room has fallen quiet. As you lean across the threshold, you see why: everyone is gone.

Except for Yoongi, who glances up from where he’s sunk into the couch, scrolling aimlessly on his phone.

“Where is everyone?” you snap, probably a little harsher than you need to be.

He frowns like he doesn’t understand the question. “They… left? Because they were done? I don’t know if you’ve heard, but there’s a big awards show tonight. Means the stylists are pretty booked today.”

Yoongi gets to his feet to cross the room, and you fumble awkwardly, trying to keep your dress up. He’s fully put together now in a well-fitted suit and tie, and with his long hair styled and subtle makeup applied to enhance his features, he looks… good. Too good. Deadly. You can’t quite manage to maintain eye contact, and find yourself staring dumbly at the floor instead.

His voice softens slightly as he steps in close to you. “What’s wrong? Does it not fit?”

“It fucking better,” you mutter. “I just… can’t reach the zipper.”

“Are you asking for my help?”

Your gaze flits up to meet his, and you’re a little surprised by his question. “There’s nobody else here,” you retort, stubborn.

When he blinks evenly back at you, like he’s waiting for something, you realize he’s not going to make this easy. Fucking hell. Another tense moment passes, and he just blinks again.

“Yes,” you finally give in with a frustrated sigh. “Will you please help me, Yoongi?”

“Turn around,” he murmurs, and you do.

His hand slides over the small of your back, and then he slowly starts to ease the zipper up. You don’t dare move a muscle until he’s done, and it’s only once he buttons the closure at the top that you breathe a serious sigh of relief. The dress fits like a glove.

You attempt to compose yourself enough to thank him, but the words get stuck in your throat when you feel the heat of his breath against your skin.

His low voice resonates in the quiet of the room as he leans in. “Was that so hard?”

You turn your head as if to argue, but then there’s a split second where you feel his lips brush over your neck, just below your ear. So slight it could’ve been an accident.

“Thanks,” you manage to choke out, and then you slip away from him to get your heels from the bedroom and try to remember how to breathe. You do your best to ignore the fact that your hands are shaking as you pull your shoes on, then pause in front of the full-length mirror on the wardrobe, giving yourself a final once-over.

As you smooth your hands down the black velvet fabric and turn to the side, you glance up to find Yoongi hovering in the threshold, watching you.

“That dress,” he remarks, sounding a little dazed. You have to fight to keep the smile off your face when he trails off, unable to say more— you didn’t think it was possible to make Min Yoongi speechless. It’s not a bad feeling.

And you do like this dress, even though you could never actually afford it. It’s simple but elegant, a sleeveless column style with a plunging neckline and a slit that reaches your mid-thigh. Nothing groundbreaking, but it sticks to your curves like water and makes you feel somewhat more like a person who belongs at a fancy awards show.

“Jimin picked it,” you respond, and you hear Yoongi exhale a laugh.

“He has good taste.”

You turn toward him as your hidden smile pulls into a smirk. “Well, I’m not dressed up for you,” you chide, and you revel in the way his face drops briefly in surprise before he’s able to conceal it. “I’m trying to meet Kendrick.”

“Is that right?”

“Uh-huh.”

You’re thankful that you purposefully padded your schedule with extra time, because you lose nearly every last minute of it stuck in the gridlock of Los Angeles traffic on the night of a huge event.

By the time you make it to the venue, you’re practically nauseous from all the stopping and starting and crawling of the car, and Yoongi looks equally bad, though you suspect his condition might be more anxiety-related.

As it turns out, the Grammys are a lot less glamorous when you’re only mildly famous, at least by American standards. The two of you are shepherded by security to another ‘lane’ of the red carpet and warned not to stop as you make your way into the building. You observe from afar while A-list celebrities pass in a blur, flashbulbs pop bright enough to blind you, and chatter is drowned out by the sound of fans screaming and the clamor of reporters trying to grab the biggest names for an interview.

“I’m so glad I’m not that fucking famous,” Yoongi scoffs, though he doesn’t quite manage to hide the nerves in his voice.

“Come on,” you murmur once you get inside, nodding toward a pop-up bar in a far corner of the lobby. “Take the edge off. And I’m gonna need alcohol if I have to sit through a fucking three-hour show.”

You down your drinks quickly, only a few minutes shy of the time by which you have to be in your seats, and you return from tossing the empties in the trash to see Yoongi eyeing a piano pushed against the far wall, clearly for show. He takes a seat, glancing around as if in fear of getting yelled at, then gently pushes up the key lid.

“Ooh, do Wine!” you tease with a laugh as you drop onto the bench beside him, but he actually does start to play, one foot pressing down on a pedal to keep the sound soft. His fingers alight over the keys, and the song he plucks out is beautiful. It’s a melody that almost feels nostalgic to you, even though you know you’ve never heard it before.

“What is this?” you ask, and he keeps playing as he responds.

“Do you know Sakamoto?”

You hum a no as you shake your head.

His eyes narrow slightly. “Remind me how you work in the music industry?”

A smile plays at your lips, and you roll your eyes. “Shut up. You know I’m a fraud.”

Yoongi doesn’t miss a note when he glances up to meet your gaze. “Are you?”

It’s only now that you realize how close he is: the two of you are basically sitting hip to hip, shoulder to shoulder. For a moment, you forget about the Grammys, forget that anyone else is even in the room.

“Excuse me!” A voice snaps you out of the moment, and you scoot away from Yoongi so quickly you nearly topple off the bench. “That’s not meant to be played, and we need everyone to head to their seats, please!” Your face flushes with an embarrassed heat, and Yoongi lifts a hand apologetically as he covers the keys back up.

You stick close to his side so as not to lose him in the large crowd of people. “Bet they’ll let you play whatever piano you want once you have one of those dumb little trophies,” you mutter under your breath, and Yoongi really laughs, like he wasn’t expecting the comment.

Another thing you didn’t necessarily anticipate: the Grammys are fucking long. You knew it would be over three hours, but you realize you severely underestimated how long that time would feel. While the performances are incredible (and you have to dig your nails into the cushion of your seat to keep from squealing when you spot Lil Nas X a few rows in front of you), there’s plenty of filler between them, and it feels a lot drier when you’re physically in the room for it. Even the commercial breaks are far too short for you to have enough time to actually run to the restroom or get another drink.

You’re also starving. “I hate that they don’t serve food at these things,” you hiss to Yoongi during a break, but it’s late enough in the night now that he’s barely speaking, apart from the occasional monotone grunt. 

Though you’ve been waiting for it all evening, you still don’t quite know if you’re ready when the host starts to run down the list of nominees for Song of the Year.

As he’s only credited as a writer, they don’t actually say Yoongi’s pseudonym, but pride still squeezes tight in your chest when you see “Suga” spelled out across the on-stage monitors beneath the name of the song.

They get through all the titles in what seems like less than a second, and your heart feels like it might give out as an anticipatory silence settles over the crowd. The host fumbles with getting the envelope open, and you’re so tense, you flinch hard at an unexpected brush of contact.

You glance down, and it takes a moment for your brain to process what’s happened. He’s not looking at you, hasn’t said anything, but Yoongi has nevertheless reached over to grab your hand. His long fingers lace through yours, gripping surprisingly tight, and the skin of his palm is warm and dry. It’s like your brain short-circuits for a moment as you stare stupidly at your joined hands, and he gives yours a single nervous squeeze.

“And the Grammy goes to…”

You look over at him, still dumbfounded, and then you hear them call a song that isn’t his.

Your heart sinks as you watch Yoongi blink up at the screen, his mouth pulled into a flat line. You realize belatedly you’re supposed to be clapping, but his hand is still clasped in yours. And you don’t want to pull away from him.

But then he moves first, untwining his hand from yours and bringing it up to rake through his hair with a disbelieving laugh. A little delayed, you both join in the applause as the winner makes their way to the stage. You can’t even process who it is.

You have no idea what to say to console him, so you don’t say anything at all.

Thankfully the category is one of the last of the night, so you only have to sit through a few more rounds of acceptance speeches and watching other people’s dreams come true before you can finally get to your feet. You feel like you can’t leave fast enough as you’re herded out of the stadium and into another car to depart for the afterparty.

There’s a heavy silence in the backseat that feels like a chasm between you as you crawl through Los Angeles traffic.

You realize there’s a bottle of champagne tucked into an ice bucket behind the front seat— a thoughtful touch from the label execs, you assume. Yoongi spots it at the same time you do, and he immediately reaches for it. With a grunt of effort, he pops the cork, a little bit of excess foam dribbling onto the floor of the car.

He raises his eyebrows at you, then brings the bottle right to his mouth for a long drink. Longer than long. You watch his adam’s apple jump in his throat as he swallows several times.

“Alright, chill the fuck out,” you snap after a few seconds, reaching over to grab it from him. “At least eat something first.”

“It’s my consolation prize,” Yoongi quips, but he lets you wrest the champagne from his hands without resisting. You take a thorough swig yourself, then recork the bottle and drop it back in the bucket. “Such a good little admin,” he purrs, and you try to convince yourself there isn’t a hint of venom in his words.

The car pulls to a stop at the designated hotel, and you climb out after Yoongi. Upon making it inside, the two of you peel off in different directions: him for the bar, and you to find anything that remotely resembles food. You keep glancing over at him from across the room as it fills with more and more people, nervous to take your eyes off him for too long, unsure of what he might do. Every time you find him again, it seems like he’s downing another glass of whiskey, drinking like the fucking world is ending.

Meanwhile, you’re struggling to find anything that isn’t kale, quinoa, or… whatever grain-free bread is. With a frustrated sigh, you finally decide to give up. If Yoongi wants to drink on an empty stomach until he gets alcohol poisoning, you figure that’s his fucking problem.

When you shove your way through the crowd back toward him, you find that he’s been pulled into a conversation with a bunch of older white men you can only assume to be American industry reps. As you get close enough to make out their words, you quickly understand why he has such a sour look on his face.

“Don’t tell me— oppa gangnam style, right?” The man talking does his best approximation of Psy’s dance, and you consider crawling under the nearest table.

“Nah, come on, he’s obviously the one who did Parasite,” another guy laughs.

Yoongi grimaces politely into his drink as he throws it back, but you can’t seem to find your manners. “Oh good job, Yoongi, I see you found the fucking racists.” You don’t miss the smirk he tries to conceal.

There’s a loud reaction from all of the white men, who clearly seem more entertained than hurt by your dig. “Wow, man,” the one who spoke first chortles, clapping Yoongi hard on the shoulder. “Looks like you need to control your girl.”

Your heart thuds in your chest as you watch Yoongi shrug off the guy’s hand to set his empty glass down on the closest table. He moves slowly, deliberately taking a long pause before correcting them. “This is actually my assistant.” His voice is laced with a deadly calm you know well.

“Assistant?” A third pipes up, acting as if he’s never heard the word before. “Huh. You know, back in my day we just called them secretaries. Or mistresses.”

Yoongi moves so fast you barely have time to process it, lunging forward and shoving the guy in the chest with enough force that he stumbles backwards into his shitty friends. “What the fuck!” one of them shouts, purposefully loud, and you can hear a ripple of shock roll through the crowd, can see heads turning to look your way in alarm.

“No, no, nope,” you immediately mutter. “This is not fucking happening.”

Yoongi is already taking another step toward the group, and you tighten a hand hard around his bicep. “We’re leaving.”

When he whips around to face you, the mixture of anger and pain reflected in his dark eyes is so overwhelming, it hits you like a truck. You try to force yourself to stay calm, because at least one of you has to be.

“Come on, Yoongi,” you say, letting your voice soften. “Fuck this place. I need some real food.” Your eyes search his, pleading. For a moment, you can’t help but wonder if you’re staring down an enemy or a friend.

But then you see the fight go out of him as he nods, and you breathe a silent sigh of relief.

Shifting the hand on his arm to press firmly to the center of his back, you guide him in front of you and wind through the packed room of people until you make your way outside again.

Fate does you one good turn by leaving an empty cab out front, and you push Yoongi into the backseat, then slide in next to him. You lean forward to greet the driver, doing your best to smile politely and act composed, like you didn’t just almost get into a fight at the Grammys afterparty.

“Can you take us to Koreatown, please?”

~*~

The cab drops you off outside a strip of bars and restaurants, lit up with neon signs in both English and Korean. To his credit, Yoongi seems more subdued as he follows you out of the car wordlessly, but you allow him a little more time to cool off in silence. You wander somewhat aimlessly, attempting to shake off your lingering anxiety in the warm evening air, until you stumble upon a food truck parked at the end of the block. Your eyes go wide at the posted signage.

“What do you think?” you ask as you turn to Yoongi, and he shrugs, like he really doesn’t care. Perfect. You’ve never had a problem a gamja hot dog couldn’t fix.

Securing one for each of you, you nod Yoongi toward a small group of tables set up at the curb to sit down. Once seated, you immediately drown your hot dog in ketchup and mustard, and you can hear him scoff before taking the bottles from you to do the same. Admittedly, you must look fairly ridiculous eating fried street food in full black tie, but you’re far too hungry to give a fuck right now.

It’s perfection from the first bite, crispy and hot, the batter studded with potato pieces and the inside loaded with cheese.

You’re also too hungry to bother making conversation at first, but after a few more bites you glance over at Yoongi, and your heart sinks all over again. You really do feel bad, and then the words are leaving your mouth before you can stop them.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur with your mouth full. “That you didn’t win.”

He makes a face as he chews. “We already agreed I wouldn’t have been happy even if I won, right? So it doesn’t really matter.”

You roll your eyes, unconvinced. “It’s okay to have feelings, you know. You’re allowed to be upset.”

Yoongi just shrugs, but he can’t quite meet your gaze. “It’s whatever.” You take another bite as he continues. “If I’m gonna win a Grammy, I want it to be for something that’s all mine anyway.”

The sentence surprises you, and you blink back at him. “You’re going to release your own stuff?”

As if he instantly regrets bringing it up, his face reddens a little, his expression twisting into an unsure grimace. “Ahh… I don’t know, probably not. People know me as a producer. I don’t know that anyone would actually listen to it.”

“I would,” you say without even really thinking, and his eyes widen. “You know,” you continue quickly, adopting a fake-serious tone. “Since I work in the music industry. Strictly business.”

A small smile plays at the corner of his mouth, and you find yourself relieved to see it. “I appreciate that.”

You’re also desperately curious, wondering if he’ll say more about his own music, but he goes quiet again. Given the night he’s had, you don’t exactly want to push it.

Taking the final bite of your hot dog and mourning the loss, you stack your skewer and paper tray on top of Yoongi’s, then get to your feet to toss them in the nearest trash can. When you return to the table, you smack your palms decisively against it.

“Come on. I think the circumstances call for some binge drinking.”

Your first stop is tucked into two seats at a neighboring dive bar, alive and roaring with enough ambient conversation that you have to speak fairly loudly to be heard over the noise. The bar in the center of the room is wrapped around a small open kitchen, where you watch the line cooks hustle to steam, grill, and fry what seems like a never-ending rush of food orders.

You and Yoongi stick to soju, pouring each other shot after shot. On the first one, he tilts his full glass toward you, and you knock yours against it.

“To losing,” he toasts, and you can’t help laughing as you tip your head back to drink. He’s smirking as he swallows his down, then pours you another. “Hey, maybe Jungkook will throw me a commiseration party when we get back.”

You grimace automatically at the name as you take the bottle from him to fill his glass up, and Yoongi doesn’t miss it. “Trouble in paradise?”

With a roll of your eyes, you determine that you need to be drunker for this. You take your shot, then instantly hold your glass out for Yoongi to pour another before he even gets to his. He obliges, and you throw it back immediately. The bottom of your glass hits the bar with a loud thud.

“I kinda… freaked out on him. Right before we left.”

Yoongi’s eyebrow lifts, questioning, as he drinks. “Any reason?” he prompts when he’s finished.

“Yes,” you answer stubbornly, tapping at the rim of your empty glass. He fills you up again, and you return the favor to finish the bottle. Yoongi motions to the bartender for another as you down your shot and steel yourself.

“You don’t have to tell me,” he offers.

“Don’t you want to hear that you were right?”

He shrugs like he can’t argue. “I mean, always.”

“Well for one, he asked if anything was going on between you and me.” You glance over to see Yoongi’s eyes widen slightly as he drinks. “I said no.”

“Uh huh.”

“And then he was like, ‘Good, I’m glad I don’t have to tell you to raise your standards.’”

Yoongi is clearly trying to keep his expression neutral, but it’s a losing battle. You can see the way his shoulders are starting to shake, and then he finally caves in, his palm smacking flat against the bar as he really laughs. “Wow,” he eventually recovers enough to huff, and you reach for the fresh soju bottle that’s been dropped off. “He really just said it.”

“Mm-hmm,” you intone, filling his glass and then handing the bottle back. Yoongi’s still chuckling a little as he pours your drink before taking his own, and you continue. “And then, I don’t know, there was some other stuff, and I was just like… oh fuck.”

“Because you realized he’s in love with you.”

You sigh dejectedly into your soju. “I’m so stupid.”

“Nah,” Yoongi shakes his head, reaching for your glass once you’ve emptied it again. “You wanted to avoid an inconvenient truth. Just makes you human.”

There’s a pause as you take the bottle to pour his drink, and then his next words nearly make you choke as you throw back yours. “You should date Jungkook.”

You’re sure you must look entirely dumbfounded as you stare at him. “What?”

“What?” he retorts, like he hasn’t said anything shocking. “He’d be good for you.”

For a long moment, neither of you speak as you regard him. You finally shake your head, nudging your empty glass toward him until he gets the memo. “Don’t say shit like that,” you mutter under your breath, and you’re not sure if he hears it over the din of the bar.

“Besides,” you continue as you snatch the soju out of his hands to pour his drink, “I’ve tried dating a coworker before. It’s a bad idea.”

“Sounds like a good story.”

“It’s not, really,” you murmur, staring down at the liquid in your glass. “My last job I was a waitress.”

“Mm,” Yoongi interrupts with a hum as he takes his shot. “Waitress. I was close.”

You pour him another, mostly to keep him quiet. “Yeah yeah, you’re very fucking perceptive. Anyway, I dated another server for a couple years. He ended up cheating on me with one of the hostesses, but I was honestly kinda tired of him, so I was glad to end it.” You hear Yoongi snort a little at your fairly heartless admission. “But then I walked in on them fucking in the walk-in, and it put me in a bad mood. Long story short, I ended up throwing a drink on a customer and they had to let me go.”

“Christ,” he laughs, pausing for a moment to fully take in your words. “And now you’re a pain in my ass.”

You roll your eyes as you motion for another soju bottle. “Correct.”

“Sounds like your ex was an idiot.” You glance over to find Yoongi already looking at you. “I mean, in the walk-in is just… nasty.”

“That’s what I said!” Your mouth pulls up at the corners as you try to suppress a giggle. “I don’t think we can really judge anybody though.”

Yoongi blinks, staring blankly into the middle distance. “That conference room trash can condom still haunts me.”

With a loud laugh, you bury your face in your hands, and you can feel your cheeks burning from alcohol and embarrassment. You peer between your fingers as Yoongi sets down a fresh shot for you, and you gladly take it.

“People are stupid,” he remarks wisely. “That’s why I don’t date.” You quirk an eyebrow as he passes you the bottle.

“What, a prize like you?” you deadpan. “You just fuck people in bar bathrooms like a well-adjusted human?”

“Yeah,” he admits with a shrug. “So. Wanna check this one out?”

Your mouth drops open in disbelief, and you immediately smack him on the arm. He nearly spills his drink from laughter, and you can’t keep yourself from laughing a little, too. “I already gave it to you this morning, you freak.”

“Come on,” Yoongi’s voice is teasing, and he bumps his shoulder against yours when he leans in closer. “I had a hard night.”

Pouring him another drink is your only distraction, and you do it with the utmost focus. “This dress is a rental.”

“I can pay for it.” The heat of his breath ghosts over your collarbone as he answers. You shove the bottle hard into his chest, and he takes the cue to fill your glass again, still smirking as he pulls away.

“First,” you say, sounding more confident than you feel, especially with the way your pulse has started to quicken. Your expression is deadly serious as you turn to stare into Yoongi’s eyes and he stares right back. “You have to prove that you can keep up.”

When you swallow your shot easily to punctuate the dare, a look flashes over Yoongi’s face like he’s impressed, and then he follows your lead.

After a few more bottles, the bar is so crowded and so loud that you can hardly hear yourselves think, and you stumble out of it and into the next place you see, and then the next, and then the next. All bets are off tonight, and you’re not about to tell Yoongi that he can’t get fucking trashed considering he just lost at the fucking Grammys. You figure you’ll be able to sleep off your hangovers on the stupidly long flight home tomorrow.

With each stop, Yoongi’s mood seems to improve a little. He eventually drinks enough that his suit jacket and tie come off, and they end up draped over your shoulders, despite your loud protests that you don’t need any more responsibilities. With the sleeves of his white button-down pushed up, it gets increasingly hard to divert your attention away from his hands and the muscles in his forearms, especially as you get progressively drunker and drunker.

Yoongi’s palm brushes over the small of your back as you make your way out of the last place, his touch warm even through the velvet of your dress.

“I know it was your personal nightmare,” he murmurs, words slurring together slightly, “but I really am glad you came on this trip. I mean it,” he insists when you shoot him a look. “I would be fucking insufferable if I was alone tonight. And I definitely would’ve punched that label guy in the face.”

You exhale a laugh and nearly fall over in your heels, and Yoongi’s hand slips to your waist to keep you upright. “He deserved it.” You lean into him, not entirely for balance, and you can feel it when he shrugs.

“Sorry you didn’t get to meet Kendrick.”

The glow of the various open-late establishments and the glitter of the pavement under your feet are all beautiful, especially in your current state, and the night air is still and warm. As you approach the next building and are met with the dull thud of music, your eyes go wide.

“Oh, I just figured out how you can make it up to me.”

The noraebang is surprisingly busy given that it’s a Sunday night, but you’re still able to book a room, and you giggle your thanks as Yoongi opens his wallet to pay the hourly rate like it’s nothing. The two of you work your way through more bottles of beer and soju, and when you start up the karaoke and teasingly pick the HEIZE song he produced, you’re surprised that he actually joins you.

Yoongi must be able to read the expression on your face, because he smirks mid-song. “Let the record show that I am actually a very fun drunk.”

And he is. You sing dramatically and loudly, not caring if you hit the notes, jumping and dancing and occasionally dropping passionately to your knees before dissolving into laughter. At first you monopolize the controller, but after you force a third Kendrick song on him Yoongi gestures for it, and you begrudgingly hand it over.

Crossing the room, you kneel down to dig through the provided box of props, immediately spotting and slipping on a cat-eared headband. You glance up at the screen, eyes widening as you realize he’s searching through Epik High songs. “Do Love Love Love!”

When you look back at him, Yoongi is squinting at you, laughing a little at your new set of ears. “What the fuck do you know about Epik High?”

“What do you mean what the fuck do I know?” you snap back. “I love them! I should be asking you that question, Mr. ‘I don’t listen to music’!”

His mouth pulls into a grin, his tongue toying at the inside of his cheek. “I have a few exceptions, alright?”

Still knelt down, you flop sideways onto the floor when he selects Born Hater. “Ugh, I’m too drunk to say that many words.”

“I got this,” Yoongi reassures you, flipping his microphone coolly with one hand as he gets to his feet. You can’t help giggling dumbly from your spot on the ground as you drunkenly prop your feet on the booth and reach up to pull your high heels off.

If there’s one thing tonight has taught you, it’s that Yoongi has a really good voice, even raw and live and drunk as hell. You don’t know why it surprises you, but it does. To you, performing seems like a different world from writing and producing tracks, but he does it just as effortlessly, with no trace of the anxiety you’ve seen grip him in a crowded room. The passion in the way he growls and gasps out lyrics, even just in the way he moves, it’s all undeniable and exhilarating to watch. He raps like he has nothing left to lose, mouth pulled into a snarl, occasionally reaching up to push his sweaty hair back off his forehead.

You can only gaze up at him, awestruck, wondering how many different versions of Min Yoongi you have left to discover until you hit the bottom.

The two of you trade the controller back and forth until every bottle on the table is empty, until the words blur on the screen, until Yoongi flops over to lay down in the booth with his head hanging off the edge, clearly exhausted. “No more,” he groans. “I’m so tired. And so drunk.”

Hovering above him, you pry the controller from his grip with a smile, slipping the cat ears onto his head for an even exchange. And then you get an idea.

“Last song!” you assure him as you type, and he groans even louder when Cat & Dog starts to play.

“God, this song is terrible,” Yoongi complains, but you’re singing too loud to care about his critiques.

With a severe amount of effort, he pulls himself to a sitting position, and you kneel down in front of him, miming cat paws with your hands and wiggling your hips. “I didn’t know you were into petplay,” he deadpans, and you stick your tongue out, determined not to let him ruin your fun.

You get to your feet and turn toward the screen as the second chorus finishes, yelling over your shoulder, “This is my favorite part!”

“Feel like Cinderella naega byeonae—”

When Yoongi’s voice suddenly reverberates from the other microphone, you almost drop yours. You whip around in complete disbelief. He’s on his feet and moving towards you as he continues the rap verse, the inarguable best part, with a renewed cocky energy. And you have to admit, he’s putting Yeonjun to shame.

“What the fuck!” you practically scream, but he just keeps going.

Seized by full-body drunk laughter, you stumble forward and nearly fall over, knocking into his chest. Though Yoongi’s reflexes are a little delayed, he still manages to right you without missing a word, one arm hooking around your waist. You swallow hard as you suddenly find yourself intimately close to the broad sweep of his collarbone, exposed between the top buttons of his shirt that came undone at some point during your debaucherous evening.

Fumbling for your microphone, you make it back to reality in time for the final chorus, only to fall entirely to pieces when Yoongi starts barking at full volume to match the outro. You can’t take it, and he’s not fast enough to keep you upright, so you drop straight down to the floor on hands and knees, laughing so hard it feels like your lungs might give out.

The microphone rolls dejectedly out of your grasp as you flop over onto your back, and you scrub your hands down your face, trying desperately to catch your breath as the song fades out.

“That was the best thing I’ve ever seen in my whole life,” you mumble into your palms. You uncover your face to look up at Yoongi, only to find him laughing down at you, still wearing the fucking cat headband. “I thought you hated that song.”

He rolls his eyes despite his smile. “Yeah, well, it was also stuck in my head for like a week after you played it that one night.”

You sit up with a dramatic glare. “Oh, you mean the night you stole my fucking keys?”

A proud smirk flickers over his mouth. “You know, I am sorry about that. Or at least sorry I couldn’t see the look on your face when you realized.” He tosses his microphone onto the booth bench next to his abandoned suit jacket, then reaches down with both hands to pull you to your feet. It belatedly occurs to you that you might’ve left his tie at the last bar, but you’re too drunk to give it another thought.

“I hate you so much,” you say, though you can’t quite keep your expression serious. “Fuck, I should’ve taken a video. Could’ve used it for blackmail.”

Yoongi’s voice is lower when he speaks again, and you’re suddenly very aware of how close to you he is, the fact that his hands are still closed over yours. “Guess you’re the only one who’ll ever know.”

“Mmm,” you hum, swaying a little where you stand. His palms slip to your waist to keep you steady as you blink up at him, and your hands flatten against his chest, your fingertips tracing over the buttons of his shirt. “You look good in cat ears.”

“Shut up,” Yoongi murmurs, and then his mouth is on yours.

Your hands reach up to tangle in his long dark hair, knocking the headband to the floor, and with the amount of alcohol currently coursing through your system, you don’t have a single inhibition left in you. You kiss Yoongi like you can’t fucking breathe without him.

He pulls you as close as he can, until your bodies are flush all the way down, and you don’t ever want it to be any other way. You want it just like this, sucking and nibbling at his bottom lip until his tongue licks your mouth open and you groan into him. Just like this: his palms moving down to grab your ass unapologetically, your grip on his hair tightening, even your teeth knocking together with how drunk and desperate you are for each other. Just like this: two stupid, wildly flawed humans in black tie attire, making out in a Ktown noraebang at two in the morning on a Monday.

The sound of the door opening might as well be a gunshot for how loud it feels, and you just barely manage to jump apart as an employee pokes their head in.

“Hey, we’re closing in five.”

You don’t realize you’re not breathing until you hear the door click shut again, and your gasp for air quickly turns into an overwhelmed, embarrassed laugh. Yoongi groans drunkenly, running a hand through his hair, then sighs out a long exhale, like he’s trying to calm down.

“Come on,” you giggle, still close enough to tug playfully at one of his belt loops. “Let’s get out of here.”

Thankfully a cab is still easy to flag down even this late. The two of you manage to pour yourselves into the backseat and give the driver the name of the hotel. It’s not a terribly long drive, and you watch wide-eyed out the window as the sprawl of Los Angeles rushes by, painted in neon glow and the amber wash of streetlights.

Yoongi slumps against you, and he goes quiet for so long you think he might be asleep. When he finally shifts again, he presses his face into your shoulder with a noise of discomfort, and you’re suddenly worried he might be silent for a very different reason.

“Yoongi,” you murmur, trying to keep your voice low. “Don’t puke in the cab.”

“Stupid,” he responds, and you figure he must not be doing that bad if he can still talk.

You run your fingers through the soft, dark strands of his hair, admiring the texture, the way it’s nearly long enough now to graze his shoulders. “What’s stupid?”

“I’m—” he tries, but the car dips over a pothole, and he’s talking so quietly you lose the rest.

“You’re what?”

It’s quiet for a moment, save for the click of the turn signal.

“In love with you.”

His words stun you where you sit, and you have no idea what to do, say, think. You just keep twining your fingers through his hair, like you’re stuck on auto-pilot, distantly aware that every alarm bell in your inebriated brain is going off. It feels like way too much to try and process any of it right now. It feels like a trap.

“We can talk about this tomorrow,” you finally answer. Yoongi just stays slumped against you, and he doesn’t say another word.

The cab drops you off at the hotel, and it’s quiet between the two of you as you get him up to the room. You feel like you’re watching yourself from a distance, and it’s like your brain isn’t processing any of this as really happening, as if to keep you from thinking too hard about the big picture. From what it all could mean.

In the bathroom, you stand over the sink as you lend Yoongi your makeup remover and you both brush your teeth.

“Contacts,” you remind him through a mouthful of toothpaste when he spits out the last of his, and he nods sleepily.

“You don’t have to… administrate me all the time,” Yoongi slurs as he carefully slips one lens and then the other out of his eyes.

You spit out your own toothpaste, then sigh as you rinse the sink clean. “Well, you’re very drunk, and it’s my fault.”

“It was fun,” he says quietly, fumbling the case closed.

“It was,” you echo. “Really.” 

The bathroom door is half-open on its sliding track, and you glance up in the mirror to see Yoongi hovering in the threshold, looking back at you as you wipe away stray traces of mascara from under your eyes. You think he’s going to leave, but then he steps in behind you again, and you feel his hand slide up the small of your back to ease the zipper of your dress open.

Something in your heart twists as you stare down at the marble counter, and you can already tell this isn’t meant to be flirtatious. That thought is confirmed when you finally look up, only to find yourself left entirely alone.

With a small sigh, you slide the bathroom door shut, then flip the switch to turn on the fan. The white noise still doesn’t feel like enough, so you run the shower as well, then grab a plastic water bottle from the counter to chug. You retreat into the far corner with your phone, scrolling until you find the name of the only person who can possibly help you right now.

“Hey babe,” Jimin answers on the third ring. “I’m at rehearsal so I really can’t chat. You good?”

“Yoongi said he loves me,” you answer immediately, and the reality of it hits you impossibly hard as soon as you say it out loud.

“Uh-oh.”

“But,” you lean back until your head knocks against the wall. “He’s drunk as shit. I— we are drunk as shit.”

There’s a pause, and you swear you hear Jimin laugh a little under his breath. “He really said it, huh?”

“Yes, Jimin,” you groan. “In love.”

“And?”

You grimace at the flippant response from your supposed best friend. “What do you mean and?! What the fuck am I supposed to do?”

“Well, that depends,” Jimin starts.

“On?” you snap, impatient.

“Have you realized you’re in love with him yet? ‘Cause if I have to hear you babble on about this man for another week without piecing it together, I really might lose it.”

His words actually make your stomach churn. “Jimin!”

“I—” he sounds like he’s preparing to explain himself, but then he pauses, and his voice is quieter when he speaks again. “Fuck, I’m getting yelled at. I gotta go. Call me tomorrow.”

You want to scream at him to stay, to help, that he can’t just unravel you like this and then leave you to figure it out for yourself. “Mochi, I’m on the fucking plane tomorrow—”

“I’ll come over when you get home!” Jimin interrupts. “And then you can tell me the entire story of you two finally figuring out how to be normal humans with feelings.” You scoff at his biting remark, but he’s already talking over you. “You’re smart, you got this, I love you!”

You hear him blow a dramatic kiss into the speaker, and then the line goes dead.

The world spins around you as you stare helplessly at the silent black screen of your phone, and you can’t shove it all down anymore. It’s overwhelming, all of the things that you’re feeling in this moment, so much so that you can’t even identify what you feel. It’s just a giant, tangled mess, in your brain and in your heart. The tears spill out like you’ve been holding them in for weeks, hard and fast, until you can scarcely catch your breath. You scrub at the first few that roll down your cheeks, but they continue relentlessly, and you eventually give up and just let it all pour out.

You don’t know how long you stay like that, crying on the bathroom floor. You can’t even really explain why you’re crying, except that everything inside of you feels like too much to handle.

There’s a dull ache in your head by the time you finally manage to cry yourself dry, and then you peel yourself off the floor to slip out of your dress and shut off the shower. You pull on the tank top and sleep shorts you’d grabbed earlier from the bedroom, trying to avoid your swollen face in the mirror as you turn the lights out and shut the door behind you.

Yoongi has left the lamp on your bedside on, and you immediately flip it off to plunge the room into darkness, not wanting him to see you like this. He stirs slightly when you slip under the covers, and you can feel the mattress shift as he turns over.

Like it’s the most natural thing in the world, his arm slides over your stomach to pull your body flush to his, and his lips brush at the join of your neck and shoulder. As confusing as it should be, there’s something about the weight of him pressed into you that relaxes you, even through your current haze of emotion. You allow yourself to sink back against him, to breathe deeper, though your inhales are still a little shaky.

Yoongi’s rough voice in your ear pulls you up from the edge of sleep. “Did I fuck everything up?”

You sniff softly, and your own reply is barely more than a whisper. “No, Yoongi, it’s okay. Let’s just sleep."

As you hear him settle in beside you again, you make a promise that you’ll deal with the fallout tomorrow. You’ll figure out how you really feel, and how he does, and what you want, and what the hell you’re supposed to do about it all. But tonight, you just want this: to lay here with Yoongi and pretend your entire world isn’t about to change when you wake up.

chapter eight | masterlist | chapter ten

A/N: oh hiiiiii, super secret bonus author's note down here!!! just wanted to share that, now that we're officially through the grammys, that means we are down to just two more chapters left in the series!!! i held off confirming the full length of LDOMLT until we got to this point (and honestly i could've easily split this into two chapters but i am NICE and i did not give you the WORST CLIFFHANGER OF ALL TIME LMAO) - but now i'm sure. chapter 11 will be the final one. gonna do my best to get 10 and 11 up before end of year, or by very early 2023 at the latest!!! and thank u, as always, for reading 💜💜💜

look down on me like that - 8 (explicit)

genre: slow burn enemies to lovers hatefucking coworkers au, smut (w some eventual angst that is no longer eventual 👀)

pairing: yoongi x reader

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

word count: *deep breath in* 15.3k

contains: explicit sexual content and discussion of some dark themes .....yyyyyep 🤐 includes past-tense discussions of the d3ath of a parent (reader's) and su1c1dal ideation (yoongi's) so please tread carefully loves 💜 some references to alcohol per usual, and plenty of confusing feelings and piss-poor communication..... i'll leave the rest as a surprise 👀 but here are your smut-specific warnings: kissing (‼️), nipple play, clit stim, a single pussy slap lol, fingering, cunnilingus, squirting (🤭), unprotected sex and pulling out (💀), orgasm denial of sorts, but it's cool bc reader has multiple orgasms, ok byeeeee~

A/N: welp..... i'm off to enter witness protection in case you all decide you hate this chapter 💀 not really but heuhjkghkfjgdsf dear god am i nervous to post this lmfao. hope you're ready for some ~answers to questions~ and a whole lotta callbacks to earlier chapters idk why i shoved them all in ch8 specifically but here you go. the scene at yoongi's apartment was one of the very first things i dreamt up in regards to this story and it's nuts to me that we're all the way here now 💜 hope you're ready for a little more insight into these two! also baby goth fans don't come for me..... i promise we'll get a better resolution there..... reader and yoongi just have to survive LA first 😩

an eternal thank you to @haliiimede and @monimonimoon for being wonderful betas, and to @nabiolive for the dead parent sensitivity read lmfao I LOVE Y'ALL

read on AO3!

chapter seven | masterlist | chapter nine

~*~

In the morning, you wake up well before your alarm with an inexplicable uneasy feeling in the pit of your stomach. When it’s clear sleep is a lost cause, you decide to just get up, and you move through your routine slowly. Everything feels distant, not quite real, like it’s happening to someone else.

On the bus ride to the office, you let your eyes drop closed and try desperately not to replay the events of last night back. You should feel bad about the sex on the conference room table, and you do, a little. But your mind is stuck somewhere else.

Rain streaking down Yoongi’s windshield. The silence as he drove, disturbed only by the low rumble of his voice. The way he’d looked at you, and the heavy pause that hung in the air between you, for just a moment, until you’d fumbled open the door of his car and had practically ran back to the safety of your apartment. And his story— he’d told you something personal, with no malice or hidden agenda that you can manage to find, no matter how much you search for one. Something from when he was just a kid, growing up in Daegu.

You’re embarrassed to admit that it never even occurred to you that Min Yoongi might be a person with a past and a hometown and stories to tell. As long as you’ve known him, he’s always just felt like… a menace. A life-ruiner. An inescapable force.

The thoughts follow you as you step off the bus and make your way into the building and onto the elevator. You can’t figure it out. Yoongi could’ve easily left you to suffer in the rain, but instead he did something nice for you, without asking for anything in return. He’d related to you. He’d let you in, barely, but it’s something.

And you have no idea what to make of it.

Polite small talk with Jungkook as you unlock the front doors is a decent distraction, but you wonder if he can tell that you’re not all the way there today. You set your bag on your desk, then circle around to take a seat, only half-listening as he continues to talk.

“Did you stay late last night?”

You swear your heart stops beating. “What?”

He shrugs, like it’s an obvious question. “There’s the big overseas thing today. I’m sure you had a bunch of stuff to prep. Hopefully it wasn’t too late of a night?”

“No.” The word comes out harsher than you mean it to. You’re not quite sure why your body is suddenly doing emotional alchemy, taking your fear of being caught and somehow turning it into anger. “It wasn’t,” you say firmly.

Jungkook makes a face, like he knows he’s touched a nerve but can’t figure out why. “Okay. That’s good.”

You don’t respond— you just try to control your breathing, try to will your heart to quit racing as you start up your laptop and pretend to suddenly be engrossed in it.

“Well,” he tries again after a moment’s pause. “I guess I’ll see you at the presentation thing.”

“Okay,” you answer, your voice a little softer this time, but you’re still too scared to look away from your screen. When you do eventually work up the courage, he’s already gone.

Before you even have the chance to glance back down, like some universal joke at your expense, the front door of the office is pushed open, and Yoongi steps through. Annoyed as you are, you can only be grateful that his entrance didn’t overlap with Jungkook’s question. You probably would have died of embarrassment on the spot.

Yoongi’s usual dark sunglasses are nowhere to be found today, and he’s in nice clothes for the presentation, a button-down and dress pants, his hair styled. He does still have a death grip on a large iced coffee, but that’s to be expected, especially given the fact that he’s in a lot earlier than is typical for him.

It’s only when his eyes snap over to you for the briefest of seconds that you see the dark shadows sunken deep beneath them, weighing heavy on his face.

Yoongi’s gaze moves back to the hallway in front of him as quickly as it alighted on you. You open your mouth before you even understand why you’re doing it.

“Yoongi?”

He stops dead in his tracks and blinks at you a few times, clearly tired, clearly not expecting the interruption. “Yeah?”

“Did you sleep at all last night?”

His mouth pulls into a flat line as he shakes his head. “Nerves. It’s why I don’t do stuff like this. Unless forced.”

You nod, unsure of what to say— or why you even asked. “Oh. Well, uh. Good luck.”

Yoongi lifts his coffee in a parting gesture, then disappears toward his lab without another word.

You try to focus on your work, to shove the interaction to the back of your mind with everything else you’re avoiding, but the screen seems to blur in front of you, until you finally push back from your desk with an exasperated sigh. The emails can wait.

Maybe, you consider, it would be good to stretch your legs. You can head into the presentation room early to set up before everyone arrives, and make sure everything is working for the several hours of agenda lined up for the morning.

Setting your shoulders back, you grab your things and make your way down the hallway. The thought feels like a good idea until you push the door open and encounter a severe case of deja vu.

Yoongi glances up from his laptop at the front of the room, blearily rubbing at one eye with the heel of his hand. “Is it time already?”

You hover in the threshold, unsure. “Uh— I mean, not quite. I’m early. I can go, if you want.”

He shrugs, busying himself with something on his computer screen. “You’ll have to hear it anyway. Can I just run through it one more time?”

You take a few tentative steps forward, dropping your bag and laptop on the table, right where you sat to watch him the night before. The energy in the room feels entirely different now, and your stomach is twisted into knots that you can’t manage to breathe deep enough to untangle.

“Yeah, fine.” You pause, unable to help yourself. “Just… don’t expect the same treatment as last night.”

Yoongi huffs a dark laugh. “I wasn’t.”

Taking a seat at the table, you set about your admin duties and try to ignore the way Yoongi mumbles over his presentation as he taps through his slides at the front of the room. There’s only so much you can do without bothering him, and you fly through those tasks all-too quickly. You drag your bottom lip between your teeth as you glance back up at Yoongi, and then you inhale to steady yourself before you speak.

“Can you turn on the mic?”

His head snaps up, caught off guard. “Hmm?”

“I need to make sure the mic is working.” Yoongi’s gaze flits to the podium’s built in-microphone, then back to you as he presses the switch to turn it on. “Say something into it,” you instruct. “It doesn’t matter what.”

Yoongi’s eyes move back to the microphone, and it’s like you can see the delay in his brain from lack of sleep. You don’t know what you were expecting— maybe a half-assed ‘check, check’, at worst some sexual or smart-ass remark. Instead, he leans in far closer than is necessary, until his mouth is nearly touching the microphone as he whispers into it.

“Sugaaaaa.”

The live demo of the notorious producer tag that intros all of his tracks is so ridiculous, so unexpected, that you can’t help it. You burst out laughing, clapping a hand over your mouth a few seconds too late. “What the fuck was that?!” The question is only muffled slightly by your palm.

Yoongi’s head drops forward, his dark hair falling in his face, and you can see his shoulders shaking with laughter, too. “Sorry,” he manages with a gasp for breath, tilting back up to speak into the microphone, which you can now actually tell is working properly. “I’m so fucking tired, I think I’m going insane.”

You uncover your mouth as you shake your head in disbelief.

The sudden loud buzz of your phone against the conference room table makes you jump, and you quickly reach for it, for fear it might be an emergency text from your boss that needs immediate attention. Your eyes widen in surprise when you see it’s actually from Jungkook.

Presentation thing? Wanna sit together?

You read the words again and again, and a strange feeling rises up in your chest that you can’t quite name. As you stare down at your phone, you hear the distinct sound of Yoongi’s laptop shutting, and then his voice, no longer amplified by the microphone when he mutters to himself, “Fuck it. It’s as good as it’s gonna get.”

Feeling suddenly overwhelmed, you glance up at Yoongi again, then back down at the text. With a final hard swallow, you turn your phone on silent and flip it over on the table, leaving Jungkook’s question unanswered.

The time is close enough now that you get to your feet to prop open the presentation room door, and then your colleagues quickly start to file into the space, filling in the seats around the large U-shaped arrangement of tables. It’s everything you can do to keep your expression neutral as your brain unhelpfully reminds you that Yoongi fucked you on one of these tables last night.

You try to manage something close to a smile when your boss enters with the team from the American office in tow, and you proceed to exchange pleasantries with them and fake laugh at their jokes when he introduces you.

As you’re listening diplomatically to one of them drone on about the flight to Seoul, you spot Jungkook slip in the door out of the corner of your eye, and it takes extra effort to keep the smile plastered on your face. The seats on either side of yours have long since been taken, and you glance over to see his eyes sweep the room before he moves to take an open spot at the far end. 

You watch unabashedly now as he leans back in his chair, tilting to one side to pull his phone out of his pocket, and you can only pray he’s watching TikToks with the sound off rather than checking for a text that’s never coming.

When your manager repeats a question meant for you, your attention snaps back to the group. Sure your smile is nearly a grimace now, you apologize and blame the distraction on needing more coffee, which is enough to earn you a polite chuckle.

Eventually the room takes their seats as your manager moves to the front to start the presentation. You stay focused on copying down minutes as various speakers go through the company’s financials for the previous four quarters, the roadmap for the coming years, and a summary of top-level talent that the label has signed or directly worked with.

The discussion of talent leads smoothly into a quick review of achievements and nominations, and then Yoongi steps to the front of the room.

As he launches in, you can’t get over the stark difference between the Yoongi you’re used to and the one standing behind the podium in front of you. The man with the easy, confident, cocky demeanor is nowhere to be found, replaced with someone who barely looks up from his slides and speaks at a rushed pace, like he’s trying to get the words out as fast as possible. You bite down firmly on your bottom lip and try not to react at all.

He’s nearly halfway done now, and just as you’re thinking he might make it through the whole thing unscathed, Yoongi stumbles slightly over his words. It’s not a lot, a little slip-up that the rest of the room probably didn’t even notice, but you see a momentary flash of panic in his dark eyes. And then those eyes snap up to meet yours, and your stomach drops.

The memory of the two of you in this room, the thought of what you’d be doing to him if you were alone again, the way you could so easily make his voice shake and his knees threaten to buckle with just your mouth— it’s all too much.

You can’t help yourself as the smile you’ve been desperately trying to hide starts to spread across your face, equal parts supportive and indecent.

There’s a beat of silence, not long enough for anyone to think anything of it, and then Yoongi drops your gaze as quickly as he found it. He squints back down at his computer screen, and though he leans away from the microphone, you don’t miss the unmistakable sound of him clearing his throat.

“Excuse me,” he murmurs, and then he picks up where he left off, managing to get back on track without further issue.

You desperately try to ignore the warm flush of heat that creeps up your neck as Yoongi goes through the rest of his slides.

Time seems to speed by in a rush after his presentation, and you barely manage to keep up with the barrage of content. You’re more than grateful when your manager inevitably wraps up the session, reminding everyone to head to a nearby restaurant for a team lunch immediately following.

As the room begins to empty, you take your time finishing up the notes and firing them off to the broader audience. When you finally close your laptop and look up, you realize nearly everyone has left now, though as fate would have it, Yoongi has also lagged behind. He’s standing hunched over the conference room table as he types something into his own laptop.

You try not to overthink it as you hug your computer to your chest and take a few steps toward him. “Yoongi?”

He hums a response, and when he glances up at you, the bags under his eyes are just as prominent as before.

“Are you, uh— coming to lunch?”

He rolls his eyes, like the question is ridiculous. “I can’t. I’m drowning in shit I put off for the last two days.”

His words make you take a step back, and you immediately feel stupid for asking. Why do you even care what he does? “Right. Got it.”

You don’t wait around for him to say anything else, you just shove your laptop into your purse and pull the strap over your shoulder as you head for the exit.

Largely preoccupied with getting away from Yoongi, you don’t pay much attention to your surroundings as you slip out of the room, and you only get a few steps down the hall before a voice behind you nearly makes you jump out of your skin. “There you are.”

“Jesus!” you gasp, whipping around to find Jungkook leaning up against the glass wall of the conference room, his arms crossed over his chest. “You fucking scared me, Baby Goth.”

“Sorry.” He gives a shy smile, nose scrunching slightly like he’s embarrassed. “I wasn’t gonna let you ditch me again. Lunch?”

You do your best to match his smile. “Let’s go. I’m starving.” 

The two of you meet up with the rest of the team at a restaurant well out of your price range, and Jungkook babbles freely as he stuffs his face, seemingly unbothered by how little you have to say in return. The chatter of so many people at the long table is a white noise that you can’t focus on any part of, and Jungkook’s usual comforting presence feels overwhelming today, nearly stifling. You push food back and forth on your plate but barely eat, your stomach uneasy for reasons you don’t want to dwell on.

“Min Suga seemed like he didn’t even want to be up there.” The mention of Yoongi’s pseudonym is enough to snap you out of your haze.

“Huh?” You glance up at Jungkook, your eyes widening slightly, and you force yourself to eat another bite of pasta as he continues.

“I don’t know, he went through it so fast. Guess it makes sense. He hates anything that drags him out of his lab, right?”

You aimlessly twirl your fork against your plate, around and around. When you first started this job, you would have agreed with Jungkook without a second thought. Laughed about it, even. Now you’re not so sure. You don’t want to add to this growing sense of friction, the weird energy in the air, but the words come out anyway.

“He was nervous, Jungkook.”

When you meet his gaze again, Jungkook looks confused, and you instantly regret saying anything at all.

“What, did he tell you that?”

You nod as you take another bite of food to avoid having to explain yourself.

Jungkook’s eyes drift down to the table between you, distant, his brow furrowed like he’s suddenly doing some complex mental math. “When?”

“Last night,” you murmur through your mouthful. “We both worked late. I helped him practice a little.” The explanation was meant to make the situation sound less incriminating, but somehow you feel like it only makes it worse. You hope Jungkook can’t tell how warm your face is starting to get.

When he finally speaks, his voice is low, his gaze still not meeting yours. “I thought you said you didn’t stay late. When I asked you this morning.”

A rush of adrenaline hits your bloodstream so hard it makes you dizzy. “I—I didn’t. It wasn’t that late. Like an hour max. Didn’t seem worth mentioning.” You set your fork down, quickly hiding your hands in your lap so Jungkook can’t see the way they’ve started to tremble.

His only response is a slow nod, and then he goes quiet in a way that’s rare for him. It feels like an eternity of sitting and eating in silence before either of you says another word.

The conversation eventually picks back up again, and when it does, you try to tell yourself you’re just imagining that it’s slightly more stilted than before.

As you and Jungkook trail after the rest of your coworkers on the walk back to the office, you trade a few more polite questions about work-related projects, and then you fall quiet again, seemingly out of things to say. It’s a few stretches of city blocks, and then you see Jungkook’s head tip up, and he outright sniffs the air.

You can’t help but laugh a little, mostly because he looks like a dog, and then you smell it too. The unmistakable aroma coming from the street cart up ahead. You smile softly to yourself as you both slow to pass it, ogling rice cakes and fish cakes simmering in a pan of spicy sauce.

“God,” Jungkook groans appreciatively. “I would absolutely destroy some tteokbokki right now if I didn’t think I’d literally explode.”

“This is what happens when you help yourself to thirds every time you eat,” you chide him with a giggle, and the two of you nod to the vendor before you continue on toward the office. You only take a few more steps before you falter, and Jungkook turns back when he notices you’ve stopped.

“What’s up? Did you want to get some?”

You don’t know what makes you lie. “Uh, no. I, uh— I just realized, I think I left my scarf back at the restaurant. I’m gonna run back, but don’t worry about waiting for me. You’ve got work stuff.”

Jungkook shrugs, like it’s not a big deal. “It’s cool, I can go with you.”

“No, that’s okay,” you say, firmly enough to make it very obvious you don’t want company. Maybe a little too firm, because Jungkook blinks, like he’s taken aback. Your stomach twists with a feeling that you imagine must be similar to having just kicked a puppy.

“Oh. Alright, well. I’ll see you later, then.” He pauses for a moment, tongue pressed to the inside of his cheek, and then he turns on his heel and keeps walking in the direction of the office. You worry your bottom lip between your teeth as you watch Jungkook’s retreating form until he disappears down the city block.

You try not to overthink the interaction as you retrace your steps to the cart, then head back to the office with a takeout bag gripped in one hand. Thankfully you don’t have to fumble for another lie of an excuse, because you don’t run into Jungkook or anyone else in your straight shot from the entrance to the door of Yoongi’s lab. Quick as you can, you punch in the lock code, then push the handle down and slip inside.

It takes you a minute to process what you’re seeing as you shut the door behind you. Yoongi’s arms are folded on the desk in front of him, and he’s slumped forward, head buried in the crook of his elbow. For a brief moment your heart drops, and then you take a tentative step closer and realize there’s no shake or shudder to his shoulders, only the smooth rise and fall of deep, steady breathing.

He’s asleep.

You close the remaining distance until you can reach out and gently place a hand on his back. “Yoongi?”

He inhales sharply, and you quickly pull your hand away like you’ve just been burned. Tilting his head to one side, he cracks an eye open, mumbling something that sounds like a question but is otherwise fully incoherent.

“You fell asleep,” you say dumbly, and Yoongi slowly sits up with a grunt, his eyes squinting, clearly readjusting to the room around him. He leans back to stretch, and several places in his back and shoulders crack impressively loudly.

“Fuck,” he sighs, voice strained, one hand rubbing at the back of his neck. “Why are you in here?”

“I brought you lunch,” you murmur, lifting the takeout bag for him to witness. He frowns at it, then up at you, like he can’t quite figure out what’s happening.

“Thanks,” he eventually manages. “You can just leave it. I’m nowhere near done with all my—”

You cut him off before he can finish. “Go home, Yoongi.”

The look of slack-jawed confusion on his face is enough to nearly make you laugh. “What?”

“I said go home.”

His brow furrows. “You’re not my boss.”

“I’m not saying it as your boss,” you sigh. “But you need to eat, and sleep. This isn’t healthy.”

Yoongi huffs a little, exasperated. “That’s easy for you to say, but I have so much stupid admin stuff to get caught up on.” He gestures halfheartedly to a massive to-do list pulled up on his monitor, one he’s barely a quarter of the way through.

Suppressing the urge to roll your eyes, you hum, feigning thought. “If only you had someone who could help with that. Some kind of… Admin Bitch.”

The comment must catch him off-guard, because he outright laughs. “You know, I still haven’t changed your contact name.”

You quirk an eyebrow. “Then you should go before I question why I’m being nice to you. I’ll leave a note for tomorrow with anything I can’t figure out for myself. Assuming you trust my ability to do my job.” As if to indicate that you are no longer open to discussing the subject, you shove the takeout bag into Yoongi’s chest, and he wraps both arms around it, still looking entirely dazed.

But to your surprise, he doesn’t fight you, just slowly rolls his desk chair back and gets to his feet. You watch carefully as he shifts the bag of food to one arm, then grabs his work bag and slings it over his shoulder. “I, uh— thanks.”

You wave a hand as if to tell him not to mention it, and then you plop down into his chair and get to work, barely phased by the sound of the door clicking shut when he leaves.

~*~

As you settle in at your desk the next morning, it dawns on you how close the Grammys have started to loom, made abundantly clear by the overwhelming amount of prep you find yourself launched into. You don’t think you look up from your screen once, not even bothering to greet coworkers as they push through the doors, until the muted tap of something being placed on your desk startles you.

You see the cup of coffee first, and when you glance up expecting a pair of Baby Star Candy eyes, you instead find Yoongi hovering at the edge of your desk, like he’s not sure what he’s doing there. You make zero attempts to hide your total shock at whatever the fuck is going on in this moment.

He looks— good. Fresh-faced, like he managed to actually get some sleep, a little less gaunt. Even his expression seems weirdly pleasant, something you might mistake for happiness if you thought that he was capable of such an emotion.

There’s a crinkling sound, and when he gently sets a small wax paper pastry bag on your desk next to the coffee, you’re sure that you’ve overslept your alarm and are in the depths of a wild, ridiculous dream. It’s the only way any of this can be happening.

You blink up at him as you hesitantly reach for the bag, like you’re scared it might bite you.

“It’s maple,” he says as you slowly pick it up and investigate the contents. It’s still warm. “I asked for the most disgustingly sweet thing they had.”

Too overwhelmed, you set the pastry bag back down wordlessly. As you do, it’s only now that your eyes focus on the letters “AB” sketched in black marker on the side of the coffee cup, where a barista would typically write your name.

Yoongi’s eyes must be watching yours carefully, because he huffs a laugh as he sees realization dawn over your face. “Making them actually write Admin Bitch seemed a bit much.”

You can’t manage to find a laugh to match his, can only sit there, shell-shocked. When you look up again, he’s already walking backwards in the direction of his lab, but his eyes are still on you. “I’d tell you not to tell anyone, but I don’t think they’d believe you even if you did.”

And just like that, he’s gone again.

You remain unconvinced that both of his gifts aren’t secretly poisoned, but your desperate need for a fresh hit of caffeine overwhelms any other emotion. Carefully, you lift the cup to your lips and take a sip— it’s not scalding, but still perfectly hot, and your eyes widen as the flavor hits your tongue.

Two cream, three sugar. Exactly how you like it.

Before you’ve even had time to swallow, Jungkook is suddenly rounding the corner from the opposite direction, and you have to make a conscious effort not to choke.

He slows to a stop, and you watch him take in the coffee cup clutched between your hands like a lifeline. “Hey! You seriously snuck out for coffee without me?” His tone is mock-hurt, but you can’t help wondering whether it’s entirely put on.

Your gaze drops back down to the cup. “Sorry, JK. Someone else picked this up for me.”

Jungkook doesn’t pry into your vague statement, but a sinking feeling in your stomach tells you that maybe he doesn’t have to.

~*~

It’s Saturday night by the time your schedule aligns with Jimin’s for a night out, and given that it’s the last time you’ll see him before you leave for Los Angeles, you manage to guilt him into driving. The bar you choose is a shitty dive nowhere near your office, where you’re certain you won’t have to worry about any accidental encounters.

Or any encounters at all, as it turns out. The place is dead.

“I think we’re single-handedly keeping them open tonight,” Jimin murmurs with a grimace as you grab a pair of stools.

The bartender pours you each two shots and two beers, then returns to their side work at the far end of the bar in an apparent attempt to give the two of you some privacy.

It’s only once you’ve had your first shot and are halfway through the accompanying beer that you’re able to speak the words aloud: “I had sex in the office again.”

Jimin glances up at the ceiling, as if asking for strength, and you recount the full story mostly to the wood grain in front of you, unable to look your best friend in the face while you catch him up on everything.

When you fill in the final details, Jimin nearly spits his drink out. “Suga really hatefucked you on a conference table?! I need to go buy some lottery tickets.” He throws back his second shot, and there’s a smug smile on his face as he swallows it down. “God, I love being psychic.”

You shove an elbow into his ribs. “Listen. I don’t know what’s fucking happening anymore, Mochi. Sometimes he’s insufferable but now sometimes we apparently mildly tolerate and are even nice to each other. Like, coffee and a pastry nice.” You smack your hand on the bar for emphasis as you repeat the words. “Coffee. And. A. Pastry.”

“So,” Jimin clasps his hands together as he surveys you. There’s a look on his face like he’s clearly expecting you to draw some conclusion from all of this, but it seems to have entirely escaped you. “What have we learned?”

You drop your head down on the bar with a resounding thud. “We’ve learned that Min Yoongi is ruining my life.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

Voice muffled slightly, you groan. “Don’t make me say it louder.”

“No, what did you just say?” You lift your head up to look at him, and his expression is deadly serious, his eyes sharp and focused. “Min Yoongi? I know Min Yoongi.”

You give him the same look right back. “You what?”

“We were trainees together. I— wait, Min Yoongi is Suga the producer? Really?!” He scrambles for his phone and you just sit there, dumbfounded.

“How are you only now telling me that you know him?”

Jimin glances up, incredulous. “Um, hi, because you literally never fucking told me Suga is Min Yoongi?”

You roll your eyes. “Please, surely I have said his name to you at least once.”

It’s Jimin’s turn to smack the bar, and he does so loudly. “Run those tapes back, ma’am! We have always called him Suga.”

“You’re telling me you’ve never even Googled him?!”

He makes a face like the mere suggestion is ridiculous. “I am an adult, with a job and a very needy boyfriend. Your chaos already monopolizes too much of my time.”

The search on his phone loads, and you watch Jimin tap and scroll slowly, mouth dropping open in disbelief. “Min Yoongi is Suga. Wow. I think I need a minute.”

Jimin’s earlier words finally catch up to you, and you finish the last of your first beer before you dare ask the question. “Yoongi was really a trainee?”

“He was,” Jimin confirms, gaze still locked on his phone. “Obviously he didn’t debut either. He left a few months before I did. I always wondered what happened to him.”

“What was he like?” Your voice comes out soft, a little unsure.

His eyes widen, staring off unfocused as he searches through his memory. “I mean, we weren’t super close, he’s a few years older than me. But it doesn’t sound like that much has changed if I think about what you’ve told me. He was quiet, not too personable. Worked hard. Didn’t really seem that close to anybody. I think maybe he had a difficult home life?”

Your stomach drops a little as Jimin pauses, choosing his words. “Like I guess his parents weren’t very supportive. So I think he felt like he had a lot to prove, and had really high standards for himself. But he obviously loved music. Makes sense that he ended up a producer. It’s like me and dance, right?” He picks up his beer with a shrug, staring thoughtfully down at the amber liquid. “Man. Those years were tough.”

As Jimin takes a sip of his drink and then continues on about his trainee days, your head starts to spin. You throw back your second shot in hopes that it might help.

You wish you could go back and unlearn this information, unsay the name Min Yoongi. Because you don’t want to think about him. You don’t want to know that Min Yoongi gets nervous about public speaking, that he likes his coffee iced, that he can’t say no to street cart tteokbokki, that he used to be a trainee, that he worked an unpaid job in Daegu, that he had a disapproving family and never felt good enough and maybe still doesn’t.

Min Yoongi was so simple when you first met him, back when he was a two-dimensional character, the antagonist of your TV show life, your enemy. But now he’s none of those things. He’s a real, flawed, complicated person, and your feelings for him are confusing and overwhelming. And you deeply do not want to think about your feelings. You don’t want to examine them, don’t want to hold them up to the light for fear of what you might find. It occurs to you in this moment that you don’t want to think about anything at all.

With a sigh, you scoot your chair back from the bar, then get to your feet.

“What are you doing?” Jimin interrupts himself to ask as you dig your phone out of your purse.

You’re doing the only thing that makes sense. “I’m gonna go fuck him,” you say, resigned, and then you make your way out the front door of the bar as you pull up Yoongi’s contact in your phone.

It’s only as the line starts to ring that you realize you don’t exactly have a location in mind. Sex in a bar bathroom is an experience you have no desire to repeat, and the thought of Yoongi seeing your shithole apartment makes your drinks threaten a return appearance.

You’re starting to consider that maybe you should just hang up and forget the idea entirely when Yoongi’s voice startles you.

“Uh, hi?”

“Hi.”

There’s a pause as you realize you didn’t actually plan how to have this conversation, and then you and Yoongi speak in tandem.

“I was just wondering—”

“Is there a reason you—”

“Shut up,” you snap, agitated by your own awkwardness. “What are you doing right now?”

Yoongi laughs darkly into the phone. “I’m sorry, is this a booty call?”

“Answer the question, asshole.”

There’s a slight shifting sound, like he’s making himself comfortable. “Nothing. Drinking.”

“Great, same here.”

Another pause, and you swear you can hear Yoongi slow blinking, can see the stupid smirk on his face when you close your eyes. “Would you like to come over, then?”

“Yes,” you answer, trying to sound more confident than you feel, and then you falter slightly. You’re not about to ask Jimin to drive you— you don’t trust him enough to stay in the car and behave, not when he’s been drinking. “Uh, are you by any chance near a bus stop?”

Yoongi doesn’t even try to suppress his snort of laughter. “I’m not. But I can send a car.”

“You don’t have to do that,” you say quickly, trying to think. “I can figure something—”

“Please,” Yoongi cuts you off. “If you’re really calling me begging to get fucked, the least I can do is provide the transportation. Just send me your location.”

“Fine,” you concede, and your voice comes out harsh. “But to be clear, I am not begging.”

He hums a low note, like he’s thinking it over. “Not yet,” he ultimately responds. “See you soon.”

You swallow hard as the call disconnects.

The time it takes for the car to arrive is just enough for you to slip back inside and finish your beer, and Jimin’s eyes narrow with frustration when you’re unable to explain yourself.

“Didn’t you just complain that this man was ruining your life?”

“Yes,” you retort. “And then I thought it over, and I decided that’s my job.” Your phone buzzes with the notification that the car is outside, and you quickly swig the last of your drink. “Bye.”

Jimin’s face twists like he’s holding further commentary back, which you didn’t think he was capable of doing without combusting. “Alright, babygirl,” he finally sighs, defeated. “Call me if you need saving.”

“I always do,” you deadpan as you lean in to press a kiss to his cheek.

~*~

Yoongi doesn’t say anything when he opens the door for you, just nods his head to the interior of his apartment to gesture you inside, letting the door swing wider so you can step past him. He shuts it again as you slip your heels off, and it takes you a second to adjust to your true height difference, the fact that you have to look a little further up to meet his gaze now.

“Want a drink?” is his delayed greeting, and you shrug.

“Yeah, okay. Just whatever you’re having.”

Without another word, he turns and heads down the hallway, and you follow after him, taking in your surroundings as you move further inside. It’s only now that it occurs to you how rich he must be. His place is identical to any one of the swanky, million-dollar Hannam apartments of which you’ve spent thousands of hours watching YouTube tours. You try to keep your expression neutral as you follow him into the living room, but it’s hard not to be impressed.

Yoongi crosses the room to a mini-bar, built into the far wall and softly backlit with inset LEDs. You pull your bottom lip into your mouth as you hover nervously for a second, then finally choose to drop down onto the large, L-shaped couch, setting your purse on the floor next to you.

“Thoughts—” When Yoongi’s voice breaks the silence, you start a little, not expecting it. “—on single malt whiskey?” He turns over his shoulder, and you shrug back at him.

“Never met one I didn’t like.”

The corner of his mouth pulls up, just barely. “Alright.” You watch as he grabs a dark green bottle off the shelf, coating the bottom of a glass with the amber liquid inside, then just barely topping up what must be his own drink. He crosses back to the couch, hands you yours, then drops down a respectable distance away from you with a sigh of effort.

The atmosphere is certainly different from what you’d expected, and Yoongi must be able to tell you’re a little on edge, not sure what to do or why you thought coming here was a good idea.

He glances over at you as he swirls the contents of his glass. “Not feeling up for much small talk tonight. Sorry.”

“That’s fine,” you say quickly. “We don’t have to talk.”

As soon as the words leave your mouth, you grit your teeth in anticipation of the smug smile, the cocky smirk at your unintended double meaning, but it never comes. Yoongi stays just as he is, slouched forward, his eyes unfocused, like he’s got a thousand thoughts running through his mind at once.

You turn sideways on the couch so you can look over the back of it and out of the large picture window behind you, where the city is alive in a blur of light and color, bracketed by the dark swath of the Han River.

Yoongi’s whiskey is strong but smooth, tastes like the bottle probably cost more than the entire bar-tab you and Jimin rang up tonight, and you sip it slowly. The thought of your best friend sparks something in your mind— you find yourself speaking again in spite of your previous statement.

“I just found out that you know my best friend. Park Jimin.”

At this, Yoongi looks up, clearly stunned. “No shit?” You nod, taking another pull from your drink, and he shakes his head. “I haven’t heard that name in years. How is he?”

“He’s good,” you murmur, the sharp taste of alcohol lingering on the back of your tongue. “He’s really good. He actually just performed in the concert I took Jungkook to.”

Yoongi pauses, glass halfway to his lips. “What group is he in? For someone in the industry I am atrocious at keeping up with this shit.”

“Oh, he’s not, he’s just a back-up dancer now. He never debuted.” 

Yoongi nods slowly. “Well. Makes two of us.”

Your chest starts to tighten a little— you’re weirdly nervous to talk to him about this. It feels like uncharted territory. “I can’t believe you were a trainee.”

He leans back, resting his free arm over the back of the couch, fingers tapping idly. “I can’t either, most days. It was a long time ago. Feels like it happened to somebody else.”

Torn between deep curiosity and not wanting to pry, you stare down at the liquid swirling in your glass and leave it up to Yoongi. To your surprise, he keeps talking.

“So what did Jimin tell you about me?”

The unexpected question makes you laugh a little. “Uh… I don’t know. Said you sound like you’re still the same as you were back then. Keeping to yourself and working a lot.”

You don’t know if you should repeat everything, but the liquor loosens your tongue. “He said your parents weren’t very supportive.”

You glance up to see Yoongi shake his head, matter-of-fact. “They were not. So you can imagine how well they took it when I quit.” Your heart sinks at the thought. “Probably put a chip on my shoulder, if I want to be introspective about it. Explains the workaholic tendencies, maybe.”

He takes a longer sip of his drink this time, chasing his swallow with a grimace as he stares at the floor. “It’s funny. I always feel like I have to do better, even now. I get obsessed with work because it’s better than being depressed. And most of the time it feels like there’s nothing else to do anyway. I just work myself to death because it’s my only reason to stay alive.”

Your stomach drops sharply, and you can’t help but look over at him as he continues, feeling thoroughly unprepared for this sudden insight into the inner workings of Min Yoongi.

“It doesn’t even matter what milestones I hit, the fame, the fortune, whatever. I’m going to the fucking Grammys next week and it still doesn’t feel good enough.” His eyes flicker up to find yours, and his voice is quieter now. “Even if I win, I know it won’t. How sad is that?”

“You sound like my dad,” you mutter into your glass, and then your gaze snaps back to Yoongi as you realize what you’ve just said.

He looks as surprised as you feel, and you steady yourself as you take a swig of your drink and swallow it down. Fuck it. If he can overshare, so can you. “Work always came first, before family, before everything. And you know what happened? He dropped dead in his office before he even turned fifty. They said it was probably stress.”

There’s a flash of something in Yoongi’s eyes, but he doesn’t try to interrupt you.

“It makes me so mad,” you say, and you will yourself not to get emotional, your grip on your drink tightening slightly. “Because he worked so fucking hard thinking that once he got to a certain place, he’d be happy. Just a little more, then he could relax. But he never got there. He worked non-stop his whole life and then he fucking died. That’s it.

“And you know what’s really fucked up?” You don’t wait for Yoongi to respond— you can’t stop it all from coming out now, like a tap turned on high.

“People say grief makes you resilient, that it makes you stronger, or kinder, that we go through these things and they’re hard but you learn from them and grow or whatever the fuck. And I don’t feel like any of that shit is true for me. My dad died, and I just got worse.” A self-deprecating laugh flutters out around your words. “I’m selfish. I’m lazy. I make terrible choices. I deeply cannot fucking stand myself, if I’m honest with you. Jimin is like the one friend I still keep in touch with who knew me when my dad was alive, because everyone else just… didn’t know what to do with me. And I don’t blame them.

“And it makes me feel like such a fucking asshole, because he died, and I’m sitting here complaining about me. It’s like I don’t even miss him as much as I just miss… the way things used to be. The person I used to be.” You let yourself take a breath, but the final thought, the part you don’t usually say out loud, slips out with it. “It’s like she died, too.”

There’s a long pause that feels like an eternity, and you realize your heart is racing in your chest. You lean back against the couch with a sigh of frustration, too embarrassed at your own word vomit to do anything but stare at the stupidly high ceiling. You’re so wrapped up in the rush of saying it all— it’s been a while since you’ve gone this deep with anyone— that it takes you a second to notice that Yoongi is laughing softly.

“Wow. And here I thought you were just a slacker.”

The words make you glance over at him. You haven’t divulged these feelings to many people, but nearly everyone you’ve told has responded the same: awkward apologies, shitty words of affirmation you didn’t ask for, waxing poetic bullshit lies about how you’re not a bad person. A road paved with good intentions, things meant to console you that only make you want to scream. 

But Yoongi gives you none of that. He just nods, like he understands.

“Well,” you counter, trying not to let the shock read on your face. “I thought you were just an asshole.”

“Oh, don’t get me wrong. I am an asshole. I’ll own that.” He smirks into his glass as he takes another sip of his drink. “Do you want to know something?”

“What?”

He suddenly pauses, like he’s not sure how to word it, like he maybe regrets asking the question at all. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him so hesitant before. “You have to not make a big deal about it.”

“Okay,” you say simply. You’re willing to return the favor.

“The night I left the studio door unlocked, and there was the break-in,” Yoongi starts, his thumb fiddling with the ring on his index finger. Something twists in your stomach, an intuition you can’t explain that makes it immediately clear to you what he’s about to say. “I wasn’t thinking about locking up that night because I... was planning to kill myself.”

It’s like all the air is sucked out of the room, and you will yourself not to react, gripping your glass until your knuckles blanch. Your eyes drop to the floor as you try to process the weight of his words.

“But you didn’t,” you reply dumbly.

“No, I didn’t. I walked up and down the bridge over the river for a long time. Probably an hour, maybe more, I don’t know.” You look up to the window again, tracing the inkblot snake of the river in the distance.

“I thought about it, and then I decided to go home. I thought that maybe I could give it just one more day and see what happened. And then when I got to work the next day, I was in such deep shit about the break-in, I felt like everyone would blame themselves if I did it after that. Like they’d think they were too hard on me.” He laughs bitterly to himself. “Like I’m not always the one who is hardest on myself.”

“Yoongi,” you breathe. “I don’t know what to say.”

He shrugs. “You don’t have to say anything. It just feels nice to tell someone.”

There’s a heavy silence between you, and heat rushes to your face as the words leave your mouth before you can stop them. “I’m glad you didn’t do it.”

He glances over at you, brows pinched together like he doesn’t believe you. “You hate me.”

“I do not!” The insistence in your voice surprises even you. In an attempt to ground yourself, you press your palm to the side of your drink and try to focus on the feeling, the cool surface against your flushed skin. “I mean, I definitely did. But now, I don’t know. Would I really be wasting my Saturday night here if I hated you?”

Yoongi pauses with his glass halfway to his mouth, and you can see him fighting to keep a smile off his face. “Look at me, you came over here to fuck and I turned it into a therapy session. Christ.”

With a final shake of his head, he downs the last of his drink in one swallow. “You want a tour?”

You follow Yoongi as he takes a winding path through the various rooms of his apartment, and you continue to sip at your drink, barely processing any of what he shows you. Your mind is still spinning from the conversation, and that paired with the cotton fuzz of strong liquor makes everything feel muted and far away.

As anticipated, the tour ends in his bedroom, which matches the rest of the place: sleek, minimally decorated, and bathed in the soft glow of inset strip lighting that runs the length of the ceiling.

When Yoongi sets his empty glass down on the dresser, you mirror him, then watch as he steps in to close the distance between you. As your eyes search his, you realize you’re once again caught between conflicting versions of Min Yoongi, still trying to reconcile the one you thought you knew with the person who just spilled his guts all over the living room floor. It feels impossible to hold the two of them together in your mind.

Up close, his smirk seems to soften. “You’re a lot shorter without those heels.”

Before you even understand what you’re doing, or why, you take his face in your hands and kiss him. It’s only a split second, your lips barely brushing over his, and then you quickly pull away, struck by the reality of what you’ve just done.

“Shit,” you breathe, dropping your hands and taking a step back. You stumble slightly as a hot wave of shame rushes up in your chest. “Sorry, I just—”

You don’t get to finish the thought, because Yoongi’s touch is sliding over the curve of your waist, and then he’s dragging you back toward him until his mouth finds yours again. The taste of whiskey lingers on his soft lips as they move against yours— you can’t help but whimper a little at how hungrily he kisses you. Like he’s wanted to do it for a long time.

The idea overwhelms you, and you pull away from him again, your lips still ghosting over his. “Yoongi.” You try your best to sound firm when you say his name, pressing one hand against his chest as you look up at him. “This… can’t mean anything.”

You can feel the heat of his breath when he laughs softly. “It doesn’t have to. I’ve been trying to tell you that.”

Too desperate for his mouth to want to argue, you decide to let him win. “Okay,” you sigh. Your hand is already tangled in his long, dark hair by the time his lips meet yours again.

“Get on the bed,” Yoongi murmurs between kisses, and you do as he says.

Moving backwards, you crawl up toward the pillows while Yoongi crosses the room to hit a panel on the wall, dimming the soft lights overhead until they’re barely there. He comes back to join you, strong hands wordlessly guiding you to lay down beneath him.

It’s weird to not be rushing through this: to feel like you can take your time as he kisses you again, as you lick into his mouth to roll your tongue over his, as one of his hands starts to creep under your skirt to gently rub up and down the length of your thigh.

The motions of his hand push the fabric higher and higher, until it’s as far up as it can go, and he leans back, clearly not satisfied.

“Can I take this off?” he asks, and you nod, sitting up to help as he pulls your dress up over your head.

It occurs to you a beat too late that you’ve never been this naked in front of him before, and your heartbeat flutters. “You too,” you murmur, pinching gently at the hem of Yoongi’s t-shirt, and he smirks as he reaches one hand between his shoulder blades to tug it off entirely.

You take him in as he drops the shirt to his bedroom floor: he’s broad-shouldered in a way you’ve never noticed under all his baggy clothes, with firm definition in the muscles of his chest and arms, and there’s a flush of warm glow to his pale skin.

As you blink up at Yoongi, more than dazed, you realize his eyes are roaming over your body, too. “Fuck,” he swears under his breath, and you resist the sudden urge to hide from his surveying gaze. “You have great tits.”

You’re not sure what you were expecting, but it wasn’t that, and the surprise of it makes you laugh.

“Just for that, I’ll let you see them,” you say, unable to keep the teasing edge out of your voice as you lean forward to reach behind your back. Your hands shake a little more than you’d like as you fumble to undo your bra and toss it off the side of the bed to join everything else.

Your nipples stiffen quickly in the cool air of his room, and when you lay back again, Yoongi covers your body with his, the movement paired with a groan that’s nearly a growl. You can’t hold back your own soft sounds as his lips and tongue move down your neck, and it occurs to you now that there’s so much that the two of you have never done before. So many steps you skipped.

Like the way Yoongi cups one of your breasts in his hand, rolling his thumb over your nipple to earn a louder whine from you. “Shit,” you gasp as he does it again, his mouth still trailing kisses between the valley of your breasts.

“God,” Yoongi hisses against your skin. “You drive me fuckin’ crazy.”

With his thumb continuing to work at one nipple, he takes the other into his mouth, and you can feel the way your arousal is starting to soak through your panties as he sucks firmly at the stiff peak. You arch up into him, and then he’s shifting to roll your nipple between his teeth and tug, and you can’t help it— you flinch and yelp beneath him, overwhelmed.

He quickly pulls his mouth off of you, eyes flashing up to find yours. “Sensitive?”

You nod, face flushing, embarrassed. “A little bit of teeth is okay. Too much hurts.”

“Okay,” Yoongi answers softly. He licks up the underside of your breast to pull the bud of it back into his mouth, and the swirl of his tongue there soothes like an apology. When he just barely grazes his teeth across the sensitive peak, it’s enough to make you keen, your eyes rolling back as they flutter closed.

“Oh, fuck, just like that.”

With a wet noise, he pulls off to switch sides, repeating the firm suction, the drag of his tongue, the slightest brush of teeth. His fingers pinch gently at your other nipple, made slick with his spit, and he keeps working you lazily, unhurried, until your body writhes underneath his.

“Yoongi—” You try to catch your breath, and you run a hand through his hair to pull his mouth off of you. His jaw is still dropped open slightly when he meets your gaze. “Touch me.”

His lips pull into a smug smile. “Told you you’d beg.”

Your grip on his hair tightens in response. “Not begging. Ordering.”

Yoongi tuts gently, like he’s disappointed. “I don’t follow orders, sweetheart.”

As much as his teasing irritates you, a twin smile to his spreads across your face. “I’ll kill you,” you murmur, releasing your grip as he shifts back onto his knees.

It gets harder to focus on your bloodlust when his palms run over the curve of your hips, then press between your legs to part your thighs. “Don’t threaten me with a good time,” he deadpans as his fingers slip under the waistband of your panties and he starts to drag the lace down your legs.

“That’s fucking dark,” you can’t help but laugh as you kick your underwear the rest of the way off.

Yoongi licks his lips, clearly distracted, and you spread yourself wider for him. “This pussy,” he grunts hoarsely, like he’s talking to himself more than you. “Gets so puffy when you want it. All tight inside, too.” He unexpectedly slaps the whole of his hand over your center, and you gasp, your hips jolting up.

You don’t even have time to respond before he’s pressing a finger into you, your cunt squeezing tight enough to reward him with an audible noise as he fucks it in and out. “Fuck,” you groan.

“You get this wet just from having your tits played with, huh?”

The thorough analysis makes you huff a laugh, because he’s not wrong, and it stutters into a moan when his thumb gently starts to circle your clit.

“God,” you manage to choke out, “you’re fucking chatty tonight.”

Yoongi smirks, and you’re not sure why until he speaks again, his voice now pinched in a clear imitation as he withdraws his hand. “I’m sorry, is there somewhere you’d rather I put my mouth?”

Your jaw drops in disbelief as he repeats your own stupid tease from weeks ago back to you. “I’ve changed my mind,” you snap, sitting up a little, and Yoongi glances at you, already in the midst of settling between your spread thighs. “I do still hate you.”

“That’s fine,” he says with a shrug, and then he leans in to lick a thick, wet stripe up your slit. His mouth is immediately dizzying, and you drop your head back against the pillow, overwhelmed.

It’s another thing you’ve never done before, at least not with Min Yoongi. As he repeats the motion over and over, lazy long strokes where he drags his tongue from your entrance all the way up to circle your clit, you mentally kick yourself for every missed chance, every opportunity to have his mouth that you didn’t take.

“What the fuck,” you breathe.

Yoongi just barely pulls off of you, close enough that a string of your arousal is still joined to his lower lip when he speaks. “You’re not the only one with good head game here.”

He dives in again like he’s determined to immediately prove his point, and you shove your legs open wider as he sucks your clit into his mouth.

As much as you’d like to bruise his ego, it’s impossible to keep yourself from moaning when he pairs the firm suction with the press of his index finger back into your tight heat. As wet as he’s made you, he’s easily able to slide a second in beside it now, and your nails scratch helplessly over the sheets beneath you.

“Yoongi,” you gasp as he curls his digits to beckon inside you, stroking over your front wall and easily finding the spot that makes you gush. He does it again and again, like a button press, working up more and more arousal until you’re dripping down his wrist.

Even the way he hums against your pussy sounds like a smirk, but you’re too far gone to care. Yoongi starts to flick his tongue steadily over your clit, matching the rhythm of his fingers pumping into your g-spot, and you can feel the pressure in your core building, a band pulled tight enough to snap.

Your hips buck up toward his mouth in an overwhelmed reflex, and Yoongi’s free hand is immediately there like he was expecting it. His palm presses firmly to your lower abdomen to hold you down and keep you there, and even that feels good too, renders you entirely helpless to his mouth and his hands as he takes you apart.

“Fuck,” you moan, loud and unabashed now. “Fuck, yes, I’m—”

The feeling overtakes you before you can get another word out, and you nearly sob as your orgasm rips through you, your whole body straining hard against Yoongi’s strong hand as he pins you to the bed. The extra pressure on your core pushes a rush of fluid out of your cunt, enough to soak the sheets beneath you as your muscles contract around Yoongi’s fingers.

“Oh my god,” he doesn’t even pull away to groan, and the low vibration of the words against your throbbing clit makes your thighs tremble.

There’s a wet smack of his lips and tongue as he finally relents, the pace of his fingers slowing as he continues to work you through the aftershocks. You desperately try to remember how to breathe as you start to come down.

Yoongi is a fucking sight when he leans back to look up at you: long hair falling in his face, eyes dark with lust, lips and chin slick with your arousal. “Did you seriously just squirt?”

It’s been a long time since anyone has managed to make it happen, and you suddenly feel overwhelmed in a different way. Still recovering, you can barely get the words out. “Shut up.”

“What the fuck do you mean, ‘shut up’? It was hot,” Yoongi grunts, and you’re at least grateful that you don’t have to have the ‘it’s not pee’ conversation right now. He ducks his head down again as he withdraws his fingers, and his tongue drags up the crux of your thighs to chase a few stray droplets. You squirm, oversensitive, your legs nearly snapping shut around his neck, and he takes the cue to back off with a soft laugh.

You’re too spent to fight it when he starts to manhandle you a little, palms slipping under your ass to drag you further down the bed until your hips are flush with his, then encouraging your knees to pull up toward your chest. “Think you can do that on my cock?”

The question sparks something in your core, the first lick of a freshly lit flame, and you prop yourself up on your forearms to better meet his gaze. “Make me.”

Yoongi’s appreciative smile is nearly a snarl, and he shifts lower on the bed to quickly strip out of his pants and boxers. You watch as he starts to crawl back up your body, anticipation tightening in your core, and then a flash of realization crosses his face and he freezes.

“Fuck,” he swears, and your stomach drops.

“What’s wrong?”

“I forgot I’m out of condoms.” Your eyes widen as his gaze meets yours. “Do you have any?”

You shake your head. “Not with me.”

A muscle in his jaw works as he exhales a resigned sigh, and you reach out, one hand finding his bicep to stop him before he leaves. You want it too much, bad idea or not. “Just… fuck me anyway.”

His expression goes deadly serious, and there’s a long moment before he responds. “You’re sure?”

You swallow hard as you nod, your eyes searching his. “Just pull out, okay?” You hate yourself for saying the final word before it even leaves your lips. “Please.”

“Okay,” Yoongi repeats back to you, and his hands press to your thighs again to encourage your knees up as he positions himself between your legs. There’s a feeling humming in the space between your bodies, like the reality of the situation has settled over the both of you. The reckless abandon of the previous moment is gone, replaced with something slower, more hesitant. Heavier.

With your eyes fixed on his face, you feel it first: the weight and warmth of his cock grinding over your slit, sliding easily with how soaked you are. You look down to see it for yourself, flushed dark and hard enough to leak precum, trailing a glossy sheen over your folds as Yoongi guides it against you, one hand gripped firmly to the base. He teases the head of his dick over your clit and keeps it there, and you’re still sensitive enough to whimper at the feeling.

“Please,” you repeat, and he’s too focused to be smug about it. He just nods as he drags his cock back down to your entrance, then braces one hand against your thigh and starts to push in.

You exhale softly at the welcome stretch, familiar made new at the lack of anything between you. You can feel it all: the thick swell of the head of his cock as he eases you open, how he throbs gently as your walls squeeze around him, so tight that you can even feel the prominent veins that trace down his shaft.

You’re still wet and getting wetter from the way he fills you up entirely, your arousal drenching the length of him when he bottoms out with an audible slick sound. His cock twitches, buried to the hilt, and even that barely-there motion is enough to coax a breathy moan from you.

“Shit,” Yoongi laughs softly, and the tinge of humility to his voice makes you glance up at him again. “Not gonna be able to go that fast. Feels too good.”

“It’s okay,” you murmur. “Just…”

The words won’t come. It would mean too much to say what you want, and this isn’t supposed to mean anything at all.

So you don’t say them: you just hook your arms over his shoulders and pull his mouth down to yours. “Just fuck me,” you murmur against his lips. He grunts a low note of appreciation as he kisses you, as he starts to drag his cock out of you just to fuck it back in again.

It’s shallow, it’s slow, it’s nothing like what you’re used to with Yoongi, but it’s good. Good enough to make your kisses sloppy when you trade open-mouthed breaths, good enough to make you tilt your head and slide the flat of your tongue over Yoongi’s unabashedly, like an earned reward.

He pushes your knees up a little more, thrusting deeper this time, and the new angle drags the head of his cock right over your g-spot. You whine at the heavy weight of him, the shudder that ripples through you in response, and he stays there, stroking steadily to rub that spot again and again until your eyes roll back in your head.

“Oh my god, Yoongi,” you gasp into his mouth.

“Shit,” he groans shakily, reaching one hand up to brush his hair out of his eyes. A few dark strands stick to the sheen of sweat on his forehead. “Squeezing me so fucking tight.”

Your arousal coils hot and fast inside of you as he keeps thrusting, and you have to break away from kissing him to tip your head back on the pillow and moan. “Fuck, please don’t stop, I’m—”

It feels like the final second before your climax when Yoongi pulls out, sitting back on his knees between your spread legs with a low groan. The sudden loss of his cock makes your walls clench at nothing, and you whine, petulant. “Yoongi!”

“Sorry,” he mutters, breathless. “Almost came.” You glance up to see him squeezing at the base of his cock with one hand, his chest heaving with effort. Your hips tilt up toward him, jealous.

“I miss your cock,” you whine, fucked close enough to be shameless.

“You’ll get it,” he retorts, and then you feel three of his fingers press in to fill the space he left behind inside of you. “Want to make you come again first.”

You keen as he starts to pump them, wrist angled just right to meet your g-spot each time. “Oh fuck, Yoongi.” The arousal in your core aches as he fucks you open on his fingers, and you can hear how wet you are in the soaked squelch of your needy pussy, can feel it leaking down your thighs.

His thumb brushes over your clit with every upstroke of his hand, and it makes you gasp, your moans starting to pitch higher. “Harder, baby, please, I’m so close.”

Too lost in the feeling, you barely notice when Yoongi laughs a little, but he does as you ask, and the way he pounds into you is just enough to work you over the edge. Waves of pleasure rip through your body as you come for a second time, squirting a little on his sheets again, your thighs shaking violently.

“That’s it, there you go, fuck,” Yoongi groans appreciatively at the sight.

You’ve just barely made it past your peak, still shuddering all over, when Yoongi withdraws his fingers to shove his cock back in again, and you keen.

He thrusts like a man close to his own end, fast and hard, his breath coming in ragged pants of effort and pleasure. Your pussy pulses around him, squeezing like a vice, so swollen with sensitivity that it really does feel like he’s splitting you open every time he fucks into you.

You moan unabashedly now and cling to him all over, legs bracketing his snapping hips, nails of one hand digging into his shoulder, the other hand tangled in his hair. Your cunt throbs and gushes around him as he strokes, and it still feels like you’re coming: you can’t tell if it’s an intensely drawn-out second orgasm or if the hot stretch of his cock worked you seamlessly into a third.

When he finally pulls out, you drop back against the bed with an exhausted groan, every inch of you fucked into oblivion. You can barely focus your eyes to watch as Yoongi shoves his hips up to straddle yours, one hand working his cock until his release overtakes him.

He flattens both palms to the mattress as he starts to come, groaning softly and rocking his hips so that his cock grinds against your stomach. The head of his dick twitches visibly, leaking pulse after pulse of sticky gloss over your skin, and he smears his cock through it as he ruts against you. He keeps going, rolling his hips and rubbing the mess across your stomach until he’s thoroughly spent, until you’re both flushed and sticky all over.

“Holy fucking shit,” is all he can manage when he finally collapses down on the bed next to you.

You glance over at him and nod, trying to imply without speaking that the feeling is mutual. He meets your gaze, and you lay like that for several long minutes of silence as your breathing slows, eyes fixed on each other as your heartbeats race through the comedown.

It’s hard to believe that any part of tonight has been real, and you can’t help but wonder if he’s thinking the same thing.

As the post-orgasm glow starts to settle, exhaustion hits you like a train. You groan, breaking the prolonged eye contact to throw an arm over your face, blocking out Yoongi’s bedroom with the crook of your elbow.

You’re not expecting it when he softly says your name, and something in your gut tells you that whatever’s coming isn’t good. You will yourself not to look back again, to stay as still as a statue when you answer him. “Hmm?”

“You know Jungkook is in love with you, right?”

The plan to not move goes out the window at his words. Your pulse spikes, and you drop your arm to look at him, your face twisted in confusion. “What?!”

Yoongi studies your expression for a second, then makes a small hum of surprise. “Interesting. I figured you were just trying to let him down easy.”

“I— what?”

“You really didn’t know?” He scoffs, and his tone is enough to instantly make you set your jaw. “It’s pretty obvious. It’s funny, I guess he’s sort of inadvertently responsible for all of this.”

That takes a second to sink in, and you blink. “How?”

Yoongi stares up at the ceiling, seemingly nonplussed. “Well, when he asked me for the code to my office, I figured he wanted to take you in there and fuck you.”

Hot blood rushes to your chest, and you sit up a little. “You talked to Jungkook about fucking me?”

“No.” Yoongi blinks. “This was before anything happened. I haven’t told him anything. It was just clear he liked you, even back then, because I have eyes. So I was trying to do him a favor. He’s a good kid.”

You squint, still trying to catch up. “Why would Jungkook fuck me in your office?”

He shrugs. “I don’t know, it’s the only door that locks. Sometimes you get desperate.” You swallow the immediate urge to argue when your brain unhelpfully reminds you that you have in fact fucked Yoongi at the office. Twice.

“But you know, I figured he’d wine you, dine you, all that romantic crap first. I’m sure he’s a very respectable sex on the third date kind of guy.” That all-too-familiar smirk is back when he glances over at you again. “I guess neither of us realized who we were dealing with.”

You open and close your mouth a few times before you can remember how to speak. “I’m not having this conversation with you. Particularly not with your cum still on my stomach.”

Yoongi nods toward the en-suite. “There’s towels in there. Or you can shower if you want.”

Your head spins as you silently slip out of his bed, and you shut the bathroom door firmly behind you, wishing you could leave that entire conversation on the other side of it. Maybe his fancy shower will get hot enough to blast all the thoughts out of your brain, you reason, and it only takes a bit of fumbling with the knobs before you figure it out.

The water pressure is so much better than what you’re used to that you groan a little when you step under the spray. You turn in a semicircle, letting it beat down on your neck and shoulders as you close your eyes, willing the tension to melt out of your body. You really are exhausted, practically asleep on your feet, despite the way your mind is still racing.

You don’t know why you came here tonight. You don’t know what you thought would happen. You don’t know what makes you keep coming back to Yoongi, over and over, like a moth to a flame, like the definition of insanity. You don’t know why he opened up to you tonight, or why you decided to do the same— or what the fuck compelled him to say that Jungkook is in love with you. You don’t know if things are supposed to stay the same after tonight, or if they will be irrevocably different, and you don’t know which you’d even want.

You have no idea what you want, actually. Another drink would be nice.

The sound of the shower door opening startles you, pulling you up from your thought spiral, and your eyes snap open to see Yoongi shutting the door behind him. Without a word, he steps in to crowd you under the water, and you hate the way your heartbeat flutters when he’s close to you.

“What are you—” you try to ask, but you don’t get to finish the sentence before his hand cups your jaw and his mouth finds yours.

His kiss blots everything else from your brain, and in this moment, you’re grateful for it. You lean into him, letting him in deeper when his tongue traces your bottom lip, whimpering softly as his other hand presses to the small of your back to pull you closer.

You don’t know what he wants, either. Why he came in here. But you have a guess.

“Yoongi,” you murmur against his lips. “I can’t again. I’m so tired.”

“It’s okay,” he answers softly, and then his mouth drags you back in like a riptide.

You don’t know how long you stay there like that, kissing him under the steam and the spray, but you’re breathless when you finally pull away to look up at him. Water droplets are twined through his long, dark hair, collecting delicately on his eyelashes, trailing down his neck and over the muscles of his chest.

“You can sleep here tonight, if you want,” Yoongi offers, and before you can even process the words, he’s stepping back to push the shower door open behind him, and then he’s gone.

With the glass fogged over completely from the heat of the water, and the white noise of the fan overhead, you have no concept of when he leaves the bathroom, or what else he might be doing. You just know you feel entirely alone.

After scrubbing yourself thoroughly with a washcloth that you lather in Yoongi’s soap, you emerge from the shower, grabbing a towel from the linen cabinet to wrap up in. It’s weird to smell like him, sandalwood and musk, somehow both comforting and alienating.

When you nudge open the door to his room again, it’s empty, and the inset lighting has been turned off entirely, the room bathed only in the glow of the bedside lamp that’s been switched on.

He’s left out one of his t-shirts for you, and you recognize it as one you’ve seen him in often at work. You remember Googling the label once out of curiosity and nearly passing out at your desk when you saw the three hundred dollar price tag. You pull it on over your head, then return to the bathroom to hang your towel up.

As you slip back into the bedroom, you can’t help but wonder where Yoongi’s disappeared off to, but you’re too exhausted to go looking for him.

Though you figure he’ll be in eventually, your heart still sinks a little as you pull back the covers and crawl into his bed. It feels so much bigger when you’re the only one in it. You decide to leave the lamp on, then turn over to press your cheek to the pillow, and the waves of sleep almost immediately pull you under.

You’re still alone when you wake up in the morning, the other side of the bed entirely undisturbed. 

Blinking slowly, it takes you a moment to remember where you are, and then the night comes back to you piece by piece. The lamp on the nightstand is still on when you sit up and swing your legs over the edge of the bed.

Yawning and rubbing sleep from your eyes, you push open Yoongi’s bedroom door and pad down the hallway, trying to make sense of things. You have to retrace your steps all the way back to the living room before you find him, curled up on his side on the couch with one arm tucked under his head, still sleeping soundly.

He looks smaller like this. More vulnerable, maybe.

You wonder if you should’ve asked him to join you in his bed, and you wonder why he didn’t. Worrying your bottom lip between your teeth, you decide to let him rest.

You move through his apartment aimlessly, like a patron in a museum. Something cracks open inside of you as you allow yourself to take in his place undisturbed, and with it, what could be. The idea that a night spent here could feel normal. The two of you in the clearly well-used kitchen, how you might sit on the counter with a glass of wine while he cooks dinner. Talking about your days, about the past and the future. Sharing a life. Fucking and showering and falling asleep in his bed, tangled up together.

For something so close, it feels impossibly far away in the harsh light of morning. It feels like something meant for a much better person than you.

When you make it all the way back to his room, you peel your borrowed shirt off and drape it across his bed like you found it. You retrieve your clothes from last night off the floor and pull them back on.

Thankfully Yoongi chose to fall asleep on the far side of the couch, so when you re-enter the living room, you’re easily able to grab your purse where you set it down the night before without waking him. You slip your heels on in his entryway, then open the front door and shut it as quietly as you can behind you.

You fish your phone out of your bag and scroll until you find Jimin’s contact, then press it to your ear as the line starts to ring.

~*~

You don’t hear from Yoongi at all on Sunday, and you barely see him at work the next few days. You don’t know why it surprises you. It makes sense. You said that night had to mean nothing, you left in the morning without another word, and it’s not like you’ve made any effort to reach out since.

But nevertheless, hurt feelings sit heavy in the pit of your stomach, stinging like salt in an open wound. You’re angry that Yoongi seems to be acting like nothing even happened. You’re annoyed that you have to spend an entire weekend alone with him in Los Angeles. And you’re pissed off that you have so much fucking work to do in preparation for a trip that’s all about him.

You keep your head down and just try to fucking survive. You stay silent in your meetings unless directly asked a question. You type furiously at your desk, forever behind on emails and late on promised deliverables.

The week passes by in a blur, and it doesn’t even occur to you what day it is until you find Jungkook waiting for you at your desk when you return from an afternoon meeting.

“Hi, Jungkook.” You try to say it gently, to not take your frustrations out on someone who didn’t even do anything. While you’ve made polite small talk all week, things certainly haven’t felt normal, and you can’t tell if he senses it too, or if you’re just letting Yoongi’s cryptic words plant imaginary strange vibes in your head.

To his credit, Jungkook seems unfazed. “It’s the last day before your trip!” he says brightly, and your eyes widen as you realize he’s right. “What’s the rest of your day look like?”

You take a seat at your desk and pull up your calendar to check, and he circles around to look with you. “That was thankfully my last meeting,” you respond. “Just getting back to my never-ending to-do list now.”

“Or…” Jungkook prompts, and you glance up to see him leaning forward to rest his elbows on the back of your desk chair, his chin propped cutely in his hands. “You could not do that.”

You blink up at him. “And what would I be doing instead?”

“I was thinking, it’s been a while since we’ve had a walking meeting. Plus it’s actually nice out. So you should take a break.”

Glancing back at your to-do list sends a fresh wave of dread through you, and then you snap your laptop shut with a resigned sigh. “You’re right. Let’s go.”

Not only could you use the break, but you want things with Jungkook to feel normal again, even if the weirdness is only in your head. Maybe this is what you need.

Down in the lobby, Jungkook holds the door for you, and when you step outside, you realize he’s right. It’s one of those clear-sky early spring days, warm enough out that it feels like the world is starting over, like everything is coming back to life. You can’t help but feel like you could use a fresh start, too.

Though you expect to be led somewhere with food, Jungkook takes a different route instead, and you follow him a few blocks over to the entrance of a nearby park. You end up side by side on a paved pedestrian path, the length of which is lined with trees that have only just begun to bud.

It’s quiet, save for the distant noise of the city, the rustle of nature, and the rush of the occasional cyclist whizzing past. You walk slowly as you chat about nothing of importance: work, music, his dogs.

Jungkook glances over at you during a moment’s pause, with a look on his face like there’s a question he’s been waiting to ask. “So how are you feeling about your trip?”

You can’t quite manage to keep your expression neutral, your eyes rolling like a reflex. “Whatever. I just want to get it over with.”

“Ah.” Jungkook nods, and you can see he’s biting back some reaction. “For some reason I thought you might be excited.”

“What do you mean?”

He just shrugs. “I don’t know. You’ve been… different lately. About Suga. I thought maybe something was going on.” An uneasy feeling starts to wash over you.

“Nothing is going on with me and Yoongi,” you say, far too quickly. Jungkook glances at you, his brows pinched together slightly as if he’s unsure what to believe.

“Okay,” he says simply. You hope that’s the end of it, but then he keeps going. “That’s good. I’m glad I don’t have to tell you to raise your standards.”

Heat rushes into your face, caught somewhere between shame and anger. “Um, what does that mean?”

You grit your teeth when he just shrugs again. “I don’t know. He was such a jerk to you, and then suddenly it’s like you guys are hanging out and getting close and stuff—”

“We are not close,” you interject, and you hate how unsteady your voice sounds when you say it.

“Good,” Jungkook responds. “Because I thought maybe you might be, and it didn’t make any sense to me.”

Overwhelmed by his words, you come to a standstill on the pavement, and he makes it a few steps further before he realizes. As he turns back to face you, the words rush out before you can stop them. “I mean, I don’t see how it’s any of your business either way.”

Jungkook’s brow furrows again. “It’s my business because I care about you. He made you so miserable when you first started, so I don’t see how you could just forget about that and be into him, especially when you could…” He trails off and looks down, unwilling to finish the sentence.

“When I could what?” Another fucking shrug, and you can feel the rage inside you simmering now, threatening to boil over. Yoongi’s question comes back to haunt you— you know Jungkook is in love with you, right?— and the pieces start to slot together in front of you.

“When I could be into you?” you press him, taking an accusatory step closer. “Is that what you want to say?”

His gaze flits up to the trees above you, like he’s willing to look anywhere but your face. “No. I don’t know.”

The birdsong in the air has suddenly started to sound a lot more like screaming, and you have to suppress the urge to do the same. Instead, your voice comes out low and deadly serious. “You and I are friends, Jungkook. Just friends.”

“I know we are,” he says softly.

“Do you?” you snap back, vicious now. “Because it sounds to me like you’re jealous.”

“I’m not jealous,” he responds automatically, in the same tone, and you scoff.

“Look me in my face and say it.” You take another step toward him, and his eyes meet yours. He’s silent long enough for you to understand the truth, and all at once, you feel like a fucking idiot.

“Let me make this clear to you,” you hiss. “I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself and making my own decisions. And I do not have to explain or justify them to anyone, including you, because you are not my fucking boyfriend.”

When you spit the final word, Jungkook flinches like you’ve slapped him, but you can’t stop now. You’re so angry, it feels like it’s eating you alive. “When I want your opinion, as my friend, I’ll ask for it. Understood?”

You’ve never seen him look at you the way he does now, his eyes dark, his face twisted into a near grimace. There’s a long pause, and his voice is stilted when he finally speaks. “Yeah. Sorry I brought it up.”

The two of you walk back to the office in total silence, and Jungkook doesn’t try to talk to you again.

~*~

It’s early enough to still be pitch black outside when Jimin pulls up to the curb of your terminal at Incheon Airport.

“Thanks again for driving.” You yawn around the words as you reach down to unbuckle your seatbelt. When Jimin suddenly pulls you in for a hug, you groan at the affection, but he pays it no mind, dotting kisses over your hair that make you squirm.

“Love you, have fun. And be a slut!”

You roll your eyes as you manage to peel him off of you. “Bye, Baby Mochi.”

Slipping on a face mask, you push the door of his car open and climb out of the passenger seat. You swing open the trunk to grab your suitcase, then slam it shut again and step up onto the curb.

Making your way into the terminal, you dig your phone out of your bag to double-check the text from Yoongi, and then you glance up at the sign overhead to confirm you’re right where he said he’d be.

It takes a second for you to realize the person walking in your direction is Min Yoongi. The black baseball cap pulled low over his eyes is certainly not a bad look, but when paired with his black face mask, it makes him almost impossible to identify, or get a good read on. Rolling your suitcase ahead of you, you move toward him, and the two of you meet in the middle.

You wore sneakers today, so he still seems tall.

“Hi,” you say simply, a thousand different emotions swirling in your gut. You do your best to ignore them all.

Yoongi hums a wordless grunt back in response, then turns to face the already bustling security line. You mirror him, and for a moment the two of you just stay like that, like you’re standing firmly in the present and unsure of what might be waiting on the other side.

He gives a tired sigh. “Ready?” You’re surprised to learn he can speak this early in the morning. 

“I guess so,” you answer.

Perfectly in sync, you both push your bags forward, stepping carefully toward a weekend that feels impossible to imagine.

chapter seven | masterlist | chapter nine

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 - 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 - 5 (explicit)

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

pairing: yoongi x reader

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

word count: 11.4k (you're welcome 😌)

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

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

read on AO3!

chapter four | masterlist | chapter six

~*~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Please,” you’d grunted.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Which one?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you okay?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You turn back to Kihyun. “Ready?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Kihyun?”

“Yeah?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Gentle is not what you need right now.

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

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

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

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

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

“Like, smack my ass?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ready?”

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

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

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

But it’s not enough.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Your turn. Was your mission successful?”

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

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

~*~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His voice drops. “Is it Suga?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I should probably…”

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

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

“He’s gone. Let’s get out of here.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck fuck fuck.

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

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

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

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

“What do you want, Yoongi?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You feel insane, enraged, and deliriously aroused.

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

“Are you alright?”

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

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

“Do you need some water?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Call it a lapse in judgment.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Did Kihyun fuck you like this?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you need a ride?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Shut the fuck up, Jimin.”

~*~

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

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

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

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

“I got distracted.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

chapter four | masterlist | chapter six

look down on me like that - 4 (explicit)

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

pairing: yoongi x reader

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

word count: 8.2k (lowkey gagged that this is exactly the same length as the last chapter o__o)

contains: ~explicit sexual content~ !! masturbation, use of a vibrator, teasing, plenty of fantasizing, dirty talk that made me **BLUSH** while writing it, and literally everyone is horny lmao. lil bit of alcohol mention as well,, also no jimin in this chapter sorry babes (we miss u jimin, i promise he'll be back for the next one)

A/N: thank you all so much for your patience and for being so fucking lovely to me all the time, i don't deserve it. and don't you dare flame me for the ending I TOLD Y'ALL IT WAS A SLOW MF BURN 😤😤

read on AO3!

chapter three | masterlist | chapter five

~*~

Your alarm on Monday morning comes far too soon. It doesn’t help that you lost the entirety of the weekend to wallowing in bed— Saturday to an actual hangover and Sunday to an emotional one. Despite only crawling out of your pit of despair to eat and use the bathroom, you aren’t even well-rested; sleep was hard to come by when you couldn’t so much as close your eyes without watching it all play back again.

Your drunk ass stumbling into the Genius Lab. Yoongi jerking himself off, his long fingers gripped firmly around the length of his cock, then opening his eyes to find you watching. And of course, the absolutely ruined pair of Jordans he had to throw in the dumpster behind the building, while you stood there shivering in your stupid fucking club dress and watched him, trying not to cry.

You don’t even have it in you to find that part funny, which makes you that much more upset. You should be able to enjoy the destruction of his property, but you can’t. The whole thing is just too humiliating.

It takes all the strength you have to ignore the little voice in your head that tells you to email in your resignation letter and stay in bed until the earth swallows you up. Somehow you manage to drag yourself through your morning routine and make it to your godforsaken 6 AM boxing class. With what feels like no rage left in your system to power you through, the class is hard, and your movements are uncoordinated and sluggish.

Jungkook apparently holds his tongue for as long as he possibly can, until you step into the elevator to head up to the company floor. The minute the doors shut and it’s only the two of you, you slump against the wall, letting your eyes drop closed. You could literally fall asleep standing up right here, you think.

“You seem tired,” Jungkook says, and when you don’t say anything, you hear him laugh a little under his breath. “And you were actually hitting at 50% strength today. My hands don’t even hurt. Everything okay?”

You grunt softly, your eyes fluttering open. “No. I am tired.”

The elevator dings, signaling your floor, and he hums softly, then continues. “You know, they also have classes at times that aren’t 6 AM. I don’t mind going after work instead.”

“That would be nice.” You glance over at him to see he’s chewing on the corner of his lip, almost like he’s nervous.

“Can I give you my number?” He asks. “That way you can just text me if you ever want to do another time. It’s not a big deal.”

“Sure, Jungkook. I appreciate it.” The elevator doors slide open and you follow him out, reaching into your bag for your phone. You retrieve it as he recites off the numbers, and you quickly copy them down. “Just so you know, I am absolutely saving you as Baby Star Candy.”

He laughs shyly, like he’s embarrassed by the nickname, and you can’t help but glance up to smile at him.

Exhausted and slow on the uptake as you are, you’re completely unaware of your surroundings until you hear the unmistakable sound of someone clearing their throat.

When you turn to see Yoongi leaning up against the glass front doors of the office, you consider launching yourself through the nearest window. Particularly because this is Yoongi as you’ve never seen him before. Gone is the exhausted-looking workaholic in sweats and oversized t-shirts that you’re used to being menaced by.

In his place, standing in front of you, is this Yoongi: neatly styled hair, skin that’s practically glowing, and worst of all: in a perfectly-fitted, all-black suit. Taking him in sends a bolt of shame and desire straight to your core, and you grit your teeth, working hard to keep a neutral expression. Although you don’t know why you bother— you’re sure he already knows what you’re thinking. Fucking mind reader.

You snap out of your stupor long enough to realize Jungkook’s contact is still open on your phone, and you hurry to save it.

“Seriously, text me any time,” Jungkook adds softly, because of course he’s oblivious to whatever the fuck is happening to you right now.

Yoongi’s eyebrows raise slightly, and you watch his eyes jump back and forth between the two of you and then to your phone in your hand, clearly processing the exchange he just witnessed. He’s fighting to hide a smirk, but you can see it toying at the corners of his lips as he makes a little noise of surprise.

Your cheeks burn with embarrassment as you wonder what sort of assumptions he might be making about your friendship with Jungkook.

Jungkook speaks again before Yoongi can make whatever snide comment he was mentally workshopping. “Good morning, Min Suga. Do you… have a presentation today?” He gestures vaguely to Yoongi’s, well, everything.

Yoongi looks down in mock surprise, as if he’s just noticed that he’s in something that isn’t a hoodie. Your stomach flips as he preens a little, extending an arm to pick an imaginary piece of lint from the sleeve of his suit jacket. Even in the bleak office lighting, your eyes are instantly drawn to the thick veins that run along the backs of his hands and his delicate fingers, adorned with several silver rings today. Those fucking hands haunted you all weekend.

Desperate for a distraction, you busy yourself with digging in your purse for the office keys.

“It’s funny you should ask, JK.”

You’re not fast enough to suppress the face you reflexively make. JK? Since when are the two of them on nickname terms? You sneak a glance at Jungkook but he gives no discernible reaction.

“I guess we can blame our lovely admin,” Yoongi continues, and you lose your train of thought entirely. That one compliment alone—if it can even be called that—is like ice in your veins, enough to send a shiver straight up the back of your neck. God, what is this man doing to you? “She really packed my calendar for today. I figured I should look nice for the reporters.”

Your hand finally closes around the set of keys at the very bottom of your bag, and you will yourself not to take Yoongi’s bait. Saying nothing, you move past him and Jungkook to unlock the front door.

They both trail in after you, and you’re distantly aware of Jungkook congratulating Yoongi on the nomination and asking how it feels as you set your things on your desk and circle around to take a seat. You’re hoping they’ll wander off down the hallway together, but Yoongi makes no move to leave, so Jungkook stays, too.

Doing your best to telegraph your desire to be left alone, you open your laptop and attempt to feign work.

Their casual small talk eventually trails off, and when you look away from your screen after a beat of silence, they’re both looking back at you. Jungkook’s brows are slightly furrowed in worry, or maybe just confusion, and when you dare to glance at Yoongi, his expression is so intense that you immediately drop your gaze again.

“Sorry, JK. Can I have her for a minute?”

Even though you’re not looking at him, you can hear the fucking smirk in Yoongi’s voice, and it takes everything in you not to crawl under your desk.

Instead you glance up at Jungkook, who’s still looking at you. He just barely raises his eyebrows, as if to ask the silent question of whether you want to be left alone with Yoongi or not. You wish you knew the answer. It would certainly make your life a lot easier.

Even so, something about the now-obvious concern on his face is enough to snap you out of your pity party. You refuse to be utterly helpless. It’s not like you’ve never been attracted to someone before, and just because you are, it doesn’t mean Yoongi gets to hold it over your head. You’re strong, dammit, and certainly stubborn— perhaps to a fault. But in this situation, it works to your advantage.

You give Jungkook a nearly imperceptible nod, trying to communicate with your eyes that you’re fine, that he doesn’t need to worry. You can handle Min Yoongi.

Jungkook raps his knuckles softly against your desk in response. “Sure thing. Have a good day.”

You force yourself to inhale slowly as he disappears down the hallway, and you mentally stomp on the wave of panic that surges in your chest. You can do this, you remind yourself as you level your gaze on Yoongi, hoping your face betrays no emotion.

“Can I help you?” You ask.

“I hope so.” He leans forward, long hair skimming over his eyes as he braces his forearms against your desk. You instinctively scoot your chair backwards to put a little more space between the two of you, and you can tell he’s doing this on purpose, trying to get you flustered.

You tell yourself that it isn’t working.

“I need a favor,” Yoongi starts, and he pauses just long enough for your mind to wander to places it shouldn’t. He runs his tongue along his back teeth, and you can’t help but suspect that he’s thinking the same thing. You pray that at his current vantage point he can’t see your thighs squeeze together under your desk.

“You see, I’m pretty behind on registering copyright for my last… dozen tracks or so. I figured I’d get it done today, but someone clearly had other plans for me. Think that’s something you can handle?” He tilts his head slightly to one side as he asks the question.

To prove that you’re not scared of him—though you’re not sure which of you you’re trying to prove it to—you force yourself to maintain eye contact. The open, albeit still mildly self-satisfied look on his face is so different from the bored, annoyed expression you’re used to. Not to mention the fact that he’s genuinely asking you for help without taking a single dig at your lack of professional experience. Your head hurts from the whiplash of it all.

He runs a hand through his dark hair, sweeping it back to expose his forehead, and you realize you need to say whatever words will get him away from you as fast as possible. Especially while he’s in that suit.

“Yeah, sure. I’ll take care of it.”

Yoongi blinks, making a face like he’s a little surprised he got his way so easily, then pushes himself off your desk. “Great. I’ll be in conference rooms all day, so...” He trails off, a glint in his eyes. “You can let yourself into the lab whenever. Since you know the code.”

You swallow hard, unable to come up with a good response. Yoongi pauses for a second, as if he might say something else, but he seems to decide against it. Instead, he turns and heads off down the hallway without another word.

You’ve never been so thankful to distract yourself with work.

Yoongi’s request hangs over your head for the rest of the day, and you put it off for as long as you possibly can. It’s only once you’ve answered every email in your inbox and followed up on all of your outstanding requests that you finally relent. You quite literally have nothing else to do, so you groan inwardly and drag yourself down the hall to the Genius Lab.

You realize your hands are shaking as you punch in the code and turn the handle. It’s impossible to keep the memories at bay as you enter the room and let the door shut behind you. Just do your job, you tell yourself, and you cross to Yoongi’s desk and take a seat.

When you glance down, you see he’s left you a Post-It with specific details on the tracks and all the information required to file the copyright registrations. Gently, you jiggle the mouse to wake his computer and begin to work. As much as you want to knock this task out quickly so you don’t have to spend a single extra second in his damn lab, it’s hard to focus; you find your eyes continually drifting away from the computer screen to sweep over the room.

Yoongi was sitting in this very chair that night— which was somehow only a few days ago. And he made it sound like that wasn’t the first time he’d gotten off at work.

It really shouldn’t be an attractive premise. If anything, it should probably be a complaint to HR. But no matter how hard you try, you can’t stop the little twinges running straight to your core, the heat that pools gently in your belly at the thought. Especially not when you remember his soft groans and the way the tip of his cock glistened with his arousal.

Rolling your shoulders in a small stretch, you lean against his chair experimentally, letting your head tip back the way his did, wondering what the moment must have felt like from his point of view. What he could have been thinking about. You allow your legs to drop open slightly, moving your ass in a slow circle against the chair to just barely mitigate some of the ache between your legs.

It occurs to you at this moment that you are insanely fucking turned on, and then you hear the door handle turn.

Shit. Your legs immediately snap shut and you sit up as fast as you can, trying to remember where you’d left off with the task as the door is pushed open.

“Well, I never want to speak to another human again,” Yoongi grunts from behind you, sounding much more like himself, his voice a little hoarse. You refuse to give him the satisfaction of turning around.

“I’m almost done if you want to take over and finish.” You say softly, immediately mentally kicking yourself for choosing that word. Did he finish? You grit your teeth as the thought enters your mind before you can stop it. You do not need to be asking yourself this question right now. Or ever.

“Let’s see.” 

Yoongi’s voice is suddenly much closer to you than it was a moment ago, and you regret not standing up when you had the chance. You freeze where you are in his desk chair, spine ramrod straight, unsure of what to do.

And then he hums a sigh right in your ear, and it’s enough to make your cunt throb.

Your thighs quiver with how hard you press them together, as if that somehow might undo the growing wetness between your legs. The feeling of his breath on your neck is only making it that much worse.

You sneak a glance up at Yoongi and realize he isn’t looking at you at all, but intently studying your work on his desktop screen. His arms are on either side of your chair, right hand on the mouse while his left leans against the desk, effectively boxing you in.

Unable to do anything but focus on how very close he is to you, you lose all pretense and stare openly at his side profile. You watch as a muscle in his jaw works while he contemplates the screen, and you’re forced to swallow hard as a whole new kind of realization floods through you.

Despite the fact that he is very much still your asshole life-ruiner coworker Min Yoongi, the facts are indisputable: you want him. Badly, it turns out. And you desperately wish you didn’t.

“Looks good. I can do the rest.” Yoongi’s voice snaps you back to reality, but you aren’t fast enough to avert your gaze before he glances over and catches you staring at him. You see a flash of something in his dark eyes.

“Everything okay?”

At this, you finally tear your gaze away, staring down dumbly at his keyboard instead. “I’m fine,” you say plainly, not bothering to elaborate. If recent events are any indicator, he can already read every inch of what you’re feeling on your face. No point in trying to hide it.

He removes his hand from the mouse and you seize the opportunity, immediately turning the desk chair away from him to stand up. The lab is starting to feel increasingly claustrophobic with the two of you alone in here together.

You head straight for the door, saying nothing, and your hand has just closed around the handle when he stops you dead in your tracks with a single word.

“Thanks.”

You have no choice but to instantly whip around, you’re that shocked by the praise. 

Yoongi is leaned up against the edge of his desk, arms crossed over his chest, surveying you. “I appreciate the—” he pauses, as if looking for the right words, and he doesn’t even try to hide his smirk when he finds them. “—helping hand.”

You stare blankly back at him, having no idea what to make of any of this.

“I promise I’ll be out on time tonight,” he offers.

“Thank you,” you say, your voice barely a whisper, and then you finally turn the knob and shut the door behind you.

Yoongi keeps his word, slipping silently out of the office right before 6:00; your mind is still reeling for the entirety of your bus ride home. When you make it in the front door of your apartment, you let your purse drop to the floor and kick off your shoes, then head immediately for the fridge.

Bottle of rosé and wine glass in hand, you collapse onto the couch and instinctively retrieve your phone. It’s only once you have your text thread with Jimin open that you reconsider. You know he has intensive choreo rehearsals all week, but even if he didn’t, the thought of how he’d squeal at this plot twist to your TV show life is more than you can handle right now.

But he’s your best friend. You’ve never kept anything from him.

You sigh and chuck your phone to the other end of the couch, making a silent promise to tell him soon. Very soon. Just not tonight.

You’re restless, unable to get comfortable or make it through more than five minutes of anything you try to watch. You find yourself desperately wishing you could get all this energy out of your system. A glass of rosé doesn’t help, neither does the second, nor the rest of the bottle. Not even your skin care routine manages to relax you, which certainly constitutes an emergency.

As you crawl into bed, head swimming slightly from the wine, you find yourself instinctively reaching into your nightstand. This should do the trick, you think as you slide the drawer open and retrieve your small pink bullet vibrator. You tilt your hips up and shimmy the thin shorts you wore to bed down your thighs, allowing yourself full access.

Relaxing back against the pillows, you let your eyes drop closed as you search your brain for the proper fantasy. You decide on your current go-to: Kang Taemu in one of his perfectly fitted suits. 

You’ve been on edge for hours to say the least, so it doesn’t surprise you how easily the tip of the toy slips through your folds— you’re drenched, and probably have been all day.

Letting out a soft sigh, you click the base of the vibrator to turn it on, and the feeling of finally being stimulated after wanting it so badly is enough to make you whine a little.

Rolling your bottom lip between your teeth, you do your best to keep that fantasy in your mind’s eye. But it’s proving elusive, for some reason. You keep losing your grip on Ahn Hyoseop’s puppy face. His eyes slowly change from round and endearing to mysterious and calculating. It’s enough to make your own eyes snap open as you realize where your mind is going.

You turn your vibrator off and give yourself a few seconds, shifting your legs in an attempt to send some relief to your tightly wound core. It really should not be this hard to masturbate.

Determined, you bring the bullet to your clit again and press the button, then immediately press it again to increase the speed. Your eyes roll back in your head as you grind your hips down into the mattress because fuck, it feels so good.

When you revisit the fantasy, you have to bite back the urge to groan in frustration as Hyoseop’s plush, pouty lips morph into a smug, all-too-familiar smirk. This is not fucking happening.

You turn the vibrator off once more and fully sit up, aggressively shaking your head as if to fling the thoughts out of your brain.

Note to self, you think bitterly. Stop watching workplace dramas until you’re done with your own.

Leaning back against the headboard, you decide to throw out the fantasy. You’ve stopped and started enough at this point that you’re desperate; you don’t need a full plot. Spreading your legs with a soft whimper, you press the toy into you and turn it on, cranking it up to the highest setting.

You continue to make little noises of pleasure as images flash through your mind, sending you closer and closer to that edge. A wet pink tongue darting between full lips. Dark eyes blown black with lust. Strong forearms surrounding you, the jerk of an Adam’s apple, long delicate fingers, and a pale, perfect cock sinking into your dripping heat.

Your head tilts back as your arousal coils tightly inside you and your orgasm finally, finally crests. As the wave surges and you get lost in the overwhelming pleasure, you let yourself really moan.

“Fuuuuck, Yoongi.”

Relief crashes over you, your hips rolling up as your walls flutter, until you finally ride out the aftershocks and the vibrations become overwhelming. You turn the bullet off and sigh contentedly, feeling thoroughly spent.

It takes about three seconds for your brain to catch up enough to process what just happened. When it does, you make a squeak of sheer panic and fling your vibrator across the room.

You sit all the way up and look around frantically, convinced for a brief moment that he might somehow be in your bedroom. It makes no sense, but you’re sure that somehow Yoongi knows what you’ve done. What you said. No matter where you go, it feels like you can’t escape him. Not even while masturbating, apparently.

Collapsing back into the bed, you shove a pillow over your face and scream into it.

When you finally relent and toss it away, you dejectedly reach for your phone, pulling your shorts up with your other hand. Your heart sinks when you see it’s already well past midnight.

Worrying the inside of your cheek with your teeth, you pull up Baby Star Candy in your phone and shoot a quick text asking if you can do a class after work instead. Jungkook doesn’t respond— he’s probably sleeping like a perfect baby angel, but you feel less bad as you adjust your alarm back by an hour, trying to give yourself a fighting chance at being even slightly rested in the morning.

The post-orgasm exhaustion starts to descend, despite the shame still swirling in your chest about the mental image that got you there. Confused, pissed off, and still unfortunately horny, you turn over in bed and wrap your arms around your pillow, allowing sleep to overtake you.

~*~

Jungkook is there to greet you with a big grin and a tiny wave as you step off the elevator the next morning. He seems wholly unbothered by the deviation from your typical routine.

“Did you manage to get some sleep?” He asks as you unlock the front doors.

“I did.” It’s not a lie. You slept more soundly than you have in quite some time; you just wish you didn’t have to masturbate to thoughts of your coworker to do it.

“I’m glad.” The softness in Jungkook’s voice makes you smile despite yourself. “If you’re up for it, there’s a 5:30 class we could try and make.”

“Let’s do it.”

“Want to change out here and then walk over? Those tiny locker rooms get a little crazy right after work.”

You nod as you set your purse down on your desk. “That sounds perfect.”

Jungkook is still smiling as he ruffles a hand through his hair, his other hand gripping the strap of his backpack. “Okay, cool. Then I guess I’ll see you in the team meeting in a bit.” He takes a few steps backwards, still facing your desk, then finally pivots on his heel and heads down the hallway.

It only takes an instant for you to realize you do not want to be alone with your thoughts. The paranoia you’ve felt before that Yoongi will walk in the doors any second returns in full-force, worse than it’s ever been. The team meeting ends up being a blessing in disguise, and you get to the conference room nearly twenty minutes early, grateful for a reason to get away from your desk.

Unfortunately, it’s an exhausting discussion on scheduling for the upcoming quarter. When you finally wrap up after running almost fifteen minutes over, you head immediately for the break room, in desperate need of another cup of coffee.

The room is empty when you step inside, and you enjoy the peace and quiet as you set to fixing a mug the way you like it: two cream, two sugar— your hand hovers over the packets for a moment, then you shrug and grab a third sugar and dump it in. You deserve this.

Absorbed in your routine, you nearly knock the entire cup over at the sudden sound of the ice machine kicking on. When you glance up at the source, your stomach drops, because of course: it’s Yoongi, adding more ice to his Americano with that default sour expression on his face. The universe seems to have no mercy for you lately.

“Is there a reason you always sneak up on people?” You snap at him. At this point, just his presence is enough to frustrate you.

He quirks an eyebrow, removing his cup from the dispenser and shaking it a little to distribute the ice. “Is there a reason you put so much crap in your coffee?”

You blink, taken aback by the fact that he must have been watching you, and watching closely to notice such specific details. As much as you’d like to be the bigger person and say nothing, the retort comes to you before you can think to stop it.

“I’m sorry, is there something you’d rather I put in my mouth instead?”

Yoongi has clearly chosen the wrong moment to take a swig of his drink, because he immediately chokes on it at your words. It looks like it’s taking all his effort to not spit it out on the floor, and his eyes are as wide as you’ve ever seen them, like he can’t believe what you just said. You honestly can’t either.

It feels surprisingly good. If he’s going to ruin your life, you might as well get a chance to return the favor. You pick up your mug and leave the break room with a polite smile, feeling more satisfied than you have in weeks.

As you take a seat at your desk and return to your to-do list, that thought stays with you, resurfacing again each time you pause to sip from your mug.

It’s true: you’re well overdue to turn the tables. It might even help get some of this excess energy out, you reason. While you consider the various outlets you have at your disposal, your eyes fall to your purse, where your change of workout clothes for tonight’s boxing class is tucked away.

All at once, the plan clicks together in your mind.

At 5:00 on the dot, you shut your laptop and grab your purse, making a beeline for the restroom. You lock yourself into one of the larger stalls and slip out of your work clothes.

Your fingers are trembling slightly with anticipatory nerves as you fumble at the buttons of your blouse; you do your best to ignore the little voice in your head questioning whether or not this is a good idea.

You shimmy out of your skirt and slide on your leggings, grateful you managed to grab a matching workout set today instead of merely digging out something clean. It’s actually your favorite set: a cute strappy top with high-waisted leggings that have just enough compression to make your ass look astounding, in a sunset orange and pink gradient that perfectly compliments your skin tone.

Once you’ve pulled your heels off and changed into sneakers, you slip out of the stall to examine yourself in the mirror. You wiggle your hips a little, satisfied with the way your ass jiggles in response.

This will do, you think to yourself.

Jungkook is waiting in front of your desk when you return, and it’s really quite funny to see him dressed for class within the four walls of your office building. The duality of him has occurred to you before—that someone who is accurately described as Baby Star Candy also likes to beat the shit out of things as exercise, for instance. But it’s on full display now as you take in his black muscle tee and gray sweatpants. You’d almost believe he was a different person entirely if he didn’t have the same shy grin plastered on his face.

“I just double-checked, looks like everyone else has left for the day,” he starts, and you’re not surprised. Your coworkers usually arrive and leave early, with spouses and kids at home to attend to. His smile falters a little as he continues. “Well, except Suga. I wasn’t sure how you wanted to handle that.”

You set your purse on your desk and fish the office keys out. “I’ve got it. Be right back.”

When you approach the Genius Lab door, you decide to at least do him the decency of knocking, and you even ring his stupid doorbell in hopes that it might be loud enough to hear even with headphones on. Then you punch the code in and turn the handle, your heartbeat slamming hard in your chest.

Yoongi appears to have been doing actual work, thankfully, and is sliding off his headphones when you push the door open.

“Time to wrap it up,” you say, willing your voice to stay steady. “I have to leave early today.”

He spins his chair towards you, an expression on his face like he might be ready to argue, but that look of annoyance quickly vanishes as he appears to process your outfit. It may have been the alcohol convincing you on Friday night, but now you’re certain his eyes trail up and down your body, because he takes his fucking time with it. He breathes a soft exhale, and you swear you even see his jaw go slack.

“Come on, Yoongi.” You push again, crossing towards him and trying to ignore the way every cell in your body is vibrating. He slides his chair back from the desk, granting you just enough space to seize your opportunity.

You slip a finger through the ring of your office keys and twirl them in a circle, once, twice, then do your best to make the flick of your wrist subtle enough that he doesn’t notice. The fact that he can’t tear his eyes away from your figure certainly helps.

You’ve never been particularly sporty, so it feels like winning the fucking Olympics when the keys land squarely under his desk with a jangle, exactly as you’d hoped.

“Oops.”

It’s funny, you think to yourself, because he could absolutely prevent what’s about to happen by sheer virtue of not being an asshole. If you’d accidentally chucked your keys under Jungkook’s desk, he’d be on his knees in a millisecond to retrieve them for you.

But you know that Min Yoongi is lazy and selfish— not to mention, apparently very distracted at the moment. You can tell because he doesn’t do anything except avert his gaze to look stupidly at your keys on the floor, like he’s on a five second delay from reality.

“Don’t worry,” you allow yourself to outright purr. “I’ve got it.” And then you crawl under his desk and let him enjoy the show.

Yoongi grunts softly, low in his throat, sounding somewhere between aroused and frustrated. When your back arches, you do your best to believe that it’s on purpose to further torment him, and not an instinctual response to the noise.

Reaching out on your hands and knees, you grab the keyring and slide it towards you, nice and slow. The rush of power is so good that you can’t control yourself, and you wiggle your hips slightly, the same way you did in front of the mirror earlier.

“Fuck,” he hisses, and you know you’re playing a dangerous game.

Closing your hand tightly around the key, you scoot backwards enough to clear the desk, then right yourself again.

“Time to go,” you say brightly, trying to keep your composure.

The mix of emotions on Yoongi’s face is fascinating. You can see lust bordering on desperation, that much is obvious, but even still his lips are just barely turning up at the corners, like you’ve really surprised— or possibly impressed him. That glint in his eyes is stronger than you’ve ever seen it.

He clears his throat before he speaks. “Well. Now I need a minute.”

You’re about to get annoyed that he’s fucking with you when your eyes drift far enough down to notice the hand he has pressed into his crotch.

Oh. Oh. Wow, you severely underestimated the power of your ass in tight leggings, you realize.

You wonder if he can still read you as easily as ever, or if his current situation distracts him enough to miss the heat that creeps up your neck.

“Fine,” you say, and it comes out a little less confidently than you would have liked.

There’s a moment where you hesitate, and the tension in the room feels like a rubber band stretched to its absolute limit, liable to snap at any second. If you offered to… help him right now, would he say yes? You genuinely don’t know.

You can’t entertain that thought for a second longer. That way lies trouble. With a hard swallow, you force yourself to march out of the lab, letting the door slam shut behind you. Jungkook peeks his head around the corner of the hallway as you return.

“How’d it go?”

“He’s coming,” you say without thinking, and it takes every fiber of your being to keep your eyes from rolling back in your head with frustration. These unintentional double entendres are seriously getting to be too much.

“Cool, cool.” Jungkook glances at his watch. “We’re making good time anyway.” He pauses for a moment, rocking back on his heels and pursing his lips into a pout. “Did it help that I gave you the door code?”

Talk about a loaded question. You laugh a little before you can stop yourself. Help, destroy your life— who’s to say, really?

“I think so” feels like the easiest response that isn’t an outright lie. “Thanks for that,” you quickly add.

He shrugs it off like it’s nothing. “Anytime. I hope he’s not making your life too hard.”

Right on cue, you hear the sound of Yoongi exiting his lab from down the hallway. You’re thankful that you don’t have to scramble to try and find a coherent response to that comment, and you choose instead to head for the front doors. Jungkook and Yoongi file out first and you set the alarm, then slip out after them, pulling the door firmly closed and locking it.

You turn back to see Jungkook pressing the elevator button and Yoongi entirely transfixed in something on his phone. He’s faced enough towards you that you glance down and confirm his problem has been resolved. You can’t stop yourself from wondering by what means.

Fucking hell, you really are too far gone.

When the elevator dings, you step in, Jungkook following behind after you. Yoongi makes no move to get on, continuing to tap away at his phone. Fine by you, you think as the doors begin to close. You’re more than happy to not have to suffer through an elevator ride with him.

It’s only when Jungkook sticks his arm between the doors to keep them from closing that you remember you’re sharing this elevator with the most wholesome man alive. Damn him.

“Suga?” He says, and Yoongi’s head snaps up. “Are you coming?”

Against your better judgment, you lock eyes with Yoongi for a split second, and there’s clearly a shared emotion happening. But neither of you have any way to explain it to Jungkook that wouldn’t make you both sound insane, which you might be. So suffer you must.

“Yeah, sorry,” Yoongi mumbles as he steps into the elevator next to you, Jungkook on your other side. Fucking perfect.

There’s several inches between you, but it feels like nothing at all, and the images that flash through your head put last night’s vibrator session to shame. It would be so easy, if Jungkook weren’t here, for Yoongi to reach out and touch you. And even if he didn’t, it would be just as easy for you to press the emergency stop button, to torment and tease him until he slammed you up against the wall, grabbed you by the hair, and gave you exactly what you—

The ding of the elevator reaching the ground floor snaps you out of your fantasy. You can feel how stiff your nipples are through the thin fabric of your workout top, and you can only pray neither of them are observant enough to notice.

When the elevator doors slide open, you can’t exit fast enough, moving so quickly that Jungkook nearly has to jog to keep up as he calls goodnight to Yoongi over his shoulder.

So much for getting excess energy out, you think. At least you’ll have plenty to burn off in class.

~*~

With preparations for the upcoming quarter in full swing, it feels like your workload triples overnight. The rest of the week is a mess of scheduling, communications distributions, and trying to make sure you don’t screw up any of the projects your boss has delegated to you. 

If nothing else, it’s a good opportunity for you to cool the fuck off. It feels like the only time your brain isn’t overwhelmed with thoughts of Yoongi is when you’re neck-deep in work tasks.

There’s enough on your plate that you end up working late on Wednesday and Thursday just to get your most pressing deliverables finished. Yoongi keeps to his typical exit schedule both nights, but come Friday evening, when you grab your phone while waiting for a particularly large report to run, you realize with surprise that it’s already 6:30. You never saw him leave.

In no rush to repeat the events of last Friday—how was it only a week ago?—you decide it’s safer to shoot him a text. You pull your bottom lip between your teeth as you figure out the best way to phrase it.

I’m working late if you need to do the same.

You hit send, not wanting to overthink it any longer, and you don’t even have time to put your phone down before his response comes in: a single thumbs-up emoji. You don’t know what you expected.

There’s a hum in your chest that’s difficult to ignore as you get back to your work, and you can feel your heart beat a little faster whenever your mind returns to the realization that you’re once again alone in the office with Yoongi. And it’s only getting later and later. You hope you’ll make it through the night intact.

When you’ve finally finished putting together all the presentation decks for Monday’s slated pitches, you collapse back in your chair, rubbing your eyes exhaustedly. You balk at the time on your screen: it’s nearly 10 PM, and you still haven’t heard or seen any trace of Yoongi.

You’re not about to do this again, you think to yourself as you type out another text.

Ready to go?

While you wait for a response, you tap through your other messages. You’ve left Jimin on read for a couple of days now, and your heart sinks as you scroll back through the chain. You make a mental promise that you’ll catch him up on everything this weekend, even if it means you may never hear the end of the TV show jokes. Besides, you’re in desperate need of best friend advice.

You scroll through social media for a few more minutes, then give a frustrated sigh. Still no response from Yoongi. You tap his contact name and hit the button to call him. When you bring the phone to your ear, it immediately goes to voicemail.

Well, fuck.

Pressing the button to end the call, you set your phone down on your desk, and the pit of dread in your stomach grows with each passing second. You wish this all didn’t have to be so fucking complicated. Seeing no other option, you slowly get to your feet and head for the Genius Lab.

You knock as loudly as you can, giving the doorbell a few jabs for good measure as well. As you punch the numbers in and the handle gives, it only occurs to you now: it’s been a full week, and yet, he hasn’t changed the code of his lock.

When you push the door open, you give it a second before you cross the threshold.

“I’m coming in,” you announce as loudly as you can. “Put your dick away.” You do your best to make the comment sound flippant, in an attempt to disguise how fast your pulse is racing.

Yoongi doesn’t respond, or even so much as turn to look at you, seemingly entirely absorbed in the open track on his screen. At least he’s working, but still: you don’t appreciate being ignored.

Setting your jaw, you cross the room until you reach his desk, then turn around to put your foot on his chair and give it a small shove backwards. He’s not expecting it, so you’re able to move him back enough to create a gap where you can wedge yourself between him and his computer, forcing him to acknowledge your presence.

“I tried calling, but you didn’t answer,” you offer as an explanation when he looks up at you, clearly annoyed. “It’s time to go to sleep.”

Yoongi fishes his phone out of his pocket, and his brow furrows a little when the screen doesn’t wake. Slipping it back wordlessly, he crosses his arms, slouching slightly in his chair.

“Is that really what you want?” He finally asks.

“To sleep?” You scoff. “Desperately.”

“You didn’t seem to mind when I had it out last time. I believe you confirmed you enjoyed it, actually.”

Oh. That.

Yoongi rolls his chair closer to you and you reflexively move to take a step backwards, but your ass bumps into the edge of his desk. Nowhere else to go, you perch unsurely on it. 

You’re tired. Not just physically, but mentally. Tired of playing these games and running the same circles in your brain over and over. Tired of trying to deny the extremely obvious truth. So you don’t.

“And what if I did, Yoongi?”

He seems pleased by your answer. “Well, if I’m honest, I think you came in here hoping it would happen again. Because you know what you want.” He uncrosses his arms, letting his elbows rest on the supports of his desk chair and his wrists dangle freely, legs spreading a little wider as if to really drive the point home.

You swallow hard, unable to hide the effect his current pose has on you. But you refuse to let him have all the power. You know now that this, whatever it is, goes both ways.

“I think you didn’t change the code on your door because you want it, too.”

He outright laughs, apparently surprised at your candor. “Oh, I’m not ashamed to admit what I want. In fact, I’ll tell you right now. It would be great to get it out of my system, actually. It’s been a real challenge focusing.”

Yoongi continues on before you can stop him. And you don’t want to stop him.

“Let’s see.” His eyes trace lazily down your figure in a way that makes you feel totally exposed, despite the fact that you’re still fully dressed. “I want to bend you over my desk right where you are.”

You shiver at the words, and at the way his deep voice is soaked with lust. His eyes start to glaze over as he continues.

“I want to pull your dress up and get a good look at that ass you were tempting me with. Shit, it was like you wanted me to take you right there on the floor.”

You have the edge of his desk in an absolute death grip now, and you can barely remember how to breathe. There’s a throbbing ache radiating between your legs, and you shift your hips a little in desperate search of relief.

“Yeah, you like that?” Yoongi’s eyes lock with yours, and though you’re sure the answer is painted all over your face, you nod.

“Good. Because I’m not done. I want to finger that tight little pussy and spank you until you bruise.” You tear your eyes away from him as the shock of his words rips through you, and you inhale a shaky gasp. But he just keeps going. “I want to make you beg to take my cock. And then I want to fuck you like the slut you so clearly are. I want to make you come so hard that your legs shake, so hard that you have no choice but to scream my name as I wreck you.”

The room is spinning around you now, and you’re fully grinding your hips down against his desk. Your pussy is soaked, gushing with arousal just from the filthy things he’s saying. Your mind can barely process that this is really happening.

When you lift your gaze to meet his again, Yoongi is smirking at you, obviously satisfied with the way he’s made you come undone. “But first—” he pauses for a second, as if debating whether or not to say it. “I want you to spread your legs for me. Show me what’s under that dress.”

You’re so far gone now, you think you’d do anything he asked. The skirt of your black sheath dress slides up your thighs as you drop your legs open, and your face heats up in a mixture of shame and insane, overwhelming desire.

“Wow, look who’s actually capable of taking direction,” Yoongi quips, but then his jaw drops as your knees spread as wide as they can go, and you can see his tongue working against his cheek.

You recall a fraction of a second later that you wore a light pink pair of panties today. Light enough that you’re sure he has a front-row view of how entirely drenched you are, and it must be obscene. You’ve never been this turned on in your life. And he hasn’t even touched you.

“Fuck, look at you,” he groans, and when you see his hand drift down to palm himself, you realize his dick is fully erect, straining hard against the fabric of his black joggers.

“Your turn,” Yoongi grunts, hips canting up into his touch. His eyes are heavy-lidded with lust as he watches you carefully. “Tell me what you want.”

Your heart is pounding hard in your chest. His pupils are blown dark and wide, and you’re sure you don’t look much better. There isn’t a single inch of you that doesn’t want him. And you could have him right now.

But your stomach turns at the thought of what would happen after, and all the very many ways this could go horribly wrong. You can’t. You shouldn’t. It would be a very bad idea. With every last shred of willpower you can muster, you press your knees together again and lie through your teeth.

“I want to go home and go to sleep, Yoongi.”

Your legs shake a little as you slide off his desk and walk out of the room before you can take it back. When the door closes behind you, you have to slump against it and breathe hard for a moment until you collect yourself enough to make it back to your desk.

Yoongi emerges from his lab a few minutes after you. Just as he has dozens of times before, he strides past your desk and out the front doors wordlessly, the expression on his face impossible to decipher.

It’s almost convincing enough to make you believe that nothing has changed.

chapter three | masterlist | chapter five

look down on me like that - 3 (explicit)

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

pairing: yoongi x reader

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

word count: 8.2k

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

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

read on AO3!

chapter two | masterlist | chapter four

~*~

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

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

“Like, the Suga?”

“Is there another?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

At this, you sit up. “What?!”

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

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

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

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

~*~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your stomach drops. “What? No. Why?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you really want to take that chance?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~*~

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

“Nope.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~*~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~*~

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

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

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

7:05 AM. Perfect.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hi bestie.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sorry. It’s been a long week.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~*~

“Drink up, bitch!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fuck off,” you groan into the wall.

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

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

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

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

“I don’t caaaaaare.”

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

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

“You there?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Of course, I fixed them.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How did you know the code?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Shut up,” you hiss.

“This is incredibly useful information.”

“Stop talking, Yoongi.”

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

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

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

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

“Fine.”

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

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

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

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

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

“You what?” Your mouth goes dry.

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

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

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

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

chapter two | masterlist | chapter four

look down on me like that - 2 (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: 6.1k

contains: this is the last chapter before it gets smutty, just needed to rly get the enemies build-up going ;))) believe it or not reader is somehow even dumber than last time, jungkook continues to be too good for this world, yoongi continues to be a dick, water is wet, etc. aaand mentions of alcohol (a running theme in this one!)

A/N: i really have nothing witty to say just hope you enjoy 💜 this is also on AO3!

chapter one | masterlist | chapter three

To say that the rest of your first week is overwhelming is an understatement. You operate in a constant state of confusion. You keep a page in your notes to track all of the unfamiliar terminology your coworkers use; you frantically Google as many phrases as possible whenever you have a moment alone.

Unfortunately, the moments alone are few and far between. From the second you unlock the door each morning, you’re always busy, and nearly always in meetings, which inevitably result in more things getting tacked onto your to-do list: compiling presentation materials, booking artists for studio time, setting up task boards for the production teams, creating project timelines for upcoming releases, ordering additional recording equipment, submitting a maintenance request for the broken door in studio B. Your desk phone’s voicemail and your inbox are already filling up, and you haven’t had a free second to so much as check them, let alone respond to anything.

You arrive to work earlier and earlier each morning, where Jungkook is always waiting to greet you, hair still damp from his post-workout shower. More often than not, a smile or offer of help from your baby-faced coworker is the only thing that gets you through the day.

Inversely, there’s Suga. He hasn’t said anything to you since the team meeting, and he doesn’t attend the next one. That doesn’t stop his presence from feeling like a dark cloud looming over your head. You don’t dare put headphones in again while you work, but you still find yourself regularly glancing over your shoulder, just to be sure he isn’t standing there smirking at you.

But he never is. In fact, Jungkook was right— you pretty much never see Suga, other than when he gets to work and leaves each day.

You find yourself working later and later into the evenings as well, trying to tread water, but to his credit, Suga seems to be respecting your boundary. He leaves at 5:55 each day like clockwork, always with his dark sunglasses on, never saying anything. You’ve stopped saying goodnight to him, figuring it’s a waste of air.

In fact, you feel your most productive once he’s gone for the day. There’s an entire physical response you have to the mere absence of him from the building. Your shoulders relax, your brain unfogs. It’s like you can breathe deeper, knowing your secret of incompetency is safe to live on another day.

Of course, you don’t actually know that he knows. He can’t know for sure, you reason, unless he’s some kind of stalker. He just has his suspicions, albeit ones he was confident enough in to voice aloud to you.

But the rest of the company seems to have faith in you, so you can’t be doing that horribly. That thought keeps you afloat, if just barely.

On this particular day, you’re asked to reset one of the studios after talent has finished a scheduled recording session. The company is producing an up and coming female rapper’s mixtape, and you thank every lucky star you have that Suga is not involved with this project. The engineer you are working with doesn’t say much, but he’s at least pleasant. You follow his lead to start breaking down and organizing a clusterfuck of audio equipment set up in the recording booth. While you continue, he slips back into the control room.

“Damn, the storage on this thing sucks ass,” you hear the engineer’s voice over the talkback intercom. “One day eats up like half the drive. Hey admin?” You glance up, continuing to wrap a cable around your arm, to see him hunched over the studio desktop.

“Do you mind porting the files from today off here so we don’t run out of space when she comes back tomorrow?” He slides open a couple drawers until he finds what he’s looking for, holding up a thumb drive so you can see it through the glass. “If you can throw them on here, that’d be great.”

“Sure.” The microphones are all unplugged and you’re not sure if he can hear you, so you shoot him a thumbs up with your non-occupied arm.

“Thanks! We’ve got another client coming in so I gotta bounce. Just bring it by my office whenever you get a chance.”

It takes ages, but you get the booth and the control room put back together, then take a seat at the desktop. There are a ton of files saved haphazardly all over the place from the session, and you gather them into a folder, then plug the USB in and move the data over.

A small green progress bar loads for a while, then eventually disappears, and you pull the drive out. Easy peasy. You mass-select the files and delete them, clicking through all the annoying “are you sure?” messages until they finally disappear. All done.

For good measure, you plug the USB back into the desktop to review. You might even get crazy and organize the takes for him, who knows.

You open the drive in your file explorer, and it’s empty.

That’s weird. Maybe it just needs to load, you consider. You give it a second.

Panic rises in your chest as the blank folder stares back at you. There’s no progress bar, no loading icon, no spinning rainbow wheel. You swallow hard. The thumb drive is empty.

“No, no, no, no,” you murmur to yourself, clicking around on the screen as if to somehow summon the files from beyond the grave, your stomach in knots. “Please come back,” you whisper through a lump in your throat.

Tears sting at the corners of your eyes and you start to hyperventilate. This can’t be happening. You find the Recycle Bin on the desktop and open it, but that’s empty too.

“What is the fucking point of you then?!” You hiss angrily at the Recycle Bin. The tears in your eyes threaten to spill over, and you push the desk chair back. You have to get out of here before someone finds you in this state.

You grab your purse off the desk and pull the USB out of the computer, chucking it in next to your laptop. You sling the straps over your shoulder and will your face to look some amount of normal as you push the studio door open.

You rush towards the bathroom. Please don’t let anyone see me please please please—

You’re so focused on the target ahead that you don’t realize you’re about to smack into someone leaving the men’s room until it’s too late. You collide into his chest at full-speed. Your clumsiness is the final straw and you let out a choked gasp of a sob, unable to catch your breath to even apologize.

Your palms rest flat against this person’s chest, and his hands instinctively grab your arms to keep you upright. You’re terrified to make eye contact and confirm who it is. If this is Suga, you will literally die of embarrassment right here in the hallway.

“Whoa, hey, are you okay?” Jungkook’s voice has already become familiar to you, and you’ve never been more glad to hear it. “What’s going on?”

Tears roll down your face as you look up at him. “I think I fucked up.”

Keeping his hands firmly on your shoulders, Jungkook steers you down the hall into an open meeting room. You sit with your back to the door so passersby can’t see your now free-flowing tears. Your shoulders shake as you hide your face in your hands. The embarrassment of being so emotional in front of a coworker that you barely know only makes you cry that much harder.

Jungkook finds a box of tissues in one of the media cabinets and slides it across the table towards you. He’s patient with you, and waits it out silently until you’re able to gasp for air and calm yourself down a little. “Tell me what happened.”

You reach for a tissue and dab at your eyes, certain you look like a disaster. “I… accidentally deleted all the files from the recording session.” You say with a sniffle. His jaw drops.

You go over the incident, the studio, the files, the drive. “So, I pulled the USB out, and then—”

“Did you eject it?”

You pause, wondering if that’s supposed to mean something to you. “Eject it?”

“The USB.”

“Um, I pulled it out of the computer?”

“But you didn’t click the eject button first.”

“I… No, I guess I didn’t.”

He leans back in his chair, his face serious. “That explains it. You can usually get away with not ejecting a USB and be fine if you’re moving a couple small files, but hours worth of audio recordings… They were probably still writing to the drive. Pull it out before that completes and the data can get corrupted. Or in this case…” He makes a small gesture with his hands. “Poof.”

“Poof.” You drop your head into your folded arms on the table. “I’m so fucked.”

Jungkook snaps his fingers. “The Recycle Bin!”

You shake your head where it is. “Tried it. Empty.”

His hand drops to the table with a thud. “Dammit. That can happen with big files. No second chances.”

You sit back up, pressing your fingers to your temples. “What do I do? That’s hours of work, a talent’s time wasted, a damaged relationship, thousands in booking fees we’ll probably need to pay back—”

“Blame me.” He interjects. You laugh because that’s the stupidest thing you’ve ever heard.

“You weren’t even there.”

Jungkook leans forward, and you can see the gears in his head turning. “Say that I asked you for the tracks because I wanted to start brainstorming some teasers for our socials.”

“But you know how to eject a USB,” you counter, then add bitterly, “because you’re not a fucking moron.”

He pauses. “I… misunderstood. I thought you’d made two. I thought the engineer had his own version, so I deleted everything when I was done.”

The weight of his words sinks in. “Jungkook, no. I can’t ask you to lie for me.”

“You’re not asking. I’m offering.”

You huff a shaky exhale. “This isn’t your responsibility.”

“Hmm. How long have you worked here?”

You pause to count. “Twelve days.”

“Uh-huh.” He says, lazily circling his index finger on the table. “Do you know how long I’ve worked here?” You shake your head. “Four years.”

“Wow.”

“And they love me.” You smile at that. Of course they do. “I’m the golden boy here. I’ve never fucked up, not even once. I mean it, let me take the heat on this one.”

The offer is so tempting, but you can’t. “I don’t understand why you’re doing this.”

“Because—” he starts, then falters. “You’re a good coworker. I see how many hours you’re putting in and how much stuff they’re throwing at you. I told them when they posted the job that this position needed to be two roles, but they didn’t want to listen to me. And I think we could use more people like you around here. You’re nice, and disciplined, and honest.”

The last word stings. You’re a fucking monster, is what you are. Maybe you might as well embrace it.

“Thank you,” you say, as sincerely as you’ve ever meant it. “I seriously can’t tell you how much this means to me.” Your eyes threaten to tear up again and you tilt your head back, willing yourself not to cry. “God, I’m such a wreck. I don’t know how I’m supposed to go back to work like this.”

“What’s the rest of your day look like?” He asks.

You retrieve your laptop from your purse and open it up. Jungkook walks his feet against the floor to wheel his office chair over to your side of the table. It’s just goofy enough to make you laugh.

You pull up your calendar and he looks at it with you. The universe has actually blessed you with a rare chunk of free time. You’ve got a solid 90 minutes until your next meeting.

“Well, I’m hungry.” Jungkook says decisively. “Do you want to get some food?”

You balk at his question. “What, fucking up an entire recording session wasn’t enough, you want me to skip out on work too?”

“You’re not skipping out on work!” He pulls his phone out of his pocket and taps at the screen for a moment. “Look.”

A few seconds later, an hour-long event appears on your calendar. The sender is one Jeon Jungkook, and you’re the only listed attendee. He reaches over to your laptop’s trackpad and accepts the invitation.

“It’s a meeting. A walking meeting. Come on.”

You’d underestimated how nice getting outside would be. It’s a good reminder that the world still exists beyond of the glass walls of your office. Jungkook slows his pace so you don’t have to hurry to keep up with him in your heels.

He must be able to sense your desire for a distraction from the events of the past hour, because he doesn’t say anything else about it. Instead he regales you with stories of his most recent social media projects— apparently he’s amassed a small army of fans who love it when he does Instagram Q&As on the company page.

“You know they came up with a nickname for me? It’s Baby Star Candy.” His cheeks redden as he says the name. “I have no idea what it means.”

You don’t either, but it’s oddly perfect for him.

The two of you approach a fairly unremarkable looking building, and he pushes the door open and motions for you to enter first. You step into a bustling food hall and are immediately hit with an overwhelming array of sounds and smells. There are dozens of stalls, but Jungkook heads confidently in the direction of one, and you follow him, trying to take it all in.

Jungkook stops you at a bakery, the displays piled high with various kinds of breads, donuts and pastries. The aroma is heavenly.

“Grab a seat,” he calls over his shoulder as he jumps into the line, and you find a table for two in the corner. He returns a few minutes later with two buns on a tray. The gesture is overwhelmingly kind. Part of you wants to argue that you don’t deserve this, but you don’t think you could get the words out without the truth about all your lies spilling out with them.

Instead you thank him, pick up a bun, and take a bite. It’s soft and warm, and the slightly sweet taste of the red bean filling is incredible. Jungkook closes his eyes in happiness when he takes his first bite. You both chew in silence.

When you’ve finished, you rest your chin on your hands. “So, Jeon Jungkook, what is the agenda for this urgent meeting?”

He smiles, wiping at the corners of his mouth. “Let’s see. What would make you feel better?”

“The free food definitely helped. I still feel like a dumbass, though.”

Jungkook shrugs. “Don’t be so hard on yourself. It could’ve been worse.” He pauses. “You could have lost the company thousands of dollars in stolen equipment, for example.”

Your eyes widen as you realize what he’s referencing, and you bite back a laugh. “Honestly, that’s a really good point. Do you know what happened with that?”

He shakes his head. “Not much more than what you heard at the meeting. Suga was working really late on some project. This was back when we all had our own keys, so the rule was just to lock up whenever you left. And I guess he forgot?”

You can’t imagine working so hard you’d forget something that simple.

“I was the first one to get in the next morning,” Jungkook continues, “so I was the first one to see it. The place was trashed. They took basically anything that wasn’t too heavy to lift. I can’t imagine how much Suga must have paid to replace everything.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah. I tried asking him about it right after it all went down, just trying to be supportive, but he got super touchy. Like, touchy even for Suga. So I haven’t brought it up again.” He shrugs.

The thought lingers in the back of your brain the rest of the walk back to the office, and even throughout your remaining meetings. You don’t have many nice things to say about the guy, but Suga is clearly methodical, dedicated, and very observant. You know it’s not your business, but you can’t help but wonder what the hell happened.

~*~

The next few days pass in an anxious blur. You keep expecting the other shoe to drop, sure that someone will see through Jungkook’s lie and your boss will show up at your desk with your termination notice, but nothing comes of it. Life goes on. You’ve gotten away with murder, and it feels awful.

You’re in such a fog of guilt, and still so overwhelmed by your workload, that you forget about your first meeting Friday morning. The notification pops up alerting you to an overdue calendar event, and you grab your laptop and sprint for the conference room, nearly twisting an ankle in your heels.

When you push the door open, already apologizing profusely, you realize Suga is sitting alone at the table.

Your stomach drops. Every cell in your body wants to turn around and walk right back out the door. Instead you gingerly pull out a chair across from him and sit, refraining from making eye contact.

“Um, good morning, Min Suga.”

The silent question of what this meeting is crosses your mind, but you know you should know that, and you’re not about to give him any ammo. You open your laptop and pull up the invite.

Oh. Oh. The memory comes back to you now. Your boss had asked you to provide support for a huge client pitch first thing Friday morning. He’d specifically stressed just how big of a deal it would be, both financially and reputationally, to clinch this. He’d left out the part about Suga being the pitching producer, but it makes sense. Everyone in the business is dying to work with him.

Everyone except you, you think to yourself.

When you glance up at him, Suga is staring at you. Your mouth goes dry, and you clear your throat. “I really am so sorry I’m late.”

You expect the usual response of absolutely nothing, but he actually speaks. “You’re lucky they are too.” You exhale a small sigh of relief and he continues. “You better not embarrass me today.”

You blink twice, trying to process his thinly veiled threat, and something in your gut twists. You speak without thinking. “I’m not scared of you, Yoongi.”

There’s a glint in his eyes at your words, like maybe you should be. He leans back in his chair and you could swear he’s almost smiling.

“You know people talk around here?” You stare blankly at him. You have no idea what he means. “I just find it very interesting that Jeon Jungkook, who has never made a mistake in his life before this week, somehow managed to delete an entire recording session’s worth of files. Seems pretty out of character, wouldn’t you agree?”

Heat rushes to your face and for a second you can’t think, can’t breathe, can’t do anything but sit there and stare stupidly at him. Your heart is racing, the urge to cry already bubbling up in your chest.

The conference room door opens. Suga immediately gets to his feet with a wide smile and a formal greeting for the artist and their label reps. You rise and do the same, your face still burning with embarrassment. You pray that you can keep it together for the duration of this meeting.

Suga launches into a pitch about the track in question, and you’re thankful for the few minutes to steady your breathing as you copy down a brief transcript in your notes.

As much as you may personally dislike him, it’s still kind of amazing to see him in his element. He’s clearly done his research on this artist, and he’s able to encapsulate their entire brand in a few perfectly chosen words. You see the team glance at each other with impressed looks on their faces. Suga explains that, like all his tracks, he’s written this specifically for them, and wouldn’t give it to anyone else.

“Admin,” he turns to you and your throat constricts. “Can you please play the track I sent you?” He’s still smiling, but his eyes are cold.

“Y-yes,” you choke out, and you navigate through your inbox as fast as possible. When you search his name, dozens of messages come up, all with various demos attached, and your eyes widen. You knew you were behind on emails, but you didn’t realize he’d been sending you so many. You find the thread with the artist’s name, but there’s a lengthy list of emails to choose from under it. You press play on the first track you see.

Though you’ve never heard a proper demo before, you would’ve guessed one would be rough. But this one is really rough. The beat is way too loud, the vocals sloppy, the rhythm disjointed. The smile on Suga’s face falters and you feel sick. 

In one swift move, he reaches across the table and grabs your laptop with both hands. You jump back reflexively and helplessly watch as he pulls it towards him, turning off the track as quickly as possible.

“Whoops!” Suga’s smile returns, clearly more forced than before, as his fingers scroll your computer’s trackpad. “Sorry about that, team. Let’s try this again.” He clicks something and a far more polished version of the same song starts up.

The artist’s team listens in silence, some of them nodding along. They compliment Suga when it finishes, and there’s additional banter and exchanging of pleasantries before they agree to meet internally and send an official response over within the next week.

You don’t say a word, hoping instead that the ground might open up and swallow you. When Suga stands to see the team off as the meeting wraps, you robotically follow suit. There’s a tightness, a humming in your chest that you can’t put a name to.

It’s only once the room is emptied of everyone except you and Suga that you recognize the feeling. Underneath the shame, and the guilt, and the fear. It’s anger.

He snaps your laptop shut and silently slides it back across the table.

“Don’t touch my stuff without my permission.” You feel stupid as soon as you say it, like a little kid.

Suga huffs. “Play the right track and we won’t have that problem.”

“Why did you send me fifty versions of the same thing?! I played the first one I saw!”

He presses both palms flat on the conference table. For a split second, you think he might flip it over. His voice is deadly serious, hair falling in his eyes as he leans across the table toward you. “Because it is your job to organize them.” He tilts his head, gaze still fixed on you. “Tell me, did you look up what the position actually entailed before applying? Or did you just figure you’d wing it?”

Your stomach turns, mostly because you know he’s right. You scramble for a way to escape the blame.

“Y-you didn’t give me any prep for this meeting! Instead you wasted my time talking about some stupid mistake that I—” your voice breaks. “That Jungkook made,” you correct yourself carefully. Fuck.

At this, he laughs, sharp and bitter. “What a shame. If only we’d had more time. If only someone had purposefully set aside fifteen minutes before the client was scheduled to arrive, to ensure he’d have enough time to show the admin how to do her fucking job. Oh wait, that’s right, I did.”

His words sting like a slap to the face. It’s yet another reminder of your mistakes, your inability to get anything right. You were late and unprepared. There’s no way to twist this to make it his fault.

You grit your teeth, willing yourself not to give this horrible man the satisfaction of seeing you cry. Your voice is barely more than a whisper. “Do you need anything else, Yoongi? Or am I dismissed?”

He rolls his eyes. “Do what you want. I’m not your boss.”

Your vision blurs with tears as you grab your laptop and exit the conference room.

~*~

You drag Jimin out both Friday and Saturday night in an attempt to drink until you obliterate the memories of your latest fuck-ups. But both nights end the same, with Jimin holding your hair back while you puke your guts up in a club bathroom.

“Alright,” he says Saturday night when you’ve finally finished, using his dancer’s poise to nimbly flush the toilet with his foot. You collapse against the wall of the stall and sink to the floor in a much less graceful state. “What the hell has gotten into you?”

You wipe your nose with the back of your hand. “I think I have to quit my job.”

Jimin’s brow furrows. “What?! Why?” He slides down the wall opposite you, your legs tangling together on the bathroom floor.

You shake your head and the room spins. “I keep fucking up.”

He blinks at you, clearly waiting for more. “And…? Have you gotten in trouble about it?”

“Not really,” you groan, “but that’s because my coworker stepped in and saved my ass.”

Jimin shrugs. “That’s what good coworkers do. You’re new. Fuck-ups are to be expected. You’ll figure it out.”

“But I have no idea what I’m doing.”

“Everyone feels that way when they first start a new job. It’s called impostor syndrome.”

“But Jimin!” You whine, exasperated. “I am literally an impostor!”

“Who gives a shit? As long as you’re actually trying, and learning from the mistakes you make, you’ll figure it out. You’re only a couple weeks in. It sounds like everyone’s cutting you some slack anyway.”

You hiccup a laugh. “Not everyone. I can think of one specific coworker who already hates my guts. I’m pretty sure he knows I’m a fraud, too.”

Jimin rolls his eyes. “He’s probably just a sexist jerk who thinks women are incompetent. I’m sure he’s made mistakes, too.”

You nod. “He has, I know he has. He made a really big one right before they hired me. Way worse than anything I’ve done.”

“There you go.” Jimin stands up and offers both hands to help you do the same. “Screw that asshole. I mean— don’t like, put rat poison in his coffee or anything. But just remember he’s human, same as you. Don’t let him kill your vibe.”

Your hands still clasped together, you lean into his chest for a moment, rubbing your nose against his shirt. “Thanks, Jimin.”

He slides the lock of the club bathroom stall open. “Come on, drunk girl. Let’s get you home.”

~*~

Jimin’s words are on repeat in your head all Monday, like he’s your own personal motivational speaker. You will yourself not to give up on this job.

After your last meeting of the day wraps, you decide to finally sit down and tackle your nightmare inbox. You feel like you’ve barely scratched the surface when Suga rounds the corner. 5:55 already. You wish it was professionally acceptable to crawl under your desk and hide, but you drop your gaze and hope he’ll just breeze right past like he always does.

No such luck. He approaches your desk, seemingly waiting for you to look up. Your pulse quickens as you make eye contact.

“I need to work late tonight,” he says simply. His typical blank expression looks tinged with some emotion you can’t quite name. Stress? “Can I have the key? I’ll lock up when I’m done.”

“I’m the only one authorized to have the key,” your tone comes out sharp, because you know he knows this. “I can’t give it to anyone else. I’ll get in trouble.”

“Seriously, I have a really big deadline tonight, and I’m behind.” Suga persists. He almost looks like he’s in pain.

He’s human, same as you, Jimin’s voice in your head reminds you. As much as it kills you to even think it, you sort of feel like you understand where he’s coming from. You’re drowning, too. You could easily spend another two hours in your email and not hit the bottom. And you probably will, whether he’s here or not. So would it really be that bad if he was?

Plus, you did kind of fuck up his meeting. You clench your fists under your desk, out of his line of sight. Curse your stupid conscience.

“I can’t give you the key,” you say with a sigh. “But I can do a couple more hours. But then we both have to go home.”

You see a muscle in his jaw work. “Fine.” He’s gone again before you can say anything else.

You return to your inbox. You dig through message after message, responding quickly where you can and adding everything else to an ever-growing to do list of follow-ups and deliverables. You work until your vision blurs and you never want to read another email again.

Exhausted, you slump back in your chair, stifling a yawn, and look at the clock. It’s nearly 8:30, and your stomach grumbles as if in protest. You’ve never stayed at the office this late. You try to resume work, but when it takes you over five minutes to read a two-line email, you realize your brain has shut off for the evening. You stare listlessly at the screen for a few minutes, then finally throw the towel in.

Time to go disturb the genius, you guess. Grabbing the office keys, you walk down the hallway to his lab, ringing the doorbell and then knocking in case he’s got headphones on. “It’s time to go!” You call through the door.

There’s no response, so you bang on the door harder, then try the handle. It doesn’t budge, and you glare at the number pad. How is it fair that he gets an extra lock on his door? Isn’t that a fire hazard?

“Suga!” You smack your palm flat on the door a few more times. “Come on, I’m hungry and I want to leave!”

A few more seconds, and you’re about to give up and look for a fire alarm to pull, when the door opens a crack. You can’t even see him, but you hear his voice. “Just give me ten more minutes. That’s all I need.” He sounds as tired as you feel.

You roll your eyes and stalk back down the hallway, chucking the office keys on your desk. Picking up your phone, you automatically go to call Jimin, but then remember he’s at dance practice for another hour. You chew on the inside of your cheek, scrolling over to your music library. At least that will help distract you a bit, you reason.

You put on your playlist of current favorites and turn the volume up as loud as it will go, figuring Suga probably can’t hear it but also not really caring if he can. You survey your desk— you’re definitely not doing any more work tonight, but it has become a bit of a disaster. You can take ten minutes to tidy.

You gather up all the stray papers and organize them into piles: schedules, invoices, random notes you jotted down so you wouldn’t forget. You slot them into the paper organizer you keep in the corner of your desk. Once that’s done, you start putting the big items back into their respective drawers— a stapler, a hole punch, a zillion paperclips. You drop the pens, pencils, and highlighters that you’ve also inevitably left everywhere back into your pen cup organizer.

The next song comes up on shuffle, and you laugh when you realize what it is. Cat & Dog by TXT, your guiltiest of all guilty pleasure songs. There’s still no sign of Suga, and you also don’t give a fuck what he thinks about your taste in music, so you let it play.

You sing along under your breath as you go. The song has just gotten to Yeonjun’s verse, the inarguable best part, when someone clears their throat behind you.

Shit. The sound still takes you by surprise even though you know it’ll be Suga before you whip around. How did this happen for a second time? You scramble for your phone to turn it off before they all start barking, and the movement is so frantic that you knock your pen cup off the desk at the same time.

“Fuck,” you groan. Suga makes no offer to help. Because why the fuck would he, you think bitterly to yourself. You scoot your chair back and crawl under your desk to retrieve your office supplies.

When you emerge with your pens reassembled, you do your best to smooth out your clothes and not look as flustered as you feel. Suga is standing across from you, palms resting flat on the surface of your desk.

“I need more time,” he says bluntly, and you could scream. You open your mouth to argue, but he continues before you can get a word in. “Do you like tteokbokki?”

You blink hard, mystified at his question. “What?”

“You said you were hungry. There’s a really good tteokbokki cart around the corner that stays open late. If you go and get us some, I swear, I only need like thirty more minutes. Then we can both go home.” He retrieves his wallet from his pocket and pulls out a couple bills, extending them to you. You narrow your eyes suspiciously. “Please.”

The sound of him pleading, no matter how brief, is something you never thought you’d hear in a million years. Maybe you hit your head while you were under your desk and this is all just a fever dream. But your stomach twists at the mention of food. You really are starving.

You snatch the money out of his hand and grab your purse. “Fine. But I’m keeping the change.”

It’s a brisk walk to the cart and back, but the chilly night air feels good, and the smell of the takeout bag is enough to make your mouth water on the elevator ride back up. As you step out, you shift the bag in your arms to reach into your purse. Out of habit, you dig for the keys for a few seconds before you realize you didn’t actually lock up when you left.

You wince. Probably not great, but at least Suga’s still inside.

You lean against the glass door to push it open with your shoulder, but it doesn’t budge. Weird. Maybe you locked it without even thinking about it. You set the bag of food down so you can properly dig through your purse for the keys, but you can’t find them.

Crouching down, you turn your purse inside out, dumping the contents on the carpeted floor. You sort through the pile of cosmetics products and tampons and loose receipts, starting to panic. No office keys.

It’s only once you stand up and turn to fully face the door that you see the paper sign taped to the inside. Your mouth drops open as you read the untidy scrawl.

I have your keys. Keep the food. See you tomorrow.

No. This isn’t fucking possible. You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to hold in a scream, running back through the evening in your mind.

You took your keys with you when you knocked on his office door. Then you threw them back on your desk. Then Suga snuck up behind you, and you knocked the pen cup over, and when you stood back up Suga was—

Suga was standing with his hands on your desk, you realize. Right where you’d thrown down your keys. He could’ve easily pocketed them without you noticing; you were too busy picking up all your stupid pens.

He fucking tricked you.

You push hard on the door, but of course it doesn’t give. You bang on the glass for a few seconds, if only to get your anger out, but you know it’s pointless. Licking your wounds, you shove everything back into your purse and sling it over your shoulder, then hoist the takeout bag in your arms.

Alright, Min Yoongi, you think to yourself. This means war.

chapter one | masterlist | chapter three

look down on me like that - 1 (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: 7.2k

contains: no sexual content ~*~yet~*~ but ya know, slow burn!!! plenty of reader being a dumbass, bestie jimin, cutie coworker jungkook and asshole producer yoongi tho. (and me having zero clue what goes on at this fake workplace i made up but doing my best to corporate BS thru it lmao) oh and a lotta references to alcohol, that's gonna be a theme throughout this whole thing jsyk!

A/N: i've got BIG PLANS for this series (no seriously, i have a 40 card storyboard and my OUTLINE is 13k alone) so buckle in!!! this is also on AO3 like everything i write~

masterlist | chapter two

“I still can’t believe you actually lied your way into this job.” Jimin nearly has to shout to be heard over the din of the restaurant. He shakes his head as he takes a sip of his beer.

“Believe it, bitch!” You grin, flipping your hair over your shoulder for emphasis. “I’m just that good.”

“Until you show up in the morning—hey!” He catches you in the act of trying to steal a piece of pork off his plate and slaps your hand away. “—and they realize you’ve never worked a corporate job in your life.”

You scoff at his physical and verbal admonishment and return to picking at the remains of your own meal. “Whatever. I’m sure being a waitress was a thousand times harder than whatever an administrative assistant does.”

Jimin pinches the bridge of his nose in the way that he does when you’ve said something exceptionally stupid. “I’m trying to decide which part of that sentence is worse. One, the fact that you got fired from the waitressing job.”

Having managed to steal some of his food while his eyes were closed, you interrupt mid-chew. “That wasn’t my fault!”

“You threw a drink on a customer!”

You roll your eyes. “He was being an asshole, and I’d had a bad day. You try walking in on your ex-boyfriend fucking the hostess and then having to work the dinner shift.”

“Oh please. You knew they were fucking for months, and you didn’t care.”

You shrug, running a finger around the rim of your empty glass. “Yeah, but doing it at our place of work was disrespectful. And in the walk-in? Unsanitary!”

Jimin leans back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest. “So what happens when some corporate douche pisses you off? You throw a drink on him, too? There are a lot of assholes in the music industry, trust me. You can’t go acting on your first impulse whenever someone makes you angry.”

“I don’t need your unsolicited therapy, Park Jiminie.” You tap your glass with a small smile. “What I need is another drink.”

“Forget about it. I’m cutting you off.”

You pause, another piece of pork from Jimin’s plate halfway to your mouth, and whine. “Jimin!”

“This brings me to my second point— the fact that you haven’t even bothered to look up what an administrative assistant is supposed to do! Are you trying to get fired on your first day?”

Defeated, you shake your head as you chew. He’s not wrong. You’d meant to do a little research, but you never got around to it.

“You seriously need to go home and study.” You pout and he leans forward, smacking a hand on the table. “I mean it! I didn’t put my ass on the line all for you to blow it after one day.”

The reminder makes you smile, and you take his hand in yours. “I really appreciate that you helped me, Jimin.” He says nothing, just eyes you with that death stare that you know means he loves you. “Now do the voice.”

“I’m not doing the voice!”

You kick him under the table. “Come on! Do the voice and I promise I’ll go learn everything there is to know about administrative assisting.”

It’s clear he’s fighting to keep the smile off his face as he puts on a deep, oddly accented voice. “Why yes, she’s been an incredible assistant to me for the last five years. You’ll be so very lucky to have her.” You cackle at his ridiculous persona for the fake reference that absolutely helped you land this job.

“Have I ever told you that I love you?” You squeeze his hand.

“You fucking better.”

“So… will you pay for dinner?” You do your best to bat your lashes innocently at him. “I promise I’ll pay you back after I get my first big girl check.”

He shakes his head in disbelief, dropping your hand. “Drank twice as much as me, ate all your food and half of mine, and you want me to pay. You’re lucky I love you.”

You reach across the table to squish his cheeks with both of your hands. “Thank you, baby mochi.” He shoves you off of him, laughing even as he tries to look annoyed. He’s hated that nickname since you were both teenagers, but you’ll never let it go. As his best friend, it’s your sworn duty to annoy Park Jimin forever.

“Get your ass home! You have a lot of Googling to do!”

You stand up, slinging your purse over your shoulder. “I’ll be fine. It’s just answering the phones and shit. How hard can it be?”

~*~

Your alarm wakes you far too early the next morning and you stumble your way through getting ready. You attack your face with an ice roller, mentally kicking yourself for overdoing it on salt and alcohol the night before. You attempt to follow the first “office appropriate” hair and makeup tutorials you can find on YouTube. You slip into your boring corporate uniform of a blouse, pencil skirt and heels. You feel like a total impostor, especially when you check your phone and realize you should’ve left five minutes ago.

You have to sprint, but you just manage to catch the bus. Trying to fend off your nerves, you scroll back through the notes you took last night while Googling. Administrative assistant responsibilities include… Scheduling, reporting, filing, distribution, communications, time management, prioritization, organization.

You pick nervously at your thumbnail, wondering if Jimin was right, if you are going to get fired on your very first day. Why did you think this was a good idea?

The bus drops you off around the corner from the music company’s headquarters; your new office. You smooth out your skirt and take a deep breath, rolling your shoulders back. Fake it til you make it, you remind yourself, and then you put on your best corporate smile and walk in the front door.

Your new boss is waiting for you in the lobby, and he greets you with an aggressive handshake before guiding you to take the elevator up to the main office. He’s already a non-stop stream of information, firing off the agenda for your first day at a breakneck pace. You wish you had something to take notes on, but you nod along and try to keep it all in your brain. Tech set-up, then new-hire onboarding, lunch with the team, go over some highest priority deliverables in the afternoon.

“I know it sounds like a lot, but I’m certain you can handle it.” He smiles confidently and you do your best to return it. You step off the elevator and he pushes open the glass pane doors, gesturing for you to go first.

You’d forgotten how ungodly fancy this place is. The company is one of the biggest music groups in Seoul, so you don’t know why it surprises you, but it’s still just as overwhelming as it was when you interviewed. Your heart jumps at the polished decor, the expensive-looking art on the walls, and the sleek desk tucked into the corner just past the front doors.

“Home sweet home,” your boss jokes, gesturing to your desk, and you take a moment to take it all in. Even if you only last one day, you’re going to enjoy every second you can in this ridiculously bougie office.

You expected, especially from the brutal pace of his initial marching orders, that your boss would immediately throw you into work. Maybe ask you to run a meeting, or compile a bunch of reporting, or juggle flaming steak knives. But once tech support gets your laptop fully activated, which only takes a couple of minutes, your boss raps his knuckles against your desk.

“Well, I’ve got some urgent client stuff to process. All the onboarding should be on the company portal for you. You can call tech support with any access issues, and I’ll swing back to pick you up for lunch! Sound good?” You nod dumbly. He shoots you a thumbs-up and then disappears around the corner.

Just like that, you’re alone at your desk.

It’s suffocatingly quiet. You worry the inside of your cheek with your teeth and wonder if you’re allowed to put in your headphones and listen to music while you work. Surely a music company wouldn’t mind, right? Best not to chance it on the first day, you figure, and slide your purse under your desk.

Onboarding turns out to be a massive library of training videos, with the occasional interactive quiz. You learn about the company’s HR system, workplace safety, copyright and IP law. It’s mind-numbingly boring, but at least it’s easy.

Eventually the words start to blur on your screen, and you slump back in your chair, realizing you’ve been at it for over an hour. All that focus is more than enough to deserve a stretch break, you reason, and you push your chair away from your desk and stand.

The main corridor stretches off in either direction from the central lobby where your desk is. Both ways look identical to you, so you turn right at random and meander down the hall. You pass several glass-paneled meeting rooms, most of which are empty. When you walk by one that’s actually occupied, you do your best to quicken your pace and look like you’re headed somewhere important. There are the occasional closed, solid doors as well, most outfitted with name plates indicating someone’s office. The names are all unfamiliar to you, but you try to remember them in case you end up getting introduced later.

By the time you register the name on the third office door, you’ve already passed it, and you stop dead in your tracks. Surely you read that wrong. Your brain must be tired from all the training videos. You double-back, shaking your head.

Nope. You blink, dumbfounded at the sign. You did read it right. That absolutely says Genius Lab. You stare perplexed at the door and notice there’s a small paper sign taped to the wall next to it. “I’m busy working, please ring the doorbell.” Sure enough, a small black box with a single button is mounted there on the doorframe, and just above the door handle you see another box with a number pad.

A doorbell and a passcode lock? What the hell is in there? You try not to laugh at the spectacle. You’re wondering if this is your boss’ office, and what sort of nightmare you might have gotten yourself into with this job, when the door swings open and someone nearly runs you over.

You practically jump out of your skin and stumble backwards. He does the same, clearly taken aback by a stranger standing outside his door like a psychopath. “What the fuck?”

You drop your gaze apologetically, terrified to look him in the face. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. I was—” you scramble for an excuse “—uh, just looking for the bathroom.”

You chance a glance up at him; his dark eyes are fixed on you. You’re nearly eye-to-eye with the added height of your work pumps. He’s young, probably close to your age if you had to guess, and he’s dressed in far from the business casual attire you would’ve expected of your fellow coworkers. He looks more like he’s headed to the gym in a white long-sleeve, black joggers, and pristine-condition sneakers.

Determined to save face, you extend a hand and give him your name. “It’s my first day. Apologies, still figuring out where everything is.”

He blinks once, twice, his mouth a flat line, his blank expression betraying no emotion. “Bathroom is at the end of the hall, on the right.” He brushes past you without another word, heading for an office door back the way you came.

You’re left standing there stupidly, and quickly drop your hand when you realize you still have it extended in mid-air. Great job, you mentally scold yourself. What an introduction.

You hurry down the hall to the bathroom before you can have any more awkward run-ins. Once safely behind the door, you press your palms against the cool tile of the sink counter and will your heart to quit racing. You check your appearance in the mirror, but your hair and makeup are still neatly in place despite how disheveled you feel. You fasten and unfasten the top button of your blouse, wondering how to straddle the line between fashionable and professional.

Whatever, you think to yourself, smoothing your shaking hands over your skirt. It was a fluke, that’s all. Maybe you caught him at a bad time. Maybe he was on the way to a meeting where he’ll be fired, and you’ll never have to see him again. You force a smile in the mirror, wishing it looked a little more genuine.

You’ve been away from your desk long enough now that you know you should head back, but curiosity forces you to check out the other end of the hallway, just to see what’s over there. You figure you can use the bathroom excuse again if anyone yells at you.

The first door on your right opens up to a large, sunny break room. It’s well-stocked with a wall of refrigerators, two coffee pots, and several vending machines. Sliding coins into the machine nearest to you is yet another coworker, and your stomach flips. You’re still so frazzled from the last encounter that you consider backing out of the room before he sees you.

You’re not fast enough. He’s already turning around, and you can’t stop your own smile at the joyous look on his face as he cracks open his vending machine prize, a container of banana milk. Already a thousand percent less intimidating, thank goodness.

He glances up and meets your gaze and his smile goes from sweet to blinding. At least you haven’t joined a company that’s entirely full of antisocial assholes. He’s even appropriately dressed in a simple button-down and slacks.

Your coworker pauses and looks down, seemingly realizing that his hands are full, then quickly replaces the lid on his drink so he can extend a hand to you.

“You must be the new admin!”

His handshake is firm but pleasant, and you nod sheepishly. “Guilty as charged.” You give him your name.

“Jeon Jungkook.” He takes his first sip of milk, clearly unable to wait a second longer, then continues. “Social media and marketing. It’s nice to meet you.”

This kid is adorable, and you return the compliment with a small nod. “I’m glad this introduction is going well,” you admit with a shy laugh. You don’t know why, but you already feel like you can tell him about your embarrassing moment. “Unlike the run-in I just had with…” It occurs to you that you have no idea what the guy’s name is. “… uh, Mr. Genius of the Genius Lab.”

Jungkook’s eyes crinkle knowingly as he takes another sip, then swallows. “I take it you met Suga.”

Your jaw drops. You may have entirely faked your credentials to work in this place, but you still listen to music. You don’t live under a rock. You’re absolutely familiar with the incredibly in-demand producer Suga. You just didn’t realize he worked here.

“Suga as in, Suga the producer? The one who’s worked with IU and Heize and Halsey?”

Jungkook nods. “And he did Psy’s comeback that’s coming out next month.” His eyes widen. “Oops. I didn’t tell you that. I mean, you work here now, so you’re probably allowed to know. But still, maybe don’t tell anyone.” You mime zipping your lips shut and he smiles.

“Wow.” You take a second to process this new information. “And is he always such a…” you trail off, unable to find a workplace-appropriate word to use.

“Pretty much.” Jungkook gives an uneasy shrug. “He just kind of stays in his lab, works crazy hours, drinks a lot of coffee. He can be a little cranky. I try to work around him.”

He looks like he’s going to say more, but his words have an idea already forming in your head. You cross the room to the dual coffee makers, opening nearby cabinets until you find one full of company-branded mugs. You retrieve one and fill it up with coffee from the half-full pot. You pause for a moment over the cream and sugar, then decide to go without. He definitely seems like a black coffee person.

“Hold that thought for two seconds,” you call over your shoulder to Jungkook as you slip out of the break room and back down the hall.

You approach the Genius Lab door, suppressing the urge to roll your eyes at the label, and press the doorbell, then knock a couple times for good measure. Enough seconds pass for your self-doubt to creep in—maybe this is a dumb idea, or maybe he’s still in whatever meeting he was on the way to—and then the door cracks open.

Suga has that same look on his face as before, somewhere between tired and mildly pissed off. His dark hair falls in his eyes as he leans around the door. You wait for him to say something, but he just stares blankly at you. You shine your brightest waitressing smile at him.

“Hi, Suga. Um, I think we maybe got off on the wrong foot. I’m the new administrative assistant.” Your eyes flicker down to the mug in your hand, then back up to him. “I was told you like coffee, so I thought I’d bring this as a peace offering.” You extend the mug towards him. “I’m actually a really big fan—”

He blinks at the mug in your hand and grunts, “I don’t like hot coffee.” Then he slams the Genius Lab door in your face.

You storm back down the hallway so angrily that you threaten to snap a heel. To his credit, Jungkook is still in the break room, now sitting at one of the tables and scrolling through his phone while he sips his milk. He winces when he sees the look on your face.

“Sorry, I probably should’ve stopped you. Suga only drinks iced Americanos.”

You grit your teeth. “Even his coffee order is pretentious,” you mutter as you dump the contents of the mug down the break room sink.

“Hey! I would’ve drank that…” Jungkook says softly. You give him an apologetic smile.

You politely excuse yourself, doing your best to not immediately ruin the only good first impression you’ve made so far. Your head spins as you slump back into your desk chair and return to your training videos.

He’s just one stupid person, you tell yourself. You know his opinion of you shouldn’t matter. Jungkook very clearly told you he’s like this with everyone. But you can’t ignore the nagging mixture of embarrassment and anger, or the heat that lingers in your face even an hour later. Is it that fucking hard to be nice?

Before you know it, your boss is back at your desk. “I see the training videos haven’t completely put you to sleep yet. You’re a trooper for knocking those out. Ready for lunch? I’ll round up everyone else.” You smile and grab your purse.

You’re introduced to a flurry of coworkers, most of their names immediately flying out of your brain the second after your boss says them. Jungkook is there too, and he beams at you and gives a tiny wave.

As you all file out of the building and head down the street, you fall into lockstep with your boss. “So, um… Will Suga be joining us for lunch?”

He laughs like you’ve told a joke, shaking his head. “A fan of his work, are you?” You have to fight to keep your expression pleasant. “No, he’s not much of a social outings guy. He really doesn’t leave the office much. Come to think of it, I don’t even know that he went home last night.”

You let out a small hum of surprise and your boss nods solemnly. “This is actually a great segue into something I wanted to cover with you today.”

He stops walking for a moment, just enough to let the rest of your group get a little further ahead, giving you some privacy. You stay behind with him, and he fishes into his pocket, retrieving a small silver key on a company-branded keychain. He drops the key into your hand.

“An important part of your job that I wanted to make sure we cover today is this: I’m asking you to be the sole key-holder moving forward. That means you’ll be responsible for unlocking our doors each morning, and locking up at the end of the day. Sound good?”

You nod, eager to add a responsibility to your list that you actually know how to do. Your boss continues.

“We’ve had some… issues recently when it comes to workplace security. And circling back to what we were discussing, I think it’s important to set a good example of work-life balance with our employees.” He chuckles. “Now, some of our employees may not take too kindly to this change, being used to coming and going as they please. You will probably need to stand your ground a bit. I remember you mentioned in your interview that you have a very direct communication style, so I’m not worried at all.”

It’s not hard to read between the lines of your boss’ platitudes. The thought of having to stand your ground with Suga—who apparently works so hard he doesn’t even go home—makes your stomach drop.

“It’s not good for employees to work too much, you know?” He turns to look at you, and you quickly nod your agreement. “I think this will be a good change for everyone, and good for the health of the company overall. Would you agree?”

You fake the brightest smile you can. “Oh, absolutely.”

Lunch is delicious, and the fact that it’s all on the company’s dime makes it that much better. You have to put a hand over your mouth to hide your laughter when Jungkook loads his plate up with thirds. The rest of your coworkers seem to be nice, normal people, and the conversation flows easily. You’re starting to believe that Suga’s attitude really is a fluke, or maybe just a byproduct of his work schedule. Lord knows you’d be a huge bitch if you worked for two days straight.

Once you all return to the office, your boss stays at your desk while the rest of the team disperses. “Alright,” he claps his hands together. “Boring stuff is over. Ready for the real work to begin?”

You do your best to look excited and not scared shitless. The act gets harder when he slides open the bottom drawer of your desk and retrieves a hefty stack of files. They land with a thud next to your keyboard.

“I know,” he starts, “it’s ugly. I’ve been putting these off until we were able to hire someone, and now, here you are! This is our spend data for the last quarter, and it really needs to get input and reconciled before accounting has my head. I know you used the same system we do in your last role; your reference said you were a pro at it.” You don’t know if you want to kiss Jimin or kill him for that. “Think you can knock this out today?”

You swallow hard at the intimidating stack of papers in front of you, willing yourself to act natural. “Um, yeah, absolutely. It won’t be an issue.”

“Amazing!” Your boss smiles, then glances down at his watch. “Oh man, I’m late for my pull-up. Gotta jet.” He’s already marching down the hallway, and he calls over his shoulder, “You’re killing it today!”

You let out a long exhale, staring wearily at your doom. It was a good run, you think to yourself. At least you got a free lunch out of it. You can already picture the disappointed look on Jimin’s face.

That thought is enough to snap you out of it. No, this will not be your undoing. You can bounce back from this. You know you’re not the first person to have lied about a skill on a resume.

And besides, you reason. You’re a millennial. You have the innate power of the internet on your side.

Trying to be as subtle as possible, you reach down and slip your earbuds out of your purse, plugging them into the jack on your laptop. You pull up YouTube in an incognito window and search for a beginner tutorial on this stupid finance system.

You open the application and dock it next to the video, following along as the steps are explained. It’s a painfully slow process, but you’re able to figure it out, even if you have to rewind the video half a dozen times until you understand everything.

You’re just starting to get into the zone, unaware of the passage of time, when someone clears their throat directly behind you. The sound might as well be a gunshot for how badly it scares you. You nearly have a fucking heart attack, ripping your headphones out of your ears as you spin around in your chair.

Suga is leaning up against the wall behind your desk, arms crossed over his chest. You have no idea how long he’s been there. He’s traded in his blank expression for the most patronizing smirk you’ve ever seen.

“Are you sure you’ve done this before?”

The question makes your mouth go dry, but he doesn’t give you time to respond.

“Wouldn’t think an experienced admin would need to look up a beginner tutorial.” He quirks an eyebrow. You’re silent, unable to think of any response as he kicks off the wall and begins to head for his office.

You’re on your feet before you can stop yourself. “Um, Suga?”

He stops and turns over his shoulder to look at you, saying nothing.

“I just wanted to make you aware that, as part of my duties, I am officially the sole key-holder here now.” You stand up straight and meet his disinterested gaze head-on. “We’ll be closing at 6:00 tonight, and everyone will need to be out by then.” You do your best to be as pleasantly assertive as possible.

Suga rolls his eyes. You tilt your chin ever-so-slightly as if to say, try me.

“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.” He turns and continues down the hall. After a moment, you hear the unmistakable sound of a door slamming.

You’re so keyed up that you nearly miss your chair when you go to sit back down. For a moment all you can do is lay your head on the stack of files as adrenaline courses through your veins. When you sit back up to resume working, you can’t help the triumphant smile on your face.

The rest of your day passes in a steady stream of numbers and finance codes. It takes an eternity, but you finish the massive stack of papers just shy of your end-of-day deadline. Over the last hour, the rest of your coworkers have already trickled out for the evening, each saying their goodbyes to you.

You pack your things up slowly, wondering how the hell you’re going to drag the genius out of his lab, when you hear a door slam. Maybe you won’t have to.

As you slip your laptop into your purse, Suga rounds the corner. You wonder if you’re imagining it, but you think he looks even more pissed off than usual. That’s fine, you think to yourself. He doesn’t have to like you, so long as he respects your authority.

“Have a good night, Suga,” you say in your sweetest voice. His stride doesn’t falter, and he doesn’t even bother to look your way as he pushes the glass doors open. You wait for the telltale chime of the elevator’s departure before you follow suit. The last thing you need is extended time in a small space with your new least favorite coworker. You set the alarm the way your boss showed you, then fish the office key out of your purse and lock the door behind you.

You press the button for the elevator and text Jimin to meet you for a well-deserved drink.

~*~

The next morning, Jungkook is there waiting for you when you step off the elevator.

“Good morning!” He says with a cheerful smile, looking fresh-faced as ever.

“Hey, Jungkook.” You’re a little less enthusiastic, considering it's 7:30 in the morning. You do your best to smile back as you dig through your purse to retrieve the office key. “Sorry I made you wait. I was hoping to be the first one here.”

He steps aside to let you unlock the door, both of his hands grabbing the strap of the backpack he has looped over one shoulder. “Oh, it’s not a big deal. I do a 6 AM boxing class right around the corner, so I usually get here way early.”

The phrase 6 AM boxing class alone makes you want to crawl back into bed. Where does he get the energy?

You open the door and he follows through behind you, continuing on as you turn off the alarm. “I forgot that they changed the locks and my key doesn’t work anymore, so this one’s my fault, really!” He gives a self-conscious laugh and runs a hand through his hair. “Don’t feel like you have to get here early on my behalf, though. I can always go to a coffee shop or something.”

Stifling a yawn, you set your purse down on your desk. “I appreciate that.”

Jungkook rocks back on his heels, clearly searching for something else to say as you plug your laptop in and turn it on. “So, uh, you’ll be at the team meeting this morning, right?”

“Um…” You attempt to keep your composure as your email starts up. Grateful that Jungkook is on the far side of your desk, you blindly click random buttons along the menu bar until one pulls up the calendar. It takes an agonizing few seconds to load, and when it does, it is a virtual nightmare of overlapping events and names in a myriad of colors. You squint at the screen until you find Tuesday and— there it is, “Team All Hands”, your first meeting of the day. “Yep, I see it! I’ll be there.”

He smiles. “Cool, cool! What else did he put you on?” Before you have time to stop him, he’s circling around to peer over your shoulder at the screen. “Woah! Why does it look like that?”

You wince. Is it not supposed to?

Jungkook reaches for your mouse and you shrink back. “Ohhh,” his eyes widen as some realization dawns on him. “I guess you have access to everyone’s schedules. That makes a lot more sense, but wow, hard to read. Let’s turn some of these off.”

You internally praise every god you can think of as he opens a small pane on the left-hand side of your email that you never would’ve found in a million years. You see a long list of your coworker’s names, and he begins unchecking them in rapid succession. The overlapping rainbow insanity of your calendar dissipates with each click.

You’re watching Jungkook work, bottom lip between your teeth, when you hear the sound of the glass front doors being pushed open. Through them steps Suga, which surprises you— you didn’t exactly take him for a morning person. He doesn’t look like one in his dark wayfarers and all-black tracksuit, and he’s got a pretty obvious death grip on the large to-go cup in his hand. An iced Americano, naturally. You will yourself not to roll your eyes.

Jungkook finishes clicking down your calendar and steps back from the keyboard. “There, that’s better.” Your schedule is still pretty packed, but at least you can actually read it now. He looks up as Suga passes your desk. “Good morning, Min Suga!”

Suga’s pace doesn’t even slow as he heads straight for his office, saying nothing. Jungkook looks thoroughly unbothered by the lack of greeting.

“Thanks, Jungkook,” you say, mildly embarrassed. “We, uh— used a different software at my last job.”

Jungkook nods sympathetically. “Yeah, Outlook kind of sucks. I’m honestly jealous you haven’t been subjected to it until now.”

It’s nearly imperceptible, but you swear you hear a soft laugh echo down the hallway, from the same direction Suga headed. If Jungkook hears it too, his expression doesn’t show it. 

In fact, he’s still chattering away. “It’s just not very intuitive, you know? I’ve been trying to get the boss to switch to GCal forever, but no dice yet.” He pauses, stepping in towards your computer again. “Do you mind if I show you some stuff that helped me?”

It’s like he’s an angel that was sent from heaven to personally help you fake your way through this job. “That would be amazing, Jungkook, thank you.”

You try to keep up with Jungkook’s rapid-fire clicking and typing, but your brain is stuck on that damn laugh that you swear you heard. Did you hear it? You’re probably imagining things, you tell yourself. Just being paranoid. Focus, you tell yourself, and forget about Suga. Min Suga. Whatever his stupid name is. It doesn’t matter.

This train of thought circles around and around in your brain until Jungkook triumphantly hits a final key, then drums his knuckles on your desk. “Alright! You’re all set. I threaded your email conversations, which makes them way easier to follow. I set up some rules so that all the unimportant company notices go to their own folder and don’t clog up your inbox. Uh, I pinned your calendar to your inbox so you can see it at-a-glance. Oh, and I added a to-do pane so if you flag any emails for follow-up, they’ll show up right there, so you don’t forget.” He crosses his arms, looking thoroughly impressed with his handiwork.

“Jesus, Jungkook.” You maybe understood half of what he just said, and that’s being generous. “I feel like you should have this job instead of me.”

He shrugs. “It took me forever to figure this stuff out on my own. I won’t put you through that same torture for no reason.”

His words drag you back to your train of thought. You know you should probably wait and investigate your personal vendetta when your coworker isn’t standing over your shoulder, but you can’t help yourself. You flip back to your calendar and scroll through the list of names, clicking the box to pull up Suga’s.

Jungkook is already laughing as nothing changes on your screen. When you uncheck your own name to remove your calendar from the view, the week goes entirely blank.

You’re trying so hard not to be petty, but Jungkook’s giggling encourages you. “I’m sorry, is Suga allergic to meetings?”

“Kind of. He’s a notorious decliner, especially when he’s got a lot on his plate. I doubt you’ll see much of him, honestly. He doesn’t like to be disturbed.”

“I’ve noticed,” you huff. As you pull your own crowded schedule back up, you wonder how it’s fair that Suga gets to skip out on meetings just because he doesn’t like them.

Jungkook is unstoppable, and you wonder what his energy levels must be like before the morning boxing class. He talks you through the rest of your schedule for the day, explaining the purpose of each meeting, deliverables required, and who the key players are. You’re in awe that he can recall all of this like it’s nothing, and it seems like hours before he so much as pauses to take a breath.

He checks his watch. “Oh wow! The time went by so fast. We need to get to the meeting. Do you know where it is?”

You almost laugh. Of course you don’t. “Mind showing me?”

You grab your laptop and hurry to follow Jungkook as he hangs a right down the hallway. The two of you are the last to file into the large conference room, and you give a small wave to the rest of the team as you take your seat.

To your surprise, Suga is already there, his coffee cup sweating onto the fancy reclaimed wood table.

The team meeting is a blur of priorities and updates, and you try to match each face to a name you learned yesterday. You do your best to take notes on everything everyone is responsible for, but the pace is breakneck.

It also doesn’t help that Suga is sitting directly across from you; at this point his presence alone is enough to make you feel incompetent. He leans back in his chair with his arms crossed, saying nothing apart from the occasional grunt of acknowledgement when addressed. You can’t stop glancing up at the sour look on his face.

The hour flies by, and your boss closes out with a recap of everyone’s takeaways before adding a final comment. “One last thing, team. As some of you already know, our new administrative assistant has also graciously agreed to be our key-holder moving forward.” You try to keep your composure as you feel your face get hot. 

“To ensure security after recent events,” your boss continues, putting a strange emphasis on his words, “we have changed the studio locks, so your personal keys will no longer work. Our admin will be solely responsible for holding onto the master key, and she will open and close the office each day.”

This seems to be the first topic of conversation all meeting that actually piques Suga’s interest. He sits up in his chair, lazily lifting one hand as if to ask a question, his elbow resting on the table.

“Is that really necessary?”

The room goes dead silent. Even the normal little sounds—people shuffling, typing, and making side comments to each other—all evaporate. You get the idea that Suga rarely even attends these meetings, so the fact that he’s here and speaking up is more than enough to net him everyone’s full attention.

Your boss laces his hands together and rests them firmly on the table, seemingly unfazed. “I’d be very interested to hear your argument about why it’s not necessary, given what happened last month. An incident you were responsible for, if I recall correctly.”

You see a muscle in Suga’s jaw twitch. “Look, I fu—” He corrects himself, clearly trying to avoid an expletive. “I, uh, made a mistake. I was overtired and on a deadline, and I wasn’t thinking straight. It was a big mistake, yes, but I covered the expenses out of pocket. I don’t understand why I’m being punished.”

“I don’t understand why you are hellbent on viewing the company taking measures to heighten security as your personal punishment.”

It really feels like you shouldn’t be witnessing this exchange. You glance over at Jungkook next to you, but he’s staring down at his lap, anxiously twiddling his thumbs.

“Because it is!” Suga smacks the table with his fist and you flinch hard. “You know the kind of schedule I prefer to keep, and you’re forcing me to change it. How is that not punishment?”

Your boss leans forward and fixes Suga in his withering gaze. You hope never to be on the receiving end of such a look. You’d probably quit right on the spot. Or die.

“Min Yoongi,” he begins, and you and Jungkook instantly make eye contact. His eyes are wide and you’re sure you look about the same. Must be serious if your boss is using Suga’s government name. “The company is in agreement that your current work schedule is unsustainable. If you’re working so late and leaving in such a state of exhaustion that you can’t remember to lock the door, we’re more than entitled to step in and find a better solution. Especially considering your careless mistake led to a loss of thousands of dollars’ worth of equipment and a potential privacy breach.”

Holy shit.

“I understand, I fucked up, but—”

“Now,” your boss cuts him off. “I’m sure our administrative assistant would be happy to coordinate with you directly to figure out something that suits your needs, while also keeping our assets secure.”

“But what about when I have a breakthrough in the middle of the night?” Suga is clearly not backing down. “Am I just supposed to call her and beg for the key?” He gestures a hand in your direction but doesn’t break eye contact with your boss. You’d laugh if the room weren’t so tense. Like he’d ever stoop to such a thing when he can’t even so much as say hello to you.

Your boss leans back in his chair and you can tell the conversation is over. “Why don’t you ask her what she’s comfortable with? We don’t need to keep the entire team tied up for your personal temper tantrum, Yoongi.” He pushes his chair back from the table and rises, buttoning his suit jacket. “Just keep in mind, she and I have already discussed this, and she confirmed she’s very comfortable with setting firm boundaries. I’m not going to ask you twice to respect them.”

You swallow hard, unable to look anywhere but at the wood grain of the table. That’s not exactly how you remember the conversation going, but your boss is already dismissing the team and exiting the room before you can say anything.

You scramble to save your notes from the meeting, but just end up aimlessly clicking around on your laptop for a few seconds, too overwhelmed to do anything. You finally snap your computer shut and glance over at Jungkook who is staring down at the floor, eyes still wide. He exhales a slow stream of air in apparent disbelief.

The room feels like a bomb has just gone off. The moment the door shuts behind your boss, everyone seems to move at lightning speed to pack their things and depart.

You stand, grabbing your laptop and praying it’s not obvious how much your hands are shaking. You can feel Suga’s eyes burning holes in you and you don’t dare look up to confirm it.

Jungkook is faster than you and is already halfway down the hallway by the time you push open the conference room doors. You hug your laptop to your chest and are about to hustle to catch up to him when a voice stops you.

It’s Suga, saying your name. You’re surprised he remembers it, given how cold he’d been to your introduction. You feel like you’re moving in slow motion as you turn to face him.

“I’m sure Jungkook will be glad to show you how to lock up, too.” His deep voice is monotone, betraying no emotion despite his outburst only moments earlier. “Assuming your last job didn’t have doors, either.”

It takes a second for his words to make sense. Your mouth drops open before you can attempt to put on a poker face. He’s calling your bluff, you understand. Loudly. Your boss or anyone who was just in the meeting might still be able to hear him if they were nearby.

“I-I don’t know what you mean,” is all you can think to stammer, but Suga doesn’t stick around to hear your reply. masterlist | chapter two

look down on me like that - masterlist (explicit)

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

pairing: yoongi x reader ft. chaotic bestie jimin & cutie coworker jungkook

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

contains: explicit sexual content - enemies/coworkers to lovers, hate sex, accidental voyeurism, semi-public sex, dirty talk, mutual teasing, slow burn, a whole lotta general banter, truly excessive alcohol consumption, & prepare for extreme secondhand embarrassment

🖤 each individual chapter will have its own warnings! please read them and proceed with caution where appropriate 🖤

✨ read on AO3 ✨ main masterlist ✨ chapter updates! ✨

chapter one 7.2k - “I still can’t believe you actually lied your way into this job.”

chapter two 6.1k - “Do you like tteokbokki?”

chapter three 8.2k - “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you liked what you saw.”

chapter four 8.2k - “Yeah, you like that?”

chapter five 11.4k - “Do you want to hear a funny story?”

chapter six 6.2k - “If you want it so bad, then beg for it.”

chapter seven 8.9k - “Oh my god. You do have a weakness.”

chapter eight 15.3k - “I’m sorry, is this a booty call?”

chapter nine 16.0k - “And the Grammy goes to…”

chapter ten 13.1k - “I just want you to be happy.”

Yoongi fingering u till u squirrttttttt

my god, anon. i don't know what to tell you. this was supposed to be a short lil drabble like the rest and then..... that that live yoongi happened and i. uh. my brain short-circuited. the thirst for this man overtook me. i think i just wrote the nastiest porn of my whole career lmao.

so anyway uhhhhhh - HOPE YOU ENJOY 🤪

pairing: yoongi x reader wordcount: 4.8k DO NOT FUCKING @ ME contains: my first ever OT7 scene :') ft. an incredibly dumb conversation abt squirting, best friend's friend to lovers (? idk what else to call it lmao), squirt god min yoongi (yes that's a warning), yoongi is in his that that live outfit bc i'm a menace to society, a lil bit of edging, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, and obv. a whoooole lot of tongue and finger fucking and SQUIRTING 💦💦💦

“Remember that girl I took home last night?”

You just know Taehyung is about to say something gross by the look in his eye, the way he bites down on the edge of his red solo cup as he glances around the circle of his friends.

Well, his friends and you. There’s a clear distinction.

A few heads nod, shoulders shrug. You brace yourself.

“Fucking geyser, I’m serious. Soaked my whole bed. I had to sleep on the couch.”

Hoseok’s loud cackle rings in your ears, and he has to cling to Jimin’s arm to stay upright, clearly already well past tipsy. “I was wondering why you were washing your sheets! That’s typically a once-a-year activity for you, Taehyung-ah!”

You make sure Seokjin doesn’t miss the death glare that you aim in his direction. He dragged you to this stupid party, said otherwise he’d spend the whole time in the corner reading webtoons on his phone. And now you have to tolerate the absolute fuckery of his nasty friends.

He grimaces a silent apology back at you, bringing one hand up to smack Tae firmly on the back of the head.

“She peed?!” Jungkook’s eyes are wide as he pauses with his own drink halfway to his mouth.

Everyone reacts at once: Hoseok quite literally doubles over, Taehyung fights to keep the corners of his mouth from turning up, Jimin gives an aggressive side-eye, Seokjin covers his face with his hand. Even Yoongi reacts, smiling a rare wide smile, shoulders shaking a little with laughter.

Namjoon takes the educational opportunity, clapping a hand firmly to Jungkook’s back. “Do you know what squirting is?”

You watch as Jungkook’s eyes flit across the circle. “I thought it was pee,” he admits, voice a little quieter this time.

“You are so fucking dumb,” Jimin says, shooting Jungkook a look of utter disgust. Hoseok is literally on the floor at this point.

“It’s, uh…” Namjoon makes a face as he searches for the right words. “Female ejaculate.”

“Girl cum?” Jungkook translates.

“I don’t care if it was piss, it was fucking hot,” Taehyung says as he downs the last of his drink.

“You’re disgusting,” Seokjin says with a shake of his head as he offers a hand to help Hoseok to his feet. Taehyung sticks his tongue out, waggling it side-to-side, which just sends Hoseok right back down again with another peal of laughter.

“I’ve never hooked up with a squirter,” Jungkook says softly, like he’s a little disappointed.

You open your mouth to speak up, as the only person with a vagina currently partaking in the conversation, but Yoongi beats you to it. “You just don’t know what you’re doing.”

His words surprise you for a second, but you shake it off and continue. “Not every girl can squirt. Most can’t.” You shrug slightly.

“That’s not true,” Yoongi counters, and you whip your head to look at him.

“What the fuck do you know, Min Yoongi?” The words leave your mouth before you can stop them. You don’t know why Seokjin thought it was a good idea to bring you around his friends, when he knows you have no filter.

Yoongi raises a hand, as if to signal that he’s not trying to fight. “I’m just saying. Once you learn what to do, anyone can get there. Just takes some patience. And a lot of foreplay. But I’ve never not made a girl squirt.”

You roll your eyes. “Well, I’ve never squirted.”

It takes a moment for you to realize what you’ve set yourself up for, and you have to fight the urge to clap a hand over your mouth. The same response ripples through the group a millisecond later: eyes widening, lips pursing in silent expressions of shock.

“I think I need another drink– should we all go?” Namjoon asks, extremely unsubtle.

Before you can scramble to even think, let alone say anything, he’s got his arms around Taehyung and Jungkook’s shoulders and is shoving them towards the kitchen. Seokjin and Jimin work together to peel Hoseok off the floor and quickly follow.

Which just leaves you, Yoongi, and a very interesting proposition.

“So, are we doing this?” You ask bluntly.

Yoongi shrugs. “Only if you want to.”

You shoot him a look. “Don’t act all shy now, squirt god!” He exhales a soft laugh, and you gesture to the stairs. “Lead the way.”

It’s only once you’re perched on the end of his bed, eyes roving over the minimal, clean space of his room, that your nerves start to betray you. Yoongi sets his drink on the dresser next to yours, then drops down beside you.

You stare at the floor, unsure of what to do next, vaguely aware of his bent knees poking out of the large holes in his light wash jeans. He gently rests a hand on your thigh, and you’re wound up enough that you flinch at his touch.

“We seriously don’t have to do this.”

“Why do you keep saying that?” You ask, feigning ignorance and trying to keep your voice from shaking.

“Might have something to do with the fact that this is the first one-on-one conversation we’ve ever had.”

You meet his gaze, a little surprised by the open expression on his face. You’ve always seen him as so reserved. “You don’t exactly say much.”

Yoongi shrugs like he can’t disagree. “Hard to get a word in with those guys sometimes.” He pauses, like he’s debating whether or not to keep talking, then continues. “And I figured Jin was playing some long game with you, so I was trying to be respectful.”

You make a face of sheer disbelief. “What?! Seokjin is my best friend, Yoongi. Period, end of sentence. It’s not like that and never has been.”

“Huh.”

He’s quiet for a moment, and you can’t read the expression on his face. You turn towards Yoongi, pulling one bent leg up on the bed to fully face him. “What was that noise supposed to mean?”

“That’s just… interesting.”

“Stop being cagey.” You drive a finger into his side and he squirms a little. “What’s interesting?” Does he know something about Seokjin that he’s keeping from you?

“Well, I was clearly operating under false pretenses. Otherwise I probably would’ve acted differently around you.”

“Differently how?” You quickly chase his vague statement, pushing him, trying to understand. Yoongi doesn’t respond immediately, but the bed shifts as he mirrors your position, turning to open himself up to you. “What would you have done, Yoongi?” You try again, getting frustrated.

A shiver runs down your spine as he brings a hand to gently cup your jaw, his touch feather-light. His thumb strokes over your cheek and you swear your heartbeat falters.

“This,” he says simply, his voice deeper than you’ve ever heard it. And then he brings his mouth to yours.

His lips are soft and warm as they brush over yours, if a little tentative, like he expects you to pull away at any second. But the heat of his mouth ignites a spark in your belly that you’re suddenly desperate for more of.

You move your mouth against his, chasing the feeling as you bring a hand to the nape of his neck. Your fingers wind through his dark hair– you’d noticed when he walked in the door tonight how long it’s gotten, had thought absent-mindedly to yourself that it looked good on him.

Your head spins. Min fucking Yoongi. How is this real life? You’d honestly never thought twice about him– just lumped him in with the rest of Seokjin’s dumb friends. It’s starting to occur to you that maybe overlooking him was a mistake.

That suspicion is confirmed when he slips his tongue into your mouth to slide expertly over yours.

You run your other hand up his chest, fingers tracing the buttons of his overshirt, then the smooth cotton of the tank top beneath it. The wet heat of his mouth is already making you dizzy.

Yoongi brings a hand to the small of your back, moving the other from your jaw down to meet it. He shifts a little, but he doesn’t break away from you, and you gasp softly into his mouth when both hands drop to your ass to pull you into his lap in one smooth motion. Your knees press into the mattress on either side of him, your hips settling on top of his.

He kisses you for a second longer, tongue stroking over yours deftly enough that you can barely suppress the whimper it works out of you. Then he finally pulls back to glance up at you. His lips are full and pink, his chest heaving with shallow breaths. The unbuttoned linen shirt he’s wearing has slipped off one shoulder, exposing smooth skin and solid muscle.

There’s a look on his face, mouth dropped open slightly, like he can’t quite believe this is really happening. You can relate.

“Still want to do this?” Yoongi asks quietly, voice still low and a little hoarse now. His hands are pressed to your hips, thumbs tracing light patterns over the fabric of your jeans.

You can hardly find your voice to speak– when the word comes out, it’s a whisper, and one you can’t say emphatically enough. “Yes.”

He tilts his head up towards you and your lips find his, needier this time. There’s an undeniable ache in your core now, desire spreading through you like a licking flame. Yoongi’s hands start to move over your back, dragging the hem of your shirt up, and you break away from him only for as long as it takes to peel it over your head. You press your mouth to his again before the fabric has even hit his bedroom floor.

Yoongi’s kisses are sloppier now, tongue tasting yours with added urgency, momentarily rendering you breathless. You follow his lead, hands grasping to push his overshirt down his arms, then reaching to tug at his tank top. It’s like you can’t move fast enough– you’re shaking a little as he leans back, raising his arms to allow you to pull it off. You feel the heat of his touch at the center of your spine, and then he’s slipping your bra off, too, everything tossed off the edge of the bed to join your shirt.

The brush of his hands over your bare skin, running up the curve from your hip to your waist, is enough to make you shiver under his palms, nipples tightening.

Yoongi licks his lips as his eyes roam appreciatively over your body, but then his gaze meets yours again, and in a way this moment of anticipation feels more intimate than anything you’ve done tonight. You in his lap, both of you naked from the waist up, faces flushed with heat and want. Hovering at the precipice of something you don’t have words for.

“Lay down for me,” he says quietly. The darkness of his voice thrums through you.

You do as he says, thighs shaking slightly as you slide off of him and move to settle against the soft pillows with a slow inhale. You can only watch, dazed, as Yoongi gets to his feet– you swallow hard at the sound of his belt hitting the floor. He slips out of his ripped jeans, down to just his black boxer-briefs.

When he crawls up the bed to join you, you’re transfixed by the way his silver necklaces dangle, catching the dim lamplight. He kneels to one side of you, hands coming to unbutton the fly of your jeans and push them down your thighs. You do the rest, peeling them all the way off and tossing them to the floor.

His hands slide up your thighs, one encouraging your legs apart while the other rubs gently back and forth, his touch sending sparks through you. You can feel your heartbeat at the center of your ribcage, swear you can see it in the rise and fall of your chest as you glance up at him looking down over you.

“Stop me if you’re going to come, okay?”

You nod your understanding, but he must be able to read the confusion painted on your face. He shifts up the bed to lean over you, his breath ghosting along the shell of your ear.

“Save it for me, and I’ll show you what that pussy can do.”

Yoongi chases the words with a languid stripe licked up your neck, and it’s enough to make your brain short-circuit.

Never in your life has a man preemptively warned you to not come. Most of them have struggled to make it happen at all. You can’t help but wonder if you really did underestimate Yoongi’s abilities.

It certainly feels that way as he continues to press hot, open-mouthed kisses down your neck and chest, bringing one hand to gently cup and massage your breast as he goes, the pad of his thumb circling your nipple. His mouth catches up to his touch, and he sucks in the bud of that breast while his hand moves to work the other just the same.

“Fuck, Yoongi,” you breathe.

Everything he’s doing is intoxicating, enough that there’s now a steady pulse emanating from between your legs. When he shifts to pull your other breast into his mouth, tongue swirling over your nipple in a way that makes you whimper and arch into him, he drops one of his legs down onto the mattress between your thighs.

You take advantage of the opportunity presented to you, thighs squeezing and hips canting up to drag your core over the smooth muscle of his leg, desperate for contact, for friction. Yoongi releases your nipple from between his teeth, giving a self-satisfied hum that you can feel buzz in his throat against your skin.

“Getting worked up already?” His words are punctuated by the kisses he trails down the valley between your breasts. “Keep going,” he urges.

Your mind is swimming with arousal, and each pass of your cunt over his thigh is enough to further dampen your now soaked-through panties. You’re not sure how much more worked up you could get. But Yoongi is clearly determined to find your limit.

When he shifts to move his mouth further down your body, he quickly replaces the thigh you’ve been grinding into with his hand, cupping over your center, his whole palm rubbing circles into the lace of your panties that make your clit twitch. You writhe under him as he sucks a mark into your hip bone, pulling sounds out of you: a mixture of heady groans at the welcome friction and soft whines at how indirect the pressure still is. You need more, more– you lift up to press your hips into his touch in search of relief. 

All too quickly, the motion of his palm stills, and you can’t help the strangled noise that escapes you. Both of his hands slip down your body, coming to rest at your hips, and his thumbs hook under your panties to push them down your thighs.

You fumble for a second, lifting your knees up to your chest to finish pulling your underwear over your ankles. As you fling your last article of clothing off the side of the bed and attempt to lower your legs down, you’re surprised to feel Yoongi’s hands pressing firmly into the backs of your thighs.

“Stay just like that,” he instructs, and you listen, crossing your ankles and following the encouragement of his touch to keep your legs pulled up, your bare cunt fully exposed for him.

You don’t know what to expect next– his fingers, maybe his tongue– but it’s certainly not what he does, which is look up at you and calmly ask, “How do you feel?”

Your answer is not a word in any language; it’s somewhere between a moan and a noise of pure frustration. Folded in half for him like this, you swear you can feel arousal starting to drip out of your pussy.

“That’s pretty good,” Yoongi remarks, lazily bringing one hand up to encircle your ankle in his grasp, enjoying his free rein over your body as it’s offered up to him. Even that gentle touch is enough to make your cunt clench around nothing. “But I think we can do better.”

You nod your head in a silent request as you watch him lean down onto the mattress, lowering himself to be eye-level with your pussy. “Haven’t even tasted you yet.”

“Please, Yoongi,” you gasp, and you can feel his breath over you, the heat and anticipation sending a bolt of electricity straight to your core.

“Just remember to stop me,” he warns, and then he leans forward to lick a thick stripe up your cunt. You cry out at the sensation, the wetness and warmth of his tongue sliding through your folds, and your head kicks back against the pillow as you feel his fingers gently part your inner lips for better access.

He pulls away for a fraction of a second, just long enough to hum softly and murmur “so fucking wet” under his breath. Your hands grip the bedsheets as he dives back in with even more enthusiasm, spreading you wide open.

The heat he’s been building up in you all night is coiling devastatingly tight in your core now– your head is spinning, your nipples so stiff that they ache. The thought of asking him to stop, and probably soon, from how deliberately he’s eating you out, feels nearly impossible.

Yoongi seems to settle in as he falls into a pattern with his movements: lazily circling your entrance a few times before delving in and fucking you all-too-briefly with his talented tongue, enough to make your walls squeeze greedily around him. After a few more thrusts he withdraws, using a long lick to drag your collected wetness up, his tongue pressing flat and heavy. When he reaches your clit he flicks gently over the sensitive bud a few times, eventually pulling it into his mouth to suck, eliciting a loud moan from you.

“Oh fuck, fuck, Yoongi–”

You swear you can feel him smiling smugly as he returns to your entrance to start again, somehow both sloppy and precise, humming a little in a way that sends a devastating wave of vibrations through you.

He keeps everything so slow it’s nearly torture, building up the tightening pressure inside of you a little more with each pass, but purposefully never staying so consistent that you tip over the edge– just leaving you wet enough to drown in. You can’t stop the moans and whimpers he pulls out of you now, the way your hips jerk under his mouth.

He’s fucking good at this.

You lose track of how many times he goes through the process, until you’re wound so tight with arousal you think you might burst.

“Yoongi,” you whine, and he must be able to hear the change in your voice.

Yoongi’s mouth freezes, lips still wrapped around your clit. His hands move to your thighs, gently ushering your feet to return to the mattress on either side of his head, your legs still spread wide, so he can see you. He hums around you as if to ask a question, and your hips shudder beneath him.

That must be a good enough answer, because he pulls off of you, reaching up to wipe an errant strand of slick from his bottom lip. Everything about him in this moment makes your pussy throb: his mouth, nose and chin are all coated in your juices, the results of his efforts, and his pupils are blown black with lust and something that looks like determination.

You have no idea how long it’s been since you disappeared up the stairs together. Hours, maybe days. Yoongi certainly looks like he could do this forever.

“Gonna come?” He murmurs, nuzzling his cheek absent-mindedly against your inner thigh as he holds your gaze.

“I–” He hasn’t let you get that close yet, but you feel so fucking full, like your core isn’t capable of holding onto any more pleasure. “I can’t take any more,” you say, and the desperation in your own voice sounds so ridiculous to you that you let out a crazed laugh. “I’m gonna fucking die, Yoongi.”

“Yeah?” There’s a glint in his eyes, like he’s not going to let you tap out that easily. “What if I do this?”

His tongue returns to your clit, but this time he’s no longer teasing. His rhythm is consistent now, lapping against you in short, deliberate strokes, over and over. You can feel every muscle in your core tensing as he works you relentlessly towards your peak.

When your back starts to arch, it takes everything in you to say his name. “Yoongi,” you gasp, and he knows you’re about to come, must be able to tell by the way you start to shake underneath him. You cry out a sound that’s nearly a sob when he pulls back quickly and everything comes to a screeching halt. It’s like you can feel your orgasm being ripped out from under you.

“Oh my god,” you whine, hips grinding down into the mattress, desperate for any possible friction. “I’m so fucking close, Yoongi, please.”

His eyes linger hungrily over your pussy, the mess he’s made of you. Keeping his touch light, he gently traces a finger over your inner lips, clearly admiring the way it makes you tremble.

“Seems like you’re ready.”

You’d almost forgotten the point of all of this, the initial conversation in the kitchen, the fact that the man now lazily running a finger through your dripping folds is supposedly capable of making anyone squirt and that you are putting him to the test. You already believe it wholeheartedly– you’re just not sure you’ll survive long enough to see it.

Yoongi sits up, shifting to kneel to one side of you, hands encouraging your legs to spread even wider. When he starts to speak, you try as best you can to focus on his words, dizzy as you are with overwhelming need.

“I’m gonna press pretty hard, okay? When it feels like you have to pee, push it out instead of trying to hold it in. I promise, it’s not pee.” He pauses, laughing softly to himself, then adds, “And if it is, honestly, I don’t give a fuck.”

You look up at him, your mind reeling, and you’re not expecting it when he ducks down to kiss you. You taste yourself on his lips and tongue.

“Don’t be nervous,” he murmurs as he pulls back. “Just relax and let go. I’ll go until you tell me to stop.” Your heart flutters a little behind your ribs at the softness in his voice, and you nod.

Your breath hitches as you feel Yoongi’s hand return to your center, two fingers moving down slowly to tease at your entrance. The fire in your belly ignites at the soft squelching noise he makes as he circles, just shy of entering you, dampening his digits with your juices.

Relief washes through you as he presses in, and you tip your head back on the pillow with a soft groan. Your lashes flutter as you fight to keep your eyes open, heavy-lidded with lust, to watch him at work.

“Shit,” you hiss as he curls his fingers up to press against your front wall, finding your g-spot like someone who knows exactly what he’s doing. He pushes harder, falling into a steady rhythm, and the pleasure feels like a heavy weight in your gut now. A tingling sensation starts to hum through your limbs.

You’re panting, nearly gasping for breath as he rubs against you, each thrust of his hand accompanied by the slick sounds of your cunt. Your abdomen tightens as the pressure in your core builds, and you really do feel like you’re going to burst, overflow completely.

“Yoongi,” you breathe, “I–I’m– I’m gonna–”

“Push,” he reminds you, and you do just that as the wave crashes over you. A release like nothing you’ve ever felt before rips through you, and you’re so overcome by the feeling that it takes you a few seconds to remember to look down. Shakily tilting your head up, you see clear fluid gushing out of you each time Yoongi pulls back.

When he sees you’re watching, he withdraws entirely, bringing four soaked fingers to your clit to rub fast circles that make you moan loudly as your muscles spasm again. Without his hand there to block it, you watch as an unbroken stream of fluid rushes out of you, spraying over the sheets of his bed.

“Oh my god,” you whine, and you have to tilt your head back and squeeze your eyes shut for a moment just to focus on the feeling alone. “Oh my god.”

Yoongi makes a little noise of appreciation, fingers returning to your entrance, the wet sounds of your cunt now obscene as he pushes in again. “Fuck yeah. So fucking sexy.”

You arch up into his touch as he resumes the firm stroking of his fingers, pounding into your g-spot, hard enough to make your legs shake. When another wave of pleasure rolls through you, you don’t even have to think about it this time. Your body instinctively remembers Yoongi’s instructions, bursts of arousal shooting out of you as you moan softly with each pump of his hand.

“Fuck fuck fuck fuck,” you gasp in time with his movements.

“Holy shit,” Yoongi rasps as he draws his fingers out again, and you hear him groan when he returns to your clit and easily works even more wetness out of you. “You just keep fucking coming. Gonna soak my fucking sheets.”

You can barely process what he’s saying. “M-more, Yoongi, please.”

“Yeah,” he breathes, “I’ll give you more.” He adds another finger, driving the thrust of his hand deliberately into the weight at the center of your core, and the stretch only makes you come that much faster. Your pussy starts to quiver as he fucks you through it.

“Yoongiiiii,” you groan, dragging out his name as you squirt again and again. He keeps alternating, fingers slipping into you and working up more, then pulling out to press his hand flat against your whole pussy, rubbing indirectly over your clit. Wetness splashes out of you in endless spurts, soaking your cunt, his hand, the bed. It feels like you're coming for hours.

“No more, no more,” you finally gasp, and when you bring your hand to close over his wrist, Yoongi takes the cue and withdraws.

Your pussy, thighs, even the muscles in your ass are all trembling from overstimulation. As your knees drop in towards each other, you take a moment to let your eyes close, your pulse still racing. You feel absolutely spent.

You can’t believe you just did that. You had no idea your body was capable of such a thing. And before you can even think to stop it, you start to laugh, bringing both hands up to cover your face.

“Oh my god,” you manage to choke out between giggles, your voice muffled in your palms.

You’re vaguely aware of the mattress shifting beside you, and when you pull your hands away, Yoongi is seated next to you, running one hand gently over your arm. “Jesus, are you okay?” When you nod, he seems to relax a little.

“Yeah, but holy shit,” you gasp. “I should’ve taken you more seriously.” Your limbs feel like jello, your mind absolutely gone– you’ve officially been fingerfucked into oblivion. “I nearly died.”

“That was fucking insane,” Yoongi admits, looking mildly dazed himself. You follow his gaze across the bedspread, and your eyes go wide.

“Oh fuck, Yoongi,” you press a hand to your mouth, attempting to hold back more laughter, as you take in the extent of the damage. “Your sheets!”

A sizable wet spot has bloomed under your ass, right in the center of the bed and extending nearly half a foot down towards the end, clear as day against his gray-blue sheets.

“Why didn’t you stop me?!”

“Are you kidding?” He practically growls, free hand palming at the bulge in his briefs. “I’ll take watching you gush like that any day. I can sleep on the couch, I don’t give a fuck.”

It takes all the strength you can muster, given that your limbs still feel like they’re made of lead, but you manage to roll over onto your side to face him. You catch his working hand by the wrist with yours. “There’s always… my bed.”

“Yeah?” A smile plays at the corner of his mouth. “Think your pussy can recover on the ride over?”

You laugh softly, glancing down at the mess he’s made of you, the lingering sheen from his mouth and your own fluids. “I’m honestly not sure. She might be out of commission.” You do your best to feign innocence when you meet his gaze again with a coy smile. “But my throat is very available.”

Yoongi is already reaching for his jeans. “Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

moving day (explicit)

genre: domestic-ass smut (honestly kind of fluffy bc i am Whipped For Min Yoongi)

pairing: yoongi x reader

summary: you manage to entice your boyfriend into taking a break from unloading boxes to unload something else instead.

word count: 2.6k

contains: explicit sexual content bloop bloop !!! established relationship, up to you if it's idol-verse or not idk 🤷‍♀️, cunnilingus, blowjob, reader gets a facial oop, tiny bit of praise kink, long-haired yoongi with a hair tie on his wrist 🥵🥵, yoongi has domestic soft dom energy, reader is yoongisexual lmao

A/N: my water sign placements really Jumped out with this one...... that's all i'll say lmao i am lowkey embarrazzed and not responsible for any delulu feelings this may stir up 👀👀 BUT BOY IT SURE WAS NICE TO WRITE A YOONGI THAT ISN'T THE ONE FROM LDOMLT !!! even i need a break from that asshole sometimes 😂 hope y'all enjoyyyyy 💜

this is also on AO3!

~*~

“Remind me again why we didn’t hire movers?” The question comes out strained as you struggle to lift a particularly heavy box.

Your boyfriend watches you carefully to make sure you’re lifting safely– if you have to hear him say ‘with your knees, not your back’ one more time, you think you might lose it. Then he grabs another box off the truck and follows you up the drive to the house.

“I didn’t realize you had so much crap,” he says with a wry laugh. You make a mental note to get him back for that later.

A bead of sweat rolls down your temple, and when you finally deposit the box on the kitchen floor, you reach up to wipe it away with the back of your hand. The heat wave that’s been ongoing for the last few weeks is stifling, but Yoongi made a huge fuss about not turning on the AC until you got everything off the truck. Something about how you’d just be leaving the door open, and he’s not going to waste money to air condition the entire street.

Your boyfriend is such an old man sometimes, honestly. He’s lucky you love him.

Yoongi’s mouth pulls down at the corners as he struggles to read the label on the box in his arms, determining where he needs to drop it. It’s one of the many endearing faces he makes that you find so sexy, even though you objectively shouldn’t. A little thrill of excitement runs through you at the reminder that this is, in fact, really happening. You’ll get to see all of him, every morning and every night.

His face, and… You follow him down the hall, appreciating the view. His cute little butt, and…

Gingerly setting the box on the floor, he stands upright and sweeps his hair off his forehead for a moment in an attempt to cool down. His hair.

Yoongi claims he hasn’t gotten it cut because he’s been so busy with all the planning and packing required for the move, and maybe that’s true. You have also threatened to burn down any salon he makes an appointment with, and it was a joke, but god. He looks so fucking good like this. If he actually admitted to keeping it long just to make you happy, you’d probably propose on the spot.

He glances up and catches you openly staring, sticking his tongue out to indicate how overheated he is. Then he waggles his eyebrows and your core throbs a little. Fucking hell, the things this man does to you.

Your heart jumps in your chest as he walks back down the hallway to close the distance between you. Before you have time to process it, his thigh is slotting between your legs, his hips pinning you against the wall as he finds your lips with his own. It’s enough to make you gasp into his mouth, and you can feel his smug smile at your reaction.

Yoongi loves to make you come undone.

He pulls away far too quickly, and you whine a little at him leaving you unsatisfied. Not that you could ever get enough of kissing him, but you’d at least like to try.

“Come on,” his voice is quiet and low in his throat. “We’re nearly done with these boxes. Then we can properly christen this place.”

You don’t want to move any more stupid boxes. You want him to turn you around and take you right up against the wall. But you lose your will to argue when he gently strokes your arm with his hand, and you look down to see the thin black elastic around his wrist.

Since the two of you got together, your friends have relentlessly bullied you for this fact: you are insanely whipped for your boyfriend. They’ve dubbed you “Yoongisexual” at this point because literally anything he does becomes a kink for you. Including the simple act of wearing a hair tie around his wrist. It’s something you’ve done for most of your life, so when he kept complaining about his long hair getting in the way, you bought him a pack of elastics, mostly as a joke.

But then he started wearing one around his wrist, and you realized very quickly that it was no longer a joke.

You slip a finger under the thin black band and tug on it gently, and he smirks at you, because you both know exactly what he uses it for. “Soon. I promise.”

As much as you want to be good and do what you’re told, you’ve run out of patience. When Yoongi moves to head for the front door again, you tighten your grip around his wrist, forcing him to turn back to you. Then you slide his hand up your skirt and beneath the waistband of your panties so he can feel how soaked you are.

“How am I supposed to go back to lifting boxes when you did this to me?”

A groan escapes his lips as his fingers brush over your drenched folds and circle around your warm, wet center. You smile because you know damn well you’re on equal footing in this relationship: Yoongi is entirely whipped for you, too.

He presses one of his perfect fingers into your tight heat, curling it to rub circles on your g-spot, and you inhale sharply at the feeling. Your head tilts back against the wall, your eyes fluttering closed. “Ah, fuck.”

Yoongi grunts in response, and when you open your eyes again to take him in, he’s looking at you like he’s ready to devour you.

Withdrawing his hand from your panties, he slips the other between your back and the wall, encouraging you to stand up and move towards the kitchen. You follow the direction of his touch, knees instantly a little weak. When he guides you to the island in the center of the wide, sunny room, you turn back to him in confusion.

He wastes no time on explanation, arms wrapping just under your ass to pick you up and set you easily on the counter. You squeak at unexpectedly being lifted off the ground like it’s nothing: he really is getting shredded from all those Pilates classes.

Yoongi is already working to strip you of your shoes and socks, and the look on his face is so focused, with a blazing intensity that’s bordering on anger. Fuck, you love it when he gets like this. It only takes him a matter of seconds to finish the task, and then his hands are reaching up your thighs.

“What about the boxes?” You ask demurely.

“I don’t give a shit.” Yoongi says, his voice deadly serious. “The neighbors can have them.”

You lift your hips to assist as he pushes your skirt up and grabs the band of your thong, pulling it down and off of you entirely. He sends it sailing over to the other side of the kitchen, and now there’s nothing separating your cunt from the cold marble countertop. He grabs you by the hips and scoots you forward just a little more, until your ass is almost hanging off the edge of the island.

You want it so bad, but there’s still a tiny part of you that protests. You have to say it. “But Yoongi, this is where we’re going to eat.”

When he glances up at you, quirking an eyebrow, you realize what you’ve set him up for. “I know,” he says coolly. “What do you think I’m doing?”

Just as you open your mouth to argue, Yoongi reaches for the hair tie on his wrist, deliberately poking at your known weakness. Pulling it off, he places it between his teeth as his hands reach up to run through his hair. He rakes the dark strands back into a small, low ponytail at the base of his neck, then grabs the elastic out of his mouth and loops it around a few times until it's secure.

You think to yourself that you have no idea how you got so lucky, and then he brings his mouth to you and that thought is reinforced a thousand fold.

With a heady sigh of relief, you lean back, bracing yourself on your elbows and draping your legs over his shoulders. Yoongi’s already groaning against you as he slides his tongue up your dripping wet folds. He loves the way you taste, would spend hours between your legs if you’d let him– which sometimes you absolutely do. And he’s fucking good at it.

It would be impossible to make a full ranked list of all the things you love about your boyfriend, but his tongue is definitely in the top five. He traces it up to settle at your clit, flicking against the sensitive bud with short, deft strokes, and you make a mental correction as you groan and buck up into him. Top three.

He slips two fingers into your pussy this time, and your next moan is nearly a sob as he starts to press down hard with them against your front wall, matching the rhythm of his tongue. “Yes, baby, fuuuuuck,” you cry out.

“Mm-hmm,” Yoongi hums in response against your cunt, and the buzz of his mouth drives you fucking crazy, as does the satisfied look on his face that you see when you glance down. Your boyfriend loves doing things he’s good at, which certainly includes making you come.

And you’re already close to the edge, a fresh wave of arousal gushing out of you as he takes you apart so expertly. You’re sure you’ve made a mess of the counter beneath your ass.

You’re so worked up now, inches from your orgasm, that you can’t keep quiet, moans interspersed with breathless swearing and pleading.

“Fuck, Yoongi, please, don’t fucking stop,” you whimper, and his pace only increases slightly, his perfect rhythm never faltering. You can hear the squelch of his fingers curled inside you, the slick slip of his tongue across your clit, flicking over and over, and your legs are starting to shake.

“Ohhh shit,” you groan loudly as you feel your core start to tighten around him. You reach one hand forward to brush a few loose strands of hair off his forehead, reveling in his absolute perfection as your climax approaches. “God fucking dammit, Yoongi, yes, yes–” your words break off with a loud moan as the wave of pleasure surges and your walls begin to pulse. Your arms tremble with the effort of keeping you propped up as your orgasm rips through you, your back arching violently.

It feels like you’re coming forever, and Yoongi gently slows his pace to ride you through it, your cunt fluttering around his fingers again and again. He waits until you give a soft whine of overstimulation, then finally withdraws, trailing light kisses along your hips and thighs.

“Oh my god, I love you so much,” you manage to gasp, and you hear him laugh a little.

“Come show me how much,” he instructs, and you don’t need any more encouragement. Your legs threaten to give out as you slip off the counter, and you sink to your knees as gently as possible to avoid banging them on the wood floor. You pull his dick out of his sweatpants and can’t help but make a soft, appreciative noise at the weight and thickness of him in your hand.

You’ve never dated anyone who gets as hard as Yoongi does just from performing oral. When you think back on your exes, you usually had to coax them to attention after eating you out. But you’ve never had that problem with Yoongi. You swear he nearly gets as much pleasure from it as you do.

This thought is all but confirmed when you take him in your mouth, tasting the salt of the pre-cum that’s already leaked out of his tip, and he groans at the feeling. “I’m not gonna last long, baby,” he admits, and you take that as a challenge.

You grip his thighs with your hands and start to bob your mouth along his length, hollowing your cheeks and applying extra pressure with your tongue in exactly the way you know he likes. You swear you feel his knees nearly buckle.

“Fuck yeah,” he hisses. “Good girl. Just like that.” You hum a little, pleased at the praise, and pick up the pace at which you’re swallowing him down.

Yoongi doesn’t babble quite as much as you do when he’s close, instead preferring to make heady little grunts and groans; they’re the sexiest sounds in the world as far as you’re concerned. The low timbre of his voice is enough to make your cunt flutter back to life, as is the way he squeezes his eyes shut and tilts his head back, hips bucking into your mouth to match your pace.

“Baby,” he groans, and you glance up at him again, not letting your tempo change. “Wanna paint your face, fuck. Can I?”

He doesn’t do it particularly often, but you know finishing on your face is something Yoongi loves. It’s one of the many, many things you had no interest in until this man waltzed into your life and pulled out all the freakiest parts of you that you didn’t even know existed.

Which is why when he asks, you don’t hesitate. You slide off him with a wet pop and sit back on your heels, staring up at him with your eyes wide and your tongue out.

“Goddamn,” he grunts as he brings his hand to his cock, pumping himself hard and fast. “So fucking good for me.” He only has to stroke a few more times before he makes a final strangled whine, white ropes of cum spilling out of him and across your waiting face and tongue.

Yoongi milks every last drop out with a few gasps of effort, and you giggle a little despite yourself. You just love him, every part, every noise.

As if he can read your mind, he says it back. “Love you. Fuck.”

You try to hold your head still to keep any rogue drops from running into your eyes. Yoongi looks around, and you see a worried expression start to cross his face as he tucks his dick into his pants.

“Shit, baby. I don’t think we’ve unpacked the towels yet.” Your shoulders shake a little in more disbelieving giggles. “Hang on, hang on,” he calls back to you as he disappears out of the kitchen, moving quickly.

It’s only for a brief moment that you have to just sit there and laugh, beads of cum trailing down your jaw, and then he returns, dropping onto his knees next to you. He’s holding the roll of paper towels you’ve been using to clear errant dust in the new house as you go.

“Should have planned ahead. Let me clean you up.” Yoongi says softly, tearing off a few sheets and dabbing at your face. He soaks through them quickly and has to grab more. “Fuck, you made me come a lot,” he says with an embarrassed laugh, and that only makes you laugh more.

He wipes the last of it from your temples, then lets the damp crumpled sheets drop to the kitchen floor, taking your face in his hands and pulling you in for a sweet, gentle kiss. You smile against his mouth in an overwhelming daze of happiness.

When you break away, he presses another quick kiss to your forehead, then murmurs against your hairline. “Well, that’s one room down. Let’s finish this up, and then you can help me decide if I should bend you over the couch or my desk first.” You bury your face in his shoulder at the mental image, and his strong arms wrap around your waist, pulling you even closer. “God, I fucking love you.”

Hey guys, sorry for keeping everyone waiting for so long.

Thanks to everyone who has been waiting on an update for Vice.

I’ve had a lot of personal stuff going on recently which has taken up most of my time and energy, and whenever I do have free time I’ve had massive writers block.

I just came back from a week abroad a few days ago and It’s really helped to clear my head.

I’m hoping to post chapter five either tonight or tomorrow and I wanted to know all of your opinions on where the story should go.

I’m not yet sure of the ending for Vice so I want to know if you would like the reader to get romantically involved with one of the boys, or if you would prefer for the reader to get romantically involved with all of the boys.

Please let me know your opinions <3

-Karma Dona

Vice Masterlist

Vice - BTS mafia au. ongoing.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Vice - BTS Mafia Au

mafia!bts x reader

Summary: After finding yourself in a desperate situation, you’re foolish enough to do anything for money, and you somehow find yourself held captive by the members of Seoul’s most ruthless gang, Bangtan.

Warnings: strong language, no smut (yet;))

Chapter 4

The minute I finally open my eyes I’m forced to squeeze them shut again due to the harsh white light that greets me.

After I open them a second time (a bit more prepared this time) I try my best to take in my surroundings in my dazed state.

My head is pounding, and everything is appearing slightly blurry. For a moment I wonder how the fuck I got here before the events of last night begin to play in my head.

Realising what happened, I immediately sit up straighter, now seemingly more aware as dread takes over me.

I take a moment to gather myself and look around the room. To my left is a huge window that spans the entire length of the wall, allowing me to look down into the streets far below. I must be in some sort of penthouse apartment cause holy shit it’s high up.

In front of me is a semi-circle shaped couch that sits on the edge of a circular carpet, and faces an impressive sized tv hanging on the wall.

Just past the tv is a spiralling staircase that leads to a second floor out of view, and to the left of the couch is a marble counter top bar, with rows of expensive looking whisky’s and spirits lining the wall behind it.

Just peeking out from behind the wall the tv sits on appears to be a dining area, and a beautiful light fitting hangs its self in the middle of the main room.

This place is the definition of luxury, and I can tell it expands much further than what I can see.

I attempt to stand up from the chair I’ve been sat in, but a pull at my wrist and ankles forces me back into the seat. “Shit” I cast a glance down to see my arms and legs have been bound to the chair.

I begin to struggle in an attempt to break free but it’s useless, the ropes are tied so impossibly tight that every small movement causes them to dig harshly into my skin.

I’m so caught up in my attempted escape that I don’t even register the sound of expensive brogue shoes clicking on the marble floor.

“Ah, so you’re finally awake?” A deep voice echoes through the room, causing me to stop pulling at my ropes and snap my head in the direction it came from.

One of the men from earlier, the one who had pinned my against the wall by my neck, is stood on the stairs in front of me.

He’s wearing the same attire he was at the party, but he’s ditched his tie and blazer, unbuttoned his shirt slightly, and pushed his shirt sleeves up to his elbows giving me a clear view of the sparkling gold watch that adorns his wrist.

He turns his head so that he’s facing up the stairs before shouting: “She’s up!” He continues walking to the bottom of the stairs before crossing the living area to stand a few feet in front of me.

He runs his eyes over me as I sit, and I’m unable to shield myself from his gaze due to my limbs being tied down.

One by one, the other six men make their way down the stairs, before joining the first man to stand before me with their arms crossed in front of their chests in an intimidating manner.

I swear I can hear my own heart pounding in my chest and I suddenly feel sick to my stomach as the haziness from whatever drug they gave me wears off, and reality sets in.

The man who first made an appearance (Their leader I’m assuming ? He does all the talking, anyway.) Steps forward and crouches down to balance on the balls of his feet, so that he’s now eye level with my sitting form.

He smirks at me in a very arrogant way, like he knows he makes me afraid, even if I try not to show it.

“Let’s go back to the beginning, shall we” He starts. “Are you gonna tell us your name. or will we have to torture you for it.”

I hesitate for a second, but I ultimately don’t want to end up tortured so I answer his questions. “Y/N”

“I’m Namjoon” He says, “and I think we’re going to have to get to know each other a bit more than we already do.”

I nod hesitantly, as I don’t trust my voice to work properly in my state of shock.

“You went out of your way to not only to steal from us,” He nods his head in the direction of the tattooed man who had caught me. “but also had the guts to actually lie to Jungkook’s face about it.”

I stare back at him, wide eyed and unsure of what to say. He sighs in annoyance. “You understand that that will have some serious consequences, right?”

“I’m sorry I really am.” I say, lowering my head to stare at my lap. A genuine laughs echoes around the room. “Did you here that Joon? She’s sorry.” he continues to laugh at me before turning serious in a split second. “Like that’ll magically fix everything.”

“Be nice Hoseok, she really does seem sorry.” Another one of them speaks, he’s extremely good looking, with a near perfect face and a tall, lean body.

“Jin, she was caught red handed stealing from us.” The cat-eyed man says sharply. “If she was that sorry she wouldn’t have done it in the first place.”

Jin opens his mouth to retort back but he’s cut off by the assertive voice of Namjoon. “Enough.”

Everyone falls into silence.

“Here’s how it is, we don’t give a fuck if your sorry that you stole from us or if someone else told you to or any other excuse you try to come up with. You tried to rob us. You tried to fuck us over, and now your gonna try and get out of it. Does that sound correct?”

I nod my head once again, still looking at my legs. He sharply snaps his fingers causing me to jerk my head up at the sound.

“Look at me.” I hesitantly lift my head to look him in the eyes. “Does that sound correct?” He repeats, sounding increasingly irritated.

“Yes” I say as confidently as I can, which is pretty diffident at the moment.

He sighs and slaps his hands on his legs before standing up to join the rest of the group behind him.

“So” Jin starts, “You said it was Kang Hyunwoo who sent you here.”

“Yeah, he said something about you owing him stuff, I think.” A few of the men scoff before sharing a knowing look between themselves.

“Why did you even agree to help him anyway?” Jungkook says. I shrug “He offered to pay me.”

“Well, knowing Hyunwoo, you definitely won’t be seeing that money anytime soon.”

Although it’s hard to say if Hyunwoo really would have stuck to his word, I do feel slightly embarrassed that I jumped to do what he said the moment he mentioned money.

“What should we do with her then?” The man who had gave me the injection earlier -Jimin, I think-asks.

“We could just kill her, makes things easier on our part.” The cat eyed man says.

I feel my heart drop to my stomach. Yeah I fucked up bad, but surely I don’t deserve to die.

“Yoongi” Jin scolds sternly, “We won’t kill her, she genuinely seems like she had no idea what she was doing.”

“I don’t buy it” Yoongi says, giving me an icy glare.

“Anyway” Hoseok interrupts. “We can’t just let you go after that stunt. If she’s so good at selling weed for Hyunwoo, why don’t get her to start sellling for us?.”

“Yeah actually.” Jungkook continues, “We’ll make her work for us to make up for it.”

Work for them, are fucking kidding me?? “And what If I don’t want to work for you.”

“Then we’ll let Yoongi-Hyung kill you.” The man in question, Yoongi, sends me a chilling wink that seems far from playful.

“Maybe she can stay here with us in one of the guest rooms, so we make sure she doesn’t try and run away.” At this point I’m wondering if dying would just be the better option.

“So it’s decided then.” Namjoons announces. “Guess you work for us now, y/n.”

“I’ll set up one of the quest rooms.” The man who restrained me earlier, Taehyung, says.

“Not so fast.” Namjoon stops him, “She’s not trusted enough to sleep alone yet, she’ll bunk in with one of us tonight.”

“I’ll have her in my room.” Taehyung says with a devious smirk, sending a wink in my direction.

“No.” Namjoon shuts him down immediately. “She’ll stay with Yoongi, she’s less likely to try anything if she’s around.”

“But please hyung, I can keep her in check, it’s not like i’m gonna try anything.” Taehyung begs. Why the hell does he want me in his room so bad?

Namjoon sighs in annoyance before finally giving in to taehyung’s pleading puppy eyes. “Fine” He grits out. “Jimin, untie her.”

Jimin approaches me before pulling a small blade out the back pocket of his trousers. I feel slightly unnerved knowing that he’d had that the whole time I was tied up.

He approaches me and slides the knife between the flesh of my arm and the rope wrapped around my wrist. In one swift motion, he pulls the knife upwards, snapping the rope in two.

He does the same for the other three restraints, before offering me a hand to stand up. My legs ache as I use them for the first time in a while.

“Well, come on then.” Taehyung says as he grabs my wrist, and begins to pull me towards the staircase at the back of the room.

Being dragged, I suddenly get deja vu from earlier, but, Taehyungs grip is much more gentle than jungkook’s. After all, there’s nowhere I can run now that I’m trapped in their house.

He leads me up the stairs and into one of many bedrooms that take up most of the second floor.

The bedroom he takes me into is decorated and painted with a multitude of gray shades. A large window spans the back wall with a view that allows you to see right across the city’s skyline.

I’m relieved to see that the bed is very spacious, so I shouldn’t have to practically sleep on top of Taehyung.

Whilst I’m distracted talking in the new room, Taehyung was raking through his wardrobe, and eventually pulled out a plain black t-shirt.

He throws it to me and I catch it. “You can get changed in the bathroom, and you can go back to your house and get your own clothes tomorrow.”

I just nod at him, before making my way into the en suit bathroom that adjoins to his room to get changed.

I contemplate taking my bra off, but eventually decide against it. As much as I loathe having to sleep in my bra, I don’t know if I want to take it off when i’ll be sleeping in the same bed as Taehyung.

The t-shirt is quite big, even on my taller frame, reaching down to my mid thigh. I splash some cold water on my face to bring myself to my senses and to at least try to rub off my makeup.

I hang my dress I took off on the back of the door, and leave my high heels sitting just under it. I emerge from the bathroom to find Taehyung in bed already, back leaning against the headboard and wearing nothing but a pair of sweatpants.

I resist the urge to blush as I sneak a glance at his toned chest and abdomen. It’s no wonder I wasn’t able to escape his grip when he restrained me with arms like those.

He gently smiles at me before patting the space next to him. I make my way around the bed and notice that he’s already closed the curtains, so that the lamp on the bedside table next to him is the only thing illuminating the room.

I cautiously climb into bed next to him, and he turns to me as I do so. “You don’t have to be so nervous around us, you’re gonna have to get to know us if you work for us.”

“Well you pretty much kidnapped me and forced me to work for you, so sorry if I don’t seem overly friendly.” I shoot back, pissed off at his suggestion.

How the fuck can he expect me to not be nervous around him when just a few hours ago one of his gang members held a gun to my head?

He chuckles deeply, and mockingly. “I’m sure you’ll come around, love.”

And with that, he turns off the light, and we both drift off to sleep.

Authors Note: this is the idea I had for the living room/main room area x

I am so sorry it took so long to get this chapter up, so much stuff happened these past few days that I’ve either not had time to write, or I’ve not felt like I was in the right state to.

I’ll try and get more consistent with posting new chapters in the future. xx

Tag list:

@sa7kou @purplelady85 @bunzom @jaxavance @drunkzseok @xmochiloverx @seajae

Do you have a specific schedule update your book is good 😭

Thank you so much! 💞

I don’t currently have a schedule, I’m just writing whenever I have free time, but I’m hoping to get chapter 4 up by Thursday, maybe even tomorrow if I get a lot of writing done.

There will usually only be 2-3 days between chapters being posted xx

Karma Dona Masterlist

BTS:

OT7:

Vice - BTS Mafia Au

OT7 x reader, mafia au, ongoing

Vice Masterlist

Vice - BTS mafia au. ongoing.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Vice - Bts Mafia Au

mafia!bts x reader

summary: After finding yourself in a desperate situation, you’re foolish enough to do anything for money, and you somehow find yourself held captive by the members of Seouls most ruthless gang, Bangtan.

Warnings: Strong language, no smut (yet ;)))

Chapter 3

I stand frozen, my mind racing for a valid reason to explain why the fuck I was stealing from Bangtan.

I should’ve known not to come here tonight. I should’ve known something like this would happen.

Did I really think I’d be able to pull an operation like this off? Of course not.

I mentally curse Hyunwoo (and myself for listening to him.) How on earth did I let myself get in a situation like this?

“Well?” The stranger questions, narrowing his eyes at me in suspicion. Although he’s pointing a gun at me, I can’t help but notice just how attractive he is. At least I’ll have something nice to look at whilst I die.

Jet black hair sits across his forehead, a small gap in his bangs allows for me to sneak a glance at his pierced eyebrow. His lip is pierced as well and a multitude of small hoops and studs adorn his ear.

The sleeves of his pristine black dress shirt are pushed up to rest at his elbows, and the arm pointing the gun at me is covered in tattoos, right the way down to his hand.

Before I even have a chance to explain myself he speaks again.

“If you don’t answer in the ten seconds, I’ll blow your fucking head off, and I have better things to do than spend the rest of the night washing blood out my clothes.”

I decide that acting like I belong here is the only thing that will get me out of here safely.

“Oh, I was sent to get this, didn’t anyone tell you?” I say as confidently and convincingly as I can.

He his eyebrow quirks up and he smirks slightly, clearly not believing my obvious lie. “Oh yeah? Who sent you?”

Fuck. I was not prepared for that question. I rack my brain for any possible answer, any names from rumours I may have heard about the gang but I genuinely can’t think of anything.

I know I’ve stayed quiet for too long when he scoffs and glares at me accusingly. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

He drops the gun from my head (thank fuck) and grabs my upper arm harshly to pull me to my feet.

He pauses for a moment, holds a finger to his ear, and begins to speak, presumably into an ear piece.

“Hyung?, I’ve found some girl looking through our stuff in a private office. I have no idea how she managed to unlock it. What do you want me to do with her?”

He goes silent and I assume whoever’s on the other end of the earpiece is talking.

“Yeah ok, I’ll see you out there” And with that he lowers his hand and brings his attention back to me.

He smirks at me again, chuckling darkly before speaking. “You have no idea how much trouble your in, do you?”

I stay completely silent, resorting to glaring at him in an attempt to mask my fear.

He harshly grabs my wrist and begins to pull me out the room and down the hall.

“No-please!” I shout as I desperately try to resist his iron grip, but he was far too strong. Instead of responding, he shoots me a look that I can’t quite read. amusement? annoyance, maybe?

He takes me in the opposite direction that I came from, dragging me to the end of the hall and down a flight of stairs.

The route he takes me means that we don’t have to walk through the main hall where all the guests are, meaning that there’s no one to help me. Though, I highly doubt they would be of any aid to me even if they were here.

His fast pace makes it nearly impossible for me to keep up as I constantly trip over my ridiculously talle shoes. Why didn’t I just wear flats?

I consider asking him to slow it down a bit, but I would most likely just be met with some sort of sarcastic comment, so I stay quiet.

Eventually cold air hits my face as we step out the building and into the night, through a back entrance, of course.

“Don’t even think about screaming, or I’ll kill you right here.” He says, shooting me a glare over his shoulder.

I nod at him in reply, though the thought of screaming hadn’t even crossed my mind, I was too struck with fear to think clearly.

He pulls me round a corner so that we’re now behind the manor, and I’m met with the stern faces of six other intimidating, albeit very handsome, men.

Two ridiculously expensive looking Mercedes-benz G-class SUVs are parked on the road just behind them, a few of the men leaning back on them.

After me and my captor make an appearance, they all stand straighter, bringing their full attention to us.

We stop walking and I shift in discomfort as I feel each pair of eyes look me up and down. A sudden sense of complete vulnerability starts to take over, and I recoil back into myself, lowering my head to look at the ground.

“So” One of the men steps forwards, he’s the tallest out of all of them, and well built too. His silver-blue hair stands out in the moonlight, which casts shadows down onto his structured face.

“Would you care to inform us as to why you thought you could get away with stealing our shit?” He speaks harshly, taking a step towards me.

I start to back away with him, only to immediately hit the firm chest of the man who brought me here. Chuckling, He moves his hand from my wrist to my upper back, giving me a rough push forwards.

I let out a quiet noise of surprise before looking up at the tall man I was now stood directly in front of. How the hell do I make up an excuse for this?

I decide that actually being honest might be my best bet, and throwing Hyunwoo under the bus just might be my golden ticket to getting out of here alive.

“I had no idea what I was doing I swear” I plead desperately. “I was just sent here by someone else. I didn’t know who it was I was stealing from.”

So maybe that last bit was a teensy little lie, but it might make them go easy on me.

The taller man takes one more step forward so that our chests are nearly touching, despite being nearly 5’6” myself, I’m forced to crane my neck up to look at him (giving him my best “innocent puppy-dog” eyes, of course.)

“Who sent you?” He says gruffly, he narrows his eyes at me before asking “What is Xe Liang? I told him his ass was done if he ever bothered us again.”

“What? No, it wasn’t him” Though the name does actually sound familiar, though, I have no idea where i’ve heard it before.

“It was Hwang Hyunwoo, he got me an invite too.” The men all look amongst each other in what appears to be confusion. “Hyunwoo..?” The one in front of me says thoughtfully.

“Oh, wait a minute” One of the men by the cars speaks up. He has intriguing cat-like eyes that bore into me, and somewhat longer black hair that reaches just past his ears and has been parted off of his forehead to frame his face.

Just like the rest of the men he’s dressed up in a smart all black-suit, though, he’s ditched his tie and the top button of his dress shirt is undone. His features are soft, but he gives of a domineering aura.

“He’s that kid we used to sell to before he started trying to fuck us over.” Multiple ohs and ahs of realisation fill the air, as the group seemingly now remembers Hyunwoos significance.

The man in front of me whips around in anger to face the rest of them. “Who the fuck does he think he is trying to fuck with us again? He’s dead meat, and I mean it this time.”

He sharply turns back to face me, before bringing a large hand up to the bass of my neck, and pushing me against the stone wall of the building behind me.

I gasp in surprise, bringing my own hands up to grip his wrist, desperately trying to pull him off of me, but it’s no use.

“How the hell do you know him” He spat at me accusingly. I scrambled to respond, but it was difficult with my airway being compressed.

“I just sell weed for him-I barely know him I swear!” Tears threaten to spill as my facade breaks down. “Please, just let me go!” I say, my voice shaking as I speaks.

He looks at me in curiosity as if wondering what to do with me, before he pulls me off the wall by my neck and throws me towards the group.

“Taehyung, Jimin, sedate her, we’ll take her back to the house and decide what to do from there. We can’t risk having this conversation in the open any longer.

One of the men, Taehyung or Jimin I’m assuming, grabs me from behind by my upper arms, His secure grip making it impossible to move no matter how much I struggle.

“Please no! I didn’t know, I swear to god!” I bend my neck to look up at my captor with pleading eyes.

He’s extremely good looking, with tan skin and handsome features. He has a tall nose, full lips and slightly hooded eyes. His black hair pushed off his forehead, and his pristine attire seems to be missing the ebony blazer jacket everyone else is wearing.

Before he has a chance to speak, the cat-eyed man from earlier does it for him. “It doesn’t matter, you still stole from us.” I turn my head to meet eyes with him as he shoots a fiery glare at me.

“Surely you can’t be that stupid to think you could get away with that just because “someone told you to do it”.” His words silence me and my cheeks flush in embarrassment.

I bring my attention to another man who has began walking towards me. He’s much shorter than the man holding me and has a very beautiful face as my gaze is immediately drawn to his full lips and flirtatious eyes.

I snap back to reality when I see a menacing syringe held between his middle and index finger.

“No please!” I beg as I begin to fight against the hold on my arms. I shrink back into the chest of the one behind me, trying to lean away from the needle, though, it’s not like I could go anywhere.

“Sorry, love.” The man with the syringe says before inserting it into the side of my arm, just under the large hand gripping me.

It only takes a few short seconds before I begin to feel drowsy. My legs give out beneath me so that the only thing holding me up is the stranger behind me, and everything turns to black.

Authors Note: The outfits I imagined the boys wearing here were the ones they wore for their Grammys performance caused they look smoking hot in them 🥵

Tag list:

@sa7kou @purplelady85 @bunzom

Vice - BTS Mafia Au

Mafia!BTS x reader

Summary: After finding yourself in a desperate situation, you’re foolish enough to do anything for money, and you somehow find yourself held captive by the members of Seoul’s most ruthless gang, Bangtan.

Warnings: strong language, no smut (yet;)))

Authors Note: just finished watching The Gentlemen and I’m incredibly inspired to right a mafia/drug lord fic lol. This is the first fic I’ve posted so feedback is encouraged!

Chapter 2

Friday couldn’t come soon enough. I’d be lying if I told you I wasn’t a little bit nervous about this whole ordeal, but I’m hoping to get it over with as soon as possible, plus, Hyunwoo will pay me tomorrow.

Despite the fact that his comment was mostly sarcastic and just another way to try and get a rise out of me, I did make sure to follow his advice, and dress up a bit.

After class on Thursday night, I treated myself to a shopping trip in my local thrift store. That store has saved my life (and social status) on multiple occasions.

I picked a beautiful dress that complimented my figure to perfection. Although second hand, it was glamorous enough to convince the other guests that I belonged there, but not too stand-outish to draw any unwanted attention to myself. It was perfect.

I paired it with some matching stilettos I found on sale, and a small, pendant necklace that once belonged to my grandmother, that I took when I ran from home.

Without owning any method of transport to get myself to the address Hyunwoo gave me, I took the bus for the first half of the journey, and walked for a good 45 minutes after I got off.

Now that I’ve finally arrived, my feet are in fucking agony. I definitely didn’t think my shoe choice through very thoroughly. But that’s the last thing on my mind as I stare up at the building in front of me in awe.

The location of the gathering was in a luxury manor on the outskirts of the city (thus why I had to travel so far to get here.) beguilingly intricate designs are sculpted into the buildings exterior, as well as classic stained glass windows. Ridiculously expense cars ranging from Porches to Mustangs to Mclarens were parked outside, serving as another reminder of the kind of people I would be dealing with tonight.

My heels click against the marble stairs as I make my way towards the entrance. Despite my intention to keep a low profile, I can’t help but feel like everyone’s eyes are on me, or maybe I’m just paranoid.

I pass the fake invitation Hyunwoo hooked me up with to the doorman, with my fake ID at ready in my other hand incase he asked for it. Much to my luck, he simply looked it over once and sent me a nod, I exhaled, not even realising I had been holding my breath.

I slipped my fake ID into my bra for safekeeping, and made my way inside. The interior mirrors the grandness and sheer beauty of the outside of the building. Expensive art pieces stand on display all across the main hall, with aristocrat-like guests wandering around.

For a moment, I feel suddenly overwhelmed, as if it had only just hit me the kind of situation I was putting myself in. I quickly shook away the thought, the faster i get the job done, the sooner I’m out of here.

I waste no time making my way through the corridor Hyunwoo had instructed me to go down. Now that I’m here, I’m incredibly thankful for his directions because it would have been hopeless for me to even attempt to navigate this place by myself.

I climb the stairs as he had instructed, and enter the third door on my left. I breathe a sigh of relief seeing that no one was inside the room. God knows how I would have got myself out of that situation.

The room is a spacious office, with built-in bookshelves on the walls and a magnificent victorian era desk standing proud in the center of the expanse.

I hurriedly make my way around desk and tug on the handle of the bottom drawer, but it stays jammed shut. “fuck” I muttered under my breath. It’s locked. I crane my neck to look over the desk, just to ensure that no one was coming.

I reach into my hair that I had styled before leaving the trailer, and pulled out a hair pin. Using my teeth, I bend it, and then jam it into the keyhole. After jiggling it about for a good few seconds, I hear a small click and the drawer opens slightly.

I silently thank my brother for teaching me that trick when we were kids. Coming from a family of junkies does have some benefits.

Just as Hyunwoo had said there would be, a pristine black briefcase sits perfectly inside the drawer. I pull it out and rest it on my knees, surprisingly, it didn’t require a passcode to open it.

I know I shouldn’t snoop, but I’m already stealing from Koreas most dangerous organisation, so it’s not like it will be the riskiest thing I do tonight.

Opening it, I’m faced with rows upon rows of hard cash. ”holy shit” I mutter, there must be at least 240,000,000 won ($200,000) in here.

And I’m only getting 6,000,000? what the fuck, Hyunwoo?

I shut the case closed again and just as I’m about to stand up and make a swift exit, a sharp click fills my ears and I feel something incredibly cold touch the back of my neck.

Terrified, I slowly turn myself around and immediately come face to face with the barrel of a pistol.

My stomach drops. I had worried about all the possible outcomes of tonight. This was most definitely a worst case scenario, to put it lightly.

Looking past the gun, I make eye contact with the cold, hard stare of an extremely handsome man.

“And what the fuck do you think your doing?”

Tag list:

@sa7kou

Vice - BTS Mafia Au

Mafia!BTS x reader

Summary: After finding yourself in a desperate situation, you’re foolish enough to do anything for money, and you somehow find yourself held captive by the members of Seoul’s most ruthless gang, Bangtan.

Warnings: Strong language, no smut(yet, ;))

Authors Note: Just finished watching The Gentlemen and I’m incredibly inspired to write something about the mafia/underground crime lol. This will be my first fic I’ve ever posted, so feedback is encouraged

Chapter One

It was a Friday afternoon, letting out a sigh of exhaustion, I throw my backpack on the ground haphazardly as I enter my trailer. Another long day of college over, and another week of tedious work coming to a close. I flicked the light switch next to the door frame but the small space stayed in darkness. “For fucks sake” I mutter, I hadn’t paid the electrical bill. The place is a shithole, but it’s all I’ve got. But, with another 6 bags of weed sold today, I just might be able to get that bill paid. I always used to frown upon those who turned to selling drugs to make a quick buck, but here I am left with no choice but to join those who I had always seen myself as better than.

It’s a cliche story, really. Me and my brother, Jinwoo, had run away from our mother, an avid drug abuser and a pathetic excuse of a parent. Between the two of us we somehow scraped together enough money to pay the rent living in a trailer park, soon I enrolled myself in the local community college and Jinwoo found odd jobs to support us.

No more than four months later did I return from classes to a note stuck to the peeling wallpaper in the kitchen. He had landed himself in massive trouble with his dealer, and had fled to god knows where. I figured eventually he’d return when he deemed things safe but it’s been a year and a half, and not even a text, letter or phone call.

I tried to pick up part time jobs to continue paying the bills by myself, but it was useless. It seemed like every other day I was returning home to eviction warnings on my door. Eventually I had no choice but to do the one thing I had swore to myself I never would.

Turns out, selling drugs to stoner college kids really is a fast way to make money, though I’ve swore to myself that I would never take them under any circumstances. My dealer, Hyunwoo, pays me 305,000 won ($250) a week to sell to his clients on campus, and bring him the money. Hyunwoo’s a handsome man living in the run down part of the city, much like myself. He blows all his money on weed, but makes a hell of a lot of cash selling it. He’s surprisingly charming, and quite flirty, really. I’ve grown to like him the more I’ve got to know him, and he must like me to some extent too because he always pays me a little bit extra than he pays the others who work for him.

I realise it’s getting quite late and I should really head over to his pace to give him his money before it gets to dark. A short ten minute walk and I’m knocking on the front door of his apartment, waiting expectantly. The door swings open to reveal Hyunwoo leaning on the doorframe. He’s got long-ish black hair that reaches just past his ears, full lips and high cheekbones, he’s very attractive, well put together and not at all what you would picture when thinking of the stereotypical stoner.

“Ah, I figured you’d show up soon” He sends me a wink and pushes himself off the door frame. “Yeah, I’ve got your stuff in here, hang on” I dig through my bag until I find the wad of cash I had accumulated through the course of the day. He takes it from my hand and counts it, but as I turn to leave he puts a firm hand on my shoulder. “Actually, could you come inside a minute, I need to talk to you”

“Sure” I rack my brain for anything he could possibly want from me, but in the end I’m really not sure of his intentions with me. He places his arm gently on my lower back and leads me through his apartment to his living room. Despite the shitty part of town he lives in, his apartment is actually quite nice. The walls are a dark, pine green, paired with mahogany furniture. The overwhelming smell of tobacco and marijuana fills my lungs, causing me to scrunch my nose in disgust for a moment.

“Sit” he instructs, motioning to his tan, leather couch in the centre of the room. I follow his command as he stays standing, and I look up at him expectantly, waiting for him to speak. “I need you to do me a favour” he sighs. “depends what it is.” Inside, I desperately hope it’s just selling to a few extra people next week, or something minor like that. Knowing Hyunwoo, it most likely won’t be.

“Some fucking gang in the north of the city have something that belongs to me, and I need you to help me get it back.” “no.” I respond bluntly. “I’m only doing this cause I need the money, I don’t want anything to do with your gang shit.” He thinks for a moment, but then continues. “I’ll pay you an extra 6,000,000 won ($5000) if you do this job for me.” Initially, I go to immediately decline his offer, but then I hesitate.

6,000,000 won? that could pay my rent for a full year. If I don’t take this job, I’ll never be able to pay that electrical bill, I could be evicted by the end of the month. Desperate times call for desperate measures, and I am desperate. “continue…” I say apprehensively, hoping the job will be quick and easy, but considering how much he’s had to offer me to do it, it probably won’t be.

Hyunwoo explains to me that there’s an upcoming gathering, disguised as a lavish party, for Seoul’s mafia bosses, drug lords and all sorts of other underground crime schemers, to discuss deals and other business offers. The group -or gang, I guess- organising it operate under the name Bangtan. It does ring a bell but to be honest I’m not all that familiar with them or their work, and I have no intention to be.

Hyunwoo claims Bangtan have stolen something that belongs to him, and that my job, is to get that thing back. “When you enter the building there’ll be a long hallway to your right, with a staircase at the end, go up the stairs and into the third door on your left. There should be a desk in the centre of the room, and in the bottom drawer, you’ll find a briefcase. Bring it back to me.”

Silence overcomes the room for a brief moment as he finishes explaining my task. I take a moment to think before I finally speak. “One question” His dark eyes bore into me as he awaits for me to continue. “why me?” “what do you mean?” “Well, you have so many other people who work for you, who are much more skilled at this stuff than I am, why not send one of them? I know anyone with common sense would gladly take the money.”

Hyunwoo, who had been rolling joints throughout the duration of our conversation, reaches into his drawer and pulls out a lighter, igniting the end of one of the blunts. I give him a look of disapproval, not that he cares, though. “You’re absolutely correct, this errand would have a much higher chance of success if I sent one of my good men, but Bangtan knows them all. We’ve done many deals with them in the past that they’d easily recognise any one of them. You, however, they don’t know, as long as I get you a fake invite and a fake ID, no-one will bat an eye at you.”

Hyunwoo takes my still quietness as a silent acceptance. “It’ll be next friday at 10pm, I’ll text you the address tomorrow.” “alright” I say, standing up from the very stylish, but rather uncomfortable, couch and make my way over to the door. “I’ll see you later then” Just as I’m passing through the frame of his front door the sound of his voice stops me in my tracks, “And, Y/N?” I hover in the doorway awaiting a response, only for him to snicker, and say “Wear something pretty” he flashes me a grin and begins to laugh as I roll my eyes at him, and make my way out the door.

Authors Note: Chapter Two will be up as soon as possible! :))