#yanderereader

In this au, it's kind of an open secret that some (most) heroes use darker methods to deal with their lives. People idolize them, so there's a lot of irrational justification from the public. Like anything though, there's people that disagree.

The asshole gets closer and grins wide.

“Sure, babe. What do you want to know?”

“Have you ever suffered a closed head injury?”

“I don’t -- “

“What I mean is, have you ever experienced serious brain trauma?” 

He stares back at you, unblinking.

“Because I’m over here trying to work out why it’s so damned hard for you to understand the concept of no.”

The asshole physically recoils away from you, taking his unwelcome hand with him.

“I want to be sensitive to the situation, in the event that you’ve suffered some terrible physical injury,” you say with mock concern, savoring the way his cheeks redden.  “‘Cause I would just hate to come off like a real bitch.”

The asshole stands gaping for a moment before slamming his glass onto the bar. He treats you to a look of unfettered disgust before turning to stalk off.  

“Bye,” you whisper under your breath, not bothering to conceal your smile.

You reach for what’s left of your martini.

“Wanna hear something funny?”

You startle at the voice that comes from your right side, from someone you hadn’t even realized was sitting there until just now.  You’re already certain you are not in the mood to go up against another jerk who can’t take a hint tonight. 

But when you turn to get a glance at this man, you’re immediately interested. The look of barely-restrained mirth on his face puts you at ease.

“Sure,” you laugh, taking a sip of your drink. “Let’s hear it.”

“I came over here cause I thought you needed help getting rid of that guy,” this new stranger says, lifting his beer. He shakes his head with amusement before touching the mouth of the bottle to his lips. 

“Funny, huh?”

“I don’t -- “ you flush, sliding one manicured finger across the lip of your martini glass, “ -- I don’t normally speak to people that way.  He put his hands on me.”

“Yeah, I noticed,” the man says.  “So don’t feel bad about taking him down like that. He definitely deserved it.”

The stranger grins before taking another sip of his beer. 

“Besides, that was easily the best entertainment I’ve had all night.”

You smile.

This guy looks out of place here -- like he doesn’t quite belong in this pretentious hipster bar.  He’s wearing an oversized hoodie with tight jeans, while most everyone else is dressed to the nines. He’s drinking an Amstel Light while the other patrons are sipping on muddled cocktails with dozens of ingredients.  

You wonder what a guy like him is doing in a place like this.

“You hang out here a lot?” 

“Not if I can help it,” he admits with a laugh.  “Not exactly my kind of scene.”

“But it’s your scene tonight?”

“Ah -- well,” the stranger's lips purse into a you got me there smile.  “I just like to check in on the Instagram crowd from time to time.  Make sure they’re still yolo-ing and all that.”

You laugh.

You decide that you like this man’s face.  You like his intense, almond-shaped eyes and his sarcastic smirk and the over-long black bangs that fall too low and brush over his nose.  

He’s striking.

And you -- are flirting. 

“What’s your name?” 

The handsome stranger grins playfully, like he’s debating on whether or not to share.

“Yoongi.”

“Yoongi,” you murmur.  “Yoongi.”

He chuckles when you repeat his name, testing the way it sounds. 

“What, you don’t like it?”

“No -- no, not at all,” you assure him quickly. “I’ve just never heard that name before. It’s so unique.”

“Unique,” he repeats with the same tone, nose crinkling with laughter.  “Alright, I guess. I’ll take that.”

You relax a bit into your seat, thinking that maybe this Yoongi will chat you up. You think maybe he’ll stick around for another beer so you can get to know him a little better. You think maybe he’s as intrigued by you as you are by him.

You think wrong.

Yoongi clears his throat, pushing his stool away from the bar and making to stand.  He lays a bill down on the bartop and drops his beer bottle on top like a paperweight.

“You stay safe,” he says, gifting you with another one of those teasing smiles.  “Lots of creeps out there.”

“Yeah,” you say softly. “Thanks.”

Disappointment curls in your gut as you down what’s left of your martini and watch him walk out the door.  

Most of the men you run into at these bars are self-absorbed apes, cavemen in fitted shirts and designer jeans. But not this guy.  

You can already tell he’s different.

This Yoongi is the only man who’s interested you in months and he’s basically left you on read.

Well, that just won’t do.

You sigh and flag the bartender for your tab.

“You’re good with me.  All settled up,” he says, drying his hands with a towel.

You raise an eyebrow.

“Someone bought my tab?”

“Yeah,” the bartender laughs. “Same guy you were just talking to? I thought you guys knew each other or something.”

Well, you don’t.

But as you glance back to the empty doorway, you decide that soon -- very soon -- you will.

 *****************************

“Black hoodie. Black hair.  Kinda thin. Asian?”

The bartender -- the same bartender that was working three Friday nights ago --  is now staring at you like you’ve just asked him to do long division.

“Doesn’t ring a bell? Anyway, I haven’t seen anyone like that tonight if that’s what you’re asking.”

You roll your eyes.  The man is worthless.

You’re certain if you’d said “Blonde? Giant tits?” this guy would be able to recall a dozen recent guests from memory. 

Patrons laugh and glasses clink together all around you, but the commotion is not enough to pull you from your thoughts.  You stare into your cocktail and think about Yoongi’s inky hair and dark eyes and sardonic smile.  You think about never seeing him again, about never getting another chance to thank him or charm him or touch him and well --

That just won’t do.

**********************

y-o-u-n-g-i-e

y-u-n-g-e-e

y-o-o-n-

Bingo.

Social media is such a wonderful modern convenience.  Honestly, how did women without internet ever manage dating and relationships without this wealth of information at their fingertips? 

You shudder at the thought, reaching for your wine glass and taking a long look at the profile picture that’s popped up in this search.  

It’s the one, for sure.  

Small and grainy as it is, you can make out the laughing eyes and mischievous smile you’ve been searching for.  Evidently Yoongi is a friend of a friend of some guy you went to college with. You barely remember college guy’s face -- but Yoongi’s?  

Well.

You remember his face in great detail.

Most of his profile is on lockdown, but you’ve never been the type to let a little thing like that hold you back.  These situations just have to be handled with a bit of creativity -- and you can be a very creative woman when circumstances dictate.

You flick your eyes up from your computer screen, up to the garment hanging on the back of your bedroom door.  You’d removed the price tags as soon as you’d come home, afraid to stare at the proof of just how much you’d dropped on the spontaneous purchase.

But it’s worth it, you remind yourself.

The hours you spend tonight scouring profiles, the trips to the bar, the money you dropped on this special get up.  It’s all worth it.

Yoongi deserves that and so much more.

You’re out of wine and the sun is coming up by the time you’re done combing through tags, friends lists and snaps.

But your persistence has paid off.  

You look down to the address you’d scrawled on a piece of scrap paper.

It really is time you expanded your social horizons.  

*****************************

You smooth your hair down and pull the belt of your trench tight as you walk up to 8th Billiards.  

The noise and the music and the smoke assault you the moment you walk through the door.  You can still make out the refined scent of your expensive perfume, but just barely.  You hope you don’t smell like a Marlboro Light by the time you make it out of this place.

You attract some stares as you stride over to the bar. To these strangers you probably look a bit overdressed for this pool hall in the heart of Koreatown.

But you know better.

You ignore the looks and sidle up to the bar.  You keep it simple and order a vodka soda because this is definitely not a place to get a custom martini.  The bartender gives you a curious once-over but is smart enough to keep any observations about you to himself.

If what you were able to dig up online holds up, Yoongi will be here tonight.  He should be coming to this bar for drinks in about -- you glance at your phone -- 30 minutes or so?

He’s probably closing up at his family’s market right about now.

So you sip your drink and wait patiently, certain your instincts are right.

They usually are.

**************************

It takes 45 minutes -- not 30 -- for Yoongi to breeze through the door at 8th Billiards.

But this man is worth the wait.

You spot him from your vantage point at the bar right away, immediately taking in his lithe body in form-fitting jeans and a white button-down shirt.  His dark black hair looks even longer tonight, falling into and across those jet-black eyes. 

Yoongi spots you almost immediately -- locking gazes the moment he walks up to the bar.  He doesn’t order a drink but the bartender pops a beer and slides it to him anyway.  There are no words exchanged as he grabs the bottle and immediately makes his way over to you.

“So…” an adorable look of confusion crosses his features, “... you hang out here a lot?”

You smile when you recognize the question you’d asked him the first night you’d met. 

“You know I don’t,” you tease, nodding at the beer in his hand. “You didn’t even have to order that so I take it you're some kind of regular here.”

His answering smile is skeptical.

“Yeah, I hang out here a bit.  Never seen you here though.  I’m certain I would have remembered seeing that.”

God, he really is perfect, you think. 

He remembers the things you say and compliments the way you look and tries to defend you against grabby assholes in bars.  

You’re so glad you didn’t let this man slip through your fingers.

Yoongi slides into the open barstool next to yours.

“This is my first time here,” you explain with a radiant smile.  Your Yoongi is smart and could probably sniff out a lie right away -- so it’s probably best that you just stick to the truth.

One eyebrow shoots up, way up -- behind his black fringe of hair.

“So...this is not a coincidence, is it?”

“Nope,” you admit breezily, stirring your drink.  

Yoongi watches you like a hawk as you wrap your lips around the tiny cocktail straw to take an exaggerated sip. It doesn’t seem possible that his midnight-black eyes could darken even more, but somehow they do.

“So -- are you looking for me or something?”

Less is more, you think.  Don’t talk yourself into a corner.

“Of course,” you say with a smile.  You tuck a few strands of hair behind your ear and level him with your most innocent look.  Your poor Yoongi looks so perplexed now, caught somewhere in between curiosity and alarm.

“I got the impression that you wanted to ask me for my number when we met.”  You pout playfully. “I was so disappointed when you didn’t.”

Yoongi laughs, takes a sip of his beer. 

“Yeah, I didn’t think it was a good time to try based on what happened with the other guy.  Didn’t seem like a smart move.”

He narrows his eyes at you, but the gesture doesn’t come off as hostile. 

“So how did you know where to find me?” 

“I have my ways,” you deflect with an easy smile.  

Yoongi nods slowly, like he wants to ask you to elaborate on that. Thankfully he doesn’t. He takes a long sip from his beer before speaking again. 

“Well, you found me.”

You laugh. 

“I certainly did. And now that you’re here, I want to thank you for trying to help me with that jerk.  And for paying my tab.  That was a really cool thing to do.”

“You don’t have to thank me for that.”

“I know I don’t,” you say sweetly, leaning closer.  You watch as his eyes scan down your figure, take in your belted trench and sky-high heels. That perplexed look flashes across his face again.  “You just seem like such a good guy. I wanted to return the favor.”

Yoongi says nothing for a moment, just sips his beer.  You smooth down the front of your coat, letting your hands linger just a bit too long on the curve of your breasts.  Yoongi’s dark eyes track your every move.

“I try to be a good guy,” he says, finally, setting his beer down.  “But uh -- “

He looks almost bashful as he rubs a hand across the back of his neck.  You don’t rescue him from the moment, taking pleasure in the awkward pause as Yoongi attempts to gather his thoughts.

“What I’m saying is, if you want me to be -- “ he clears his throat, “ -- something other than good, I’m gonna need you to just come out and say that, alright?”

You smile.  

You’re so glad you don’t have to play the game with your Yoongi. He understands exactly what you want without you having to spell it out.

You lean into him, hand reaching out to straighten the collar of his shirt. You let your fingers brush across his neck and watch with satisfaction as he swallows thickly.

“Well that’s exactly what I’m saying, alright?”

**************************

The walk from the bar to Min’s Market is only a few short blocks which is a small mercy because these heels are little more than high-dollar, high-fashion torture devices.

Yoongi unlocks the front door and immediately heads to the alarm panel to input his code.  The harsh fluorescent lights come to life and you frown, knowing they’ll do little to flatter your complexion.

“This is where you live?” you ask, as Yoongi walks behind the counter.  He pulls a box of condoms out from a display behind the cash register.

“Yup. I sleep right between the bananas and the kimchi.”

You laugh.

“Come on, funny girl,” he teases, pulling you into the back of the store.  You follow him through a small doorway, up a back stairway, and into his apartment.

Yoongi impresses you again when you step into his place.

It’s a bit sparse from a furniture-and-decorations standpoint -- but that’s nothing a woman’s touch couldn’t solve. Otherwise, it’s spotless. He is a clean freak and you are pleased.

“I like it,” you murmur. 

Yoongi drops his keys in the kitchen and turns his back on you to open the fridge.

“Can I get you something to drink?” he calls over his shoulder.

“No, I’m good,” you call back, fingers working to untie the belt of your trench.  It falls to the floor in a soft pile around your feet.

Yoongi has just opened a beer, just pressed the mouth to his lips when he turns and catches sight of you.

He damned near drops that beer.

“Jesus,” he breathes, eyes locked on the expensive lace.

“What -- “

“It’s La Perla,” you say sweetly, twisting from side to side to allow him to appreciate the view.  

“La what?” he asks in a daze, eyes traveling up your legs, over your thighs, onto your breasts.

“It’s Italian lingerie,” you explain with a patient smile.  

Yoongi manages to drag his eyes up to your face, barely recovered from the brief stupor.

“And you wore that to a pool hall in Koreatown?”

“Yup,” you laugh, sauntering over to his couch and taking a seat.  You cross your legs slowly.

You could laugh at the look of shock on Yoongi’s face right now, at the way his cheeks are pinking up at the sight of your body in the form-fitting gown.  He swallows hard and sets his beer down.

“So you’re like...crazy, then.”

The sound of your tinkling laughter seems to echo inside this spartan apartment. 

“Oh, definitely.”

Yoongi forgets all about his beer.

He’s on top of you in an instant, crushing his mouth to yours.  He laughs when you moan into his kiss.

“No, you’re not crazy,” he breathes, hands slipping under the lace of your flimsy silk slip, finding the thin matching panties with his agile fingers.  He pulls them off of you and you can’t help the dreamy smile that comes over you when he sinks to his knees in front of the couch.  “You’re fucking insane.  Guess I’m just gonna have to take my chances with you, huh?”  

He smirks at you and you smirk right back.

“Guess so.”

Yoongi drops his head down to the junction of your thighs, pulls your legs into place over his shoulders.  You relax back into the couch, pleased he’s decided to warm you up this way.  

He really is so considerate.

You sigh when you feel Yoongi’s warm tongue press against your clit.  There’s something about a man who takes real pleasure from giving pleasure -- they are so few and far between.

But your Yoongi is a gem.

He takes his time about it, savoring the way you whine when he traces skilled fingers around your entrance, teasing -- but never dipping inside. He applies just the right amount of pressure to your aching clit with his lips and tongue, pushing close enough for you to feel the faint beginnings of a beard rasp against your most sensitive areas.

He whimpers when you grab fistfuls of his hair, bucking into the pull of his mouth.  He groans when you squeeze your thighs tight around him, panting his name over and over like a dirty prayer.  And he growls when you whisper that you’re going to come, hands dropping to your ass to grip you tight in the home stretch.

You shut your eyes when the coil snaps, concentrating on the surge that sparks between your thighs and spreads outwards to all your limbs.  Yoongi’s unrelenting tongue doesn’t move, wrenching every last drop of pleasure until you’re certain you can’t stand the sensation a second longer.  Your legs drop off his shoulders, muscles suddenly weak and Yoongi chuckles before making his way back up your body.

“Damn,” he mutters, lips finding yours once again.  

Damn is right.

Your fingers slip under his shirt, nails raking against his sides as you deepen the kiss.  The heavy press of his cock feels warm even through his jeans and you are dying to get your hands on him.  

“Sit down,” you murmur, pushing at his shoulders until he takes the hint and rolls off of you.  He leans back into the couch cushions and you straddle him, relishing the position of power.  His lips are swollen from your kisses, bangs matted to his brow with sweat and the entire look is hot -- so, so hot.

You smile at him as your fingers work the buttons of his shirt, hands slipping underneath to pull it open while he stares at you with those obsidian eyes. You don’t bother pulling the shirt off -- fingers immediately finding and grazing against his nipples.

“I hope you take sunscreen seriously,” you tease, dropping down to your knees.  

He laughs but tenses just a second later when you trail one fingertip down the light dusting of hair that disappears into his jeans.

“You took such good care of me,” you whisper, hand tracing the rigid outline straining against the denim.  “And now I’m gonna take real good care of you, okay?”

Yoongi nods, the tendons of his neck flexing when he sucks in a breath.

Your fingers work quickly to undo his belt, undo the button of his jeans.  In seconds he is hot and heavy and pulsing in your hands.  And from the look on his face, he is putty in your hands, too.  He looks fit to beg for your mouth around him.

But you wouldn’t make your Yoongi beg.  Not tonight, anyway.

You wrap one hand firmly around the base of his cock and sink your mouth onto the weeping head.  Yoongi jerks underneath you, hips rolling as you take him down as far as you can, pulling back only when tears spring to your eyes.

You pull off of him, breathless, and smile before taking him into your mouth again.

This time you lavish the head of his cock with your best efforts, licking, tasting, teasing with your tongue.  Yoongi’s head drops back onto the couch and he groans when you pump your hand to meet your mouth to ensure not a single inch of him is left out.

“Fuck, that’s good,” he whispers.

You look up at him and you could almost come again, untouched, just from the unabashed appreciation on his face. 

His lips are parted, eyes shut in concentration as you work him.  But then he opens those onyx eyes to get a good look at you and lifts a hand to cup your jaw, stroking his thumb against the outline his cock makes against your cheek.

You nuzzle into the touch of his hand like a cat.

“C’mere,” he groans, pulling you up and away from his straining cock.  You make a face, like you’re displeased.

“That was great,” he assures you breathlessly, “but like too great.  I’d hate to leave you with the wrong impression.”

“Well we wouldn’t want that,” you tease.

He grins and you allow him space to kick off his jeans.  You watch him rip open the condom packet, fingers trembling a bit as he rolls it down his rigid length.  He wants this as bad as you do, you think with complete satisfaction.  

“Turn around for me,” he whispers. 

You stand obediently, turning to face away from him and his hands move to your hips just a moment later. He guides you down into his lap, slowly.

“Fuck I bet you’re going to feel so good,” he breathes, hand reaching between your legs to take hold of his cock.  You lift your hips to help guide him to your entrance and moan when he starts to breach you, hands digging into the couch uselessly as he pushes his hips up and uses his hands to push your hips down.

He stills for a moment once he’s fully inside of you, breaths slow and heavy behind you.

“Y-yeah that’s good,” he groans, pumping his hips slowly, allowing you a few breaths to adjust to the stretch of him inside you.

You whimper as his short thrusts turn into deeper ones, the two of you finding a slow, comfortable rhythm. Yoongi’s hands grip your waist and ass and you wonder if he’s enjoying the view.  From the sounds he’s making, you’d bet that’s a yes.

You ride him slowly, thoroughly for a while and enjoy the pained noises he makes when you purposely clench around him. He suffers like that for a while before nudging you to move.

“Lie back,” he commands and you shiver at the authority in his tone, sinking your full weight back onto his chest and hips. 

Yoongi takes advantage of the new angle, lips grazing the exposed column of your neck, hands moving to cup your breasts.

“Ah -- “ you whine, “ -- yes, like that.”

“Like this?” he teases, pinching your nipples between his agile fingers.  You feel a jolt of arousal shoot straight into the center of your legs, where he’s still buried deep inside you.  

“Yes,” you pant, “just like that.”

Yoongi chuckles, hands roaming back down your body -- fingers finding and grazing your clit.  You jerk when he rubs the rough pad of one finger across it, using his other hand to steady your hips so he can continue his slow, torturous grind.

“You’re going to come for me one more time, right?” he groans, shuddering when you clench again in response to his stimulation.

“Right,” you whimper in agreement, back arching when your release threatens between your legs.  He sinks his teeth into the soft skin of your neck, scraping gently as you start to buck erratically, orgasm just within your reach.

“Don’t make me look bad,” he whispers, pressing harder on your clit, words airy as he struggles to catch his own breath.  “Ladies first.”

You want to laugh, you really do, but the building tension between your legs boils over in that moment. You cry out as your release washes over you, Yoongi’s hands moving to grip your waist again.  He loses himself in this moment -- careful thrusts forgotten -- snapping his hips over and over until he’s coming, too.  

You listen with satisfaction as he swears in Korean and English, hands anchored to your hips as he rides his orgasm out.  You love the sound of his voice, deep and rich in your ear. You love how he’s not shy about coming undone beneath you, loudly voicing his pleasure until his hips slow to a stop.

“Well,” you murmur after a quiet moment,  “I picked a winner.”

He laughs.

“That was -- amazing,” he pants.

You peel your body away and settle next to him on the couch.  You quite enjoy the way he looks in just a shirt, milky skin moist with sweat.   You watch the rise and fall of his chest and he tries to steady his breathing.

“I’m gonna get some water,” you say, standing to your feet, legs weak after your release.  You smile at him.  “Want some water?”

“Yeah sure,” he says absentmindedly, eyes falling shut.  He shoves a hand through his damp hair and you resist the urge to climb on top of him again.

“Where are your glasses?” you ask, padding into the kitchen with bare feet.

Yoongi chuckles.

“I can’t remember. I think you actually fucked my brains out.”

You laugh as you dig around in his cabinets for cups.  Moments later you pad back to the couch, drinking your water and handing Yoongi his.

He sips it with a playful smirk on his face.

“Don’t think I’ve forgotten that you’re crazy,” he teases.

You smile.

********************

Let’s keep it real — most men are useless.

They’re filthy, unsophisticated creatures for the most part, untidy and unkempt and undeserving.

But not your Yoongi. 

Not only is he exceedingly neat, he’s also blissfully organized.  So organized that it only takes you ten minutes of rifling through his drawers to find exactly what you’re looking for.  Once you spot the spare keys, finding the written alarm codes is a breeze.  

A one-stop shop.

You test the keys in the lock to ensure you’ve got the right ones, and spare a glance at the couch.  

Yoongi is sleeping deeply, head bent at a sharp angle.  If he stays that way all night, he’ll wake up with a terrible crick in his neck and well -- that just won’t do.

You tiptoe over to him, though your attempt at stealth is pointless.  

You’d given him more than enough to sleep deep, but not so much that he wouldn’t wake up.  Still, the chances of him rousing any time in the next 12 hours are almost nonexistent.

So you grab a throw pillow from the other side of the couch and slip it under his head, stroking your fingers across his face and admiring how peaceful he looks like this -- dark lashes stark against his pale cheeks.

Of course you do feel a tiny twinge of guilt about how you’d had to handle this situation -- you’re not a monster, after all.

But Yoongi is the only nice guy left in a city of total creeps and you’re not about to let him go.

“Goodnight handsome,” you murmur, dipping your head close to brush your lips against his.  “We’ll be seeing each other again soon, okay?”

He doesn’t stir.