#here2bbtstrash

oneshots

real magic - 16.7k | part of a hyung holiday collab! | holiday cuteness weow | strangers to coworkers to lovers | himbo dad joon ugh 😩 | size kink and breeding kink because i'm me merry crisis

the holiday season has never meant anything to you beyond suffering long hours for minimum wage and awaiting the collapse of capitalism— but this year, you’d be willing to add making out with your dilf coffee shop boss to the list.

deep end - 4.2k | established relationship | period sex | size kink, bulge kink, & cervix play | soft boyfie joon 🥲

your boyfriend suggests a new way to relieve your period cramps.

park and ride - 4.8k | idol-verse | wholesome quippy fuckbuddies | size kink | car sex

your fuckbuddy asks if the two of you can drive around a bit first, but he has a hard time keeping his hands to himself.

five minutes - 2.6k | park and ride-verse | idol-verse | wholesome quippy fuckbuddies | backstage quickie

your fuckbuddy has a graduation gift for you, but he might have overestimated your self-control.

drabbles

whatever you like - request fill drabble | established relationship | breeding kink | overstim/multiple orgasms | joon did his mf research!!!

your boyfriend wants to try something new for your anniversary.

oneshots

sunday - 5k | established relationship | BDSM dynamics | brat tamer seokjin 🙈 | spanking with a belt | throatfucking, crying, overstim 🥵

you got your boyfriend exactly what he wanted for his birthday.

drabbles

distraction - request fill drabble | established long distance relationship | facetime sex | brat tamer seokjin | fantasized exhibitionism

it’s not your fault your boyfriend’s so hot when he’s angry.

series

look down on me like that - 11/11 | coworkers | slow burn | enemies to lovers | hatefucking w eventual angst~

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

oneshots

moving day - 2.6k | established relationship | domestic soft dom yoongi | oral in the kitchen | may cause delusion

you manage to entice your boyfriend into taking a break from unloading boxes to unload something else instead.

drabbles

all eyes on me - request fill drabble | college AU | hot roommate yoongi | accidental and then purposeful voyeurism

your roommate gets home earlier than expected.

me and my husband - request fill drabble | established relationship (well, marriage lol) | dom/brat tamer yoongi | getting punished in the parking lot

when you misbehave at his office party, your husband has no choice but to punish you.

watermelon sugar - request fill drabble | best friends | spit kink | erotic watermelon eating | yoongi kinkshames you but he's into it

your best friend was just trying to share fruit with you, but he accidentally hit your spit kink button.

drip - request fill drabble | best friend's friend | squirt god min yoongi | multiple orgasms | overstimulation | tongue/fingerfucking & SQUIRTING 💦

when yoongi makes the bold statement that any girl can squirt, you decide to call him on his bluff.

oneshots

party on you - 9.8k | friends to lovers | idol-verse @ the JITB release party | cunnilingus, ass-eating & throat fucking | but it's cyuuuute !!!!

the only thing stronger than your social anxiety is your big dumb crush on hoseok - and you’re certainly not expecting it when he tells you the real reason he threw this album release party.

self control - 1k | smutty angst (smangst!) | member POV | unrequited love | imagined infidelity | hobi is rly hard on himself :'(

you’ll never know the way hoseok really feels about you.

two in one - 11.9k | ft. jimin | friends to lovers | recreational marijuana | a threesome but it's not gay | double vaginal penetration

you finally have a much-needed smoke session with your best friends, just like old times. you’re also pretty sure they’re gay… right?

drabbles

future - a therapeutic drabble | established LDR | saying goodbye at the airport | no smut just feelings | may come with a side of tears

you're usually better at goodbyes.

good teacher - request fill drabble | member POV | virgin!reader and hoseok with a bit of an innocence/corruption kink | first blowjob, surprise facial & clothed pussy eating

you've never done this before.

somebody else - request fill drabble | fuckbuddies/dick appt | fuckboy mean dom hoseok | somebody gets a lil jealous | prepare for whiplash

you swear this is the last time you’re doing this.

please stop talking - request fill drabble | terrible dirty talk | basically a crack fic but hoseok is good at oral | edging in a bad way | my brain melted when i wrote this

hoseok is so good at giving head, but so bad at talking dirty. it really makes things difficult.

oneshots

the shape of your body - 24k | grad school AU in nyc | strangers to lovers | slow burn fluff to smut | public transportation crush jimin | but oops you see him naked weekly??

the same day you finally manage to speak to your months-long public transit crush, you end up seeing much more of him than you bargained for.

love the way you wear that - 4k | trans/bi jimin | gay club bathroom hookup | stranger sex | a vibrator necklace

you can’t resist the handsome stranger that approaches you at your favorite gay bar, especially not when he’s wearing that skirt.

two in one - 11.9k | ft. hoseok | friends to lovers | recreational marijuana | a threesome but it's not gay | double vaginal penetration

you finally have a much-needed smoke session with your best friends, just like old times. you’re also pretty sure they’re gay… right?

drabbles

ask so pretty - request fill drabble | dom! reader & sub! jimin | orgasm control/edging with a fleshlight, crying, begging, it's cute

you want to take him in your mouth and bite down.

lightweight - request fill drabble | first date drinking and grinding on the dancefloor | lowkey semi-public with a hint ✨ of sub!jimin

your date has a few things he wants to tell you.

talk dirty to me - request fill drabble | college AU | study buddies who fuck | fingerfucking in the library | jimin talks you through it

turns out your study buddy is a bit of a freak.

our little secret - request fill drabble | established relationship | cockwarming | dom! reader & sub! jimin | orgasm delay | cute aftercare | an in the seom plug bc fuck it we ball

your boyfriend's friends have no idea who really calls the shots in your relationship.

oneshots

it's sweet - 4.3k | no smut just fluff (who am i!!!!) | fuckbuddies to lovers | sickfic (reader has the flu 🤧) | sweet soft boi tae

you forgot to call out sick from your dick appointment, but he stays anyway.

compromise - 10k | ft. jungkook | this is a twilight AU threesome i wrote for halloween and i refuse to elaborate further thank you

you're torn between the two loves of your life - but maybe you don't have to choose.

drabbles

you're the worst - request fill drabble | friends to uh.... not lovers | the world's weirdest handjob? | orgasm denial | taehyung is a capricorn

you decide to turn the tables on your shameless best friend.

don't get murdered - request fill drabble | ft. yoongi | bad first date (sorry yoongi) | stranger hookup | accidental voyeurism (SORRY YOONGI)

you’re supposed to be on a blind date, but the handsome stranger across the bar keeps distracting you.

you right - request fill drabble | taehyung is toxic | reader is toxic | but his dick is huuuuuge 🗣 | ft. a literal dick-measuring contest

your ex walking in on you fucking someone else would be a problem for anyone. but it is especially a problem when your ex is kim taehyung.

cruel - request fill drabble | exes hooking up in a bathroom | reader is cheatingggg 🤐 | dom/sub/brat tamer vibes | subby emo boy tae!!

you need someone you can be mean to.

oneshots

crybaby - 4.3k | established relationship | sub!jk | marathon sex, bondage, overstim | it's kinda hot when he cries what can i say 🤷‍♀️

your boyfriend has always mixed his pleasure with pain.

compromise - 10k | ft. taehyung | this is a twilight AU threesome i wrote for halloween and i refuse to elaborate further thank you

you're torn between the two loves of your life - but maybe you don't have to choose.

heartless - 7.4k | part of the jeju shore collab! | member POV | established relationship (exes) | toxic fuckboy jungkook | filming a sex tape and hooking up in the hot tub 👀

after a wild summer at the shore where he made more than a few mistakes, jungkook is ready to remind you why you always take him back.

babygirl - 5k | established relationship | jungkook in a skirt | kink discovery | gender swap & virginity roleplay | daddy kink, praise kink, feminization & dirty talk FOR DAYZ

your boyfriend claims the outfit was just for a tiktok - until you realize you’re both very into it.

the spins - 10.3k | college AU | wholesome fratboy jungkook | friends to lovers | reader's first partnered orgasms | jk is an oral sex god

you discover a new side to your former lab partner, frat wonder boy jeon jungkook, when you confess to him the one thing no man has ever been able to make you do.

drabbles

tell the truth - request fill drabble | established (new) relationship | reader is done w vanilla sex | dom! reader and sub! jk

you really should have been honest when your boyfriend asked you about your kinks.

best i ever had - request fill drabble | college AU | infidelity (reader is a cheater) | jungkook has a big dick and doesn't shut up | possessive vibes~

you’ve been planning on breaking up with your boyfriend for a while, and jungkook is here to help.

get freaky on camera - request fill drabble | camboy jk and camgirl reader | sex toy | multiple orgasms | double vaginal penetration | jk has fangirls bc of course he does

your camming partner thinks he can handle your new toy.

go to town - request fill drabble | ft. voyeur yoongi | member POV | reader takes a nose ride | jk does his best | tongue fucking

jungkook may have only learned about the concept three seconds ago, but he’s determined to be the best nose ride you’ve ever had.

the perilla leaf debacle - request fill drabble | established relationship | rough jealous sex | a whole lot of slapping and biting | reader surprised even me lmao

you hate it when your boyfriend gets jealous, but you love the way he takes it out on you.

21 - request fill drabble | dialogue-only | ANGSTY phone call between exes | could be read as x reader or x member | ambiguous ending

“I’m sorry I didn’t call. I feel really shitty about it.”

drabbles

little miracles - jimin x hoseok - request fill drabble | post-hobipalooza | consensual somno | it gets soft af honestly

“Jimin-ah,” Hoseok rasps, nose skimming the line of Jimin’s jaw. “This still okay?”

bts on dating apps

bts giving you aftercare

bts on the bachelorette

bts doing no nut november

To say that the rest of your first week is overwhelming is an understatement. You operate in a constant state of confusion. You keep a page in your notes to track all of the unfamiliar terminology your coworkers use; you frantically Google as many phrases as possible whenever you have a moment alone.

Unfortunately, the moments alone are few and far between. From the second you unlock the door each morning, you’re always busy, and nearly always in meetings, which inevitably result in more things getting tacked onto your to-do list: compiling presentation materials, booking artists for studio time, setting up task boards for the production teams, creating project timelines for upcoming releases, ordering additional recording equipment, submitting a maintenance request for the broken door in studio B. Your desk phone’s voicemail and your inbox are already filling up, and you haven’t had a free second to so much as check them, let alone respond to anything.

You arrive to work earlier and earlier each morning, where Jungkook is always waiting to greet you, hair still damp from his post-workout shower. More often than not, a smile or offer of help from your baby-faced coworker is the only thing that gets you through the day.

Inversely, there’s Suga. He hasn’t said anything to you since the team meeting, and he doesn’t attend the next one. That doesn’t stop his presence from feeling like a dark cloud looming over your head. You don’t dare put headphones in again while you work, but you still find yourself regularly glancing over your shoulder, just to be sure he isn’t standing there smirking at you.

But he never is. In fact, Jungkook was right— you pretty much never see Suga, other than when he gets to work and leaves each day.

You find yourself working later and later into the evenings as well, trying to tread water, but to his credit, Suga seems to be respecting your boundary. He leaves at 5:55 each day like clockwork, always with his dark sunglasses on, never saying anything. You’ve stopped saying goodnight to him, figuring it’s a waste of air.

In fact, you feel your most productive once he’s gone for the day. There’s an entire physical response you have to the mere absence of him from the building. Your shoulders relax, your brain unfogs. It’s like you can breathe deeper, knowing your secret of incompetency is safe to live on another day.

Of course, you don’t actually know that he knows. He can’t know for sure, you reason, unless he’s some kind of stalker. He just has his suspicions, albeit ones he was confident enough in to voice aloud to you.

But the rest of the company seems to have faith in you, so you can’t be doing that horribly. That thought keeps you afloat, if just barely.

On this particular day, you’re asked to reset one of the studios after talent has finished a scheduled recording session. The company is producing an up and coming female rapper’s mixtape, and you thank every lucky star you have that Suga is not involved with this project. The engineer you are working with doesn’t say much, but he’s at least pleasant. You follow his lead to start breaking down and organizing a clusterfuck of audio equipment set up in the recording booth. While you continue, he slips back into the control room.

“Damn, the storage on this thing sucks ass,” you hear the engineer’s voice over the talkback intercom. “One day eats up like half the drive. Hey admin?” You glance up, continuing to wrap a cable around your arm, to see him hunched over the studio desktop.

“Do you mind porting the files from today off here so we don’t run out of space when she comes back tomorrow?” He slides open a couple drawers until he finds what he’s looking for, holding up a thumb drive so you can see it through the glass. “If you can throw them on here, that’d be great.”

“Sure.” The microphones are all unplugged and you’re not sure if he can hear you, so you shoot him a thumbs up with your non-occupied arm.

“Thanks! We’ve got another client coming in so I gotta bounce. Just bring it by my office whenever you get a chance.”

It takes ages, but you get the booth and the control room put back together, then take a seat at the desktop. There are a ton of files saved haphazardly all over the place from the session, and you gather them into a folder, then plug the USB in and move the data over.

A small green progress bar loads for a while, then eventually disappears, and you pull the drive out. Easy peasy. You mass-select the files and delete them, clicking through all the annoying “are you sure?” messages until they finally disappear. All done.

For good measure, you plug the USB back into the desktop to review. You might even get crazy and organize the takes for him, who knows.

You open the drive in your file explorer, and it’s empty.

That’s weird. Maybe it just needs to load, you consider. You give it a second.

Panic rises in your chest as the blank folder stares back at you. There’s no progress bar, no loading icon, no spinning rainbow wheel. You swallow hard. The thumb drive is empty.

“No, no, no, no,” you murmur to yourself, clicking around on the screen as if to somehow summon the files from beyond the grave, your stomach in knots. “Please come back,” you whisper through a lump in your throat.

Tears sting at the corners of your eyes and you start to hyperventilate. This can’t be happening. You find the Recycle Bin on the desktop and open it, but that’s empty too.

“What is the fucking point of you then?!” You hiss angrily at the Recycle Bin. The tears in your eyes threaten to spill over, and you push the desk chair back. You have to get out of here before someone finds you in this state.

You grab your purse off the desk and pull the USB out of the computer, chucking it in next to your laptop. You sling the straps over your shoulder and will your face to look some amount of normal as you push the studio door open.

You rush towards the bathroom. Please don’t let anyone see me please please please—

You’re so focused on the target ahead that you don’t realize you’re about to smack into someone leaving the men’s room until it’s too late. You collide into his chest at full-speed. Your clumsiness is the final straw and you let out a choked gasp of a sob, unable to catch your breath to even apologize.

Your palms rest flat against this person’s chest, and his hands instinctively grab your arms to keep you upright. You’re terrified to make eye contact and confirm who it is. If this is Suga, you will literally die of embarrassment right here in the hallway.

“Whoa, hey, are you okay?” Jungkook’s voice has already become familiar to you, and you’ve never been more glad to hear it. “What’s going on?”

Tears roll down your face as you look up at him. “I think I fucked up.”

Keeping his hands firmly on your shoulders, Jungkook steers you down the hall into an open meeting room. You sit with your back to the door so passersby can’t see your now free-flowing tears. Your shoulders shake as you hide your face in your hands. The embarrassment of being so emotional in front of a coworker that you barely know only makes you cry that much harder.

Jungkook finds a box of tissues in one of the media cabinets and slides it across the table towards you. He’s patient with you, and waits it out silently until you’re able to gasp for air and calm yourself down a little. “Tell me what happened.”

You reach for a tissue and dab at your eyes, certain you look like a disaster. “I… accidentally deleted all the files from the recording session.” You say with a sniffle. His jaw drops.

You go over the incident, the studio, the files, the drive. “So, I pulled the USB out, and then—”

“Did you eject it?”

You pause, wondering if that’s supposed to mean something to you. “Eject it?”

“The USB.”

“Um, I pulled it out of the computer?”

“But you didn’t click the eject button first.”

“I… No, I guess I didn’t.”

He leans back in his chair, his face serious. “That explains it. You can usually get away with not ejecting a USB and be fine if you’re moving a couple small files, but hours worth of audio recordings… They were probably still writing to the drive. Pull it out before that completes and the data can get corrupted. Or in this case…” He makes a small gesture with his hands. “Poof.”

“Poof.” You drop your head into your folded arms on the table. “I’m so fucked.”

Jungkook snaps his fingers. “The Recycle Bin!”

You shake your head where it is. “Tried it. Empty.”

His hand drops to the table with a thud. “Dammit. That can happen with big files. No second chances.”

You sit back up, pressing your fingers to your temples. “What do I do? That’s hours of work, a talent’s time wasted, a damaged relationship, thousands in booking fees we’ll probably need to pay back—”

“Blame me.” He interjects. You laugh because that’s the stupidest thing you’ve ever heard.

“You weren’t even there.”

Jungkook leans forward, and you can see the gears in his head turning. “Say that I asked you for the tracks because I wanted to start brainstorming some teasers for our socials.”

“But you know how to eject a USB,” you counter, then add bitterly, “because you’re not a fucking moron.”

He pauses. “I… misunderstood. I thought you’d made two. I thought the engineer had his own version, so I deleted everything when I was done.”

The weight of his words sinks in. “Jungkook, no. I can’t ask you to lie for me.”

“You’re not asking. I’m offering.”

You huff a shaky exhale. “This isn’t your responsibility.”

“Hmm. How long have you worked here?”

You pause to count. “Twelve days.”

“Uh-huh.” He says, lazily circling his index finger on the table. “Do you know how long I’ve worked here?” You shake your head. “Four years.”

“Wow.”

“And they love me.” You smile at that. Of course they do. “I’m the golden boy here. I’ve never fucked up, not even once. I mean it, let me take the heat on this one.”

The offer is so tempting, but you can’t. “I don’t understand why you’re doing this.”

“Because—” he starts, then falters. “You’re a good coworker. I see how many hours you’re putting in and how much stuff they’re throwing at you. I told them when they posted the job that this position needed to be two roles, but they didn’t want to listen to me. And I think we could use more people like you around here. You’re nice, and disciplined, and honest.”

The last word stings. You’re a fucking monster, is what you are. Maybe you might as well embrace it.

“Thank you,” you say, as sincerely as you’ve ever meant it. “I seriously can’t tell you how much this means to me.” Your eyes threaten to tear up again and you tilt your head back, willing yourself not to cry. “God, I’m such a wreck. I don’t know how I’m supposed to go back to work like this.”

“What’s the rest of your day look like?” He asks.

You retrieve your laptop from your purse and open it up. Jungkook walks his feet against the floor to wheel his office chair over to your side of the table. It’s just goofy enough to make you laugh.

You pull up your calendar and he looks at it with you. The universe has actually blessed you with a rare chunk of free time. You’ve got a solid 90 minutes until your next meeting.

“Well, I’m hungry.” Jungkook says decisively. “Do you want to get some food?”

You balk at his question. “What, fucking up an entire recording session wasn’t enough, you want me to skip out on work too?”

“You’re not skipping out on work!” He pulls his phone out of his pocket and taps at the screen for a moment. “Look.”

A few seconds later, an hour-long event appears on your calendar. The sender is one Jeon Jungkook, and you’re the only listed attendee. He reaches over to your laptop’s trackpad and accepts the invitation.

“It’s a meeting. A walking meeting. Come on.”

You’d underestimated how nice getting outside would be. It’s a good reminder that the world still exists beyond of the glass walls of your office. Jungkook slows his pace so you don’t have to hurry to keep up with him in your heels.

He must be able to sense your desire for a distraction from the events of the past hour, because he doesn’t say anything else about it. Instead he regales you with stories of his most recent social media projects— apparently he’s amassed a small army of fans who love it when he does Instagram Q&As on the company page.

“You know they came up with a nickname for me? It’s Baby Star Candy.” His cheeks redden as he says the name. “I have no idea what it means.”

You don’t either, but it’s oddly perfect for him.

The two of you approach a fairly unremarkable looking building, and he pushes the door open and motions for you to enter first. You step into a bustling food hall and are immediately hit with an overwhelming array of sounds and smells. There are dozens of stalls, but Jungkook heads confidently in the direction of one, and you follow him, trying to take it all in.

Jungkook stops you at a bakery, the displays piled high with various kinds of breads, donuts and pastries. The aroma is heavenly.

“Grab a seat,” he calls over his shoulder as he jumps into the line, and you find a table for two in the corner. He returns a few minutes later with two buns on a tray. The gesture is overwhelmingly kind. Part of you wants to argue that you don’t deserve this, but you don’t think you could get the words out without the truth about all your lies spilling out with them.

Instead you thank him, pick up a bun, and take a bite. It’s soft and warm, and the slightly sweet taste of the red bean filling is incredible. Jungkook closes his eyes in happiness when he takes his first bite. You both chew in silence.

When you’ve finished, you rest your chin on your hands. “So, Jeon Jungkook, what is the agenda for this urgent meeting?”

He smiles, wiping at the corners of his mouth. “Let’s see. What would make you feel better?”

“The free food definitely helped. I still feel like a dumbass, though.”

Jungkook shrugs. “Don’t be so hard on yourself. It could’ve been worse.” He pauses. “You could have lost the company thousands of dollars in stolen equipment, for example.”

Your eyes widen as you realize what he’s referencing, and you bite back a laugh. “Honestly, that’s a really good point. Do you know what happened with that?”

He shakes his head. “Not much more than what you heard at the meeting. Suga was working really late on some project. This was back when we all had our own keys, so the rule was just to lock up whenever you left. And I guess he forgot?”

You can’t imagine working so hard you’d forget something that simple.

“I was the first one to get in the next morning,” Jungkook continues, “so I was the first one to see it. The place was trashed. They took basically anything that wasn’t too heavy to lift. I can’t imagine how much Suga must have paid to replace everything.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah. I tried asking him about it right after it all went down, just trying to be supportive, but he got super touchy. Like, touchy even for Suga. So I haven’t brought it up again.” He shrugs.

The thought lingers in the back of your brain the rest of the walk back to the office, and even throughout your remaining meetings. You don’t have many nice things to say about the guy, but Suga is clearly methodical, dedicated, and very observant. You know it’s not your business, but you can’t help but wonder what the hell happened.

~*~

The next few days pass in an anxious blur. You keep expecting the other shoe to drop, sure that someone will see through Jungkook’s lie and your boss will show up at your desk with your termination notice, but nothing comes of it. Life goes on. You’ve gotten away with murder, and it feels awful.

You’re in such a fog of guilt, and still so overwhelmed by your workload, that you forget about your first meeting Friday morning. The notification pops up alerting you to an overdue calendar event, and you grab your laptop and sprint for the conference room, nearly twisting an ankle in your heels.

When you push the door open, already apologizing profusely, you realize Suga is sitting alone at the table.

Your stomach drops. Every cell in your body wants to turn around and walk right back out the door. Instead you gingerly pull out a chair across from him and sit, refraining from making eye contact.

“Um, good morning, Min Suga.”

The silent question of what this meeting is crosses your mind, but you know you should know that, and you’re not about to give him any ammo. You open your laptop and pull up the invite.

Oh. Oh. The memory comes back to you now. Your boss had asked you to provide support for a huge client pitch first thing Friday morning. He’d specifically stressed just how big of a deal it would be, both financially and reputationally, to clinch this. He’d left out the part about Suga being the pitching producer, but it makes sense. Everyone in the business is dying to work with him.

Everyone except you, you think to yourself.

When you glance up at him, Suga is staring at you. Your mouth goes dry, and you clear your throat. “I really am so sorry I’m late.”

You expect the usual response of absolutely nothing, but he actually speaks. “You’re lucky they are too.” You exhale a small sigh of relief and he continues. “You better not embarrass me today.”

You blink twice, trying to process his thinly veiled threat, and something in your gut twists. You speak without thinking. “I’m not scared of you, Yoongi.”

There’s a glint in his eyes at your words, like maybe you should be. He leans back in his chair and you could swear he’s almost smiling.

“You know people talk around here?” You stare blankly at him. You have no idea what he means. “I just find it very interesting that Jeon Jungkook, who has never made a mistake in his life before this week, somehow managed to delete an entire recording session’s worth of files. Seems pretty out of character, wouldn’t you agree?”

Heat rushes to your face and for a second you can’t think, can’t breathe, can’t do anything but sit there and stare stupidly at him. Your heart is racing, the urge to cry already bubbling up in your chest.

The conference room door opens. Suga immediately gets to his feet with a wide smile and a formal greeting for the artist and their label reps. You rise and do the same, your face still burning with embarrassment. You pray that you can keep it together for the duration of this meeting.

Suga launches into a pitch about the track in question, and you’re thankful for the few minutes to steady your breathing as you copy down a brief transcript in your notes.

As much as you may personally dislike him, it’s still kind of amazing to see him in his element. He’s clearly done his research on this artist, and he’s able to encapsulate their entire brand in a few perfectly chosen words. You see the team glance at each other with impressed looks on their faces. Suga explains that, like all his tracks, he’s written this specifically for them, and wouldn’t give it to anyone else.

“Admin,” he turns to you and your throat constricts. “Can you please play the track I sent you?” He’s still smiling, but his eyes are cold.

“Y-yes,” you choke out, and you navigate through your inbox as fast as possible. When you search his name, dozens of messages come up, all with various demos attached, and your eyes widen. You knew you were behind on emails, but you didn’t realize he’d been sending you so many. You find the thread with the artist’s name, but there’s a lengthy list of emails to choose from under it. You press play on the first track you see.

Though you’ve never heard a proper demo before, you would’ve guessed one would be rough. But this one is really rough. The beat is way too loud, the vocals sloppy, the rhythm disjointed. The smile on Suga’s face falters and you feel sick. 

In one swift move, he reaches across the table and grabs your laptop with both hands. You jump back reflexively and helplessly watch as he pulls it towards him, turning off the track as quickly as possible.

“Whoops!” Suga’s smile returns, clearly more forced than before, as his fingers scroll your computer’s trackpad. “Sorry about that, team. Let’s try this again.” He clicks something and a far more polished version of the same song starts up.

The artist’s team listens in silence, some of them nodding along. They compliment Suga when it finishes, and there’s additional banter and exchanging of pleasantries before they agree to meet internally and send an official response over within the next week.

You don’t say a word, hoping instead that the ground might open up and swallow you. When Suga stands to see the team off as the meeting wraps, you robotically follow suit. There’s a tightness, a humming in your chest that you can’t put a name to.

It’s only once the room is emptied of everyone except you and Suga that you recognize the feeling. Underneath the shame, and the guilt, and the fear. It’s anger.

He snaps your laptop shut and silently slides it back across the table.

“Don’t touch my stuff without my permission.” You feel stupid as soon as you say it, like a little kid.

Suga huffs. “Play the right track and we won’t have that problem.”

“Why did you send me fifty versions of the same thing?! I played the first one I saw!”

He presses both palms flat on the conference table. For a split second, you think he might flip it over. His voice is deadly serious, hair falling in his eyes as he leans across the table toward you. “Because it is your job to organize them.” He tilts his head, gaze still fixed on you. “Tell me, did you look up what the position actually entailed before applying? Or did you just figure you’d wing it?”

Your stomach turns, mostly because you know he’s right. You scramble for a way to escape the blame.

“Y-you didn’t give me any prep for this meeting! Instead you wasted my time talking about some stupid mistake that I—” your voice breaks. “That Jungkook made,” you correct yourself carefully. Fuck.

At this, he laughs, sharp and bitter. “What a shame. If only we’d had more time. If only someone had purposefully set aside fifteen minutes before the client was scheduled to arrive, to ensure he’d have enough time to show the admin how to do her fucking job. Oh wait, that’s right, I did.”

His words sting like a slap to the face. It’s yet another reminder of your mistakes, your inability to get anything right. You were late and unprepared. There’s no way to twist this to make it his fault.

You grit your teeth, willing yourself not to give this horrible man the satisfaction of seeing you cry. Your voice is barely more than a whisper. “Do you need anything else, Yoongi? Or am I dismissed?”

He rolls his eyes. “Do what you want. I’m not your boss.”

Your vision blurs with tears as you grab your laptop and exit the conference room.

~*~

You drag Jimin out both Friday and Saturday night in an attempt to drink until you obliterate the memories of your latest fuck-ups. But both nights end the same, with Jimin holding your hair back while you puke your guts up in a club bathroom.

“Alright,” he says Saturday night when you’ve finally finished, using his dancer’s poise to nimbly flush the toilet with his foot. You collapse against the wall of the stall and sink to the floor in a much less graceful state. “What the hell has gotten into you?”

You wipe your nose with the back of your hand. “I think I have to quit my job.”

Jimin’s brow furrows. “What?! Why?” He slides down the wall opposite you, your legs tangling together on the bathroom floor.

You shake your head and the room spins. “I keep fucking up.”

He blinks at you, clearly waiting for more. “And…? Have you gotten in trouble about it?”

“Not really,” you groan, “but that’s because my coworker stepped in and saved my ass.”

Jimin shrugs. “That’s what good coworkers do. You’re new. Fuck-ups are to be expected. You’ll figure it out.”

“But I have no idea what I’m doing.”

“Everyone feels that way when they first start a new job. It’s called impostor syndrome.”

“But Jimin!” You whine, exasperated. “I am literally an impostor!”

“Who gives a shit? As long as you’re actually trying, and learning from the mistakes you make, you’ll figure it out. You’re only a couple weeks in. It sounds like everyone’s cutting you some slack anyway.”

You hiccup a laugh. “Not everyone. I can think of one specific coworker who already hates my guts. I’m pretty sure he knows I’m a fraud, too.”

Jimin rolls his eyes. “He’s probably just a sexist jerk who thinks women are incompetent. I’m sure he’s made mistakes, too.”

You nod. “He has, I know he has. He made a really big one right before they hired me. Way worse than anything I’ve done.”

“There you go.” Jimin stands up and offers both hands to help you do the same. “Screw that asshole. I mean— don’t like, put rat poison in his coffee or anything. But just remember he’s human, same as you. Don’t let him kill your vibe.”

Your hands still clasped together, you lean into his chest for a moment, rubbing your nose against his shirt. “Thanks, Jimin.”

He slides the lock of the club bathroom stall open. “Come on, drunk girl. Let’s get you home.”

~*~

Jimin’s words are on repeat in your head all Monday, like he’s your own personal motivational speaker. You will yourself not to give up on this job.

After your last meeting of the day wraps, you decide to finally sit down and tackle your nightmare inbox. You feel like you’ve barely scratched the surface when Suga rounds the corner. 5:55 already. You wish it was professionally acceptable to crawl under your desk and hide, but you drop your gaze and hope he’ll just breeze right past like he always does.

No such luck. He approaches your desk, seemingly waiting for you to look up. Your pulse quickens as you make eye contact.

“I need to work late tonight,” he says simply. His typical blank expression looks tinged with some emotion you can’t quite name. Stress? “Can I have the key? I’ll lock up when I’m done.”

“I’m the only one authorized to have the key,” your tone comes out sharp, because you know he knows this. “I can’t give it to anyone else. I’ll get in trouble.”

“Seriously, I have a really big deadline tonight, and I’m behind.” Suga persists. He almost looks like he’s in pain.

He’s human, same as you, Jimin’s voice in your head reminds you. As much as it kills you to even think it, you sort of feel like you understand where he’s coming from. You’re drowning, too. You could easily spend another two hours in your email and not hit the bottom. And you probably will, whether he’s here or not. So would it really be that bad if he was?

Plus, you did kind of fuck up his meeting. You clench your fists under your desk, out of his line of sight. Curse your stupid conscience.

“I can’t give you the key,” you say with a sigh. “But I can do a couple more hours. But then we both have to go home.”

You see a muscle in his jaw work. “Fine.” He’s gone again before you can say anything else.

You return to your inbox. You dig through message after message, responding quickly where you can and adding everything else to an ever-growing to do list of follow-ups and deliverables. You work until your vision blurs and you never want to read another email again.

Exhausted, you slump back in your chair, stifling a yawn, and look at the clock. It’s nearly 8:30, and your stomach grumbles as if in protest. You’ve never stayed at the office this late. You try to resume work, but when it takes you over five minutes to read a two-line email, you realize your brain has shut off for the evening. You stare listlessly at the screen for a few minutes, then finally throw the towel in.

Time to go disturb the genius, you guess. Grabbing the office keys, you walk down the hallway to his lab, ringing the doorbell and then knocking in case he’s got headphones on. “It’s time to go!” You call through the door.

There’s no response, so you bang on the door harder, then try the handle. It doesn’t budge, and you glare at the number pad. How is it fair that he gets an extra lock on his door? Isn’t that a fire hazard?

“Suga!” You smack your palm flat on the door a few more times. “Come on, I’m hungry and I want to leave!”

A few more seconds, and you’re about to give up and look for a fire alarm to pull, when the door opens a crack. You can’t even see him, but you hear his voice. “Just give me ten more minutes. That’s all I need.” He sounds as tired as you feel.

You roll your eyes and stalk back down the hallway, chucking the office keys on your desk. Picking up your phone, you automatically go to call Jimin, but then remember he’s at dance practice for another hour. You chew on the inside of your cheek, scrolling over to your music library. At least that will help distract you a bit, you reason.

You put on your playlist of current favorites and turn the volume up as loud as it will go, figuring Suga probably can’t hear it but also not really caring if he can. You survey your desk— you’re definitely not doing any more work tonight, but it has become a bit of a disaster. You can take ten minutes to tidy.

You gather up all the stray papers and organize them into piles: schedules, invoices, random notes you jotted down so you wouldn’t forget. You slot them into the paper organizer you keep in the corner of your desk. Once that’s done, you start putting the big items back into their respective drawers— a stapler, a hole punch, a zillion paperclips. You drop the pens, pencils, and highlighters that you’ve also inevitably left everywhere back into your pen cup organizer.

The next song comes up on shuffle, and you laugh when you realize what it is. Cat & Dog by TXT, your guiltiest of all guilty pleasure songs. There’s still no sign of Suga, and you also don’t give a fuck what he thinks about your taste in music, so you let it play.

You sing along under your breath as you go. The song has just gotten to Yeonjun’s verse, the inarguable best part, when someone clears their throat behind you.

Shit. The sound still takes you by surprise even though you know it’ll be Suga before you whip around. How did this happen for a second time? You scramble for your phone to turn it off before they all start barking, and the movement is so frantic that you knock your pen cup off the desk at the same time.

“Fuck,” you groan. Suga makes no offer to help. Because why the fuck would he, you think bitterly to yourself. You scoot your chair back and crawl under your desk to retrieve your office supplies.

When you emerge with your pens reassembled, you do your best to smooth out your clothes and not look as flustered as you feel. Suga is standing across from you, palms resting flat on the surface of your desk.

“I need more time,” he says bluntly, and you could scream. You open your mouth to argue, but he continues before you can get a word in. “Do you like tteokbokki?”

You blink hard, mystified at his question. “What?”

“You said you were hungry. There’s a really good tteokbokki cart around the corner that stays open late. If you go and get us some, I swear, I only need like thirty more minutes. Then we can both go home.” He retrieves his wallet from his pocket and pulls out a couple bills, extending them to you. You narrow your eyes suspiciously. “Please.”

The sound of him pleading, no matter how brief, is something you never thought you’d hear in a million years. Maybe you hit your head while you were under your desk and this is all just a fever dream. But your stomach twists at the mention of food. You really are starving.

You snatch the money out of his hand and grab your purse. “Fine. But I’m keeping the change.”

It’s a brisk walk to the cart and back, but the chilly night air feels good, and the smell of the takeout bag is enough to make your mouth water on the elevator ride back up. As you step out, you shift the bag in your arms to reach into your purse. Out of habit, you dig for the keys for a few seconds before you realize you didn’t actually lock up when you left.

You wince. Probably not great, but at least Suga’s still inside.

You lean against the glass door to push it open with your shoulder, but it doesn’t budge. Weird. Maybe you locked it without even thinking about it. You set the bag of food down so you can properly dig through your purse for the keys, but you can’t find them.

Crouching down, you turn your purse inside out, dumping the contents on the carpeted floor. You sort through the pile of cosmetics products and tampons and loose receipts, starting to panic. No office keys.

It’s only once you stand up and turn to fully face the door that you see the paper sign taped to the inside. Your mouth drops open as you read the untidy scrawl.

I have your keys. Keep the food. See you tomorrow.

No. This isn’t fucking possible. You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to hold in a scream, running back through the evening in your mind.

You took your keys with you when you knocked on his office door. Then you threw them back on your desk. Then Suga snuck up behind you, and you knocked the pen cup over, and when you stood back up Suga was—

Suga was standing with his hands on your desk, you realize. Right where you’d thrown down your keys. He could’ve easily pocketed them without you noticing; you were too busy picking up all your stupid pens.

He fucking tricked you.

You push hard on the door, but of course it doesn’t give. You bang on the glass for a few seconds, if only to get your anger out, but you know it’s pointless. Licking your wounds, you shove everything back into your purse and sling it over your shoulder, then hoist the takeout bag in your arms.

Alright, Min Yoongi, you think to yourself. This means war.

~*~

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

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

“Like, the Suga?”

“Is there another?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

At this, you sit up. “What?!”

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

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

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

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

~*~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your stomach drops. “What? No. Why?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you really want to take that chance?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~*~

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

“Nope.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~*~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~*~

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

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

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

7:05 AM. Perfect.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hi bestie.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sorry. It’s been a long week.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~*~

“Drink up, bitch!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fuck off,” you groan into the wall.

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

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

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

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

“I don’t caaaaaare.”

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

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

“You there?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Of course, I fixed them.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How did you know the code?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Shut up,” you hiss.

“This is incredibly useful information.”

“Stop talking, Yoongi.”

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

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

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

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

“Fine.”

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

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

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

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

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

“You what?” Your mouth goes dry.

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

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

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

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