#yoonjin crack

[taebear24]

Strikhedonia

3.2k / complete

https://archiveofourown.org/works/34608667

[psychicbee]

Like a criminal undercover

by Nalou_BTS (Nalou) (1/1, 10998)

Seokjin and Taehyung would do anything to help their brother Namjoon get his dream job. Anything. Including admittedly, unnecessarily dramatic stuff. Obviously, their friends Jimin and Hoseok want in. Obviously, Taehyung's boyfriend Jungkook gets involved (more or less willingly). Obviously, Namjoon's assistant Yoongi gets thrown into the "collateral damage" box. Obviously, Namjoon is fucking oblivious. Chaos ensues.

[ugh-yoongi]

threw a punch in a bar | knj

(or, nothing good happens when a man you’d accidentally knocked out in a bar fight tells you to run.)

→ pairing: namjoon x f. reader → genre: zombie!au | crack, smut → rating: explicit. minors dni. → warnings: swearing, alcohol, a guy gets pushy in a bar, this results in a bar fight (mentioned broken bones, but nothing is described in explicit detail), vague american setting in order to drag the us healthcare system, side vmin, taehyung has klepto tendencies but he steals from wal-mart so it’s fine, really mid smut including: kissing, very slight dom!joon, grinding/thigh riding, implied oral (f. receiving), fingering, reader drops a bryce harper quote during sex, namjoon’s dick is big but we knew that, this is cancelled out by his horrible dirty talk, unprotected sex, vmin’s dumpling fight but make it settlers of catan. this is technically a zombie fic, but the circumstances are 99% in the background. there is nothing gory here, just sort of found family vibes centered around an apocalypse. also when i said the smut is mid i meant it. everyone has himbo tendencies except yoonjin. → wordcount: 11k → a/n: started this forever ago after doing one of those twt pause games on who i’d be stuck with in the zombie apocalypse. my result was vmin & namjoon, which birthed the idea of vmin spending the entire apocalypse subtly trying to convince you to sacrifice yourself for them. i was going to publish the draft of this on halloween but decided to finish it, went into a trance, and added 9k words, so please accept my late and humble offering. → thank yous: lauren, bee, and jess as always for all of their help: beta’ing, general feedback, constructive criticism, telling me when my shit doesn’t make sense. @effortandmore​ / @hot-soop​ / @the-boy-meets-evil​

Any bartender worth their salt knows you don’t mix tequila and brandy.

Jimin, apparently, is only worth enough salt to rim a margarita glass.

All because he’s chaos incarnate: an absolute hellion of a person who causes problems just because. The type of person who calls a drink something innocuous like Tipsy Meow because it sounds sweet and he knows it’ll get people to order it. Sometimes he even serves them in glasses with cats painted on them, which is really cute and endearing and gets people to order that drink in the cute cat glass despite the fact that that drink in the cute cat glass is tequila and brandy.

In any other bar, that drink would be called something appropriate and applicable, like a Knockout.

Because that’s what it does—starts bar fights.

Which Jimin knows, because he’s actually a very competent bartender, but he likes to cause problems on purpose, especially on Tuesday nights when there’s not much else going on.

“Why did you do that?” Yoongi asks, watching some poor, unsuspecting woman practically skip back to her table with two Tipsy Meows in hand.

Jimin just smiles and shrugs. “Because,” he answers, eyes twinkling with something underhanded, “that tall guy at the high-top? He’s been eyeing her all night. She wouldn’t go for it on a good day, but after one of those?” A low whistle under his breath.

Yoongi just stares. He’s known Jimin a long time, going on six years now, so he’s never truly surprised at how duplicitous he can be, but sometimes he pretends for appearance’s sake. “Evil.”

“Not evil,” Jimin retorts, eyes rolled, “just bored.”

Snorting, Yoongi whips the towel off his shoulder and starts wiping down the bar. “Then do a fucking crossword puzzle.”

Jimin waves him away. “I’m not good at them. I’m good at this.”

“Getting people to fight in our bar?” Yoongi clarifies. Jimin nods. They stare at each other for a minute before Yoongi shrugs and finds some menial task to busy himself with. “Whatever. You’re on clean-up duty, though. The last time you pulled this shit, I was sweeping up glass for three fuckin’ days.”

Because he’s chaos incarnate, Jimin’s response is a sarcastic salute, two fingers pressed to his forehead as Yoongi flips him off in return.

Something is wrong.

You’ve been to this bar countless times, have always ordered the same thing. Always made sure to stick to your limits, because college had been both an exercise in adulting and maintaining a functioning liver.

Maybe it’s because the mint-haired guy didn’t make your drinks this time. Truthfully, you’ve been wary of him for a while, convinced he’s been watering them down just to get you to buy more. Not that you’re complaining. In all the years you’ve been coming here, you’ve never made a fool of yourself.

Now, though?

Now you’re very rapidly approaching find the nearest trashcan ASAP territory. I’m going to regret this in the morning territory. This hasn’t happened since that frat party sophomore year territory.

Yeah, that party. You’d drank something god-awful that night, too. Got roped into a game of strip poker in a seedy basement and walked away with $2,000, three nickels, and a half-used KFC gift card, only down a sock. Some douchebag frat bro hadn’t liked that very much, accused you of cheating and gave you a real hard time about it. Long story short, you’d been fueled by too many of the suspicious drinks and knocked him out.

This feels a lot like that.

Because you’re drunk, yes, but there’s something else lurking beneath the surface. Something that’s itching for a fight. Something that’s been dormant for a long time.

(This is a startling realization, because you’re not a violent person, despite all evidence to the contrary. You’ve only ever thrown one punch in your life. It’s really not your fault that it wound up being the punch heard ‘round the world.)

Those who cannot remember the past are doomed to repeat it. Your sixth grade history teacher had that quote hung on the wall and you haven’t thought about it until now. Because there’s a guy approaching your table—probably six-foot, wearing an expensive watch and polished shoes—and he’s been eyeing your friend all night. Had made a few crude comments to his buddies that you’d regretfully overheard, and you’re all out of sorts because the mint-haired bartender hadn’t made your drinks, so he’s nearly got his elbows on the table when you say—

“Fuck off, asshole.”

Both your friend and the guy look equally shocked. “Excuse me?” he says, looking back to the idiots at his table in disbelief.

You roll your eyes, blood beginning to boil. “I said fuck off. She’s not interested.”

“And she can’t speak for herself?” he retorts, all faux-chivalry now that everyone’s attention is on him, even though the bar is practically deserted at nine o’clock on a Tuesday. “Your friend’s a little uptight, huh?” he says, shifting his attention fully away from you.

God, you always do this—befriend the most wholesome people in the room. The ones who always assume the best in others; the ones who can’t say no; the ones who feel guilty speaking up. This friend is no different. Looks at you like a deer about to get rearranged by a car, all wide, panicked eyes and a tight-lipped smile, only polite out of obligation.

What happens next is shocking to everyone except Jimin and Yoongi. Safe behind the bar, the two of them watch as you tell the man to fuck off one more time. He refuses, his attention still laser-focused on your friend, reaching for her. Someone appears to his left—another stranger, this one taller and wider in all the right places and exuding far less scumbag energy—and places a large hand on his shoulder. Leans down to say something to him that you don’t catch. Whatever it is, you’re assuming it’s said in that brand of tense politeness men use with other men before they threaten to knock them out.

Regardless of what’s said, the original douchebag just snorts derisively, jutting his shoulder backwards to get the stranger’s hand off of him. This really bothers you, for all the obvious reasons. Why can’t this idiot take no for an answer? What’s his fucking deal?

Apparently you voice the latter out loud, and the bastard is laughing again, lips turned upwards in an ugly little sneer. Far too quickly, you go from bothered but mostly in control to seeing red and cocking back. All because the mint-haired bartender hadn’t mixed your drinks. Now you’re punching some pushy asshole in the jaw and are probably going to get arrested.

“Oh shit,” you hear, but it sounds like you’re underwater. It’s certainly not a voice you recognize, but you only know one person in this bar and you just punched someone to make sure she didn’t get harassed by some asshole who couldn’t take a fucking hint.

Pain erupts in your hand. There’s probably something broken, maybe multiple somethings, but you don’t have much time to dwell on it before someone’s grabbing you by the elbow and dragging you out of the bar.

A shame, you think; you’d really like to see how much of a pissbaby that guy turns into when he catches sight of his own blood.

“I hope you’re proud of yourself.”

You groan. Whatever room you’re in is far too bright and far too loud, which means you’re probably at home already being lectured by Hoseok. You crack an eye open, and—yep, that’s Hoseok, usual human embodiment of sunshine who is now staring at you like a grumpy little rain cloud. “What’re you talking about?” you grumble, fingers flying to your temples to ease some of the throbbing pain.

Hoseok must be pretty pissed, because he just watches you clutch at your aching head and doesn’t say a word. Usually you can guilt trip him into making you coffee and buttered toast. Grabbing you some pain killers, at the very least, but he’s not budging. You swallow hard.

“Do you remember anything from last night?”

“Not really,” you answer. You’ve been awake for approximately three seconds and your two brain cells haven’t connected to form a rational thought yet, let alone conjure up whatever shenanigans you got into the night before. “I think I went out for drinks with the new hire from work, but that’s it.”

“Mehmehmeh but that’s it,” Hoseok mimics under his breath, voice pitched far too high to ever pass as yours, looking more and more incensed by the second. Everyone told you he’d be too neurotic to live with. You should’ve listened. “Do you remember drinking too much and punching a guy?”

Ah, that would explain why your hand is fifty shades of purple, you think. “Ah, that would explain why my hand is fifty shades of purple,” you say.

Hoseok looks like he’s ready to explode. “Can you fucking take this seriously,” he seethes. “You’re too old to be getting wasted and starting bar fights! What in the actual fuck is wrong with you? You broke a man’s nose, you fucking maniac! What if he calls the cops? God, what if he sues you? Do you have lawsuit money? Because I sure as fuck don’t, not that I would bail you out of jail for this, anyway, because you don’t deserve it—”

“I broke someone’s nose?” Far too late, you realize you should’ve kept that proud wonder out of your voice.

Hoseok’s up and screeching before you can plug your ears. “You are un-fucking-believable! I have to leave. I can’t sit here another second and listen to this.” He’s fussing over his clothes and hair as soon as he’s on his feet, distress seeping out of every pore. “There’s fresh coffee in the pot and I made sure to save you two slices of bread,” he grits out, as if it’s causing him immense pain to be nice to you right now, before adding, “and there’s also aspirin and water on your nightstand. I would not recommend taking it on an empty stomach.”

And then he’s gone.

You microwave the mug of coffee and choke down the toast that’s grown suspiciously hard. You swallow two aspirin with coffee even though you know better and should be drinking the water, but the water has been sitting out for god knows how long and probably has dust particles and other gross things in it. You take a long shower to wash away the bar grime and hangover remnants and nearly crumble to the floor in pain when you try to wash your hair.

Right, your hand.

It’d been easy enough to ignore when you were focusing on not vomiting and taking your painkillers, but not so much anymore. Even if Hoseok hadn’t told you you’d punched someone, you could’ve pieced that much together—the bruising is severe and the swelling even more so. Trying to bend your fingers feels like a fate worse than death, so you salvage your shower as best you can before getting dressed one-handed and ordering an Uber to the nearest urgent care.

Which, much to your horror, is packed.

Every seat is taken except for one next to a man with a baseball cap pulled low and a thawed-out ice pack in his hand. He doesn’t acknowledge you when you sit next to him, and you’re almost offended until you spot the AirPods in his ears. God, he must’ve been here forever if he’s brave enough to plug his ears in a place that unashamedly sends you to the back of the line if you don’t answer when your name is called.

You need to know what you’re getting into, so you tap him on the shoulder and ask, “Hey, how long have you been here?”

The man seems flustered. He reaches for his phone and sends it plummeting to the floor, and when he retrieves it you notice the screen is cracked to hell so this must be a common occurrence. “Oh, uh. I’m not sure,” he says, voice all nasally like he’s got a bad cold. “Maybe two hours or so?”

You groan. “Two hours? Are you for real?” He just nods, still not meeting your eye. You pull out your phone, too, then, and put in the web address for the hospital. “D’you think the wait times are less shitty at the ER?”

“Maybe.”

“You didn’t look? No offense, but you sound pretty awful. I figured you’d want to get whatever it is taken care of sooner rather than later.”

The man snorts. Sounds painful. “Yeah, well. I work at a shitty nonprofit and the only insurance tier I could afford had a two-thousand-dollar deductible, so I’ll take my chances here.”

You hum in sympathy. “Do you believe in karma and reincarnation and all that? Because I do, and I think I must’ve been pretty fucking terrible in a past life to be born in a country without free healthcare in this lifetime.” The man beside you grunts in agreement. “Like, shit. What if I was Norwegian in a past life? Or, like, Canadian?”

“Only worth being Canadian if you’re not Indigenous.”

“Hm, yeah, that’s true. What human rights violations have the Norwegians committed?”

“No clue.”

“I’m gonna Google it,” you decide. Then, a second later, “Not great being Indigenous in Norway, either.”

“Is everyone shitty?” the man asks, pressing the warm ice pack back to his face. You wince on his behalf.

“Yeah.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you watch him pause his music. An album cover you don’t recognize, because this guy definitely strikes you as the underground type: paid Spotify account with immaculate playlists full of artists no one else has heard of, either. Probably imports half of his own shit, too, so his playlists only work on his own phone and everyone yells at him when they try to play his playlists and get nothing but silence.

“What about you?” he asks, and it’s a question that should sound greasy but just sounds really sad with his clogged nose. “Are you shitty?”

“Yep,” you answer instantly, holding up your hand. You’d managed to wrangle an elastic bandage around it, but the bruising is obvious and not easily hidden.

The man whistles. “Damn, how’d you do that?”

“Punched a guy in a bar fight, apparently.”

In hindsight, it should be obvious, the cruel joke the universe is playing on you: you, with your mottled, probably-broken hand; the man next to you, with a black eye and an ice pack pressed to his nose. Right church, wrong pew, your mother always used to say about you, and you’d taken it then as a nod to your creativity and ingenuity, but now you’re thinking you might just be fucking stupid.

Because the atmosphere immediately shifts. The man goes stiff, pauses, tenses his shoulders. Then he asks, “Yeah? What bar? I might’ve heard about it.”

And you might be fucking stupid but you’re not dumb, so you just shrug. “Oh, I don’t know,” you reply, doing your best impression of a person with nothing between their ears. “My coworker dragged me out, and I like her fine, y’know, but if I’m being honest, I don’t know how long she’s gonna last. I think she’s too nice. Well, I thought she was too nice, but then she invited me out for drinks and invited me to this crazy bar with horrible, violent people—”

“And you punched someone,” the man finishes for you, cutting short your tirade.

“Supposedly punched someone,” you correct. “I have no recollection of it, but that’s what my roommate said. He was shrieking and used his Serious Mom Voice so I’m inclined to believe him, though.” You try to wiggle your fingers and have to suppress a scream. “Plus I can’t move my hand, so there’s that.”

This is the part where you get yelled at. You can feel it. The man beside you is about to blow up, demand your name and phone number so he can report you for assault, probably also demand some money because he’d just talked about his god-awful insurance and you’re the entire reason he’s here, but the universe may be cruel but it’s also fair, because—

“Nam…joon?” a bored medical assistant calls out. The man startles, curses under his breath that no one even attempts to pronounce his name correctly, drops his phone again, and if you weren’t glued to your chair in fear you might’ve picked it up for him.

Namjoon stands—he’s fucking massive, and if this is the guy you actually punched, you’ll spare a second later to marvel at yourself—and looks down at you. Sends you the meanest, most murderous glare he can muster, clenched jaw and all, and then he’s disappearing behind a door.

You… feel bad.

It’s not like you’d meant to punch him. You hadn’t wanted to punch anyone! And that has to count for something, so when he comes back out you’ll plead your case and offer to buy him a late lunch, because if he’d been waiting hours you’ll be waiting longer, and maybe he’ll find you just endearing enough to forget that you’d broken his nose and the two of you will become friends. You’ll do the Best Person speech at his wedding and laugh about the time you’d punched him, or maybe you’d be marrying him and—

Pump the brakes.

You love a good enemies-to-lovers, but maybe not so much in real life.

  The wait is torturous.

An hour ticks by. You text Hoseok, tell him about the man you’d met and ask if he thinks it’s The Guy, and Hoseok writes back with a very pointed, I fucking hope it is. You’re not sure what that means. Does he hope Namjoon is the guy so you can apologize? So you can make sure he’s okay? Surely he wouldn’t be hoping for Namjoon to even the score and break your nose, too, but he was really mad this morning so you wouldn’t put it past him.

Another half hour. If you’d been paying attention, you would’ve realized how eerily quiet the waiting room has grown. No idle chatter, no coughing, no pained groans. People seem to be going in but not coming out, and you’ve been paying attention to that much, at least, so you can catch Namjoon.

And then the door slams open.

Namjoon stands there, nose stuffed with a cartoonish amount of gauze and a large splint across the bridge. He’s breathing hard. Looks like he’d just ran a marathon, which doesn’t make sense because how large can the backend of an urgent care really be, but then his eyes found you and—

“Run,” is all he says.

Nothing good happens when a man you’d accidentally knocked out in a bar fight tells you to run. Fucking stupid but not dumb, though, so you’re up and out of your seat before he can repeat himself.

Although you’re not sure where you’re supposed to go. You’d taken an Uber, and you can’t really order an emergency one of those. Besides, all Namjoon had said was run but not why, so you’re also not sure if it even is an emergency.

So here you are, standing in the middle of the parking lot like a bozo while Namjoon fumbles with the keys to a pickup truck. “Hey!” you call out, stomping towards him. “Are you gonna tell me what the fuck’s going on?”

Namjoon looks up only long enough to catch your eye. “You need to get out of here,” is all he says. Which is supremely and deservedly unhelpful.

“Why? I ca—I took an Uber here, I don’t have a car. I don’t know where I’m supposed to go or why I had to run out of there or if this is DEFCON 5 or DEFCON 1—”

“One,” Namjoon answers. “It’s definitely DEFCON 1.” Door unlocked, Namjoon meets your gaze again, deadly serious. “I’m not fucking around. You need to get out of here. Right now.”

This has to be a joke. He’s mad you’d broken his nose and now he’s getting his revenge. Still, you’re not all that keen to pay hundreds of dollars in medical bills for them to tell you something you already know, so you’ll play along. “Fine. Can I get a ride, then?”

“No.”

“So it’s an emergency but you won’t give me a ride.”

Namjoon glares at you. “You broke my fucking nose!”

“But I also broke my own hand, so we’re even.” It’s absolutely not a fair trade, but Namjoon seems to chew it over nonetheless. “Hey, c’mon, you wouldn’t leave me here! You’d feel too guilty.”

“How would you know?”

“Because you work at a nonprofit and care about human rights violations, and I am a human with rights, and it’d definitely be a violation to leave me here in a DEFCON 1-level emergency when I don’t even know what’s going on—”

Namjoon slaps a hand over your mouth. A large hand. A very, very large hand that easily covers half of your face. You’ll blame your pathetic whimper on fear. “I saw some shit in there, okay?”

“What kind of shit, though. Urgent cares are weird. Ominous little vortexes where reality is altered. You ever been in one at night? Like 28 Days Later vibes—”

“Yes!” Namjoon snaps his fingers. “Yes, that! Exactly like that!”

Your relief is palpable. You sag a little. “Oh! So it was just weird in there? What, did you get a creepy doctor or something?”

“No.” He groans. Runs his hands down his face. “Not the vibes part, the—”

“The zombie part?” you whisper.

Just then, the entrance slams open, people pouring into the parking lot. Most are screaming, which prompts you to scream in response, so Namjoon screams too and drops his keys. You’re picking them up before you can think twice, pulling the door open and pushing him inside of the truck. There’s something to be said about the way you manhandle him, how ripped his back feels through the thin fabric of his t-shirt and the view of his ass as he climbs over the center and into the passenger seat, but whatever weird shit is going on takes precedence.

You climb in behind him. Shut the door and lock it, and then you’re rolling down the window to adjust the side mirrors while Namjoon just shoots you an exasperated look. “We don’t have time for this!”

“Do you want us to crash and die? I’ve seen movies like this, okay, and someone always dies some stupid, avoidable death because they forget something obvious.”

“Yeah, it’s usually don’t read the weird Latin incantation in that book or don’t go outside to investigate weird noises, not checking your mirrors!” He pauses. “Hey, wait! They’re not even your mirrors! You’re fucking up all my shit!”

You roll your eyes. “Shut up. I’m getting us out of here.”

During Namjoon’s stunned silence, you turn the ignition and peel out of the parking lot as best you can with one good hand, tailspinning onto the main road, tires squealing. “That was… kind of hot.”

“What, me telling you to shut up or my driving?”

“...Both?”

“I—yeah, that’s fair. You’re big, but you seem like the type to enjoy getting pushed around.” Namjoon stays quiet, and when you dare a glance over at him, his cheeks are red. “Did you get a boner when I punched you?”

That actually gets a laugh out of him. “Don’t go there.” You shrug.

The two of you drive for a while. There’s nothing in the rearview mirror. No one behind you. Really, the world around you seems normal, quiet, still. It almost has you second-guessing everything you’d seen, all the things Namjoon had said. And you don’t know him beyond breaking his nose, but everything in you is screaming to trust him.

So you do.

“Hey, do you mind if we swing by my place? It’s, like, two minutes away, and I should probably grab some stuff.”

Namjoon just shrugs.

Surprisingly, there’s very little time to panic. Namjoon sets about grabbing whatever he can from the kitchen and the bathroom while you shove clothes into a large duffel. You grab your laptop and chargers and Namjoon’s scoff is loud when you ask if you should bring your vibrator, too, but he doesn’t say no, so into the bag it goes.

Hoseok comes home in the midst of your ransacking. You meet him in the living room and, aside from the small look of confusion, he seems much happier to see you than he’d been this morning. “Hi,” he says. Sounds normal, too. Doesn’t sound like he’d seen some weird apocalypse shit outside. “Where is there a tall man in our kitchen shoving all our food into bags?”

“Ah, right, that.” You suck in a breath. “Hobi, go pack up whatever you care about and meet us back here in five minutes. There’s some Train to Busan shit going on and we’ve gotta get moving.”

“Yo, what the fuck!” Namjoon yells from the kitchen. “Are you just saying that because I’m Korean?”

Hoseok had looked dubious before, but seems to fall into blind trust upon hearing the strange, tall man in his kitchen is also Korean. “Hey, me too!” When Namjoon comes skittering into the living room, they shoot matching finger guns at one another and do a weird bro-dap. “Oh!” Hoseok says, recognition blooming. “Are you the guy? The nose guy?”

Namjoon just glares at you.

“That’s him,” you answer instead. “Go pack, please. I’m serious.”

Hoseok is scared of everything: spiders, his shadow, carousel animals, your neighbor’s dog because it’s fifteen years old and blind and lost half its fur. He once had nightmares for a week after you’d made him watch the first Goosebumps movie and insisted on sleeping in your room. Had nightmares again after he saw a particularly sinister Squishmallow at Wal-Mart. So, yeah. It’s imperative you convince him to come with you because he stands no chance on his own.

You don’t expect him to shrug and go off to pack.

“Hey, did one of you grab any ibuprofen?”

“Yeah, got it,” Namjoon replies.

“What about allergy medicine? I get really bad sinus headaches so I’ll be miserable without it, but if it’s too much I guess I could—”

“Pack it,” you shout back.

There’s a loud crash from his room. Another smaller one seconds later. “I’m fine!” he calls out. “Hey, cool! I found a bag of Twizzlers!”

“Hoseok—”

“Bring the Twizzlers, please!” Namjoon says, cheeks warming again. “What? I like them.”

It’s your turn to glare. “If I get eaten over some goddamn Twizzlers.”

“At least you’d be strawberry flavored?” Namjoon offers, as unhelpful as ever. Then, before you can respond, “Hey, man, are you almost ready? I texted my roommate and he’s good to go but I still need to pack up all my shit, too.”

“One sec!”

Approximately fifteen seconds later, Hoseok reappears in your living room with a bookbag, a duffel bag, and an oversized rolling suitcase.

“This isn’t a vacation, Hobi,” you deadpan.

He looks at you like you’re a moron. Fucking stupid but not dumb, you remind yourself. “Okay, but I’m not leaving all my nice clothes here to get eaten by zombie moths or whatever. There’s Off-White in here.”

Namjoon nods in understanding. “Valid.”

It’s not worth the argument. The three of you pile back into Namjoon’s truck, you stuck in the middle of the bench seat this time while Namjoon drives. Hoseok babbles the entire way, seemingly unfazed by this bizarre situation in which you’ve found yourselves. He tells you about the cafe he’d met a friend at, the latte he ordered and didn’t like. You can only tell he’s starting to get nervous because he devolves into more and more unhinged chatter. One second he’s telling you about a dog he saw wearing a little sweater and the next he’s rattling off the digits to his social security number.

“Forget you heard that,” you say to Namjoon.

He looks pained as he replies, “Unfortunately I have a god-tier echoic memory so I am physically incapable of doing that.” He feels your stare. “I’m really sorry, I can’t help it! Tell me something else so I forget it!”

“Okay: I think you’re about to run over that guy.”

Namjoon jerks his eyes back to the road and gasps, hitting the brakes so hard Hobi nearly goes flying into the dashboard. He’s moaning, bitching about his seatbelt probably breaking a few ribs, and the tiny man standing in the road in front of you hasn’t budged an inch. Stared death right in the eye and dared it to take him.

“Fucking Jimin,” Namjoon curses. At both your and Hoseok’s blank stares, he clarifies, “My roommate.”

“Is that seriously your roommate?” Hoseok asks, still pressing against his ribs to check for fractures.

Namjoon, huffing and puffing and finally at a complete stop, just nods. “Yeah.”

Hoseok is finally silent. Then, “That tiny, terrifying little man is your roommate and you managed to get knocked out in a bar fight? What, was he busy that night?”

There’s an obvious reply on the tip of Namjoon’s tongue, but before he can spit it out the tiny man is banging his fist against the window. “I’m gonna fucking kill you!” he screams. “Open the door so I can kill you! Did you not see me? I told you I’d be waiting by the mailbox! I even packed all your shit for you and this is how you repay me, by almost hitting me with your stupid truck? You’re fucking cra—wait, who are these people?”

Hoseok, obviously scared shitless, grimaces as he waves hesitantly. “Hi!” you say, though Namjoon’s roommate probably can’t hear you through the thick glass. “I’m the person who broke his nose!”

Then the roommate is smiling. “Oh, that was you? You look different than I remember.”

When you look to Namjoon for answers, you find him slumped against the steering wheel. “Jimin’s a bartender,” is the only explanation you get.

You look out the window again. Small, but no mint-colored hair. “Ah, I had my suspicions about him. …I think.”

Namjoon cranks down the window just enough to tell Jimin he’ll have to hop in the bed with all the luggage, and then the four of you are off again. There’s one more stop, to Jimin’s boyfriend’s place to pick up him and his roommate, and all you can do is hope one of them has a larger vehicle.

Just like before, this drive is suspiciously unremarkable. You’ve long since resigned yourself to believing Namjoon and what little he’d told you, but you can tell Hoseok’s skeptical. Along for the ride, of course, because there’s always the small chance you hadn’t been lying and then he would’ve been knee-deep in shit, but skeptical nonetheless.

“Can I just ask—are you sure about this?” He’s looking out the window. Looking at all the normal cars and houses and businesses. Nothing about the outside world screams looming zombie apocalypse at all. “It seems pretty quiet.”

Namjoon sighs. Grips the steering wheel a little tighter, knuckles flashing white, but he seems okay. Adrenaline, maybe. It’ll hit later. “Yeah, I’m sure.”

“You saw something?” Hoseok prods.

“I—” He nudges you. “Did you notice how most of the people in the waiting room just seemed to have bad colds? Sneezing, coughing, all that?” You nod. “I didn’t really think anything of it since it’s still flu season, but once I got called back, everything just felt… off.”

He sucks in a breath. Keeps driving. Keeps talking. The nurse who’d taken his vitals seemed exhausted. Cracked some joke about being glad Namjoon was there for a broken nose and not whatever respiratory thing was going around. Told him a doctor would be in shortly to patch him up, and when she left his room she hadn’t shut the door all the way. Left enough of a crack for Namjoon to see what was going on: frazzled nurses and doctors and techs huddled around, panicking. Namjoon thinks someone called for an ambulance.

True to her word, a doctor did come in to pack and splint his nose. Then, in the middle of jotting down the name and phone number of his pharmacy, a scream.

“An old man came in. I saw him when they took me back. He was just sitting on a bed because it was so crowded, wasn’t in a room. I guess at some point he passed out. Didn’t have a pulse. I think he was who they called the ambulance for, but while I was waiting for the doctor I kept hearing this weird moaning.”

Hoseok shudders. “Yeah, I know where this is going.”

“Right. So the doctor comes in, fixes me up, and next thing I know, someone’s screaming. Guess that old dude wasn’t as dead as they thought he was.”

“Could they have been wrong?” you ask tentatively. It’s so quiet outside, maybe everyone had just—

“No,” Namjoon says, and he does it with so much conviction you don’t argue further. Jimin bangs on the back windshield, holding his phone up to it so you can see.

It’s all over Twitter. Not even Facebook, where you’d expect a zombie apocalypse conspiracy to begin. No, there are posts all over Twitter and Instagram and even the local news station’s website. Hoseok looks a little green.

“Okay, so it’s definitely real and this is definitely happening,” you mutter. “Does anyone have a plan?”

There’s no plan.

Not even in a hyperbolic, we say we have no plan, but somehow we’ve conveniently got a small arsenal of weapons, kind of way. There’s simply no plan.

Jimin’s boyfriend is named Taehyung. They have a needlessly tearful reunion, and you wait in Taehyung’s tiny kitchen for twenty minutes while he packs. He’s roommates with the mint-haired bartender that you like. His name is Yoongi. He has all his stuff packed and waiting by the front door, and you like him so much more for it.

“Should I pack condoms?” Taehyung yells from his bedroom.

“Are you fucking ser—” Yoongi starts, then seems to come to a realization. “Yeah. Yes, you absolutely should.”

“‘Kay! Be out in a sec!”

Namjoon appears then, in the midst of shoving his battered phone in his pocket. He looks around the room, taking stock, and his eyebrows knit in confusion. Fuck, he’s so hot and you’re taking the express train to hell for thinking it. “Hey, has anyone seen Jimin?”

Jimin and Taehyung are gone. There are weird noises coming from the direction of Taehyung’s room. Yoongi looks positively haunted. “Sorry!” Jimin calls out. “Be out in a sec!”

“Tae said that exact thing five minutes ago!”

“Are you calling him a liar?” Jimin yells back. Sounds genuinely angry and genuinely prepared to defend Taehyung’s honor. You’ve never met a tinier, scarier person.

“I’m calling you both zombie food!”

Hoseok sidles up next to you. “Is it just me or is that other tiny man really hot?”

“His name’s Yoongi,” you tell him.

Hoseok just sighs, like he’s carrying all of the world’s burdens on his thin shoulders. “I’m learning a lot about myself.”

You watch him mentally tabulate through all the stages of grief while Namjoon and Yoongi think up a plan. Namjoon’s large but clumsy and mostly useless, and Yoongi is small and deadly. You can hold your own, they decide, so Yoongi adopts Hoseok and Namjoon becomes your problem.

“Wait a second,” Hoseok almost wails. “Why can’t I stay with her? She’s my roommate!”

Yoongi looks offended. Probably is. “You don’t think I can defend you?”

Hoseok flushes crimson. “I-I didn’t say that…”

He’s halfway through a stuttered, awkward apology when Jimin and Taehyung appear, not at all looking like they’d just been getting off together. Sure, Jimin’s hair is a little mussed, but Taehyung—

Taehyung is only holding a box.

Yoongi pinches the bridge of his nose. “Taehyung.”

“Please don’t use that tone of voice with me,” Taehyung whines. “You know this is my emotional support jigsaw puzzle.”

“All you’re bringing is a jigsaw puzzle?”

“And condoms!”

“You’re not bringing any clothes? Medicine? Food?” Namjoon asks, because he might not be the oldest but he has the most overworked single mother energy out of all of you. “Jimin, go help him pack a bag of clothes, at least. Yoongi, can you grab any extra house stuff and toiletries you have laying around? Laundry detergent, soap, shampoo.”

Taehyung scoffs, sound dissipating as he disappears back down the hallway. “We can just steal that stuff.”

Hoseok looks like he’s about to pass out. “I am not turning into a criminal!”

He does.

You all do.

The six of you pile into two separate vehicles—you and Hoseok with Namjoon again in his truck, and Jimin and Taehyung behind you in Yoongi’s beater car. The plan is to drive to Namjoon’s cousin’s house in the middle of nowhere and bunker down there for a while. It’s plenty big—“His parents are politicians, so he’s got money,” was Namjoon’s explanation—and far enough outside of the city that it should buy you enough time to come up with something better.

Step one, though: Wal-Mart.

“Don’t worry, I steal from here all the time,” Taehyung says, breezing to the front of the pack like he’s leading the rest of you into war. Yoongi throws his hands up. Jimin looks lovestruck.

Hoseok hangs back by the cars, still traumatized from the Squishmallow experience, and you stay with him. You’ve seen Zombieland, and you won’t be able to do much fighting with a broken hand. At best you’d be able to fire a gun or whack someone with a pipe, but you’re not trying to go kamikaze mode on some innocent bastard in a Wal-Mart who’s also just trying to survive.

You’ve known Hoseok for a long time—since your sophomore year of college, when he was failing the stats class you shared and you took pity on him and offered some tutoring—so you’ve seen him in various states of distress. You know all of his tells, and the way he’s gnawing at his cuticles is a glaring one.

“Hobi, hey,” you say, moving to gently pull his hand away from his mouth. “Try to relax, okay? Don’t make yourself bleed.”

“I feel like I’m gonna be sick,” he replies. Anguish is clear on his face. “Everything feels fucking overwhelming and scary.”

“I know. I know it does, but if we’re gonna get through this we’re gonna need you, all right?” He nods but he’s shaking, still looking tormented and green around the edges. You pull him into a hug that has him nearly sagging in defeat.

Slowly, your shoulder grows wet and warm. Hoseok’s crying, body shaking from the weight of all his fear, and all you can do is hold him. “You’re my best friend, Hoseok,” you whisper into his hair. “I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”

You feel him nod. Then, in the smallest voice, “Yoongi too?”

Figures. Hoseok’s a horny little demon at the best of times—the thin walls of your apartment can attest to that—so it makes sense that impending doom would exacerbate it. “Sure, Hobi,” you assure him, scratching softly at his scalp.

You get him calmed down. Tucked into the backseat of Yoongi’s car so he can lay down. He’s asleep not long after, fatigue finally catching up, and you just stay. Park your ass at the edge of the seat, leave the door open, waiting. There’s a gentle, warm breeze, and you wish you could bottle it. Wish you could do more in this moment than just experience it, because it’s the last chance you’ll have at something resembling normalcy.

You might never be able to hug Hoseok in a parking lot again.

“We’re back!”

You look up, not at all surprised to see Taehyung skipping towards you, arms full of stolen goods. “I see that. What’d you get?”

“Oh, a lot of stuff,” he answers. Yoongi pops the trunk of his car and they set about shoving it all inside. “It was packed in there! Felt like Black Friday, except everyone was fighting over bread instead of ultra hi-def TVs.”

Wary, you look over your motley crew. “Are you all okay?”

“Yeah,” Yoongi answers, voice gruff. “It was mostly civilized. Don’t think people really realize what’s going on yet. Is Hoseok sleeping?”

You nod. “He, uh—had a moment? He got really upset, so he’s sleeping it off… if that’s okay?”

Yoongi just shrugs. “Yeah, whatever. Who’s riding with me?”

“Me,” Jimin says. “I’m not taking the bitch seat in the truck.” Taehyung immediately pouts, some unspoken bond clearly broken now, and Jimin scoffs. “Don’t pout at me. You know my ass requires a full seat.”

“But—”

Namjoon pointedly slams Yoongi’s trunk closed. Hoseok doesn’t stir an inch. “Jin’s expecting us so we need to get moving. Taehyung, shut up and get in the truck.” Then, to you: “Guess you’re with me again.”

Fine by you, especially since Namjoon ripped the sleeves off his shirt.

Not even Namjoon’s arms can salvage this drive.

Taehyung fiddles with the radio the whole time. Flips between radio stations that are all depressing carbon copies of one another. Complains that Namjoon’s truck is too old to have a CD player and that he doesn’t know how to work cassette tapes. Complains endlessly about Namjoon’s driving, too, although you can’t really blame him for that one.

“Hey,” he eventually says, elbowing you a little too hard in your side. “I don’t wanna be rude or anything, but—”

Namjoon tries to snort and immediately regrets it. “I don’t wanna be rude or anything, but I’m about to say something extremely rude.”

“I was not!” Taehyung defends, but when you quirk an eyebrow at him to continue, he says, “Are you willing to sacrifice yourself for me and Jimin in the unlikely event that the three of us are cornered by a zombie and are facing imminent death and only two will survive? Because I think you should be.”

You blink. “Um.”

“It just makes the most sense logically,” he continues, as if he hadn’t just volunteered you to be a zombie chew toy. “Jimin and I are soulmates. Platonic and romantic. And you’re—” He pauses. “Um. New. And Jimin might not look like it because he’s small, but he’s scrappy and can easily protect me, which means you’re redundant. Not to mention your hand is broken, so.”

You study him. “So, what are you bringing to the table?” you ask. Taehyung looks at you like you’re stupid. “I’m just saying, if Jimin and I can both defend ourselves, why wouldn’t we team up in the name of long-term survival and ditch the weakest link, which would be you?”

Namjoon laughs loudly beside you. His whole body shakes with it, a sound somewhere between a guffaw and a dog panting, and it’s a nice contrast to the death glare Taehyung’s sending you. “Jimin wouldn’t do that to me.”

“People are unpredictable when they’re staring death in the face.”

Taehyung’s silent the rest of the way.

It hurts to admit it, but you’re rethinking your all-politicians-are-evil, eat-the-rich stance, because it starts like—

(Seokjin’s parents’ place is truly in the middle of nowhere and safeguarded to the nth degree, harder to get close to than Area 51. The house itself is deceptively large and modern, clapped in black-stained red cedar. Single-level. Expansive windows you’d thought were an oversight until you got closer and realized they were made of armored glass.

“Shit, is all of this really necessary?” you ask, stepping inside. There’s definitely insider trading going on here. “Are these people on the goddamn Supreme Court?”

“That’s not funny,” Namjoon says.

“Are you sure? Because I’m pretty sure that”—you point to a nondescript door with an ominous symbol on it—”is some kind of rich people bomb shelter and the only politicians I know that would require this level of security are the I just voted to strip half the country of the ability to make their own reproductive decisions kind.”

Namjoon chokes.

“Gross,” a voice chimes from behind you. “Please don’t debase and sully my parents’ good name by even joking that they’re conservatives.”

Jesus, is everyone in this family stupidly attractive? The man before you is shorter than Namjoon but still tall, legs as long as his shoulders are wide. Hair styled neat but dyed blond. Kind eyes and plush lips, and there’s the Kim family resemblance.

“Hi, I’m Seokjin,” he says, offering you his hand. Definitely raised in a family of politicians. “I hear you’re the one who broke my cousin’s nose.”

“I, uh, might’ve done that, yeah.”

Seokjin smiles. “Cool. Welcome. Please make yourself at home and we’ll chat strategy later.”)

Which becomes—

(Later turns into days.

For the most part, life proceeds normally. Seokjin gets periodic updates from his parents who have left the country entirely—(“Damn, they just left you here?” someone asks, and that’s how you meet Jungkook)—about the government response, or lack thereof, along with whatever useless psychobabble the CDC is sending out. None of it bodes well for the future, so you spend most of your time trying to stay in the present. Right now, you’re okay. Right now, you’re with a group of people hellbent on staying alive. Right now, you have enough food and shelter in a house in the middle of nowhere with armored glass windows and a bomb shelter.

The eight of you eat meals together and play games and talk about your Before lives. You already knew Namjoon worked at a nonprofit and that Jimin and Yoongi owned a bar, but you learn Taehyung was in grad school for art therapy. Hoseok, of course, split his time between the dance studio and the streetwear boutique his sister owned. Seokjin was some bigwig corporate attorney.

Jungkook, of all things, played minor league baseball.

Needless to say there won’t be any scientific breakthroughs from any of you.

“I was supposed to go pro this year,” Jungkook huffs, forcefully grabbing the microphone for the karaoke machine. He’s been singing “I Will Survive” by Gloria Gaynor for four days.

All things considered, you somehow managed to fall into the best possible outcome, even if one of Taehyung or Jimin still tries to convince you to sacrifice yourself at least six times a day.)

Which culminates in the one possible downside—

“Yoongi wants Hoseok to move into my room,” Namjoon says, appearing in the doorway of your (now-solo, apparently) room. He takes up nearly the entire frame. It makes you feel a little lightheaded.

“Oh,” you reply stupidly. “Okay. Are you here for his stuff?”

“No, I’m here to ask if I can move in with you. I’m not really interested in spending the rest of the zombie apocalypse third-wheeling.”

Sarcasm seems like your best defense. “Wow, after all we’ve been through. We’ve got a real enemies to lovers vibe going on. I’m pretty into it.”

Namjoon flushes down to his toes. “Haaa, what? We’re—that’s not—we’re not even lovers yet.”

You give him a second, but he doesn’t seem to realize what he’s said, so you can’t help but smirk, to press on the bruise just to watch him squeal. “Yet?”

Now he turns full-on crimson. “That’s not what I meant.”

Somehow he’s still cute, even with the yellow-green bruising beneath his eyes and his sheepish, hunched posture. Namjoon is the kind of guy that makes you feel bold, makes you want to mess him up, but he’s also the kind of cute that has you relenting, easing off.

“Sure,” you finally say. “You can move your stuff in here.”

He smiles, dimples flashing, and he’s only gone a few minutes so you have no time to catch your breath before he’s back, dumping his clothes on the bed to put them in the dresser. He doesn’t mention sleeping arrangements because there’s no point: all of the bedrooms have single, queen-sized beds. Naturally, you and Hoseok had bunked together with little fuss, having fallen asleep in each other’s beds a million times after years spent living together. You assume it’d been the same for Namjoon and Yoongi and their decades of friendship.

You’d joked about being enemies to lovers; clearly you’d chosen the wrong trope.

“How’s your nose?” you ask, wordlessly moving to help sort and refold the t-shirts as best you can. They smell nice: something soft and clean and inherently Namjoon.

“Still sore,” he answers. Says a small thank you when you push a stack of black tees towards him. “Jungkook’s been helping me with the packing.”

“He’s had a lot of broken noses?”

“He’s had a lot of broken everything.”

It hits you, then, how much of an outsider you are. That the six of them are all connected, have history. And Namjoon must notice, because he grows serious. Gets shy all over again when he says, “Hey, we’re all glad you and Hoseok are here.”

You snort. “Yeah, as a sacrifice.”

Namjoon laughs a little, too. “Taehyung’s only so insistent because he’s useless. He accidentally stepped on a stink bug once and cried. He’s not really built for something like this.”

“Are any of us?”

“You are, I think,” he says immediately, no hesitation. “You’ve been really calm, haven’t panicked at all. It’s helped me a lot—all of us, really.”

Oh, you’re embarrassed. “I have to be, living with someone like Hobi.” Why are you embarrassed? “One time he saw the red light on the coffee machine and slept in my room for a week because he thought there was a demon in our apartment.”

Namjoon can’t help himself. “Was there?”

You sigh, over-dramatic and theatrical. “No, just me.”

He laughs, loud and unashamed, but it sounds a lot more like everything’s going to be fine.

Hoseok had been a cuddler.

You’d always wake up with him wound around you like a snake, limbs akimbo as he snored quietly. But, like all things Hoseok did and does, there was grace in it. He kept a normal body temperature. He didn’t hog too much of the bed or the duvet. He didn’t kick you or elbow you in the side of the head. Aside from the cuddling, which has never really been your thing, Hoseok was a perfect bed-sharing partner.

The same cannot be said for Namjoon.

His broken nose has him snoring at obscene levels. It doesn’t lessen when you shove a pillow over your head, either, which is not the way you fantasized about going lightheaded in bed with him. Not to mention his stupidly large body is stupidly large and requires a lot of space. What had started as a clean split down the middle has you grasping to the edge, trying desperately not to fall off. Every time you try to inch closer to the center, Namjoon unconsciously protests and sends elbows flying, and arms that size can do a lot of damage. He sleeps so hot you always wake up in a thin sheen of sweat just from the proximity.

You’re not sure you sleep at all for the first three days.

And then things start to shift. Like your roommate, Namjoon is a cuddler too, but in vastly different ways. Hoseok’s would be subconscious—he never dared to touch you when he was awake out of respect for boundaries and personal space, but Namjoon doesn’t have those hangups. He climbs into bed one night and immediately fits himself to your back before asking if it’s okay, and yeah, of course it is. You couldn’t have waterboarded Hoseok into touching you purposely the way Namjoon does casually, so unthinking, just does what he wants.

It makes you ache.

So you become sleepless for other, new reasons.

His snoring lessens, gives way to these breathy little sounds that border on soft moans. Still obscene. He stops forcing you to the edge of the mattress and instead presses you into it, the weight of his massive body leaving you with nowhere else to go. Every time he touches you, either knowingly or not, he leaves trails of heat in his wake.

Even in sleep, Namjoon is a tease.

Sometimes his hands will drift—too close, too far, both simultaneously—and you feel your breath hitch, wondering if he’s awake, if he’s doing it on purpose. Sometimes you wake up with him wrapped around you, hard cock pressing into your ass, the small of your back. Sometimes he’ll rut once, twice, and come to and disappear to the opposite side of the bed in shame and embarrassment, leaving you frustrated and pretending to be asleep.

Because you’re not… sure.

You know you’re attracted to Namjoon. You know he’s some degree of attracted to you in return. But the outside world is so volatile, the situation you’re in so unstable, that you’re afraid to push. Afraid the delicate house of cards will come tumbling down, that you two will fuck to get it out of your systems and make things horribly awkward, ruin the good thing you’ve got going.

But you can only take so much, is the thing. There’s a very large man with a very large cock at your back and you’ve had enough of this game.

“Namjoon,” you say, rolling in his arms so you’re face to face. You poke him in the stomach when he doesn’t stir. “Namjoon.”

He jolts awake, hands immediately moving to you—checking that you’re still there, that you’re safe. “Wha’?” he slurs, voice thick with sleep, deeper than you’ve ever heard it. “Wha’ happened?”

Now you feel awkward. He’s concerned with your safety in the midst of a fucking apocalypse and you’re just horny. Still, sometimes the only way out is through, so you blurt out, “Do you want to fuck me?”

That grabs his attention. He’s fully awake now, propped up on one elbow, gazing down at you like you’ve completely lost your mind. Fucking stupid but not dumb, like a mantra. “Uh.” He pauses. Swallows. Pushes sweaty hair off his forehead. “Did—did you, uh, get bit? Are you feeling okay?”

You glare, though it’s useless in the dark. “I’m fine. How’s your dick?” You dare a glance downward. Still hard is the answer.

Namjoon embarrasses easily in a way that is both horribly endearing and horribly inconvenient, because instead of feeding you some greasy line like want to find out? he’s reaching down to adjust himself in his sleep shorts, stumbling over apologies as he goes. “Shit, fuck, I’m so sorry, this is so awkward, I’m sorry—”

“Can you answer my question, please?”

Namjoon stills. Puts that giant brain to use. “Um. Which one? You asked me two.”

“Well, I can clearly see that your dick is still very hard, so let’s start with the first one.”

There’s a sound that you think is meant to sound like a laugh. A pained a-haaa that sounds more like Namjoon begging for divine intervention in the form of death. “The, uh, doIwanttofuckyou question?”

“That would be the one, yes.”

“Is… is there a wrong answer?”

“No.”

He nods, tongue darting out to wet his lips. It’s lewd, a cruel and unusual punishment for your fleeting moment of horny delirium. Gets even worse when he tugs the plush bottom one between his teeth, staring at you all the while. Sizing you up, it feels like. Deciding between what he wants to do and what he’s actually going to do.

Just like the last week of your life, everything goes from zero to one hundred in a split-second.

“Do you wanna talk about this first?” he asks. You’re just staring at one another and he already sounds fucked out. Obscene.

“What’s there to talk about?”

He reaches for you. Two fingers beneath your chin and a thumb on the hinge of your jaw to keep you where he wants you. “What you want.” Leans in, his lips so close to your ear. “What you don’t.”

Around you, the world narrows. Nothing exists outside of this bed. Not the weird house in the middle of the woods. Not the apocalypse. Not a goddamn thing except Namjoon and his big hands and the way he’s touching you. “Tell me what you want,” he says, words skimming along the column of your throat, “and I’ll do it.”

You wonder if he’s talking about big-picture shit or just sex. If he’s someone who needs something concrete to hold onto before he fucks or if it even matters anymore. Would he still want to sleep with you if you’d met under different circumstances that night at the bar, or is it just something to pass the time while you wait out the end of the world?

Although, you feel like the world might end if you don’t finally fuck this man, so maybe it doesn’t matter.

“I’m clean and I have an IUD I’ll have to figure out how to remove in three years if I live that long. I’m down for mostly anything as long as you ask first but I draw the line at most bodily fluids. Oh, also—don’t kiss me if your tongue goes anywhere near my ass. I think that’s it, though. What about you?”

Momentarily stunned, Namjoon’s hands stop moving. “I’ve never eaten ass before.”

“Oh. I mean, we totally can if you want to, but—really?”

“Why do you sound so surprised?”

“Because your lips are pornographic,” you admit, completely void of shame. “Like, you have the kind of mouth that looks like it’s done a lot of dirty things.”

Namjoon laughs. “You also said I look like I like getting pushed around.”

You cock an eyebrow. “Do you?”

He’s growing bold. His response is a low chuckle, more vibration than anything, and he reaches for you again. Seems like he can’t keep his hands off of you, needs to be touching you always, even before when it was harmless, and this time he goes for your hips. Fits his large hands to your waist, the tops of your thighs, presses his thumbs into your hip bones. “Most people don’t try.”

“Yeah, that tracks,” you reply dazedly.

His lips move to your neck, trace the neckline of your sleep shirt, dip below to nip at your collarbone. “Where’s your hand, baby?” he speaks into your skin. Finds what he’s looking for and pins your arm above your head, gently like you’ll break. You think you might. “You can push me around when you’re healed. Can I kiss you?”

You must nod, because Namjoon drags his lips from your throat to your jaw to the corner of your mouth, and then he’s pressing them to your own. This is gentle too, Namjoon careful with his own injury, and it’s not lost on you that this is your fault. You’re not going to get the filthy, primal fucking you want because you’d thrown a punch in a bar, but this isn’t a bad consolation prize, you think.

Because Namjoon is good at this. He’s easy to rile up but rock-solid once he pushes past it. And, sure, he kisses you gently, but he means it. Whimpers into your mouth like you’re doing him a favor, and you think you might be able to do this, just this, forever.

Your free hand fists the thin cotton of his shirt as he licks into your mouth. It should be gross, because it’s the middle of the night and you no longer have the luxury of your favorite toothpaste, but you find it hard to care when he drops his weight, that massive body of his pressing into you, against you in all the right ways. This time it’s you who whines, and it’s a small sound but it seems to drive Namjoon a little crazy.

“Wanna hear you,” he says, pulling back, and you’re about to ask him what that means, if he just wants you to start moaning like some bad porn, but then he’s grabbing your leg to wrap it around his waist and pressing his hips to you harder.

“Oh fuck,” you sigh. Even through his sleep shorts you can tell he’s big—big and really fucking hard. Forget a zombie apocalypse, you’re not sure you’ll survive this right here.

What Namjoon wants, Namjoon gets. You’re unabashed as he grinds his cock against your core, careless about your volume. You’ve suffered through almost everyone in this house either fucking or jerking off, and you can take a little ribbing, so you’re going to enjoy this. What’s the point in modesty if you’re all going to die, anyway?

So you just keep babbling, words spilling out of your mouth before you can filter them, writhing and whining all the while. “I know, baby,” Namjoon says, hands all over, mouth not far behind. “Keep going,” he urges, hands to your hips to move you the way he wants.

“Thigh,” you say, barely able to get the word out of your mouth with the way he’s moving against you. “Wan-wanna ride your thigh.”

He keens. “Shit, yeah, okay.”

Namjoon fucks like it’s the end of the world.

You get off on his thigh but he deems it not enough. Strips you bare and situates himself between your legs. Puts that sinful mouth to use and gets you off again. Asks you when the last time you had sex was and laughs at your answer, all condescending heat, and he uses the slick from you and his mouth to stretch you on three of his fingers.

You’re going to ruin this man’s hair once you have two working hands. Maybe just ruin him in general.

The build-up is dizzying. One second he’s slow and sensual, content to take you apart, continuously bring you to the edge just to yank you back—and the next is all feral urgency. He can’t make you come, can’t kick his shorts off, can’t peel his briefs down those thick thighs fast enough.

“Will you ride me?” he asks, so intent on taking your one rule to heart. As long as you ask first. But some things don’t need to be questioned, like when Hobi asks if you want to take an edible and watch the Spice Girls movie and will you sit on Namjoon’s massive dick.

You huff, already halfway in his lap. “Clown question, bro.”

As you sink down onto him, you understand why he’d laughed when you said it’d been awhile, why he got a little cocky. Three fingers hadn’t been anywhere near enough, but the stretch, the overwhelming fullness, is delicious.

“I was go—ah, fuck—gonna suggest you don’t ca-call me bro, but I don’t think I care when you feel this fucking good.”

“Yeah?” you stupidly ask, and you’re usually better at dirty talk, but there’s not much you can do when all of your brainpower is going towards riding the best cock you’ve ever had in your life. “Tell me.”

Namjoon moans, grips your hips to move you again. Back and forth at a steady, torturous pace. “Baby,” he whines. “Feels like one of those wa-water wiggler toys—”

Okay, so clearly neither of you are at your best right now.

And that’s how it goes. You brace yourself on Namjoon’s chest, nails of your good hand digging into his pec, your broken one held in his. Time seems to drag on forever and stop all at once, and you’re oversensitive and admittedly a little in pain and a lot exhausted so you’re probably not going to come again, but you find yourself dangerously close watching Namjoon chase his own orgasm.

Head tilted back, neck on display, mouth dropped open. You want to shove your fingers inside, so you do.

He comes immediately.

Namjoon kisses you as the two of you come down, whispering more praise in between each one. Tells you how good you are, how beautiful, that he’s glad you broke his nose. Then he realizes the dumb thing that has come out of his mouth and pauses, looking confused and delicate. He’s so cute you kiss him first this time.

And then you pull back and realize he’s got blood all over his face, gushing from the nose he’s so glad you broke, and he’s out of the bed and into the bathroom before you can blink.

“You can’t do that, we’re soulmates!”

Jimin scoffs, placing the Robber on Taehyung’s hex tile anyway, ruthless as he watches his boyfriend miserably discard half his hand. “Your fault for building a city there. I’m coming for your ore tile next.”

You roll your lips to keep from laughing. You hadn’t expected the house’s sardonically-named Royal Couple to be on the brink of disaster twenty minutes into a game of Catan, but you’re safe for now in your small part of the world, surrounded by all of these people you’ve come to love, Namjoon especially, so you’ll take all the manufactured, external drama you can get.

“Told you he’d turn on you, Tae,” you chime. He gives you the finger. “You can’t trust Libra men.”

“What about virgins!” Jungkook calls from the kitchen, where Yoongi has convinced him to drink tequila and brandy to see if he can get him to punch Namjoon, too, and Seokjin laughs so hard he looks like he’s about to keel over and die.

Yeah, you think you’re going to be fine.

[jiminsass-istant]

How i view all bts duos (crack filled)

(somehow gets crazier as you go down, also minors dni 🚫)

Warning: draft had been sitting for long/written in a sleep deprived state/forgot that tumblr has image limit/will get me cancelled if anyone takes this seriously/this is pure self-indulgence.

Jikook- "We live under each other's skin and there's nothing you can do about it"

Taekook-" We are dude bros bound by shared love for jimin and gaming"

Vmin- "we'll roleplay every AU possible so you have more prompts for ao3"

Minimoni- "he's cute because he's small"+" he's cute because he's big"

Sope- "He makes me wanna be a better man" + (unpopular opinion but sope would be a great sun and moon duo too)

Yoonmin- "We mostly fight, but if you heard the most heart-clenching compliment slip in, pretend you never heard it."

Jihope- "We are each other's light in the dark" (pink and purple lights to be specific)

Namkook- "He doesn't know i have his shrine at home" (jk pov)+" He doesn't know I've legally adopted him" (rm pov)

Taejin- "We are individually pretty hetero, but together we are pretty gay"

Jinkook - "He's my brother, so I can beat the shit out of him, and I am the only one who can."

Jinmin - "Come here my precious, I'll laugh at all your jokes and cuddle you"

2seok- "We can single handedly bring about world peace just by basking in each other's presence"

Yoonjin- "You're older, so you'll have to baby me" (yoongi pov) + "You are only 3 months older, I can drop the honorifics "( also yoongi POV)

Taegi - "I'll smother you with love till you love me back" (Tae POV) + "That's enough!!! Ffs" *still holding hands* (yoongi POV) - <My 3rd fav ship, btw>

Namgi - "What happened in the studio that late night, stays in the studio" + "anyway, we've known each other for 13 years"(yoongi pov) +"hyung, can we talk about that night-" (rm) "DID I MENTION 13 YEARS??"(yoongi)

Yoonkook- Lovers in HYYH but died and reborn as father son duo in next life.

OR

"I would produce your entire album if sc00ter wasn't in the way"

OR

"He doesn't know I've legally adopted him" (because namgi legal husbands)

Namseok- "Our relationship is not for the cameras. You can probably tell by the way I BAWLED after jhope enlisted" (rm pov)

Namjin- "He lets me practice my pick up lines on him, if he gets a little flustered, it's not my faul- JIMIN STOP WITH THE SMOOCH SOUNDS"

Hopekook- Kangaroo(hobi) and the baby(jk) in its pouch

Taejoon- Fanboy turned boyfriend (tae)

Vope- "Was the kiss good? Was my dance good? Have i been a good boy?"(tae pov) +"I raised him well (as my perfect sub)" (hobi pov)

This is me btw, if you even care:

[vminhoes]

My fics Masterlist

Vmin:

Thinking of You

rated: E

historical/war au

based off "Thinking of You" mv

husbands!vmin

smut, fluff, angst

So just hold on (like you won't ever let go)

rated: E

gang au

drug lord taehyung, trophy husband jimin

smut, fluff, angst

I saw Daddy kissing Santa Claus

rated: G

married au

husbands!vmin

fluff

Nerd in the streets but a Freak in the sheets

rated: E

college au

law student/tutor jimin, athlete taehyung

pure smut

You're just a snitch. (I'm gonna make you my bitch)

rated: E

college au

jimin is a snitch, taehyung is over it

hate sex / revenge sex

smut, fluff, angst

My Alien

rated: E

alien invasion au

human jimin, alien taehyung

enemies to lovers

slow burn

soulmates

smut, fluff, angst

Taegi fics:

So cute

rated: E

college au

boyfriends!taegi

smut, fluff

Why don't you say "I love you" back?

rated: G

canon compliant

yoongi's vlive - "i won't leave until you say that word"

fluff

And they were roommates!

rated: E

roommates au

student taehyung, businessman yoongi

roommates with benefits

smut, fluff, angst

You scratch my back, I'll boy out yours

rated: E

coffee shop au

frat boy/barista taehyung, rapper yoongi

blackmail

smut, fluff, angst

Spoils of War

rated: E

royal/hybrid au

human yoongi, hybrid/alpha taehyung

enemies to lovers

smut, fluff, angst

Flower boy

rated: E

mafia au

drug lord yoongi, florist taehyung

mutual pining

smut, fluff, angst

There was only one bed

rated: E

college/university au

fake dating

only one bed trope

smut, fluff, pinch of angst

The best part of me was always you

rated: E

modern au

professor yoongi, artist taehyung

exes to lovers

smut, fluff, angst

I'll be gentle

rated: E

college/university au

college student taehyung, law student yoongi

first time / loss of virginity

smut and fluff

Broken Hearts Club

rated: explicit

alternate universe

teacher yoongi, mechanic/race car driver tae

friends with benefits

strangers to lovers

smut and fluff

Hold me close, I'll keep you warm

rated: explicit

omegaverse

cat hybrid yoongi, wolf hybrid tae

huddling for warmth

enemies to lovers

smut and fluff

Stop copying me!

rated: explicit

model taehyung, gamer yoongi

stubborn/petty taegi

enemies to friends with benefits to lovers

crack, smut, fluff

Dinner and a show

rated: explicit

college/university au, omegaverese

alpha taehyung, omega yoongi

tae helps yoongi through his heat

pining, mutual crushes, soft taegi

smut and fluff

Barbie Dreams

rated: explicit

sugar daddy au

sugar daddy taehyung, sugar baby yoongi

sugar negotiation to lovers

smut, fluff, angst

Yoonjin

Talk me down

rated: explicit

married yoonjin

modern setting au

yoongi and jin are in so in love

smut, fluff, pinch of angst

Minimoni

Part of your world

rated: explicit

minimoni / minjoon

mermaid au

human Namjoon, mermaid Jimin

mutual pining

angst, fluff, smut

Yoonmintae:

Count me in

rated: E

throuple au

boyfriends!taegimin

top taehyung, switch yoongi, bottom jimin

smut, fluff, pinch of angst

Vminkook:

Look what the cat dragged in

rated: E

college au

roomates!vmin, frat boy jungkook

first time threesome

top taehyung, bottom jimin, top jungkook

smut

Yoongi x Maknae line:

Happy Birthday Yoongi!

rated: E

yoonkook, yoonmin, taegi

canon compliant

maknae line treat yoongi on his bday

smut, fluff

[savventeen]

a rose that blooms in winter

pairing: seungkwan x gn!reader rating: G wc: 672 words prompt: none, just wanted winter vibes <3 summary: walking home with you on a snowy winter evening, seungkwan decides to be brave. warnings: none tags: fluff, getting together, declarations of love, first kiss, seungkwan is in love with reader and finally decides to say something a/n: this is just something soft and sweet for my favorite season <3 also i know i'll never get to smooch seungkwan's cheeks irl so i have to live vicariously through the reader lol (this was originally a yoonjin drabble posted on twitter/ao3)

seungkwan isn't quite sure why this is the moment he's choosing to be brave.

maybe it’s because it’s one of those moments that feels suspended in time — one that’s been gently paused and taken just outside the realm of reality.

you’re both surrounded by the falling snow, large fat flakes drifting down and quietly kissing jackets and beanies and rosy cheeks alike. you stand there under the pale lamplight, grocery bags in hand and waiting next to him for the signal to change so you can cross the street together.

he looks over at you, watches the way you look up at the grey, winter sky like it’s some kind of miracle, and when you open your mouth to catch a falling flake on your tongue, something in him squeezes before slotting into place.

suddenly, he comes to an incredible realization: it doesn’t matter what his destination is — it will never matter. The both of you could walk anywhere and everywhere, through any city, over mountains and across deserts and he would never be lost because his home would be walking right beside him.

maybe he’s choosing to be brave because it’s something that’s been building for a while now.

he hadn’t known what it was, at first — a mysterious seed that had been planted in his chest.

but oh, had it grown.

with every smile, with every touch, with every honey-dipped whisper of his name, it had grown. it was still growing, even now as he listens to you laugh about a stupid joke you'd just made — and it was going to keep growing, keep blooming and blossoming and filling the empty spaces between his ribs.

maybe, above all, he’s going to say it because it’s true.

it’s a truth that’s existed in him for weeks, and he's never been one for keeping those things hidden away. he's spent his whole life living in every new truth he discovers, no matter the consequences.

no matter the consequences.

because that’s what being brave is, right?

but though he always has been and always will be someone who is braver than he thinks, he will also never be immune to fear.

fear, who takes his declaration and makes it quiver, rushed, and the soft wool of his scarf absorbs his voice like so many other things have stolen it in the past — like so many people and places and circumstances he couldn’t control.

you turn to him when you hear him mumble, and you blink some snowflakes out of your lashes. “what did you say? i didn’t hear you.”

but he can control this, he knows. his fear is not an untamed beast.

he can control the way he chooses to peel back all of the layers he's built up from winter after winter after winter — he can control the way he gets down to his flesh and bone and chooses to open up even further still, cracking his chest open just enough for you to see where his heart thump-thumps to a song he thinks only you know how to sing.

“seungkwan?”

no matter the consequences.

“i love you.”

your face is frozen for a moment, the changing of the traffic light going unnoticed behind you.

but then shock bleeds into awe bleeds into joy bleeds into you dropping your grocery bags, yanking down his scarf, and bringing his face to yours and kissing him soundly — cold and sweet and emphatic and full of an exuberance that can only come with yearning, returned.

you pull back, eyes wild and grin bright enough to melt the polar ice caps as you declare — “boo seungkwan, you are the light of my fucking life” — before immediately diving back in to pepper kisses across his cheeks, red from the cold and something else.

he giggles, startled and endeared and so, so in love.

and then he pulls back just enough to hold your face between his mittened hands and bring your freezing noses together. “and you're mine.”

[bulletproofscales]

BTS sfw oneshots

jinnie's piggies (ot7 , feeder jin , drabble)

pampering the leader (minjoon , chubby namjoon , hurt and comfort)

they are all staring at you (yoonmin , chubby yoongi , poping buttons , public space)

chp2  (yoonmin , fat yoongi , bdsm , dom sub dynamics , hurt/comfort , use of safe word)

stubborn Yoonie (yoonkook , chubby yoongi , shaming)

zumba at 6:30pm (sope , chubby yoongi , zumba instructor hoseok)

miss the gym? (could be ot7 , jungkook centric , chubby jungkook)

his baby, his stuffed, gassy baby (taekook , chubby jungkook , gassy)

chp2  (taekook , chubby jungkook , gassy )

weird oportunity (could be ot7 , jungkook centric , chubby jungkook , insecurities)

stress eating (ot7 , fat hyung line , stuffing , hurt comfort)

teeny tiny house (2seok , fat hoseok , breaking furniture , hurt comfort , use of safe word)

MAMAs presentation doesnt have to be perfect (namseok , double gaining , hurt comfort kinda)

Jinnie’s...piggies? (ot3 , namjinseok , fat namjoon and fat hoseok , getting stuck in chairs , breaking the couch)

a 6 month hiatus does that to you (jungkook x reader , chubby jungkook , hurt/comfort)

Coca Cola and beer (hopekook , gassy jungkook , pinning , light angst)

the realest of selves (namkook , not feederism , established relationship , fluff)

“namjin evidence” (namjin , not feederism , established  relationship , fluff and crack )

literature can be interesting? (sope , not feederism , uni professor au , fluffy , happy ending , pinning )

chairman sized (vminkook , fat jimin , getting stuck in chair , public space , wg denial)

bts x mcdonalds (ot7 , word dump , furtniture breaking , they all gain weight )

the gentler touches (trans guy hoseok , namseok , fluff , gender dysphoria , hurt comfort)

monthly charity carwash (bottom heavy seokjin , public space , carwash , word dump?)

how to train your hybrid, sorta (yoonkook , mutual gaining, fluff , stuffing

admiring you is a full time job (hopekook , drunken confessions , ripping clothes , pinning, NSFW BONUS IN SECOND CHAPTER)

a king's banquet, pocket sized (jinkook , royal au , king jungkook , chef seokjin , stuffing , fluff)

room to change (namjin , hurt/comfort , internalized homophibia , anxiety , making out , dry humping , chubby seokjin)

skinny boy big dreams (jungkook solo , feedee jungkook , small drabble , bodyshaming)

not yet afterhours ( jinkook , obese jim seokjin , muscle chub jungkook , stuffing , bakery au)

a higher gpa and a higher bmi (namkook , taejin , sopemin , fat maknae line )

a fu(filling) challenge (yoonjin, gainer seokjin, wg , fat seokjin, competitive eating , public space)

heavyweight champion of the mile high club (taekook , fat kim taehyung , feeder jeon jungkook , in public , mile high club (i guess)

absence makes the waistline longer (yoonjin , seokjin discharge , making out , chubby yoongi , ruenion)

[minisugakoobies]

This one is for @thatlongspringnight, who asked for YoonJin and prompt #10 - tracing your lovers features as they peacefully sleep. Julie, you picked such a sweet prompt for our soft boys 🥺 I hope you like it. 💕

Title: For Always Pairing: Seokjin x Yoongi Genre: Established Relationship, Non-Idol!AU Warnings: it's just super fluffy! but maybe a lil angst?

Jin thinks sometimes that Yoongi works too hard.

He'd never say it to his boyfriend's face. Well, that's not entirely true, he's said it a million times. But always under the guise of a joke. That's what Jin does. He cracks wise. Makes light of a bad situation. Does everything in his power to make Yoongi laugh.

But beneath the frivolity of it all, Jin worries. He fears Yoongi pushes himself too much. And for what? They're already comfortable, living in a nice condo, able to afford nice meals and occasional vacations.

Like the one they're on now. Cozied up together in a cute cabin by a lake. A secluded little oasis in the mountains, where Jin can fish to his heart's content while Yoongi naps on the porch.

Even here, Yoongi can't let himself fully relax. Jin knows he's been checking his emails. Stressing himself out over problems that, in the grand scheme of things, don't mean shit. But they mean something to Yoongi. So that means something to Jin.

Jin sighs, wrapping the sheets around him tighter as he rolls onto his side. It's the middle of the night. A soft breeze wafts in through the open window, stirring the dark hairs framing Yoongi's face as he slumbers. Jin sighs again, taking in his boyfriend's pretty features - the round button of his nose, the pouty curl of his pink lips.

Gently, he reaches out a hand to stroke Yoongi's cheek. Yoongi hums in his sleep, a deep rumbly sound. His head tilts, like he's nuzzling against Jin's fingers, seeking more of his touch. So Jin continues to run the back of his hand over Yoongi's cheekbones, caressing the soft skin there. Jin wonders what Yoongi's dreaming about. Hopefully something good. Like he deserves.

In the morning, Jin'll make breakfast. He'll pack everything up for the trip home - which Jin will drive. Jin will do the laundry at home, make them dinner, help ease them back into their daily routines.

It's the least he can do. If Yoongi's going to work too hard for the two of them, so will he. Because they're in this together. For always.

Masterlist 💜 Find me on AO3 💜 

© 2023 by minisugakoobies. Crossposted to AO3. Please do not copy or repost.

[spookyserenades]

So so so much to say about this chapter and yet so little organization in my brain but we're gonna try anyways:

First of all Namjoon being just so protective and sweet?! Could get down on one knee for this man I swear🥰🥰 Also him being so irritated over her not looking after herself properly OMG?! HIM NUZZLING HER NECK AND SITTING HER DOWN ON HIS LAP ?!?! LOVE HIM I SWEAR😭

Jimin and Hoseok being so serious and concerned?! Jimin lightly scolding her cause he's worried but also being so soft and understanding about it?! Could die😫 Hoseok taking the time to have a serious conversation about it and then MARK her?! UGHHHH😫😫

YOONGI AND JIN BEING SO SO SO CONCERNED AND PROTECTIVE?! FALLING APART AND YEARNING FOR HER SAFETY AND RETURN?! IM GOING FERAL!!!😫😫😫 Yoongi's soft moment when he's opening up about his mom?!🥹🥹🥹 Them teaming up to comfort her and keep her safe while they sleep?! MY HEART😭😭😭 also Jin, I see you, com'ere *daddy*😏😏😏

JUNGKOOK NIPPLE PIERCINGS AND BACK TAT?!?!😩😩😩 ALSO HE MIGHT NOT SHOW IT BUT HIS FIRST PRIORITY WHEN THEY WERE UNDER ATTACK WAS TO GET HER THE FUCK OUT HE CARES SO MUCH😭😭😭

Tae and I are no longer on speaking terms.

The ghosts are getting fucking scary, I dunno how the trio deals with it cause I'd be shaking and crying in a corner in fetal position😭😭😭

IM SO HAPPY FOR ALL THE HYBRIDS, THEY'RE FINALLY BEING ALLOWED TO PARTICIPATE IN SOCIETY AND STARTING TO BE TREATED LIKE HUMAN BEINGS TOO😭😭 #HybridRights✊

LOVED LOVED LOVED THIS CHAPTER SO MUCH, I FEEL LIKE EVERYONE GOT SO MUCH ATTENTION AND IT WAS SO BEAUTIFULLY COMPOSED❤️❤️❤️❤️

-🍒

HELLOOO CHERRY!

UGH Joonie bug 😭 I just am so excited for his protective wolfish instincts to get stronger and stronger with each update (and as he falls in love 😉) AH like he's done so much growing over the course of the series, going from more wild and distrustful to really attempting to get used to more human emotions. He's really starting to watch over Y/N and it's not only super sweet but also VERY sexy... Ooof like when he nuzzled into her neck yeah I'd fold. And when he tenderly helped her with her nosebleed :( down bad horrifically.

Jimin scolding her was very much needed IMO. I don't think Y/N would have shown the others the audio otherwise, which would have caused a total fucking shitstorm if the other hybrids found out she kept that from them. He was nice about it though, which I think was sweet of him-- he was the best choice to convince stubborn Y/N. Hoseok toooooo he was probably not only worried about her but also his bestie Jinnie, who would literally become a shell of a person if something happened to Y/N. AH but when he marked her... such a stark difference from the first time, when he was so rough. EEE nice to see a serious side of Hoseok!

!!!!!!! YOONJIN! They literally were fighting for their LIVES when they listened to that audio. Call it hybrid devotion! I'd say they both consider Y/N to be their mate, so hearing something like that totally sent them into panic mode. 🥺 But that part where they both hold her to sleep the night after the investigation is everything to me. Both set their pride aside for her, just to keep her feeling safe 😭

I've been sitting on that part of Yoongi's backstory for a while, his history with his mom. He's one of the only (besides ONE other!) That came from a natural birth, not from a lab. We'll see how this makes Yoongi different from the others as time goes on! And I can't wait to write his birthday scene, it'll definitely be vvvvv intimate 💕

Don'tttt get me started on soft dom Jin. I literally had to take like five water breaks writing that scene until I was like fuck it and cracked open a vodka seltzer LMAO ��

As for Tae.... we're all very upset with him rn, even if we can't blame him for trying to move on or distract himself 😭

Hehehehehhe I love to spook y'all with the paranormal scenes!! I too would be shitting bricks if that happened to me but also I wanna investigate hauntings sooo bad so I'd probably stick it out!

I'M HAPPY FOR THEM TOOOOOO LIKE OO I CAN SEE JIMIN TAKING SOME UNI CLASSES AND HOSEOK COACHING HIS LIL TRACK TEAM 🥺 Hopefully more laws will be passed, like banning of hybrid sport hunting 😡

AHH THANK YOU SO SO MUCH I'M SO HAPPY YOU LOVED THIS CHAPTER!!! I'm glad you think everyone had a little moment, too, we love balance ❤️ Love u cherry!!!

[rainbowsuitcase]

Fiction Writing

Explicit pieces are written in red

Marvel

Steve cooking

Stony/Stuckony - Fireworks

Omegaverse - Tony is Bucky's son

Post-Avengers 1 Shrunkyclunks

Trans Steve AU

What If SHIELD found the Winter Soldier first

Steve cutting Bucky's hair

SteveTony & Ropes

Stevie doesn't know (about the assumptions)

The Mechanic

Fondue

SteveTony - Amnesia

Steve & Needles

Steggy: A Scene

SteveBucky - They were wrong

SteveLokiBucky - Where they've met before; pt2; pt3

Endgame Steve Fix-It

The Captain's Backstrap

SteveBucky - Top Steve

Steve's Gag Reflex

SteveTony - Soft Dom/Sub

SteveTony Soulmate Crack

Harry Potter

Drarry - Muggle things

Drarry - Nightmare

Darry - Mourning

BTS

Taegi - Vampires

Jungkook - Swimming

Namgi - Roadtrip

Vmin - Hybrids

Jungkook centric - Superheroes

Jungkook/hyung - Eye contact

Jungkook/YN - Long Distance

Vminkook - Double

Hyung Line - Friends with Benefits

Platonic Yoonjin - I got out

Namkook - Want

Namgi - Villains

OT7 - Tentacles

Namgiseok - Dominant

Sope - Touch Starved

Namkook - Alphas

Namgi - Small

OT7 - Band AU

Namgi - Gym Session

Namgi - Training

Namgi - Rivals

OT7 - Vampires & Apocalypse

Yoonkook - Drinking

Minjoon - Stop Talking

[bangtanagan]

mwahrch day 6: an angry kiss

yoonjin + cooking competition au rated T, 1.5k fic tweet previous mwahrch entries

Yoongi made it as far as the warehouse door, gleaming untouched cookware and industrial grade workstations and a hundred flitting sethands abandoned in his wake, before he heard someone call out, “Yoongi-ssi, wait!”

Yoongi didn’t wait. He shoved through the heavy door, past the dead recording light indicating filming was no longer in progress. It was easy to pretend he hadn’t heard his name among the chaos of the set change, and nobody would really need him for the next twenty minutes. Long enough for a smoke break, if he was quick about it. Taehyung had shown him the best spot for it before he’d been eliminated in the first round, and Yoongi was grateful for the secret. Privacy was an impossible thing to find on set.

Outside, the morning’s rain had finally died off, leaving misty cool and drippy puddles that reflected the cracked slate sky. Yoongi’s shoes smacked through the runoff, splattering the hems of his pants—but they were shooting everything in mediums and three-quarters, so it was fine. It wouldn’t show on camera.

He was halfway down the narrow alley that separated Building 14—where Bang’s Bonfire Kitchen filmed six days a week, eight weeks a season—from Building 7 behind it when the door clanged open again. He jumped at the noise and landed square in a puddle, a squelchy shock of cold soaking through the sole of his shoes and into his socks.

“Yoongi-ssi,” called Seokjin again, and was that a note of amusement in his voice? It was impossible to pretend Yoongi hadn’t heard him, not now that they were the only people outside, but that didn’t stop Yoongi from pressing forward and hanging a left. His desire for a smoke fizzled; at this point, he’d give anything just to avoid spending another second in the presence of Kim fucking Seokjin.

“Yah, Yoongi-ssi, don’t run off like that!”

The footsteps behind him picked up speed, smacking over wet pavement. Yoongi refused to run, but he wasn’t above playing dirty, and he certainly had no plans for any one-on-one chats. He yanked open the nearest studio door and slipped inside.

Building 7 greeted him with silence and darkness. A half-finished standing set made mock hallways out of the echoing space, and everything was lit a faint, musty grey by the watery light pouring in the upper windows. The murkiness drew him up short.

He regretted the pause a second later when the door smacked open behind him, knocking him forward. A pair of hands around his waist kept him upright, barely, and then he was nose to cheek with the person he’d been trying so hard to avoid.

“Yoongi-ssi,” said Seokjin, mouth making a perfect smile. “What are you doing in here all alone, hm?”

Yoongi forced his hands between them and shoved Seokjin back. He was still in his apron, which was so crisp and cleanly white that it seemed to glow ever so faintless in the dimness of the warehouse. His stupid hair was still in its perfect coif, and just seeing him made Yoongi boiling angry all over again.

“Have you ever heard of privacy?” he snipped.

And still Seokjin grinned at him. “Ah, I see,” he nodded. “Was your trailer not big enough? You’re so compact, though, Yoongi-ssi, surely you don’t need all this space to yourself.”

Yoongi bared his teeth and turned away. Seokjin laughed—not the bright, squeaky one but something lower, settled in his chest, which was worse.

It had been going on for weeks, seven out of the eight they had filmed so far. The constant teasing, the endless commentary, the jokes tossed around in the kitchen during their cooking challenges in some awful distraction tactic. And as if the underhanded ploys weren’t bad enough, even when he wasn’t making a misery of Yoongi’s challenge segments, he was swanning around with his perfect hair and his laughter and his immense natural talent. Kim Seokjin didn’t need to win on Bang Sihyuk’s show to prove he was the best; he did it without trying. He was certainly a hundred times better than Yoongi could ever hope to be—a better contestant and a better actor and most of all, a better cook.

Yoongi didn’t understand why Seokjin kept singling him out like this. The shoot today had been the worst—he’d been distracting and infuriating, non-stop in his needling and gloriously beautiful despite the annoyance, and Yoongi hadn’t been able to look away. He’d glimpsed all of two seconds of today’s footage, but it was all he needed to see to know he was staring like a fool while his steaks nearly burned.

“If you don’t mind,” he said, as cold and dripping as the eaves. “I would like to be alone.”

“Yoongi-yah,” said Seokjin. Yoongi prickled. Seokjin had offered familiarity back when they’d first met, before even the pre-shoot, and Yoongi had refused out of professional courtesy. Of course Seokjin didn’t harbor the same professionalism. “I really don’t understand why you don’t like me.”

Yoongi snorted. It echoed embarrassingly loudly in the hollow of the warehouse. Behind him came the sound of scuffling.

“You cooked well today,” Seokjin added, like some kind of concession, and that needled Yoongi enough to spin him around. And then he kept moving, kept pushing forward until he had Seokjin crowded against the cold warehouse wall.

“Don’t,” he hissed, finger prodding into Seokjin’s chest. “I don’t need your jokes and I don’t need your commentary and I certainly don’t need your platitudes.”

Seokjin’s eyes went wide, which was a novelty, and his mouth made a soft, shocked oh. Victory coursed through Yoongi almost as thick as his anger, to finally render him speechless.

“We all know you’re the best here,” he carried on. His finger was still fixed against Seokjin’s chest, and Seokjin could certainly have moved it aside—could have pushed Yoongi as easily as Yoongi had pushed him—but he stayed fixed in place, chest rising and falling. He was astoundingly warm in the seeping chill of the rainy day. “You could do these challenges with your eyes closed, and you can charm all the judges without batting an eyelash, and you look good doing it, and I know this must all be some kind of hilarious joke to you to be up against me of all people, but I would really, truly appreciate it if you would fucking stop.”

Yoongi stared at Seokjin, vibrating with fury, and Seokjin stared back at him. And then Seokjin’s mouth twitched with that familiar, breathtaking, infuriating smile.

“Stop what, Yoongi-ssi?” he said. “You’ll have to be more specific.”

“You—!” said Yoongi, and he grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him and then— and then—

And then, furious, Yoongi kissed him.

Seokjin made a noise against his mouth, some muffled yelp of shock. For a moment Yoongi contemplated that he might be punched, or fired, or both. And then the moment passed, and Seokjin, infuriating man, did something a hundred times more unexpected: Seokjin kissed him back. 

Kissed him like he wanted it, like he welcomed it. Like he hadn’t make Yoongi’s life a living hell for seven weeks of shooting and also three weeks of pre-shoots, like two and a half months ago he hadn’t walked into the room with his flawless face and broad shoulders and stupid sense of humor and turned Yoongi’s life upside down, the absolute asshole. He kissed Yoongi like he fucking meant it.

They pulled apart panting. Yoongi glowered at his mouth, slick and tilted up in the gloom. Satisfaction was an infuriating look on him. Yoongi wanted to see more of it.

“For what it’s worth,” Seokjin said, conversational, as though Yoongi’s tongue had not just been in his mouth, “I meant it. Your searing technique was impeccable and your plating was inspired. There’s no one I’d rather be up against.” He wiggled his eyebrows and looked at Yoongi, still holding him against the wall. “Pun intended.”

Yoongi stepped back. “You are the most infuriating man I’ve ever met.”

“Good,” declared Seokjin. “I’ve been trying to get your attention. I’m glad I managed it before the finale.”

“You— What?”

“I like you quite a lot,” Seokjin shrugged. “After this all wraps, would you like to get dinner sometime? Maybe even one someone else cooks?”

“But you’re the best chef out there,” Yoongi said dumbly, and Seokjin— Well, it was hard to tell, but to Yoongi it looked almost like he had blushed.

“Ah, Yoongi-chi, you drive a hard bargain. Alright. I’ll cook for you.”

“I,” said Yoongi. He ran his tongue over his teeth—which Seokjin had been licking, he was pretty sure, about thirty seconds ago. “You like me?”

“Is that so surprising?”

Alarmingly so, yes. Yoongi blinked at him, and blinked again. His phone dinged in his pocket—they were due back in hair and makeup by now, probably. He swallowed and took another step back. It was surprisingly difficult to put space between them.

“Alright,” he said after a moment. “Loser has to cook.” 

Seokjin grinned—big, broad, awful. Glorious. Yoongi narrowed his eyes—he wasn’t going to let that distract him. Not with dinner on the line. 

“Okay,” Seokjin agreed. “It’s a date.”

[soggykookiesandcream]

ʙᴀᴄᴋ ᴛᴏ ʏᴏᴜ​ - ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ xɪx

Third Person's POV

"Then you're gonna have to go through me," Taehyung's eyes glow a bright blue as the sky clouds with dark-bellied clouds and the thunder tears rain from the sky.

"You remember the hidden chamber I mentioned about this pyramid?" Taehyung asks his wife as prepares to leap at the other one.

"Y- Yeah," she replies.

"Can you go there by yourself?" He asks, eyebrows furrowed in anger, eyes glowing dangerously but voice soft, laced with love and concern.

"I'm not sure if I can find it," she says, her breathing heavy from worry for the events that would take place later. Taehyung nods softly and touches her arm, "I love you."

A sand brown cloud erupts engulfing her and taking her away. He turns his head around to the other Taehyung in the same stance; eyes glowing, levitating a little above the ground with a smirk he wishes he could wipe off his face. 

"You think teleporting her away is gonna keep her away from me?" The other asks with a chuckle.

"No," Taehyung replies, anger coursing through his veins, "But killing you will."

"Keep dreaming," The other one leaps forward at Taehyung pushing him backwards hitting the wall. He wraps his hand around Taehyung's neck and pins him to the wall. Taehyung kicks the imposter and he goes flying back crashing into the ground. Taehyung uses his powers to lift the pedestal at the centre.

The pedestal cracks at its base lifting off the ground as pieces of rocks fall down from it. Taehyung throws it at the imposter and crashes onto him breaking into pieces burying him underneath it. Taehyung pushes the pieces of rocks off him stands up. This time eyes glowing a dark shade of red.

"Your eye colours aren't going to scare me," Taehyung states while the other says nothing but rushes towards him full speed. Taehyung quickly moves out of the way and the other pauses. Taehyung launches a broken piece of the pedestal right at his face making him stumble down.

"ENOUGH!" The other one yells and punches Taehyung throwing him back. He pulls him back to himself with his powers and strangles him, "I've had enough. I'll have Yuna no matter what."

He slams Taehyung onto the floor, "Even if I have to kill everyone single person on this planet."

He lifts Taehyung by his neck and slams him back down, "You and your puny kids are no exception."

"My kids are not puny," Taehyung replies in anger as blood pounds in his ears as he kicks the imposter back with all of the might left in him, "You'll never have Yuna. Not as long as I'm alive."

Taehyung punches him and throws him onto the wall, "She's my wife!" Taehyung straddles the imposter repeating punches huffing and puffing, "The mother of my kids!"

He pulls him up by his collar, "Go back to your timeline. Yuna is dead because of you. You killed her. It's your fault. Suffer alone, don't drag others down with you!" He slams him back down and smashes his head with a rock. 

Taemin's POV 

I feel Yuki shivering in my arms and crying.

"It's okay, Yuki," I rub her arms, "Dad will save mom and come back home safe. You know he's strong, right?"

"I still don't feel right," Yuki whimpers, "We should be helping him. Hasn't he taught us that united we stand, divided we fall. Don't you think we'll make it easier for him?"

"No, Yuki," I shake my head, "We'll only make it harder for him if we end up injuring one of us. He can't protect us and fight at the same time."

"But dadda needs our help," Yoonjin whispers clinging onto my arm. I sigh and pat his back as Taeseok continues to pick out the seam from my jeans. 

"Taeseok, stop that. Will you?" He looks up at me with a scowl and moves to Yoonjin who happily lets him do whatever he wanted. When I say our entire family is whipped for Taeseok, I mean it. Everyone just lets him do whatever. I lean my head back on the headboard and close my eyes. What if dad needed our help? What if the imposter managed to defeat dad and took mom away?

I told you dadda needs our help. 

I sigh as I hear Yoonjin's voice in my head. Yoonjin could also manipulate others' thoughts and he hadn't told anyone other than me yet. 

We should go help him.

No, Yoonjin. Dad told us to stay home and we should listen to him.

But like you thought, what if he needs our help?

But...

Let's go help him. At least check on him and come back if he doesn't need help.

"Alright, everyone," I open my eyes with a sigh, "We're gonna go check on dad. Hold onto me, I'll teleport us all."

They all grin and hold onto my shirt as I breathe in and out, "I hope none of us dies."

A black cloud erupts swallowing us to the location we wanted to be at. 

"Um?" Yuki's confused voice is all I hear before opening my eyes and realising I teleported us to the wrong place.

"Where are we?" Yuki asks as Taeseok and Yoonjin hold onto her tightly. I look around and my face goes red when I notice I teleported to my crushes room after seeing his photo frame on the nightstand.

"Yeah? I'll go get it from my room mom," I hear his voice and panic.

"QUICK! TELEPORT US TO SOME OTHER HELL!" Yuki pulls at my sleeve yelling in a whisper.

"Fvck my teleportation powers. Why can't they work properly?" I curse under my breath and quickly grab them before randomly teleporting. 

"Seriously?" Yuki looks at me with unamused eyes. I sigh when I realise I teleported us to our school.

"Out of all the places? I didn't mean it literally when I said 'hell'," Yuki sasses, "Maybe we should just catch the next flight to Egypt and that'll be faster."

"I'm sorry, okay!" I yell in frustration. The school and his room were two of the places I teleported to most and it was a habit for me, "Just give me a moment here."

"K," I sigh, "Hold onto me."

"You better take us straight to dad," Yuki scoffs before grabbing my hand. 

"I'll try as hard as possible," I close my eyes and a black cloud engulfs us.

"What the fvck?"

1104 words

A/N- Taemin has a little crush :( <3

[btsmosphere]

When You Know | KSJ x MYG

~summary: Seokjin and Yoongi aren’t just neighbours. They are enemies. Well, either that or they were destined to be in each other’s arms, but Yoongi can’t see that happening (nor can his cat). Let their friends try all they want, but they’d have to weather storms together and stand back to back in battle before Yoongi would look twice at Jin... Jin x Yoongi ~word count: 3.3k ~enemies to lovers, soulmate au (you have the name of your enemy AND your soulmate tattooed, without knowing which is which), neighbour au, crack, humour, fluff, angst if you squint? Rating: pg13 Warnings: swearing, that’s it :) ~a/n: welcome to my first mxm fic! This is for a special occasion as it is the wonderful @eternalseokjin​‘s birthday!! To celebrate Dean’s birthday over at @thebtswritersclub​ we were sent a bingo card and a challenge to include everything on it in one fic. Our regular mxr content will resume soon, but this has been super fun to write, even if the outcome is -ahem- quite chaotic. So, enjoy, but don’t ask me what’s going on here. I don’t know, and the characters certainly don’t either...

At the end of the fic, I will include what was on my bingo square, in case anyone wants to know, and some basics about d&d for those who (like me a few weeks ago) know nothing about it, but I promise you don’t need to know this to read the fic!

“You’re not serious.”

“I am totally serious.”

Namjoon’s straight-faced response matched Yoongi’s exactly, leaving the two in a sort of staring contest. Seeing no change in the other, Namjoon cracked first, slumping back into the sofa with a sigh.

“Yoongi, come on. It’s not that big of a deal-“

“Why would I want to do it?” Yoongi grumbled.

“it’s just a bit of fun-“

“Then go and do it with Seokjin. I’m sure you’ll have a great time playing wizards, or whatever the fuck-“

“That’s the entire point!” Namjoon threw his hands up in frustration, “we will all be playing, you and Jin included, and we will have a great time.”

Yoongi wasn’t sure if he had ever been threatened with having fun before. Staring back at his friend, his expression remained guarded. Eventually, he sucked at his teeth, turning his eyes away from the younger man.

“Fine,” he bit out.

“Thank you,” Namjoon huffed, pushing on his knees to stand up, “we’ll start at 5 on Sunday, but I’ll get here earlier. Jin will bring food to make up for the trouble.”

Following Joon out to see him off, Yoongi’s brows furrowed.

“Wait- what trouble? And what do you mean you’ll get here-“

“You’ll be hosting. Okay, bye!”

The door was shut in his face before he could protest any further. Cursing Namjoon for knowing him so damn well, Yoongi stomped to the kitchen and soon began scrubbing the teacups to within an inch of their life.

He’d heard of dungeons and dragons before. Well, vaguely. It hadn’t occurred to him before to pay attention to Namjoon whenever he spoke about it, because surprisingly enough, he hadn’t expected his friend to suddenly whip it out as a method of forcing him and Seokjin – his mortal enemy – to bond.

The whole mortal enemy thing wasn’t even an exaggeration.

What else were you supposed to think when the new neighbour, whose name happens to be printed on your wrist, tries to turn your cat over to the authorities on their first day after it launched a ‘targeted attack’ on their pet sugar gliders.

Yoongi was yet to meet the mysterious V that graced his other wrist, but he knew for sure that Kim Seokjin was his enemy. He could not be soulmates with someone who thinks it’s okay to leave a pair of sugar gliders by an open window and not expect a cat to see them as a tasty meal.

When they had learned each other’s names, and of course connected them with their tattoos, an icy silence fell between the neighbours.

Every now and then, Yoongi would get a reminder of the fact his mortal enemy lived next door. Like this morning, when Seokjin’s wheely bin had blown over and spilled rubbish onto his lawn.

Yes, that man’s evil knew no limits.

And if Yoongi would have to endure his friends’ attempts at reconciling the two of them, in his own house, then he was sure of one thing. He was not going to eat Seokjin’s cooking. It was probably awful, anyway.

That Sunday, at precisely five minutes to five, Namjoon arrived. Yoongi’s eyes widened in alarm at the bulging folder held under his arm. He really had come prepared. Yoongi had barely spent twenty minutes scribbling down some things about his character. Well, except when he had to read all about the different class choices… and then when he needed to select the perfect traits… and picking his spells was quite tough too…

“Are you excited?” Namjoon grinned as he set his stuff down, but then he faltered, “…I did tell you Jin would bring food, didn’t I?”

“Can’t remember,” Yoongi muttered.

He slouched over to the sofa while Namjoon shrugged, grabbing a bite from the nearest bowl of snacks. The table was littered with them, and Yoongi would never admit just how early he had got up that morning to start cooking.

Jungkook turned up next, and of course the brat would instantly wolf down the tub of popcorn rather than the bites Yoongi had been slaving over.

Seokjin’s was the last knock on the door, and a timid one at that. Although it may have had something to do with the food his arms were laden with.

As Yoongi opened the door (Namjoon had shoved him towards it before anyone else had the chance to respond), he couldn’t help but feel the slightest bit guilty. It seemed his neighbour had worked just as hard as him on preparing it all.

But still, more of a grimace than a smile showed on his face.

“This way,” he spoke through gritted teeth.

His guilt was short-lived, irritation setting back in as Seokjin invited himself into the kitchen to put down his things. Jungkook bounded after him almost instantly, the pair’s loud greeting audible from the next room.

Turning away bitterly, Yoongi sat in the empty seat between Namjoon and Taehyung, determined to keep his distance from Seokjin.

In time, however, he came to regret this decision, if only because it put Seokjin in full view of the eyes Yoongi so desperately wanted to roll when he announced he wanted to attempt to charm his way to free dinner at the first inn they got to. His reason? His stupid elf claimed to be ‘worldwide handsome’.

The infuriating smirk on his face as he declared this (and then proceeded to pass his roll, because of course) left Yoongi with little doubt this arrogance was nothing but a projection.

After introducing themselves, Yoongi slumping back in his chair the whole time, he let the others take the lead as they set off to find monsters, or something. A pointed look from Namjoon prompted him to pay more attention.

In fairness, he had been a bit creeped out when Taehyung announced he had named his character ‘V’, but he tried his best to listen to the adventure as Namjoon described it. And so they went along, the supply of snacks steadily dwindling as they made their way through some ruins.

The scene was quite vivid, until-

“That’s cat food, Jungkook!”

“Urgh, gross,” Jimin groaned as Jin pried the bowl away from the sheepish-faced younger.

If it had been anyone else, Yoongi would have returned the fond-but-exasperated look they were all well practised in, given the nature of their younger friends. As it was, he ducked his head, scribbling nonsense on his notepad.

It would be a lie if Yoongi said he wasn’t quite proud of himself for solving a riddle to get them into the final room, and getting the final hit on the hellhound inside. And maybe, just maybe, he was a little excited for their next game.

Shutting the door at long last, Yoongi paused for a moment.

Screw Namjoon and his good ideas.

Clearing away the dishes, Yoongi couldn’t help a glance out the window to watch as Seokjin let himself in to his own place, his own stack of plates in his arms. Not that he would ever admit it, Yoongi hadn’t been able to resist just one bite…

Well, it turned into a lot more than that. Maybe Seokjin was a good cook after all.

But that was just one redeeming quality. Best not get ahead of himself.

Yoongi was in trouble.

It had only been a couple more weeks, but he knew that much. As they sat around his table, he caught himself laughing along to Jin’s jokes. And look, he was already calling him Jin! No, he had to stick to Seokjin, the evil neighbour, his enemy.

If he got fond, he would only be sorry later when Jin – Seokjin – did something to remind Yoongi of what a terrible person he was.

Shame all of this seemed to slip his mind the moment Jin came around again.

“The slope is steep, with rocks falling where you move your feet. You can still hear the song, though, and you are certain it’s coming from inside the dark opening you can see at the bottom of the path.”

“No. Absolutely not,” Yoongi was the first to speak.

“Are you kidding? We just spent like an hour trekking over here specifically because of that music,” Taehyung was next to chip in, jabbing his finger into the table.

“It wasn’t an hour,” Yoongi rolled his eyes, “Joon told us it was hour, it was what? One minute?”

A high pitched giggle from Jin was overtaken next by Jimin.

“No, I can feel the weariness in my bones! It won’t be complete until we hear the song!”

“We’ve been hearing it all this time! Aren’t you guys sick of it by now?” Jin retorted.

“No! Joon specifically said it’s the most beautiful music we’ve ever heard,” Tae insisted.

“I don’t give a shit if there’s a chorus of angels in there, my dexterity is not gonna let me get down that cliff,” Yoongi folded his arms to punctuate his argument.

“Ugh, fine, well I want to go down with V,” Jimin said.

The two factions that had emerged looked expectantly towards Namjoon.

“Okay, so V and Christian want to go down and Genie and Suga want to stay here. Anyone else?”

“Yeah, I’ll go down,” Kook shrugged.

All heads turned now to Hobi. Unease written all over his features, he glanced between the two groups.

“Come one, don’t be boring, hyung!” Jimin elbowed him.

“Yeah, come with us!” Kook bounced in his seat as Taehyung switched on the puppy eyes with a string of ‘pleeeease’s.

Cracking under the force of the youngers’ begging, Hoseok laughed and agreed.

Folding his arms, Yoongi leant back in his chair, more than ready to be a bystander to whatever the hell the others were about to get themselves into.

The others of course had an irritating success rate, somehow making it down the cliff without plummeting to their deaths. Not that Yoongi would ever wish death upon his own party members. Of course not.

It would have been funny, though.

Anyway, despite his aversion to following them, Yoongi admittedly was a little curious about the mysterious music they had followed here.

“Stepping inside the cave, the party hears the music louder than ever, ringing in their ears as it bounces off the rocks, making its source unclear. However, it doesn’t offend your ears. The cave extends further into the cliff, and you follow the sound further in. But as you take a step, a great groaning drowns out the music. Behind you, the mouth of the cave shifts, everything around you going black.

“Those of you at the top of the cliff stumble back from the edge as they see the path crumble away into the sea from the shaking of the earth.”

Namjoon sniggered softly at the silence that followed.

Staring at him with comically large eyes, Hobi and Tae looked terrified. As Yoongi watched, Tae slowly turned his head, a smirk turning the edges of his mouth underneath puppy eyes.

“Come rescue us?” he asked sheepishly.

Before Yoongi could respond, Jin was cutting him off.

“Well, that was a fun detour! Where was it we were heading again, Yoongi?”

Yoongi had been preparing to be mad at Seokjin, but his glare dissolved quickly into a snort.

“Yeah, that demon up the road needs seeing to,” he agreed, creating instant uproar from the others.

“You can’t leave us!”

“Justin’s scared of the dark!”

“Traitors!”

However, Jin’s squeaky laugh as he revelled in the others’ pain was all Yoongi could hear. Then Jin leaned closer.

It was all Yoongi could do not jump from his seat when Seokjin’s voice spoke in his ear.

“Shall we leave them?” he was barely containing his mirth.

Feeling rather like he was plotting a prank in the back of the classroom, Yoongi grinned and agreed with a nod. He didn’t quite trust his voice to function as Jin’s breath tickled his cheek.

“We’re leaving!” Jin declared, sitting back in his chair, satisfied.

Before any more chaos could erupt, Namjoon continued with a smirk.

“Okay, so Suga and Genie carry on their previous path, away from their friends and the cliff…”

This was officially getting out of hand.

First of all, Yoongi couldn’t believe how eagerly he was anticipating the weekend, when Seokjin and the others would come around.

Particularly worrying, however, was the way Yoongi had to restrain himself from going to see Jin before Sunday rolled around. It was as if that writing on his wrist was staring at him. The more he tried to look away, the later he would find himself sat up at night, glancing between his wrists and what was written there.

Surely, if Kim Seokjin was his enemy, he wouldn’t be dying to ask how he makes his ramen taste so good. Or how his day was, or any trivial thing, just to be able to have Jin’s eyes on him and his voice in his ears.

Second of all, he had no idea how their campaign had devolved into such utter chaos.

Since the party split, the others made friends with the sirens they found in the cave, and ended up at a drinking party with some demons while Yoongi and Jin were nearly killed by one some miles away on the surface. The demons had apparently taken a particular shining to V, as a tiefling, which resulted in the group they abandoned somehow siding with the very demons they were trying to kill at the start.

Last Sunday had seen Yoongi and Jin going out of their way to find random things to beat to death in the forest, trying to get as many points as possible to face off against four members and goodness knows how many demons.

Yes, this had got rather out of hand.

Two old foes stand face to face on a precipice. Around them, fire blazes. This battle has ravaged the very land they stand upon, whipped the air into a frenzy.

Admittedly, they can barely remember what started this feud. Rumour has it these two great powers were friends, once. If that was so, it was a long time ago.

V stands, battle-worn, waiting for his adversary to make a move.

Suga looks at the body of his fallen companion.

“I’ve only got one spell slot left.”

“Use it,” a whisper returned.

“Aren’t you dead?! Stop talking to each other!” Jimin exclaimed, finger pointing accusingly towards Jin.

“Okay,” Yoongi cut in before they could start arguing, “if this hits, I can take him down. But there’s a fat chance of that, with his AC…“

Trepidation filled him as he looked across the table to Taehyung, a small but unmistakeably victorious smile already on his lips.

A dry chuckle came from one side.

“It’s been a good run,” Jin clapped him on the shoulder.

“Are you accepting defeat?” Joon prompted.

“No…” a hand ran down Yoongi’s face, “I’ll give it a go…”

“There’s no way! If you succeed…” Jin laughed, “if you succeed, I’ll kiss you.”

A quiet round of laughter went around the others, too focussed on the dice in Yoongi’s hand to pay it any mind. But Yoongi could no longer concentrate on that. What did Jin just say?

He couldn’t mean that.

There was no way he would kiss Yoongi. Was there?

All he could hear was the slow drumming of his heart rushing in his ears. The breath caught in his throat as he reminded himself to raise his hand, dice cupped inside.

It wasn’t just the defeat of V he hoped for as it rolled off his fingers, dropping onto the tabletop.

The faces flipped over, every eye trained on it. Around the table, there was no sound. Even Jungkook had stopped munching his popcorn, mouth hanging open.

Round, round, round…

Yoongi caught a glimpse of 20, the magic number, right within reach.

A small thud, the dice settling. A number glared up at him.

3.

All the air left his lungs, deflating as he stared at the number. For a second, the table remained silent as everyone came to terms with the roll, the only sound the tapping of his cat’s paws-

Wait.

When Yoongi turned to find his cat leaping onto the table, it was already to late to grab her as she dashed across the surface. As she went, her paws caught a bowl of snacks, Joon’s notepaper, the dice. Hobi exclaimed with shock, several yells going up as everyone snatched their own stuff out of her way. Jungkook had dived after the snacks.

“Hey!” Yoongi shooed her as he stood up, watching her dart out into the hall.

“Oh my god…”

The small mutter from Jimin caught his attention. Looking around, Yoongi found him staring at the table and followed his gaze to the crime scene. In the centre of which, the dice still lay.

But now, a different number was displayed.

Yoongi’s jaw dropped. It was 20.

“That’s not fair!” Taehyung cried.

“Shush Tae, Jin has to do what he promised,” Hoseok teased, nudging a very red-eared Jin.

“Yah! Hey, I-I, that’s-” Jin spluttered, mouth seemingly fixed open as his cheeks warmed, growing defensive.

As Yoongi watched, Jin only stuttered more under the teasing cries erupting from the other boys as they egged him on with an array of ‘go on’s and ‘you said you would!’

“I-I-“ his eyes flickered over to Yoongi’s.

And despite the jeering and laughter in the background, neither of them looked away. Jin’s lips remained parted, ears pink with embarrassment, protests lodged in his throat.

Yoongi stepped forwards and kissed him.

The distance between them closed in the blink of an eye, Yoongi’s hand flying to Jin’s jaw as he pulled him in, turning his back to the gasps and cheers of their friends.

But they didn’t hear it. Not when their lips were pressed together like this, lighting fireworks in Yoongi’s stomach until he felt like sparks might fly out of his fingertips, the ones he was trailing down Jin’s neck, the ones pulling at the small of his back to bring him closer.

The others had gone quiet.

By the time he groggily pulled away, Yoongi seemed to have forgotten what the world looked like. Were his feet even on the ground?

In what was probably a mirror image of his own face, Jin stared back at him, eyes wide and those perfect lips round with shock. Jin’s fingers trembled as he brought them to his mouth.

“Holy fuck.”

“U-uh, guys,” a small voice from behind them did little to snap them from their trance.

“That was-“ Yoongi breathed, words escaping him.

“It’s you, you idiot!” a grin broke onto Jin’s face.

A laugh left Yoongi’s throat, taking him by surprise.

“It- really?”

“Did you not feel that too?”

Eyes still not leaving the beautiful man in front of him, Yoongi realised. Jin was completely right. Everyone had always told him how it would feel, when he kissed his soulmate. Like butterflies, or a flame, or like the world turned golden.

But through all the different feelings people described, there was one common thread. When you know, you know.

“You’re my soulmate.”

It wasn’t something he had to question, the words leaving him as easily as air.

“You’re my soulmate!”

And then he was wrapped up in Jin’s arms, his lips captured once again, euphoric feeling surging through his body once more.

“Come on, guys…” Namjoon’s groans were completely ignored.

Taehyung was still a bit put out that V had been slain at the last hurdle, but it hardly seemed fitting to be angry about it anymore, what with his two friends falling in love in front of him.

Everyone left together after the revelation, and pretty swiftly at that, deciding to leave them to it. And for once, Jin wouldn’t be leaving with them, even if he would only be one house away.

Smile never once leaving his face, Jin turned to Yoongi after shutting the door.

“So, what are we going to do about my sugar gliders?”

Thanks everyone for reading!! Reblog if you liked it xx

Taglist: @aianloveseven​ @preciouschimine​ @kb-bangtanenthusiast​

Okay, for anyone interested, my bingo card contained: dungeons & dragons, neighbours, enemies to lovers, namjoon, yoonjin, cats, fluff, music, soulmates And here are some dnd basics for those who want them: you have a dungeon master or dm (Namjoon here) who tells a story. The others play as a character and choose what they want to do in the given situation. There are scores that dictate how good your character is at certain traits, and you roll the dice to see whether you succeed in your choices. That’s really all you need to know for the purposes of this fic, but you can ask me any questions too!

Lastly, I have to give another HUGE happy birthday to the amazing writer and friend and person @eternalseokjin​!! I hope you have the best day, you really deserve it! I’m so glad to have met you and of course played dnd together in the net! Lots of love xx

[ugh-yoongi]

✨🥕🎉🛳 whichever ones aren't already sitting in your inbox :)

hi b! none of these were, so thank you for asking~

✨What's one area of your writing that you think needs the least amount of improvement?

hm. i think the angst is covered. also the crack/humor. if i am confident in anything it’s the ability to make you sad or make you laugh and occasionally both.

🥕 What's one area of your writing that you think needs the most amount of improvement?

smut, for sure! also making things more flowery? i worry sometimes my writing is too straightforward. i don’t really have those pretty looping similes and metaphors other writers have that i’m always in awe of. also just… branching out. other aus/tropes/genres.

🥳 How are you going to celebrate when you achieve one of your writing goals?

ooh, i’m not sure! probably ask the discord server to reward me w seokjin gifs. i am easy to please. :’)

🛳 Are there any new ships you want to write for? (Platonic, romantic, or anything in between.)

ooh, new ships. i feel like i’ve written so many already! kind of shocking though that i, number one yoonjin stan, have not used them as a side ship in any fic. so that’s my answer and a new writing goal for 2023.

[wxundedwings]

nick names

yoongi: no! seokjin and i don't call each other couple names

namjoon: alright. what do bees make?

yoongi: honey

seokjin: yes?

[kuuipobangtan]

Can BTS do another zombie run? I would pay good money to see this chaotic mess happen again