tuxedo, m | myg
pairing(s): yoongi x reader, mentions of previous jungkook x reader
summary: Your cat turns into a man. No, not, your cat was always a man and turned back into a man. Your actual cat turns into an actual man and neither you or your cat (man? cat-man?) have any idea why he's human now. Also, he's naked, so that’s a problem. Also, he’s kind of attractive. Yikes.
warnings: rated M (18+) for language, mentions of the coronavirus pandemic; possibly full-on crack; Yoongi still thinks he’s a cat; mentions of smut (fem reader, m-receiving oral (choking on a dick, but not in a sexy way), doggy, spanking, wall-fucking, unintentional??? voyeurism); non-idol!AU - cat!Yoongi x human!reader; ft slightly cocky Jeon Jungkook and you being mad horny for him, what’s new; breaking of the fourth wall; are YOU a furry? you decide
an anon asked for cat hybrid Yoongi, although instead this is some voodoo witch doctor shit, whoops
yes, I do reference BT21, Bob Ross, the lady-pointing-to-the-cat-accusingly meme, list goes on... and there is a cameo of 2021 Seasons Greetings Kim Taehyung and Park Jimin XD
Your lungs were being crushed.
You were bundled in your duvet, wrapped like a mint-colored burrito, on your back, head nestled comfortably in your memory foam pillow. Warm, cozy, snuggly. All things considered, a comfortable position. So comfortable that you were blessedly asleep for many hours until your lungs started getting crushed.
You cracked one eye open.
A giant tuxedo fluffball was causing this slow and painful death.
You glared with slitted eyes, voice cracking from sleep. The fluffball did not move. Velvety, pointed black ears flicked back and forth. The little pink nostrils flared a bit, breathing evenly and contentedly. At least one of you was. You grunted in irritation. The minty-green eyes opened, black slits for pupils.
“I’m going to die.”
Your cat meowed in your face.
“Shut the fuck up. Get off.”
You narrowed your eyes and lips into lines. Stared at your insufferable, not-so-subtle tuxedo cat that was killing his owner. How long had he and his seven-kilogram ass been sitting on your tits? Too long because your sternum was already aching. You rolled over and he gave you a disgruntled meow as he tumbled off. You pulled your arms out and gave him a soft scratch behind his ears before reaching around to his white belly and patting his chest. He started purring, rolling to his side, white sock-like paws sticking up.
“Ugh, my chest hurts, Shooks. You’re a dick.”
Your cat gave zero fucks.
You were still petting him. Sigh.
“I’m getting up,” you announced to no one except your cat.
You tugged yourself out of your comfy, mint-colored duvet and winced, rubbing your breastbone. Did you buy this bedding set because it reminded you of your cat’s eye color? Yes. Were you a crazy cat lady? Maybe. In your defense, you hadn’t meant to become a crazy cat lady. You were innocently walking on the street when the tuxedo-patterned cat started following you. A large cat with big minty eyes surrounded by black fur like black bangs. White snout and jaw, pink nose, and a raspy meow. The tuxedo pattern was pretty similar to an actual suit, with a white chest and black fur over its back and limbs. White, sock-like paws, on the bigger side. Cute pink toe beans too. At the time, he was skinny and dirty, no collar around his neck, but you could tell he was long-limbed. He had a cut on his right eye, caked with blood.
“You alright, little guy?”
The cat seemed to scoff at you disapprovingly, as if to say, do I seem like a little guy to you?
“I guess you’re not a little guy. You have an owner?”
The cat’s response was headbutting your calf.
You took him back to your apartment and then it was doomed.
Why was his name Shooks? Well, actually, your cat’s name was Shooky, and it was because you tried many names to get him to respond to you – including, but not limited to, “you little shit” – and he responded to none of them except Shooky. For some reason, Shooky made him turn his black-and-white face around and look at you.
Shooky it was.
The first encounter was cute, but after you had fed him and given him a few pats, you gave him a good, hard taste of reality. Shooky was very upset about getting a bath for the first time. There had been a lot of angry meowing, although thankfully he hadn’t swiped at you very much. As soon as you got mostly undressed and sat in the bath with him, he seemed to relent. Maybe it was because you closed the glass door and he couldn’t leave.
“Do you see how dirty you are? You need a bath.”
He gave you a disapproving meow.
“Look, I even bought pet shampoo and you’ll get treats after. Come on, you.”
He was very displeased.
In any case, Shooky was now your primary companion, a large, long-limbed, fluffy tuxedo cat, following you around as you brushed your teeth and made breakfast, his new black collar jingling with a tiny silver bell. Every morning, you handed him his dry food first – he chomped down immediately – and made yourself some breakfast as he ate. Somehow your life now revolved around him, spending time looking up the best cat food (without paying an arm and a leg, you weren’t a sugar momma), making sure he was brushed (his hair got everywhere), telling everyone you needed to get home because you couldn’t miss his dinnertime (if you were a second late opening the door, Shooky would start meowing very exaggeratedly, like he was dying, what a drama queen). Was he annoying? Yes. Was he the best cuddle buddy? Also, yes. Kind of like a boyfriend, but better, because Shooky didn’t talk back.
You arranged your small dishes on the table. Tofu. Eggs. Pickled squash. Just enough for one. You sat down, holding your bowl of steamed rice.
A tuxedo furball jumped onto the table, licking his chops.
“Look here, this isn’t for you. Shoo.”
He settled onto the tabletop and stared at you as you ate.
Live with a cat was pretty similar to life without one.
Except for that weird habit Shooky had of sitting on your bathroom rug when you got out of the shower, scaring the shit out of you the first time. You lived alone, so you didn’t really bother closing doors, but you considered changing that. But it was just a cat. Also, he walked in here of his own volition. Not your fault if his eyes were scarred.
Shooky was a normal cat, but also a weird cat.
He slept a lot. Normal. He bit his paws sometimes. Weird. You figured maybe it was his nails, so you learned to trim them and he seemed better about it, but sometimes when he was stressed, you would notice fur missing from his little white socks. A lot of things could stress a cat. The internet taught you that. You brought him toys and played with him, but mostly he seemed to want you to sit down so he could plant himself in your lap. This make life rather difficult, so you decided it was time to invest in Netflix so you could at least use your time wisely.
This was for your cat, remember.
Yes, binging shows on Netflix was for your cat.
The weirdest thing was…
Shooky was always stressed when you invited a man into your home.
Maybe he didn’t like men. Something in his past, maybe? Could be. Come to think of it, did you even like men? That was a question for another day, but in any case, your cat always gave you this accusing stare when you brought a guy over, no matter how nice the guy was, even if the guy petted him very gently. Shooky never attacked them. He just glared at you like you had betrayed him somehow. How could that be?
What a needy drama queen.
You figured, eh, it didn’t really matter. He wasn’t trying to sabotage your chances of finding true love and all that stuff.
Who are we kidding?
You’d settle for a simple good dicking.
Well, there was that one time.
That time you were in the middle of giving a guy a blowjob. It was going great. You were naked, he was naked, he had a tattooed arm – hot as fuck – and he was very vocally enjoying your tongue technology. Hey, you didn’t have many talents, but you had that going for you. Even if a guy was mildly apprehensive about banging you, once you got your mouth on his dick, it was game over. You mentally patted yourself on the back for doing such a good job.
Positive reinforcement, right?
Your cat jumped onto your back and made you choke on his dick.
All seven kilos right between your shoulder blades. Oof.
“Are you okay?” He was half-worried, half-laughing, and Shooky was climbing up your back, pressing onto your neck, one paw on the nape, trying to murder you by dick suffocation. It took both of you to lift you off the dick – sad – and Shooky left a few scratches on your neck, as if to communicate his distaste of your infidelity. The guy was really nice about it. Actually, he found it hilarious. You scowled at Shooky and he gave you that deadpan stare that all cats seemed to have. The rest of the night was hot and heavy like you wanted and you even eventually got to complete said blowjob, which brightened your spirits.
It was a little disorienting that your cat was watching you from his cat tree the entire time.
Honestly, you would have kept dating that guy if he didn’t move to a different city. Sigh.
Eventually, you stopped bringing men over.
One, because Shooky. Two, because worldwide pandemic.
The night that changed everything was ordinary.
You were passed out on the couch, halfway into season six of American Horror Story, somewhat peeved because you wanted to watch the other seasons, but geez, season five had such a poor story and hard focus on gore that it slightly turned you off. That it was a lot, even for you. Season six was better, but slow. The first four seasons had really hooked you and the idea of them all being connected? Nutty. You wanted to watch all of it.
Idea of season five? Awesome.
Lady Gaga? Yeah, why not, you’d be seduced.
Execution? Eh… could be better.
Shooky hadn’t watched any of it. He just slept in your lap.
Subtitles really helped you out here. You didn’t understand how the English-speaking audience could hear the whispering parts, but maybe that was because your English was garbage. You could read better than listen.
At the moment, you weren’t reading shit.
You were half-tucked in a fuzzy black blanket with a tuxedo cat pattern. Did you see the tuxedo cat pattern and buy it immediately? Yes. Were you a crazy cat lady? Maybe. In any case, your head was cocked at an awkward angle on the couch cushion and your mouth was open, snoring away. Attractive. You were wearing mint-colored, striped pajamas, one arm hanging off the couch and the other on Shooky’s furry butt, because you had been petting him.
Netflix was doing that annoying thing where it was asking you if you were still watching or not.
You couldn’t respond.
Shooky was awake.
Your cat was staring at your laptop on your coffee table. It was open. An HDMI cable connected it to your television. Not a clean setup, but an effective one. Again, you lived alone. Who was going to judge you? Your tuxedo cat?
Your cat was awake.
He got off your lap and hopped to the coffee table, peering at your laptop. Then he did what any sensible cat would do.
He walked all over your keyboard.
Circling around and around, smashing all the buttons with his cute pink toe beans, looking for a comfortable spot before settling down and planting his fluffy body on top of it. Windows closed, tabs appeared, the volume got muted, your display settings got fucked, the usual.
The unusual part was that your cat was looking at the screen.
Your internet browser was open.
A video was playing on a mysterious website.
A handsome young man with a boxy smile was wearing a sienna floral dress shirt and sunglasses, oddly paired with flared violet pants. He was standing next to another young man with an angelic face who, for some reason, was wearing a pastel floral handkerchief around on his head and a white-and-navy tracksuit with black, red, and green stripes. They were standing in some weird set with a black tablecloth covered round table and a lavender crystal ball, crystal-like beaded curtains glinting in strangely colorful lighting.
There was no volume.
Your cat tilted his head at the screen, curious.
The man with the boxy smile was speaking excitedly, gesturing to the angelic-looking man who seemed to be in awe. A retro, old school graphic popped up, flowers surrounding a blocky orange and green serif font, mildly tacky but somehow endearing in its own way.
COULD WISHES REALLY BE GRANTED?
Your cat tilted his head the other way.
Your cat didn’t know Korean.
Well, you did mostly speak to him in Korean. Maybe he was secretly fluent. He definitely knew, don’t fucking do that, because you would witness him doing the very thing you told him not to do right after you said it. Bastard. But you couldn’t bear witness to this now. You were knocked out on the couch.
Boxy-smile guy placed his fingers elegantly on his forehead, mock dismay on his features, acting as if he couldn’t believe the viewer’s skepticism. Angel-looking guy placed his hands in prayer position, the text now reading, I won’t believe you unless you prove it! Boxy-smile guy flourished to the camera, showing off his brilliant pearly-white smile, mouthing words unheard. Text appeared once more.
Make a wish, any wish!
Your cat closed his eyes and appeared to be asleep.
The video turned black and disappeared into purple sparkles.
Your internet browser unexpectedly closed.
You woke up with a painful stitch in your neck and Shooky nowhere to be found.
You tried to get up, but underestimated the cramp in your back and fell onto the hardwood floor.
You blamed the pandemic for fucking up your sleep schedule. Also, getting old. Fuck getting old and being an adult. Time didn’t stop just because you didn’t go to work. Well, not true. You did go to work; your work was just different now. You were YouTube video editor, which meant you were mostly edited video game montages now instead of travel vlogs. The work was slower now. People were getting discouraged, taking breaks, because, you know.
Anyway, not the point. You were grateful that your work was mostly internet and computer-based. Not everyone was so lucky. You were also grateful that you didn’t work in an industry that was too negatively affected by the pandemic. It had started off as a hobby, but then the creators you were helping unexpectedly blew up, needing your help more and more. You fell into it by accident, but that’s how life was. Happy little accidents. You couldn’t complain. As long as you had some income to feed your cat and you, that was enough.
Speaking of cat.
He normally would meow or trot over to you when called. He was weirdly affectionate like that.
You were still on the floor, on hands and knees, crick in your neck and back aching. Ah yes, age was just a number until your back pain flared up due to repeated nights of unintentionally falling asleep on the couch. Lovely. You stretched out your back with a groan and yawned, cracking your neck.
That hurt. Ugh, you really needed to stop sleeping on the sofa. You untangled yourself from your blanket and headed to the bathroom, rubbing your neck. You still didn’t see your fluffy, seven-kilogram, kind-of-an-ass tuxedo cat, but whatever. He had to be in the apartment. He couldn’t exactly leave. He was a cat. What was he going to do, grow legs and opposable thumbs?
You shoved your toothpaste-covered toothbrush in your mouth and began brushing your teeth. You hummed, trying to remember if you had any deadlines. Eh, they were on your Google calendar. You would check it after washing up. You spat and brushed for a few more minutes, thinking about nothing. This was nice. Sometimes it was nice to think about nothing. No major problems to address, simply a chill and routine morning.
You reached over to the spit cup and put some lukewarm water in it before taking your toothbrush out and sipping some water to gargle the minty suds out.
You heard a deep, raspy voice call your name.
You looked in the mirror.
Your mouth was full of dirty toothpaste water, cheeks puffed out.
The voice called your name again, quietly.
Your eyes widened, staring into the mirror in shock.
A pale man was standing behind you, wearing your mint-colored duvet over his shoulders. Messy black hair to his rounded cheeks, dark brown cat-like eyes, small pink pout. His nose was a little red, as if he was cold. There was a black choker on his neck, with a silver bell. He was taller than you, and he looked very confused.
Pointed, velvety black ears on top of his head, white tufts of fur sticking out, flicking back and forth.
You spat all over your mirror in shock.
The man jerked back as you threw your head into the sink, hastily taking another cupful of water to rinse out your mouth because, WHAT THE FUCK WAS GOING ON? Why was there a man in your apartment? With fucking cat ears? That moved? What kind of kinky shit was that? Were you dreaming? What the fuck?! You grabbed the hand towel from its hook and furiously wiped the dirty water off your mirror, completely convinced you were having sensory and auditory hallucinations. Did you drink last night? Accidentally buy groceries laced with LSD? Snorted three kilos of cocaine off a hooker? Who the fuck knows, but there was no fucking way that you let some fucking man in your home, because, one, pandemic and, two, Shooky–
The pale man with black hair was still there, standing in the doorway of your bathroom, looking slightly disgusted, but also scared.
He said your name again. A question, almost like a raspy meow.
You violently wiped your bathroom mirror some more, nearly cracking the glass.
The man was still there, wearing your mint-colored duvet.
Slowly, slowly, you turned around to face this man, your neck cracking loudly, sending searing pain up the back of your head and reminding you that, nope, this is not a dream, and if it was, it was a very shitty dream because at least in a dream you shouldn’t actually feel pain. You looked up at this man, at his fluffy black bangs shading his dark attentive eyes and pale face, chewing on his lip, clutching your duvet around his body like a giant mint cloak.
The cat ears on his head twitched.
You blinked at him, watching the ears.
“Do… I know you?”
He gave you an eerily recognizable deadpan stare. “I think you do.”
This wasn’t possible.
You’re drunk, high, or in purgatory.
(You did have sex before marriage.)
“S… Shooky?” you croaked.
The man took a deep breath and shook his head.
“Actually, my name is Min Yoongi.”
You blinked at him. “What? You have a name?”
He shrugged. “Yeah, I guess.”
Relief washed over you. “What do you mean, you guess? That means you’re a human being! With a birth certificate! Thank God, I thought you were my fucking cat for some reason, haha, that’s so fucking ridiculous–!” For some reason, the idea of a random stranger being in your home was much more comfortable to you than you damn cat becoming a human being, because for a hot second, you thought… but no, no, that’s stupid. “Speaking of ridiculous, these ears are crazy dude, they look almost real–”
You reached up and yanked on one of the velvety ears.
“Ow, what the fuck!”
Oh my God.
“What the FUCK?” you bellowed and a large pale hand shot out of the duvet to clamp one of his cat ears down, shrinking away from you.
“Stop yelling, please, I have sensitive hearing,” Yoongi winced, ticking his head, as if he was trying to flatten the other ear too, but couldn’t. His other hand was holding tightly to the mint duvet.
You saw a glimpse of a pale chest.
Your eyes widened into the size of saucepans.
His hand darted back into the duvet and clamped it shut from your bulging eyes, frowning. He quickly bundled himself up and straightened, thinning his mouth into a line. A few seconds passed. You gawked at him, jaw slack. The pale man sighed heavily.
“My name is Min Yoongi. My parents gave me that name. I don’t think I have a human birth certificate because I’m not a human. I am a cat. You used to call me Shooky, but Min Yoongi is my name, so I would appreciate it if you called me by my given name.”
Your jaw went even more slack.
“Cats… have names?” you squeaked.
Yoongi made a face at you. “Of course, we do. We are not savages.”
“B… But…” You frowned, shoulders falling. “You seemed to like the name Shooky…”
Yoongi shrugged his duvet-covered shoulders. “It sounded better than all the other names you suggested.”
You puffed your cheeks, placing your hands on your hips. “What was wrong with Tata? Or Chimmy? Or Cooky?”
Yoongi gave you a disapproving glare. “Well, perhaps in a parallel universe the name Shooky is somehow important to me. In any case, it was the best suggestion.”
You narrowed your eyes, frowning. “You little shit.”
“I especially disliked that one. Seemed a bit discriminating to our size difference…” He paused, looking down at you. “At the time anyway.”
Your hands fell, looking up at your cat. Er. Min Yoongi. “So, uh… Yoongi…?”
He tilted his head, peering curiously at you under his black bangs. “Hm?”
You pointed at him, gesturing up and down. “Why are you, uh… a man?”
He looked down at the duvet covering his body. You stared at your bedding wrapped around him. Why was he wearing it anyway? In fact, all you could see was a black choker with a silver bell. The mental lightning bolt suddenly hit you. Oh. Your neck began to heat. Your ears began to heat. Your whole face began to heat. Oh. Oh? Oh! Shooky – er, Yoongi? – whatever, your cat didn’t wear clothes. He only wore a collar… which meant…
It felt like your whole body was on fire with abrupt realization.
Yoongi looked up at your mint-pajama-wrapped, now tomato self still pointing at him.
“I don’t know why I’m a man.”
One of his eyebrows raised. Then Yoongi smirked.
An open-mouthed, amused smirk.
“And yes, I’m naked. Your clothes don’t fit me. I tried.”
Your cat, er, man? Cat-man? What even... never mind, Min Yoongi was sitting on your bed, still wrapped in your mint duvet like a key lime cake roll, waiting as you rummaged around in your dresser, searching for literally any piece of clothing that might possibly fit him. The problem was, you worked from home, so you didn't exactly own a plethora of different clothing options. Your daily wardrobe consisted of slinky black leggings...
"They're stretchy?" you suggested timidly.
Yoongi had blinked at you. "I don't think so."
"It could work?"
He pursed his lips together. "I think you're forgetting something."
You gave him a blank look. "Huh?"
Yoongi gave you his deadpan stare. "I believe you are well acquainted with human male genitalia."
He had a dick.
You turned red and robotically shoved your leggings back into their place. A sudden thought flitted across your brain and you spun back to face him, blurting it out before filtering yourself.
"Hahaha, good thing I never got you fixed, eh?"
Yoongi blinked very, very slowly. It was hard to tell if he was annoyed, amused, or wanted to murder you. In conclusion, typical cat behavior.
"I'm not fond of the idea of castration, so I suppose so."
Your vet had suggested it, but since he had been an indoor cat and you weren't intending on getting another, you figured you wouldn't put him under the unnecessary surgery and it would help you avoid the cost. A little irresponsible? Maybe. But you were very careful not to leave the front door open and, so far, he hasn't had the chance to get some poor lady cat knocked up.
He knew you considered permanently removing his nuts. Yikes.
Sorry, Shooks. Er, Yoongi.
In any case!
The other half of your daily wardrobe was sweatshirts, but Yoongi's shoulders were too broad for them and he was too tall. Why was he so big anyway? Well, he wasn’t exactly big, just long-limbed. You guessed he was actually on the leaner side, judging from the way the duvet wrapped around him and the brief flash of long fingers, slim forearm, and toned chest. He had been a larger cat.
Seven kilos turned into... him?
You suddenly started and yanked open your underwear drawer, shuffling through it to get to the back and pull out a neatly folded dark gray blob.
"I have this–"
The response was so forceful and dismissive that you froze, the dark gray fabric unfurling in your loose grip. It was a large men's sweatshirt, soft, charcoal, slightly acid-wash, covered with white paint stains. Eggshell white, to be exact. The exact paint color of this very bedroom, because you had worn it to repaint over that original disgusting beige color.
"Why not?" you inquired, holding it up by the shoulders. "It'll fit you, for sure. It used to be..."
Yoongi kept his completely neutral expression trained on you as you reached your revelation, his dark eyes observing every detail of your body's reaction to the memory. Your grip on the sweatshirt tightened. You felt your cheeks and ears heat, pulse roaring in your ears.
Er, right, so…
That one time that Shooky – no, Yoongi? – jumped on your back and made you choke on a dick? Yeah, that guy. Tattoo guy. Yeah, well, before that incident, tattoo guy was the friend of a friend who offered to help you paint your apartment because he had experience working construction – “helped my dad fix-up a house to resell for a couple months,” he had said with his disgustingly cute, cheeky grin, making you nod like an idiot and your pussy throb with his endearing adorableness – and you had moved all the furniture out so you two could get it done quickly.
You had to put your cat in the bathroom.
You didn’t want him to breathe in the fumes or get paint on his luscious fur. It was for his own good.
Tattoo guy had appeared in said charcoal sweatshirt, black ripped jeans, and the most attractive thighs in the whole damn universe, just out and about, giant holes exposing tan skin and taut muscle. Your eyes widened, frozen at your front door.
Oh yeah, he had paint rollers too. You hadn’t given a shit about those in that moment.
He had noticed you staring and laughed sheepishly. “Sorry, I just wore the ugliest pants I own. It might get messy, you know?”
No, tattoo guy. No one thought your pants were ugly.
You sure as hell didn’t.
“Oh, yeah, that’s why I wore this gross t-shirt,” you said absentmindedly, referring to your four-sizes-too-large, free t-shirt that had been chucked at your head while walking past your university common area. It was a hideous chanteuse with magenta writing, a color combination that absolutely deserved to go to hell, and could not even be saved by the quirky, stylish, thrift-savvy TIkTokers of today. It was the ugliest thing you owned, so you wore it to repaint your bedroom.
Now you regretted it.
Tattoo guy looked you up and down. He smirked under his long black hair.
“Your body still looks great though.”
Didn’t really matter that you couldn’t conjure a sexy response, because, clearly, tattoo guy had made his decision leagues before arriving here. Painting a bedroom? Oh, yeah, you did that, and with way too much sexual tension. A man should not be that flirty while holding two paint rollers and speed painting your walls. What were you supposed to do? You barely knew the guy. All you managed to do was make awkward small talk to get to know him better. Then he took off his sweatshirt.
“Wait, that’s illegal.”
He had smirked at you, spinning the paint roller in his hand, white t-shirt molded to his body. “Hm?”
You were being mildly disrespected, but also you were gawking at his tattooed right arm and his blindingly beautiful forearms. Cough, no. You didn’t have a thing for attractive forearms. Wasn’t like staring at this muscular pair was making you weak at the knees or anything. Okay, maybe. But you weren’t going to say it out loud. Tattoo guy ticked his chin below you, to the floor. Your job was to paint the little nooks at the corners, ceiling, and baseboards. You spent a whole lot of your job sneaking glances at him and getting caught.
“You missed a spot.”
You whipped your head to the floor, craning your head to look for it. A paint roller appeared beside you, pointing to a small sliver for nasty beige. He had a clear, silvery voice.
You frowned at it and raised your paintbrush in warning to the offensive beige, ready to strike.
You started and fell over.
You sputtered, legs tangled, oversized shirt flipping up, trying not to drop the paintbrush and drawing a fat streak across the unpainted wall. You shook your head roughly, clutching the handle of the brush, cool draft floating up your shirt.
Tattoo guy appeared above you, grinning, his front teeth slightly too large and giving him the appearance of a rambunctious bunny.
You felt your neck and ears heat. No, you were not alright. Yes, you were older, but that didn’t… that wasn’t the time… You didn’t expect it, that’s all. You tried very hard not to look at his thighs. Or his face. Or his chest. Just didn’t look at him. Also, you were pretty sure you were flashing him and pretty fucking sure you didn’t give a shit.
You coughed awkwardly. “Yup, I’m good.”
Back to copious sexual tension complemented by paint fumes.
Once the first coat was down, you two stood in the center of the room, surrounded by the plastic drop cloth, him banishing a paint roller and you a paintbrush. Challenge complete and it didn’t take you very long. Nice.
“We have to let it dry and then we can paint another coat,” he was explaining.
“It looks fine like this.”
Tattoo guy clicked his tongue, shaking his head. “Once it dries, it will look uneven. Trust me.”
You frowned. “Okay. How long should we wait?”
“Couple hours, at least.”
A couple hours? You frowned more. “What are we supposed to do until then?”
He didn’t reply. You turned your head to face him and tattoo guy was staring at you with a smile.
He was spinning the paint roller with one hand. You felt your ears and neck heat. He switched from his left hand to his right, seamlessly. Incredibly sexy. Were the paint fumes getting to you? You gulped, awkwardly gesturing to the paintbrush.
“Let me just… put this down…”
You turned around and balanced your paintbrush in the paint tray, only to gasp as your felt something foamy roll down your back, covering you with the strong stench of paint. It stopped above the curve of your ass, unable to roll smoothly any longer.
“Hmm, can’t get past your juicy ass, noona,” he teased.
You spun around, cheeks flushed, sputtering.
No, no. You didn’t forget tattoo guy’s name. You remembered it, even now. Remembered saying it in multiple different ways, even.
In surprise, streaks of paint in your hair, him smirking, dropping the paint roller on the other plastic tray and somehow not tipping it over, thank goodness, him walking up to you, taking the bottom of your paint-covered chanteuse university t-shirt, leaning down to whisper hotly against your lips.
“Ah, sorry, it seemed like you didn’t like that shirt very much,” he breathed, sending your brain into overdrive with the heat against your skin, his knuckles brushing your thighs. “You can wear my sweatshirt instead, if you like.”
Your eyes widened, staring at him in shock.
In breathlessness, heart pounding in your chest, gaze locked with mischievous dark chocolate orbs, his teeth catching his lower lip, tiny mole underneath revealed.
Why was his voice so deep? The tiny tip of his pink tongue darted out, licking his lips enticingly.
This man was illegal.
Your hands darted down and gripped his, catching your lower lip in your teeth as well, matching his lip bite, seeing the eagerness growing in his eyes.
Someone should call the police. Or an ambulance.
You grinned, cocking an eyebrow. “I don’t want to wear anything around you.”
But not for you.
There was a very loud meow from your bathroom, but before Jungkook could ask, you yanked your shirt up and over your head. He gasped and instantly it was lips on lips, messy kisses and stumbling to the living room were your bed, dresser, nightstands, bookcase, knickknacks, everything scattered everywhere, but Jungkook and you were too busy yanking off clothes and getting frisky to give a shit.
You stared at Yoongi now, red from head to toe, clutching the dark gray sweatshirt. He rolled his eyes and looked away from you.
“I… washed it?” you offered weakly.
Yoongi’s dark brows raised from under his black bangs. “Mmm, you forget that I have quite keen hearing. I’m not deaf like you, human.”
The color drained from your face.
Maybe, just maybe, Jungkook got you to wear his dark gray sweatshirt, forcing you – respectfully, he called you noona, after all – to get on your hands and knees for him, then make you wait in said embarrassing position with his sweatshirt bunched around your neck – because, er, gravity – while he casually made you watch him roll the condom on, highly amused by your impatient glare, only to move away and slowly shove his dick inside your soaking wet pussy and spank your ass until you backed up into him enough times to make yourself cum on his stiff length without him moving his hips.
Respectfully, of course.
“Fuck, noona, that was so fucking hot…”
“Jungkook,” you gasped breathlessly, ass stinging in glorious pain. “F-Fuck me, please.”
He made you scream.
He fucked your hard, making the bed creak, pounding you so roughly into the mattress that your fingers curled into the mint sheets, and when you gasped that you were close, he fucking stopped, the damn sadist, causing you to slam your fists into the bed and buck back into his crotch, Jungkook chuckling at your desperation. In your haze of begging for Jungkook’s cock, you heard a judgmental meow from your bathroom, but before you could address it, Jungkook seemed to have accepted your pleading and began to thrust into you once more, making you lose your train of thought and all thoughts in general, except your dire need to orgasm.
Jungkook had made you moan for hours.
Right now, however, Yoongi’s sharp look was making you mute. You were so mortified that you swore your soul stood up and walked out of your body, too ashamed to be in Yoongi’s presence any longer.
“Mmm,” the dark-haired man mused absentmindedly, pointed ears flicking.
From spitting onto the mirror to mentioning his possible castration to remembering that you had locked Yoongi in the bathroom for hours to have mind-blowing sex with Jeon Jungkook under the guise of repainting your bedroom walls…
Too bad life doesn’t have an undo button.
You suddenly remembered Jungkook pushing you up against the bathroom door, your leg hooked around his waist, his cock plunging in and out of you, lips on your neck, and your wrists pinned to the door, rattling it as he fucked you, whispering against your skin.
“You sound so fucking sexy, make more sounds for me, I’ll fuck you as much as you want, fuck you until you can’t think, can’t move, just to hear you say my name over and over…”
“Jungkook… f-fuck, you f-feel so fucking good, o-oh, Jungkook…!”
He pulled his lips away from your neck and smirked in your face.
Your back arced against the bathroom door as you came, pussy throbbing and spasming, the top of your head touching the wood, gasping Jungkook’s name in ecstasy, slamming your wrists against the door, Jungkook moaning as he came inside you, cock jerking inside the condom and swelling it with his orgasm, lips crashing down on yours and you whining pathetically into his mouth as he sucked on your tongue roughly.
A quiet, disapproving meow below you.
A master yikes.
You deliberately shoved the dark gray blob back into your underwear drawer.
Yoongi pursed his lips.
“Why is it in your underwear drawer, anyway?”
You slowly closed it, the wood snapping as the drawer touched the dresser.
A crow cawed in the distance.
“You know what, let me make a trip to the convenience store…” was your hollow reply as you mechanically walked out of your bedroom, followed by a mint duvet.
“Do you know what size I would be?” came the husky, amused chuckle behind you as you pawed around your apartment for your wallet, two masks, hand sanitizer.
“I’ll just… buy a variety…”
“Or you could measure.”
You heard a rustle and you whipped your head around, only to see Yoongi’s cocked eyebrow and a slight bit of his exposed shoulders, collarbones on display, silver bell jingling. He yanked it back up, frowning at you.
“Are you a pervert?”
You jerked away and hastily hooked the masks on your ears, fumbling with your sneakers before declaring, “I will be right back!” And then you threw yourself out the door.
Yoongi sighed, finally releasing his hold on the duvet.
“Ugh, so stuffy…”
His long black tail whipped about.
The door suddenly jerked back open and you plucked your keys from the side dish.
Only to see Yoongi fully naked, sleek black tail whisking around, blinking at you.
He was naked.
Very, one hundred percent, naked.
The mint duvet was pooled around his legs on the ground and Min Yoongi, who was formerly your cat Shooky, was a fair-skinned, long-limbed, lean-bodied, very attractive tall man, with velvety black cat ears and tail and – urk! – completely intact human male genitalia. Your neck, ears, cheeks, chest, ancestors from generations long ago, all turned red in embarrassment. Once again, you soul completely left your body in pure mortification.
“D… Don’t leave!” you blurted, snapping the door closed.
Yoongi just stood there, sighing as he heard the door lock and a body bolt down the apartment building stairs.
“You didn’t even change out of your pajamas…” he muttered, picking up the duvet.
"I can't wear these."
It was a few hours later. Thankfully, when you arrived home with your purchases, your cat... man was asleep, wrapped like a mint cake roll in your duvet. You tried not to think about his naked body on your bed, therefore ending up thinking about his naked body on your bed.
"You need to wear pants! For..."
Dark eyebrows raised.
After getting home, you had spent the next thirty minutes hand-washing a black t-shirt, black boxer briefs, and loose black pants that were definitely too short but it was the only size available that could fit that waist, so you had to make do. You put the other shirts and underwear in the washing machine, but you needed to wash at least one outfit and hang it to dry. You tried to use the hottest water your hands could handle to sterilize the clothing, wincing at the blistering heat.
You didn't know if Yoongi could get coronavirus but you weren't going to risk it.
Eventually you placed everything on the drying rack and positioned your space heater on them to dry them off.
Then you passed out on the couch. You deserved it, after working so hard.
Only to be woken up by Yoongi poking your shoulder roughly and telling you he couldn't wear the underwear and pants.
He was still holding the duvet around his body and your neck was still regretting every second of sleeping on the couch. Ow. Too much physical labor. Quarantine had turned you into a formless potato. You sat up halfway, wincing. Ugh, pain. You jabbed your finger at Yoongi, who gave you a displeased narrowing of his eyes.
"Put the pants on, you animal!"
Yoongi swept around the sofa, mint duvet and all, determined glint in his dark orbs, lips pursed in annoyance. You started, cracking your neck by accident, yelping in pain as you fell back against the couch.
Yoongi planted himself on top of you nimbly.
Partly because you were shocked, but mostly because your neck seized a bit.
His legs were on either side of you, body still wrapped up, perfectly balanced despite the sudden leap, surveying you with a disapproving and discerning eye. The silver bell on his neck jingled with his movement. You could feel his calves against your knees.
His bare calves.
"Are you dumb?"
"What?" you croaked in response.
Yoongi rolled his eyes. "You always forget things."
You blinked at him, confused, neck heating. "What are you talking about?" you snapped impatiently.
You felt something long and furry hit your leg. Your body almost jerked up in surprise, but Yoongi hissed at you, making you lurch back, somewhat stunned at how cat-like it sounded. It was definitely a warning. You were still in your pajamas, slightly thinner material than your usual clothes. It had been cold outside, but your everlasting embarrassment had kept you toasty warm.
Like it was now, because you realized your clothed outer thigh was touching his inner thigh.
His naked inner thigh.
You let out a noise between shock and confusion.
The long, furry thing brushed against your legs as Yoongi watched you reach your slow realization.
"O-oh... Right. You have a tail..."
He grunted, thinning his eyes into slits. "Yes, because I am a cat."
Highly debatable at the moment, but you were too busy remembering your cat also had a human dick and nuts. Well, not also. Only had? Well. Maybe if you had a seco–
No. No, never mind that. Yeah.
You gulped, trying to suppress the rising heat in your ears and failing. "I can sew?"
Yoongi tilted his head, nose wrinkling a bit. Then he got off you, circling around the couch. You sat up, neck still hurting, but the warmth of your embarrassment somehow helping. Yes, great, trading temporary physical pain for lifetime mental embarrassment, only for such moments to be remembered at the most inopportune times to throw you off guard.
You visibly cringed before standing up, seeing Yoongi's hand snake out and nab the boxer briefs, making them disappear into the duvet. You saw the fabric rustle and then the briefs reappeared, chucked at your face.
Your head snapped back at the force, arms flailing.
"Should be about four or five centimeters. Make it quick. It's hot under here."
You yanked the underwear off your face, scowling. "I'm not your maid!"
Yoongi raised an eyebrow, black ears flicking. He was smirking at you. You narrowed your eyes. What was this guy so high and mighty for? If anything, he should be grateful that you even car–
"You're been cleaning up my literal shit for a few years now, so you are practically are my maid."
... Wait a second, he's right.
You growled and hauled yourself up.
An hour later, your cat was dressed.
Min Yoongi was finally wearing clothes and not your duvet and your fingers stung like a bitch.
You ended up snipping a hole and using bias tape to seal off the raw edges. You didn’t own a sewing machine, so this was the next best thing you could think of without destroying your fingers by trying to imitate zig-zag stiches, although you ended up destroying your fingers anyway because you had to sew small, delicate stitches to attach the bias tape. The area was too high traffic to not reinforce.
“Please tell me you know how to use the bathroom by yourself from now on.”
Yoongi had raised an eyebrow.
“Of course. I’ve watched you enough times to know how to expel human excrement.”
Right. Because he was your cat. Don’t think about it too much. You were trying to take everything one thing at a time so you didn’t overwhelm yourself. Those were future-you problems. Why does he talk like that anyway? You didn’t even know how he knew Korean. Was it because you watched too much television? Yikes.
You rubbed your forehead, dismissing the discussion. “Good talk.”
You realized you would have to cut openings for his tail for all the underwear on the drying rack but, again, that was a future-you problem. Instead, you let him change in your bedroom and went to retrieve the laptop on your coffee table. Plugged it in and turned it on.
All your settings were wack.
“The fuck?” you muttered, resetting your display, volume, brightness, sigh, nearly everything. This only happened when a certain someone stepped on the keys when you weren’t looking. You raised your voice, still looking at the screen. “Did you fuck with my computer last night?”
“No. Oh, well, I did sleep on it,” Yoongi was saying as he stepped out of your bedroom. You growled in your chest, annoyed, but setting everything back into its place before opening your Google calendar. Nothing due immediately, thank god. “Er, maybe you shouldn’t…”
You looked up.
Yoongi mussed his black hair, scratching at his velvety black ear. You noticed he didn’t have a set of human ears. Well, duh. That’d be weird. He was still wearing the black choker with the little silver bell on it. The t-shirt was nicely loose on his frame, the black standing out against his fair skin. The sweatpants were a little short on the ankle, the slim fit showing off his leanness. The sleek black tail swished back and forth.
He was… handsome.
Yoongi looked apprehensive, twisting his lips to one side. “Hmm.”
You blinked at him. “What?”
He shrugged. “Well, when I woke up as a human, I was cold, except for…” His hand ghosted towards his crotch. He pulled it away, waving it aside. “Mmm, never mind.”
You gave him a confused look and went back to your keyboard, typing away. Yoongi winced but you were too busy replying to an email to think too much about it.
We interrupt your regularly scheduled program to inform you of the following.
Min Yoongi had woken up on the coffee table, fucking freezing because humans didn’t have fur, and because his nuts and dick were getting roasted by your overheating laptop keyboard.
Upon waking up, he had a mild mental breakdown as you continued snoring loudly and unceremoniously, before scurrying away to the warmest place he knew – your bed, where he claimed the duvet and tried to figure out what the fuck was going on.
Is this real life?
He had poked at various parts of his new body, trying to figure out if this was a dream or a horrific nightmare.
As we all know.
Life is a horrific nightmare, so indeed, this was real life.
You jumped as Yoongi slumped down on the sofa next to you, sticking his head and ears into your view, blocking the computer screen.
You gawked at him.
“What a-are you d-doing?” you sputtered.
“I’m hungry,” he repeated. He had a bit of a raspy, almost growly voice at times, reminding you of a cat’s meow. His meow, in fact.
You scooted away, neck heating. Yoongi followed, prodding you.
“Why are you like this?” you grumbled irritably, smacking his hand. Yoongi persisted, as if you did nothing at all.
“This is how I get your attention, because you humans will ignore me if I don’t.”
“You’re a human too!”
“No, I am a cat.”
“Hello?” You grabbed his hand and jabbed at his palm, pointing to his thumb. “Cats don’t have thumbs!”
Yoongi yanked his hand out, shockingly similar to how Shooky used to pull his paw out when you were massaging his little white socks and he was over it. You noticed his cuticles looked a bit dry and torn up. Lately, Shooky’s paws had been a little chewed up too. You frowned at it, tilting your head.
Yoongi stood up and his tail whacked you in the face.
You scowled, rubbing your cheek. Yoongi stared down at you, face expressionless.
Okay, your cat might be a man now, but he was still a borderline asshole, so not much had changed.
You both stared at the bowl of dry cat food.
Yoongi raised an eyebrow.
“What am I supposed to do with all this cat food then? I just brought it last week!”
“That’s your problem.”
You threw up your hands and cooked you both some lunch.
This was too much.
You know what you did when it was too much?
You took a nap.
You had dishes to clean, underwear to make tail-holes for, a cat that was now a man, an existential crisis to address, but you know what? You took a fucking nap instead. You left Yoongi with your computer and Netflix and told him to do whatever as long as none of it involved him leaving the house.
Yoongi had snorted. “What do I need to go out there for?”
“Awesome. I’m taking a nap.”
And you passed out.
Only to wake up groggily because your lungs were being crushed.
Actually no, it kind of felt like your whole torso was being crushed.
You fought with your sleepiness, somehow worse off than you had been before the nap, scrunching up your face ad blinking blearily. Head on memory foam pillow, check. Back on soft mattress, check. Black hair with sleek cat ears and pale face pressed on your chest? Check.
You lurched and the head grunted, shoulders solidly pinning you down. He was under the mint-colored duvet. Yoongi, your cat that was now a man, was under the duvet.
UNDER THE DUVET.
“Stop yelling. Is that all you humans do? Yell?”
“Why are you – what are you doing here?” you hissed shrilly, trying to wiggle out from under him, but it was impossible. Yoongi was far too big now for you to throw him off.
“Sleeping, obviously,” he grumbled. “Or I was, until you started shouting.”
“Yes, but this is my bed,” you emphasized, realizing you could move your hands so you grabbed him by the waist, fingers grasping the black jersey fabric. You pressed inwards, hands molding to his sides.
Yoongi raised his head, squinting down at you.
An oddly familiar gaze of accusation and uncaring. His eyes were dark brown, not the recognizable mint, but the effect was the same. Pink lips upturned, slightly annoyed.
You suddenly remembered he was a man.
A man who was pressed down against you, long legs around your legs, broad chest to your chest, and shockingly attractive for someone who used to be a cat.
“I sleep in your bed all the time. What’s the difference?” Yoongi muttered.
What’s the difference?
You’re a man!
A HOT MAN!!!
You struggled to find words, completely entranced by how close Yoongi’s face was to yours, watching his ears adjust slightly to pick up all the small sounds around him. You opened your mouth and it only made a tiny squeak. The pressure on your chest was becoming unbearable. You were so shocked that you completely forgot that you were still dying. You cleared your throat as Yoongi looked increasingly displeased.
“You… You used to be over the duvet…”
Yoongi yawned, nodding a little. “Yes, but it’s colder now. No more fur. I don’t know how you humans survive. Must be why you buy these warm things.”
Your hands were still on his waist. You pulled them away quickly and Yoongi frowned.
“Y-Yeah, but… you weigh a lot more now…” you croaked. “Can’t… breathe…”
Yoongi sighed heavily, as if this was a great disappointment. He slid off you.
“Hmm, I suppose that’s true.”
He nestled close to you and you still stunned, pin-straight body.
“Guess it’ll have to be like this instead from now on.”
From now on?
Oh. Oh no.
Yoongi’s velvety, pointed ear flicked against your cheek, a low hum resounding in his chest.
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