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whatifyoulivelikethat · 1 year

Text

games, m | myg

pairing(s): yoongi x reader

summary: You don't have a crush on Min Yoongi. You two are just fucking. Yup. You ignore him for two weeks because of Pokémon. Sorry. Twelve days. He's mad about it (and drunk?). Oh, shit.

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; OT6 are nosy so now it's somehow crack???? this always happens idk how; friends-with-benefits; soulmate vibes(?); ft my obsession Pokemon Scarlet / Violet; feels + smut (fem reader, penetrative sex, scratching, m-receiving oral, mutual masturbation, choking); non-idol!AU; switches between your POV and Yoongi's POV

“Yoongi?”

Wow, that was loud and unexpected. Knocked you right out of your very pleasant dream of stuffing your face at a buffet with thick, juicy slices of prime rib, complete with flakes of premium sea salt.

“YOONGI?!”

You could still almost taste it, but, like all dreams, the savory delight slipped away from you rapidly as you groggily blinked and realized you were resembling a croissant folded into this couch.

“You have a crush on Min Yoongi of all people?!”

Similar to the flaky buttery pastry, you had no idea what the fuck was going on. Unlike the product of a baker’s pride, sentient life required you to reorient yourself into humanity, hazily taking note of the MapleStory mushroom-printed blanket draped over you and your empty hands. Your hands had been holding your phone before you passed out. You were obsessed with mobile puzzle games recently. It was nice to have games on the go to occupy yourself instead of, bleh, socializing. It was awesome. When you figured them out too easily though, they made you sleepy.

Anyway, where the hell was your phone?

“Really?! Yoongi-hyung? Oh my gosh, he texted a human being all in his own? Wow!”

That kind of excitement could only be the voice of…

“Come on, guys, hyung’s been better about such things recently. He’s surprisingly sentimental, you know.”

And that sensible voice was none other than…

Someone snorted.

That was Kim Seokjin.

You rubbed your eyes to see a familiar man holding your very expensive Samsung smartphone with your customized Rotom phone case, poking at the screen as if he was his own.

“What kind of illegal activity are you doing over there?” you hummed as you sat up, knowing full well he did not possess access due to the fingerprint scanner. One time you snuck up on him as he tried to snoop on your phone. He had flung it, so this time you calmly stayed on the sofa as your longtime friend on the armchair jumped, thoroughly scaring himself and the lean, tan drink-of-sunshine standing behind him.

“You’re awake!” Seokjin blurted. Tall, gangly if you squinted, absolutely handsome, somehow always dancing on the edge of endearing caretaker and walking disaster, Kim Seokjin threw himself out of the plushy white armchair and shoved your phone into your face accusingly as if you were the one responsible of wrongdoing. His chestnut-brown poofy hair bounced as he relentlessly poked you in the head. “You’re texting Min Yoongi! Is that the one you have a crush on?!”

“Er, technically all hyung asked was when the group was meeting up…” Jung Hoseok squeaked, radiating apologies while Seokjin continued poking you in the head with his free hand. “I tried to tell him not to touch your phone.”

“I’m sure you did,” you replied. “I’m also sure he didn’t listen.”

“Hey. Answer me.”

“Hyung…” The concerned, deep voice was coming from the barstools in the kitchen behind you, in the don’t-annoy-her-that’s-rude-but-also-it's-not-my-place-to-scold-since-I’m-younger tone. Kim Namjoon, who was probably reading a book and drinking tea at the counter. He must have been banished there. The last time he had done the same activities in the living room, he had spilled tea all over Seokjin’s white rug. That had earned him a good yelling.

You glanced at Hoseok’s rueful expression and half-smiled, waving your hand to indicate you weren’t that bothered.

“I can’t believe you wouldn’t tell me.”

Kim Seokjin believed he needed to know such information about you because he had been your friend since your accountant mother started dragging you to house calls to a very specific home (mansion) in hopes of child you falling in love with the dashingly handsome son of one of her clients (she told his parents that it was because she couldn’t afford daycare, but even child you knew better). Instead, Seokjin and you became inseparable hopelessly addicted gaming fanatics that could not imagine each other naked without puking.

You did end up becoming inseparable. Just not in the way your mother wanted.

Oops.

“I don’t have a crush on Min Yoongi.”

“Oh yeah?” He said it in a high-pitched, disbelieving tone. You swatted his hand and snatched your phone from him, peering at the message preview. “Why is he texting you then, huh? HUH?”

Your phone vibrated.

Sorry to bother you. I would have texted Seokjin-hyung, but he’s annoying.

“He says you’re annoying.”

“Ex-cuse ME?”

“Here’s the proof.”

“EXCUSE HIM?!”

“What.”

“Let me in. It’s cold out here.”

“What are you doing here?” Kim Taehyung sputtered, obediently opening his apartment door to the slightly shorter, much more imposing figure of Min Yoongi. His long black hair was wild and windblown, puffy black parka zipped all the way up, hood out but useless at the moment. Light denim jeans and black boots crusted with snow. Nothing but his serious, intense demeanor made him imposing. Yoongi carefully kicked off the white ice before stepping in, slowly raising an eyebrow at Taehyung’s askew brown locks and rumpled gray sweat set.

“You’re not leaving like that are you?”

Taehyung frowned. “I’m not, duh. Jimin’s taking ages to use the bathroom. I think he fell in the toilet.”

“Hey! I heard that! Who’s out there?”

“You won’t believe it,” Taehyung shouted back to the disembodied voice coming from inside his apartment. He pushed his hair back from his eyes like he himself couldn’t believe it, revealing his classically handsome sharp features and stunned frown. “It’s Yoongi.”

“YOONGI?!”

The Min Yoongi, of the hour it seemed, rolled his eyes.

“What are you doing back there?” he called to the voice inside from the front hallway, not moving.

“Fixing my hair!” Park Jimin yelled back several decibels louder.

“I’m surprised,” Taehyung said, looking scowling Yoongi up and down like he was some kind of unidentified foreign object. “I thought you weren’t coming. Didn’t you say you were busy?”

“I made myself unbusy,” Yoongi grumbled back, pulling out his phone.

“You don’t make yourself unbusy for no reason.” Taehyung persisted, sticking his face in between Yoongi and his phone, making those cat-like eyes above narrow in annoyance.

“There’s alcohol.”

Taehyung wiggled his dark eyebrows. “I thought you were cutting back.”

Deadpan.

“Life’s shit, man.”

The younger male broke out into his boxy smile and booming laugh, pulling his head of brown curls back to double over. It was the combination of Yoongi’s dead-inside expression and monotone reply that was making Taehyung snort, that and Yoongi’s immediate return to his phone as if nothing was happening. Yoongi still made no move to actually step further into the apartment. He simply continued standing in front of the closed front door, on the welcome mat next to the shoes thrown about because Kim Taehyung couldn’t be neat unless he was impressing someone, and those people were not his best friend Park Jimin and unexpected-guest-but-still-friend Min Yoongi.

“You’re so funny, hyung.”

“I’m not.”

“Yes, you are.”

Yoongi raised his eyebrows as he stared at his phone and gave Taehyung absolutely fucking nothing to work with to continue the conversation.

“I guess you intend to drink since you stopped by here,” Taehyung chattered on, bored and unbothered about Yoongi’s lack of communication. “I’m closest to the train station and in between the karaoke bar. Plus sharing a taxi with us is cheaper than paying on your own.”

Silence.

Taehyung prodded Yoongi’s arm.

“Uh huh.”

Innovative answer.

“I think everyone is going to be there then,” Taehyung continued on, smooth baritone voice calming as he listed the people. “Namjoonie-hyung, Seokjinnie-hyung, Hoseokie-hyung, Jimin, Jungkookie, you, me…”

“Where’s Jungkook?”

“He’s asleep.”

Taehyung pointed to the couch. There was a blob of gray, black and white, too much fabric and face-down into the couch pillows. A poof of wavy black hair the only indication the pile was a human and not forgotten laundry.

“What is he, a newborn infant?”

“I don’t know. He said he was tired. If we don’t let him nap now, he’ll pass out during karaoke and we’re not strong enough to carry him out. Remember last time?” Taehyung sighed.

The monochrome blob that was supposedly the man named Jeon Jungkook suddenly snored, as if on cue.

“Yeah, I don’t know what he’s is doing in the gym but he’s unmovable,” Yoongi muttered.

The phone vibrated.

“Oh, is that me?” Taehyung immediately felt around his pockets and looked around. “Ah, where did I–”

But it was not him. Yoongi looked down. Unfortunately, you’ll bear witness to my awful singing. I apologize in advance. The corner of his lips ticked as he read the message. He breathed out. One, two, three, four seconds, and typed back. That makes the two of us then. A part of him thought he shouldn’t have started this conversation. He wasn’t good at this small talk thing, but one had to make some kind of effort in getting to know someone. And, anyway, he knew himself.

Do before getting carried away.

And, yeah, he wanted to know this one.

“I knew it.”

Yoongi slowly blinked, sensing an ominous presence staring at his phone screen, most certainly reading the name there. Sigh. He pulled his arm back and put his phone in his pocket, looking up to see the grinning, scheming, falsely-angelic face of Park Jimin looming into his peripheral view.

“Oooh, Min Yoongi has a crush.”

Yoongi said nothing, because saying nothing was better than reaching over and strangling Jimin. The latter would require physical effort. Oh, and perhaps land him in jail for murder. But that was only because Taehyung was here as witness.

“Huh… I thought I got a notification,” the latter commented, emerging from his bedroom with his uncased smartphone. Yoongi often wondered how Taehyung never cracked it, but perhaps he just bought new ones when he did. Taehyung often chose aesthetics over practicality. “Oh, finally, you’re out of the bathroom. Do I have to open a window to spare myself?”

“Tae, Yoongi-hyung has a crush,” Jimin sing-songed, bouncing around the older male teasingly as Yoongi remained statuesque. “He’s texting Seokjinnie-hyung’s lady gamer friend.”

Yoongi did not confirm or deny this information as Taehyung’s brown doe eyes went wide.

“OH?”

“Hyung’s flirting.”

Yoongi felt his right eyelid twitch.

“Jungkookie! Jungkookie, wake up, I have news!”

The blob trembled, suddenly alive, shaken violently by a hyper-excited Taehyung who couldn’t believe his ears even though he did not fact-check Jimin and had zero proof if his best friend was telling the truth or not. Apparently, he was filled with too much glee to relay this sudden revelation to the youngest, sleepiest one of the soon-to-be-drunk-as-fuck-karaoke group.

“W... Wuh?”

Unsurprisingly, Jungkook was not that articulate when barely roused from the dead.

“Yoongi-hyung’s flirting!”

Those big peepers snapped open.

“He’s WHAT?!”

“Mmm.”

The night smelled like smoke and someone’s delicious dinner.

“I should, ah, head home now that you’re safely at your door and all that.”

The winter night framed his figure. A halo of streetlamp light caught the gloss of his wavy black hair. Long and dark and shadowy, strands curling around high cheekbones and fair skin. He caught your gaze as you turned to face him. Black-brown eyes and unreadable expression. Half-zipped parka, black sweatshirt, and blue jeans with gray paint splattered onto one knee. No scarf. Strange, because you knew this man was the kind of guy who always wore a beanie and prioritized sensibility over aesthetics, and yet.

Min Yoongi raised his hands and exhaled into his curled palms, warming his nose at the same time. He looked away from you to do so.

“Cold?”

He shrugged. “It’s winter.”

You half-smiled, lifting your ungloved left hand. “My hands are always warm. My face always gets cold first before my hands.”

He eyed your fur-lined leather jacket. A chocolatey faux fur, softness peeking out from the tougher black fabric. Then his eyeline shifted. Intently observing your face. If you were younger, you might have thought you had to react differently. Been shy like the movies or some shit.

You simply waited, keeping your touch hovering in the winter night.

Slowly, you lowered your hand.

Something fluttered in the darkness that was those eyes. You had seen it before, maybe even spied it earlier this night. It was only a get-together between friends, drinks and karaoke, neither activity you particularly enjoyed which led to your original decision of not going. One small detail changed your mind, and he was standing right in front of you. Your singing was awful, but Yoongi was still polite enough to say that you were better than he was. I’m only good at rap. Sure. You heard what he said and his singing voice proved to contradict it. So Min Yoongi was that kind of liar, huh.

You didn’t say goodbye yet.

You could see Yoongi was waiting for you to say it first. You removed your other hand from your jacket pocket. Empty, purposefully leaving your keys behind. Calmly stared into those dark eyes as he stepped forward. You could feel it. The fire beneath the waves. Felt it all night. In the stolen glances, in the way he spoke to you, polite with piqued curiosity, in the way time stopped when your eyes connected.

You smiled.

His cold fingers touched the back of your hand.

You didn’t say anything. Didn’t need the conversation to be with words. His hand on yours, chills wrapping around the warmth. Experiential. Testing the feeling between you and him. You didn’t need to wonder what he thought of you. He had reached out and touched your hand and you let him, reaching between you and him to softly rub the back of his knuckles, silently speaking to those dark eyes and parted lips through touch. His other hand raised and laid above your joined hands.

Black strands curved around his cheeks as Yoongi lowered his head.

“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” he whispered, smokey and dusky.

Bodies closer, breath mixing. Your head tilted. Lashes lowering. Cold night air disappearing because of the fire under the water, breath to breath, hot, almost burning, the desire to break the surface rising, rising.

“Is it this?” you murmured, barely audible.

You could tell a lot from one kiss. He did not hide his hesitancy or his want. Honesty from the very beginning of his lips on yours, surprised at the way you pressed back against him and inhaled, imprinting the moment to your memory with his scent. Your grip tightened and his did too, telling you everything you needed to know, kiss after kiss, pulling him to you, away from the winter night and memories of a friendly get-together, about to change them into something…

Else.

Yeah.

Fuck it, you were already pushing his parka down his shoulders before your front door finished closing. It was dark but that didn’t matter when you remembered where everything was, flicking on low lights and bringing his face close to yours again, creating the magical moments on your own, not waiting for Yoongi for do so. He was enough magic in his breathless gasps and the way he seamlessly followed the fervor of your kiss, his shallow sighs saturated with lust. There was very little talking except the conversation of bodies. Not much to say when you collided him into the wall and slid your hands under his sweatshirt, skin to warm skin, kisses turning to hot breath and flicks of tongue against his neck, shivers under your lips, and then he flipped the situation, strong hands on your shoulders and rolling against the wall, pinning you with his body.

Hair all over his eyes.

Shaking inhale.

A hall lamp lighting the left side of his face.

“Too fast?” you asked softly.

Dark orbs flickered to yours.

“… No.”

Closer, his air becoming your air.

“I just don’t want you to think this is the reason I walked you home. I didn’t want you to get hurt. Walking at night alone isn’t safe. People are crazy.”

You half-smiled. Alright, more of a smirk. “Maybe I’m one of them.”

A light chuckle, impressed and amused at the same time. “I was trying to sober up too.” Giving excuses.

“Heard you have a high tolerance.”

“Alcohol is alcohol.”

“So, does the alcohol wanna fuck me or do you?”

No one ever called you subtle.

Yoongi closed the distance, his hair falling against your forehead. You could tell he was struggling with himself whether or not to be swept up in the waves of your fire, or maybe struggling with what was wrong and what was right, or maybe he was hesitating once he felt your relentless energy under his hands, but you could also feel something pressing against your crotch and it wasn’t one of his legs.

He was very calm once he made his decision.

“What do you like?”

Your hands in his hair, his ear between your teeth, and his moan into your pillows. Clothes all over the floor, body to body, so much heat that you both seemed to forget it was winter. His hand on your breasts, your hard nipples between his fingertips, your mouth opening and extending your tongue, teasing him, tangling your legs in his. There was some irresistible about his smile and his smirk. You chased both, running your nails over his back and ass, his hard cock pressed to your thigh and his hiss against your neck, do you have condoms, we shouldn’t, but he didn’t need to finish since you were already prepared.

“I’m not irresponsible.”

“Oh?” Yoongi cocked an eyebrow. Glanced at your rumpled sheets, his naked body as he rolled down the condom, and then at your naked body. “Doesn’t seem like it.”

You just smirked.

You were often careful after the first time, following the energy of the other person rather than your own desires. But this time, something was different. Your hand would press to his chest, fingernails curling in, and, slowly, centimeter by centimeter, his length filling you, contented sighs mixing, raking your nails down, lines of pain in your wake, listening to his hitched breath, his eyes flashing.

He didn’t say it, but his voice was in his racing heartbeat and throbbing cock.

More.

Not quite competitiveness but more like pleasure from pushing the limit. There was a certain measure of reservedness, like how he waited patiently for you to lift your leg up onto his shoulder. First one, and then you tapped his other arm. Yoongi raised his eyebrows, but he lifted his other arm, hand back to your mattress once you were folded under him.

You lifted your hips up and rammed into his crotch.

He sucked in a growl and winced, screwing his eyes shut. Probably to avoid you seeing anything too embarrassing. You let your muscles slowly close in around him, squeezing his hardness, letting yourself feel him inside you. Appreciating. He didn’t move right away. You did, steadily fucking him from below, his chest against your thighs, keeping the smirk on your face to stay as infuriating as possible.

“Fucking… Are you enjoying this?”

Low and dangerous, sweet chills up your spine at his deep voice.

“Do you fuck without the intent of enjoying it?” you countered.

He narrowed his eyes and fucked you into your mattress. Merciless and hard and deliberate. Good rhythm, which you expected. Intensity over speed, which you did not expect. Yoongi knew what he was doing. He was not just chasing his own pleasure. There was no need to with the way that you were nearly sending him over the edge with the control of your own muscles. He slowed down for a moment, lifting a hand and tracing your jaw with his fingertips, whispers under his pants, you have nice lips, you know, the perfect shape, and you licked the air, the tongue is better.

Cocked eyebrow, open-mouthed smirk.

“I’ll have to find out next time.” He ticked his head downward. “You wanna get off with me?”

“I will if you fuck me hard enough.”

“You don’t have to pretend.”

“I’m not. You’ll feel it, trust me.”

You thrusted with him to get that depth you liked and he did, in fact, feel it.

“F-Fuck!”

You bit your lower lip and grinned, throwing your head back and feeling your moan vibrate in your chest, lengthening your high with the containment. Eyes closing, no more talking, your arms up and hands clutching the pillows, fucking him as he fucked you, his swears turning into moans as he felt your orgasm convulse around him, honey wetness sticking to your inner thighs and his, chasing a higher high, cutting off every one before the final crescendo, not letting yourself fully let go, not yet, almost there, not yet.

Saturating every second with vicious, hot pleasure.

Somehow Yoongi knew. Felt it, chased it with you, his muscles tense, rigid, holding back too, building the higher high, harder, steady, fuck, so good.

Your name tumbling from his throat, the warning, and his from yours, the moment, orgasm so intense you forgot to breathe for a second, suspended, and then the crash, gasping as you felt him twitch inside you and your walls pulse, electricity shooting through your nerves, tingling and euphoric, gripping your pillows covered in your hair as Yoongi leaned forward and covered you in his hair and hot breath, colliding kiss matching the escalating beats of racing hearts.

Yoongi stared into your eyes much later, all his clothes back on.

“What?” you asked.

“Just memorizing your eyes.”

He kissed you.

“Love is more circumstance than fate.”

“I always thought so, too.”

These kinds of things came up in conversation around others. These were moments that happened by happenstance. For instance, in the middle of Taehyung’s tirade about how true love was definitely fate between two beings who had a connection unique to themselves that could not be replicated, and he deliberately ignored Yoongi when he pointed out that every connection one had with another was unique because it was between two individuals.

You and Yoongi shared a look of faint amusement in the midst of Taehyung’s abrupt soapbox speech.

Hoseok blinked and repeated his question of whether or not he suited the acorn-shaped pouch that was slightly overpriced despite being on sale. Namjoon injected and said that if he has asking then it meant that he was hesitating. Seokjin told him who cares, just buy it, it’s cute. That was enough convincing for Jung Hoseok. He brought it on the spot.

You found Yoongi afterward, waiting for you around the corner.

“Oh. I thought you went home.”

He looked at you, lowering the hood of his parka.

“I thought about it, but it had been a while since I appreciated the night.”

Then there was silence, until you were close, and then those dark eyes stayed on you, tendrils of black between you and him. Your fingertips touched the button placket of his coat. His head lowered. His breath had a little sweetness to it because of the Korean liquor. You kissed him.

You closed your eyes when you did.

You didn’t say much more.

You didn’t really look at his apartment when you arrived. You were too entangled in the lip lock and pinning his wrists to the wall. Heat pressed to heat. His tongue thrusting between your lips. The cold rapidly defrosting once skin was against skin.

Your nails down his chest.

Heavy exhale, burning anticipation.

You didn’t need to ask yourself, why am I like this. People spent years wondering on their own, but those years were already behind you, in lonely nights of both your parents working overtime and you alone at the table doing homework, cooking your own meals, cleaning up after yourself. If you wanted the video games to distract your brain, you had to be a good daughter. Being a good daughter was not that hard. Do all the things you were supposed to do and take up as little mental space as possible.

Something like that.

You ran your tongue along the inside of Yoongi’s thigh and savored his shudder.

The only detail that slightly annoyed your mother was that you weren’t interested in marrying Seokjin and Seokjin was clearly not interested in marrying you. Not much she could do about that. She gave up on asking for those kinds of details after that, mostly to avoid her own disappointment.

You wrapped your tongue around hot, taut skin, controlling the pressure of your tongue and lips. Up, down, tongue moving independently along the underside of the head, so precise that you saw his fingers sink into his sheets, surprise rippling over his features. Raised an eyebrow at him, letting the amusement show.

Yoongi smirked, a look that suited him very much.

All the way down, hitting the back of your throat. Easy. Guess a lot of people could call you a whore for that but, then again, the ones who actually knew were probably too busy pining over the fact that they would never feel it once more. Didn’t help that you acted as if it never happened once you were done.

You had dedication to games, but to people?

Not really.

It was fun to figure out people. It was fun discovering Yoongi. His sounds, every sigh, the tone of his moan, the way his breath shook when you took him deep and slow. He became very hard every time you went as deep as possible, past the point of breathing. He didn’t try to push your head or interfere with your pace. It was as if he trusted your movement, which was what he should do, because you knew what you were doing.

You swirled your tongue around the head as you went down.

He sucked in a gasp and closed his eyes, visible tension over his chest.

There was a strange familiarity to his movements. That was the only way you could describe the ease of reading his body language. Sometimes you let yourself feel the extent of the pleasure and sometimes you let the pressure build in your body to wallow in the torture of the buildup, like what he was doing now. He wanted to last, so you made it last. Not too fast. Tongue all over his hard, pulsing length, slowing down at the right moment of his hips shivering, layering the intensity again, stroking his balls as you sucked him, spreading the dripping saliva all over.

You hadn’t been having sex with Yoongi for very long, but it felt like you already knew his body.

You let him consider the possibility of you not letting him cum and then you continued the intensity, pushing him over the edge.

“… F-Fuck…!”

Rammed the throbbing head down your throat and felt his thick, salty orgasm spurt into the confines, leaking over your tongue and the roof of your mouth, breathing in to push it back. His hips involuntarily jerked and you immediately reached up to grip them and shove him back down, swallowing around the harsh pulses.

You heard Yoongi moan, low and sweet and erotic.

People were like games.

Only few had replay value.

He thought about saying something, but there wasn’t much to say.

It was his policy to not make something out of nothing. Grander, more general things, sure, he kept those ambitions. But, day-to-day, he learned it was better to go with the flow. You didn’t have disappointments if you didn’t expect much to begin with, so Yoongi didn’t expect much and let himself feel what he wanted to feel.

Like his hands on those thighs and pressing delicious legs to his chest as he sank in.

He tended to enjoy the fucking on top simply because it was easier for him. Most of the time, he didn’t feel much need to experiment or be creative. Most of the time, they weren’t worth it. Her? He fucked her in every position he could think of. This time, he felt the urge to fuck with most of his clothes on, with her holding up his shirt as he thrust into her on the edge of the bed. Not the most optimal position for maximum pleasure, but the arousal in the unnatural movement was enough to get him off.

Her too.

He could tell by the unforgiving clenching around his cock and the sopping wetness that was sticking to his balls, which was causing him to last minutes. You would think the human body would last longer if it felt better, so the pleasure could be felt more extensively, but his dick was much more interested in the instant gratification it was getting.

Oh, well.

He would have to fuck multiple times then, to prolong the pleasure.

She was the one to ask him first. Meeting without the false alibi of just happening to be at the same gathering at the same time. He went with the flow. Their fingertips touching. Her leaning in and kissing his collarbone, lips so soft that they made his nerves spark and muscles shiver, tilting his head back as her tongue traced a thin line upwards, wet heat against his pulse, her hand falling from his hand, tracing his neck.

“Choke me,” he whispered.

Yoongi liked doing things for the sheer curiosity of it.

She sucked on his ear when she choked him and electrified his whole body with lust, his hands finding her hips and slamming them down on his crotch, moaning into her ear shamelessly.

Yoongi knew he got himself into moments like this.

It wasn’t anyone’s fault but his own.

His fingers buried into her wet, warm pussy and he inhaled, drinking in the sweet scent of her juices, in, out, so good, the feeling of power and pleasure at his fingertips, tactile and visceral and intense. Staring into those piercing eyes with one hand around his neck and the other around his hard cock, choking both until he came on her thigh and hip, but not before she came onto his fingers, pushing himself to the brink with his forearm vibrating. Ended up being sore the next day.

Worth it.

Yoongi told himself to do before getting carried away.

He was getting carried away, especially when he was alone.

His shaking breath, breathe in, breathe out, high on the bliss, their lips colliding, covered in each other, salty, sweet, sticky, closer but not, and it was nobody’s fault but his own, because he always thought about saying something, but didn’t.

There wasn’t much to say.

He looked into those eyes, and he didn’t want to say anything. Just wanted to appreciate their shape, their color, the feeling they gave him when he gazed into them, like he could live million lifetimes but recognize those eyes every time. A strange kind of familiarity that didn’t have an explanation. He had known Kim Seokjin for a while, but Seokjin was protective of his female friends, especially his most important one.

So, Yoongi stayed respectful until his brain started getting carried away because his dick wasn’t doing enough.

Well.

He tried.

“I gotta ask you something.”

“You can ask me after you press A, you dimwit.”

“I am pressing A. It’s lagging!” Seokjin growled, bopping you on the arm. You continued leaning against his broad shoulder as the Pokémon raid loaded up. “Are you dating Yoongi?”

“Mmm,” was your reply as you pressed the buttons in order. Battle, Swords Dance, on your Ceruledge. Had to get the setup going to do the most damage before your stats become nullified. The raids in Pokémon were meant to convince players to participate in online play, but math and logic could help you solo or duo them quite easily. You needed Seokjin there so you had one less idiot AI. In fact, Seokjin only purchased this generation of Pokémon to help you out in certain things. Raids and completing the Pokédex. He wasn’t as attached to the series as you were. He played so he could understand what you meant when referencing it, but he wasn’t that invested.

He was a good friend.

“Are you or not?”

“Don’t think it’s any of your business,” you responded absentmindedly, reaching over to command his statistically-perfect Arboliva that you gifted him for this very purpose to perform Helping Hand. You might as well have been doing this raid alone. Seokjin was basically simply a spare console accompanied by a warm body.

For now.

Kidding… unless?

Nah, he was too much fun to tease.

“It is my business. You’re my friend, he’s my friend and, if you two are dating, it’ll make the group all weird.”

“Your friend group is already all weird.”

Seokjin prodded you in the head as you selected Bitter Blade for your attack move. “Be serious.”

“Ask him.”

“I did. He said to ask you.”

“Huh.”

Silence.

“… I’ll kill him if he abandons you.”

You couldn’t pause the raid. It was timed and the raid Pokémon had to be defeated in that time, or you would get kicked out. You didn’t say anything. Just kept pressing buttons, turning automatic.

“Well, I won’t kill him. I’ll make Jungkook kill him.”

Reaching over Seokjin, who did nothing to help you. He just held the Switch as you selected the correct moves and thought about who you needed to raise next. Maybe a Gardevoir. You needed more special attackers to avoid Abilities like Cursed Body and the Burn status condition.

Seokjin was suddenly quiet.

“… You think he’d do that?” you finally said, not quite sure what you meant in asking that.

You felt a hand on your head, bringing you closer to broad shoulders and his game.

“I don’t know.”

One thing about Seokjin was that he always told the truth.

“Are you getting your dick wet or what?”

Yoongi blinked slowly.

“What?”

“Jimin, you can’t ask that,” Hoseok scolded, whacking Jimin’s chopsticks with his own to punish the younger male because the walking sunshine was too pure-hearted to physically strike Jimin. “Eat your food.”

Jimin thinned his plump lips and gave Yoongi the side eye instead of eating his meal like Hoseok told him to. “I think you are. I feel it.”

Yoongi made the executive decision to ignore Jimin and continue serving himself the soup, adding plenty of vegetables. “Hoseok, haven’t you been working a lot lately? You need to eat more meat. You’re getting too thin.”

“You sound like my parents, hyung,” Hoseok laughed jovially as Yoongi added extra slices of marinated beef onto his plate. “Thanks, thanks.”

“Don’t avoid the question,” Jimin continued, buzzing away like a determined bee.

“I get it wet every day. It’s called a shower.”

“You know what I mean.”

“And I answered you.”

Jimin squinted under his fluffy auburn locks. “You’re sussy.”

“Huh?” Hoseok blinked rapidly, cocking his head. “Sussy?”

“Suspicious. Taehyung taught me.”

Hoseok’s lips curled into a round ‘o’, seemingly filing away this new lingo. “Man, sometimes I feel so old around you and Taehyung even though I’m only a year older.” The bustling restaurant complimented his cheerful voice, warm smells and fragrant conversation mixing with the clinking of plates and glasses. He reached over the table, patting Yoongi on the shoulder. “I’m glad you’re talking to someone though. I thought you were going to die alone.”

Those cat-like eyes shifted away.

“… Thanks.”

Nothing more.

“Uh oh, there’s trouble in paradise already.”

“Is something wrong?” Hoseok asked, frowning slightly at the older male’s reaction.

Yoongi sighed, and shook his head.

“It’s nothing. There’s not much to say about it.”

Hoseok caught on right away, nodding intently. “Right! Speaking of, Jimin, I heard you are leading a theater production all on your own.”

“A-Ah, just the choreography for the songs…” A small hand attempted to wave away Hoseok’s sudden unwavering excitement. “Really, it’s not that serious…”

“Yes, it is! A musical! With weeks and weeks of shows…!”

Yoongi avoided looking at his phone all night. He kept his eyes forward and focused on the conversation with his friends. If he didn’t, he would be stuck in his thoughts, wondering what all those nights really meant if all he had now was silence and a loveholic’s hangover he didn’t ask for.

“Oh, shit.”

Those were the first words you had spoken to a real, physical, in-the-flesh human being in a long time (Seokjin didn’t count). First words you had spoken all day, actually. Wait. Maybe you exclaimed out loud, you little fucker, get in the damn ball, earlier. Highly probable. No need to censor yourself when you were at home.

“You have left me on read for two weeks.”

“Oh… shit.”

After the shock had set in, the cold suddenly became apparent. It was winter, after all. Extra obvious by the snow on the ground and the big black parka the person outside your door was wearing, although the red flush around his neck and cheekbones was not from the icy breeze.

“Two weeks,” the man at your front door repeated with a growl, and he started advancing which, in most cases, would be a sign to call the police.

“Surely,” you sputtered, fumbling with your phone in your other hand, letting go of the knob because the screen was tab after open tab of various Pokédex entries of the Pokémon you were considering spending your previous in-game money on to make statistically perfect. Ahem, anyway, you hurriedly changed apps to your Messages app, your eyes widening as you saw the dates of your last messages.

Oh shit.

“Actually, it’s only been twelve days–”

“Twelve days of nothing,” he snapped, slamming closed your front door that you were honestly slightly grateful for. It was fuckin’ cold out there. “And what do I hear tonight? Just yesterday you were speaking to Jeon Jungkook on the phone.”

And, at this point, Min Yoongi got in your face.

You held your phone close to your purple sherpa pullover and stepped back as a stern, gracefully annoyed expression confronted you. Wild long black hair, furrowed eyebrows, and flashing dark eyes. Flushed pink lips twisted into irritation. Open jacket revealing his black sweater and light blue jeans, strange for such a cold night.

“Have you been drinking?” you observed, catching a whiff of his exhale.

“I’m not drunk,” Yoongi countered, backing up and scowling. “I was at Namjoon’s and then I remembered you lived nearby. So, I walked.”

“You… walked?”

“Yeah.”

You blinked slowly.

“Kim Namjoon… if you’re walking… that’s about an hour away….”

The scowl straightened out, leaving a stoic profile as Yoongi refused to look at you.

He grunted.

You were surprised.

“I… Jeon Jungkook called me.” You felt the sudden urge to fill the space of silence as the man before you kept his gaze at a firm ninety-degrees to the wall despite your face being right there. “He was worried about Seokjin, because he kept trying to call him. Seokjin had sent him a box of grapes from his uncle’s farm and Jungkook was trying to thank him via call because his mom told him he couldn’t simply text, but Seokjin wasn’t answering the calls and then Jungkook got worried so he called me since I have Seokjin’s family number but then I reminded Jungkook that that rich guy and his family went to a luxurious mountain resort to go skiing and wouldn’t be back until next weekend,” you finished in a jumbled mess of oversharing.

Silence.

You were highly aware that your Nintendo Switch was loudly playing the classic, cheery jingle of the Pokémon Center in your bedroom, echoing the bright notes throughout your apartment as, er, your possibly-soon-to-be-past fling? current interest? situation-ship? continued staring at the wall as if the paint was the one speaking to him.

To reiterate, you were surprised.

“I… I didn’t think you cared,” you explained, looking up at Yoongi.

He turned his head.

Looking down, black hair around his cheeks. Lashes lifting, slow motion, dark brown orbs raising, then the darkness was on you, and there was no anger, no malice, the heated air of his rash imposition fizzling out once your eyes connected.

His lips parted.

Nothing came out, as if he was about to say something emotional but then stopped himself. His brows knitted together, a moment of recollection, and then.

“Namjoon said I should be honest, so I’m here to tell you that you pissed me off by ignoring me,” he mumbled.

You blinked. Slowly, once again.

“O… Oh. I apologize.”

Silence except heartbeats.

Yoongi looked away.

You could piece the entire picture together now. Your eyes shifted, side to side, to his hands shoved in his jacket pockets, to the faint tint of pink around his ears and neck, to his relaxed shoulders and that tense heart, and you were surprised because Yoongi had always held himself with a devil-may-care attitude and straightforward bluntness. Not that you didn’t think there was more, but rather it seemed as if he didn’t want to address that under any circumstances and you had no need for more when you were your own happiness, and so you asked him another question.

“Is this you or the alcohol talking?”

Yoongi clicked his tongue and frowned, flickering glare meeting you. “Alcohol doesn’t make you a different person. I’m not someone else just because I had a few bottles with Namjoon. I have a high tolerance anyway.”

You smiled.

“I know. Wanted to make sure you were thinking the same thing I was.”

That was why Yoongi and you ended up in this situation. Because he seemed to always end up thinking the same thing you were. There wasn’t much discussion or mystery. There was you and there was him in the same place at the same time. Multiple times. Overlapping interests, but not all the same. Kept things interesting. Discovering you had the same core values and then the same kind of comfortable silence that turned into his hand on yours, experimental, are you thinking what I’m thinking, bodies closer, breath mixing, heads tilting, is it this?

Playing the game.

The Pokémon Center music faded out and then picked up again, always aggressively joyous, always ready to nurse your team back to full health.

You rubbed the back of your head sheepishly. “Hah… I’ve just… been playing the new Pokémon game came out recently, so I took time off to play it… thought I said…”

“You did say,” he interrupted.

Awkward pause.

“You did say,” and this time Yoongi sighed, suddenly smacking his palm into his forehead and rubbing it, mussing up his own hair. “You did say, and I believe everyone should enjoy something with the kind of passion you exhibit for your interests. I just wanted you to involve me even though I know nothing.”

You stared at him.

“What?”

“You heard me.”

“Why would I involve you in something you don’t care about?”

“I don’t care about it yet.”

“Why would you care about it?”

He flung his hand away from his face and scowled. “Are you an idiot?”

“Depends, are you confessing?”

Again, no one ever called you subtle.

Frigid embarrassment, and it wasn’t from you. Shocking. Suddenly your wall became irresistible to Yoongi’s eyeballs once more. You patiently waited.

“… No.”

“Ah. I see.”

You did see, straight through his bullshit.

Yoongi pursed his lips and gave you the side-eye. “I don’t want to play games.”

You shrugged. “Well, I do, because I’m a nerd, and I could make you a nerd too if you take off your shoes and come to the bedroom.” Chewed on your lip and felt that you should go back to being serious, at least for a moment. “I am sorry. I thought you would call me a kid, and I like you enough to not want you to be so ignorant, so I especially avoided speaking much about playing Pokémon. Honestly, I would rather hear you say that you don’t want to see me anymore than hear you talk shit about my cute pocket monster friends.”

Yoongi surprised you again.

He rolled his eyes.

“I don’t hate Pokémon. I used to watch the animation as a kid. I somewhat regret not being more into it, because then maybe you would have let me in a lot more if we had that common interest.”

You cocked an eyebrow.

“Putting your dick in my pussy is not letting you in a lot more?”

He raised an eyebrow back.

“You’re right. That was the alcohol talking,” he replied in a deadpan voice.

You smiled.

He smiled back. It did not seem like he wanted to and it did not seem like he could help himself either. What a predicament. You couldn’t relate.

“Do people like to tell you you’re difficult?” you asked with too much glee, unable to hide your amusement any longer.

The corner of his lips twitched. “All the fuckin’ time.”

You nodded knowingly. “Did you know we have that in common?”

He ticked his head at you, messy black hair over his cheeks and open-mouthed smirk. “Strangely enough, I seem to have learned that tonight.”

“I’m about to teach you a lot more, this time about Pokémon and not about how deep I can throat dick.”

“Consider giving me a supplemental lesson about the latter in the morning when I’m completely sober.”

“Hmm, I accept if can you listen without falling asleep.”

Yoongi eventually did fall asleep, but he did last three hours and retained most of the information in the morning despite being a drunk, ahem, not drunk (according to him) man confessing his feelings at your doorstep. In the future, once he had purchased his own game and was playing alongside you, he would insist that moment was not the one when he confessed, that he definitely confessed later (sober, mind you), and that he definitely did not purchase a Nintendo Switch and start studying the Pokédex more because of you (he had simply found the game a good way to wind down).

Games were just more fun to play now when he had a player two.

Yeah.

We know better.

masterpost

#yoongi x reader #bts smut #yoongi smut #yoongi x you #min yoongi x reader #min yoongi x you

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