summary: In the summer of 1985, Steve Harrington is stuck working at Scoops Ahoy, juggling melting ice cream, teasing coworkers, and bruised pride at Starcourt Mall. Everything shifts when he realizes the new aerobics instructor across the way is impossible to ignore.
It was the summer of 1985. “Everybody Wants to Rule the World” by Tears for Fears played softly in the background, and Starcourt Mall shone like the newest jewel in Hawkins.
The air conditioning blasting at full power made the unbearable Indiana heat easier to tolerate. The polished floors squeaked under the sneakers of teenagers flooding the mall, neon lights from the storefronts made everything feel electric, and the constant smell of sweet pretzels and freshly scooped ice cream clung to the skin whether you wanted it to or not.
“Enjoy your ice cream,” Steve repeated for what felt like the thousandth time that week, flashing a smile so forced it cost him the tip from a cute girl—and any chance of getting her number.
For him, working at Scoops Ahoy was a strange mix of social humiliation and resignation: the ridiculous uniform, the sailor hat that made every girl who walked in look at him like he was a joke, and the occasional teasing from former classmates—along with Robin’s relentless commentary on how pathetic his flirting attempts were.
“Why the hell is it so crowded today?” Robin complained, dropping her head onto the counter. “I’ve rung up over a hundred sprinkle cones since our shift started.”
“The pool’s closed today,” Steve explained flatly, eyes fixed on the door as if silently begging no one else to come in.
“That explains a lot,” Robin said, her voice drowned out by the laughter of a group of women walking into the shop.
Steve recognized them immediately and knew that if there was a god, he was absolutely laughing at him right now.
“Mrs. Smith, it’s so nice to see you,” he said, putting on the best good-boy smile he had.
“Oh, Stevie—” Robin choked on her laughter, covering it with an exaggerated cough that made Steve glare at her.
Mrs. Smith was his mother’s friend; they’d been in the same book club for as long as he could remember—which meant she’d spent plenty of afternoons sitting in his living room, wine glass in hand, not a book in sight.
“We just wanted to say hello,” she explained, her companions nodding along. They were all dressed in outrageously colored tights, leg warmers, and headbands, making Steve suppress a look of confusion and mild horror. “Your mother told us you work here, so we had to come see you.”
Steve laughed awkwardly and scratched the back of his neck.
“Well, we’ll be going,” Mrs. Smith said, dropping a twenty into the tip jar before smiling her way out with the others. “If you see your mother, tell her not to be late. Class starts in fifteen minutes.”
Robin’s laughter broke the brief silence that followed. Steve could only nod, unsure what to say—he had no idea what class they were talking about, or why anyone would willingly dress like that in public. Which, admittedly, was ironic considering what he was wearing.
“Your mommy’s friends came to check on you, Stevie?” Robin teased, far too pleased with herself.
“Shut up.”
That only made Robin laugh louder.
“Why the hell would my mom be here?” Steve muttered, ignoring Robin as he stepped out from behind the counter and walked toward the door.
When he peeked outside, like it was fate playing a cruel joke, he saw his mother walking toward him—dressed exactly like Mrs. Smith and the rest of her friends.
“Mom?” he asked, visibly confused.
“Steve!” Mrs. Harrington said brightly, arms full of shopping bags, which she immediately handed to him. “Perfect timing. Take these home for me. I’ve got my aerobics class.”
…What?
Robin followed him out, taking advantage of the lack of customers, and found Steve standing there, arms full of bags, watching his mother walk away with a deep frown.
Confused and curious, they followed her—and when they saw where she went, everything clicked: a brightly lit aerobics studio that caught the attention of everyone passing by.
The town’s mothers were already there, wearing shiny leotards and headbands, ready to sweat and gossip. But they weren’t the ones drawing the attention of the teenage boys conveniently seated near the large glass window—certainly not Steve’s, who felt like the ground shifted beneath him.
It was you.
The instructor.
Steve’s former classmate, once the star cheerleader, with a confident smile and perfect posture that had never captivated him—until now. You were exactly the kind of girl mothers adored: future sorority president at some outrageously expensive college your family could easily afford, future perfect wife to some rich finance guy, future queen of something—what, didn’t really matter.
Steve completely forgot he was supposed to be working. Your high, perfectly styled hair made you impossible to ignore, and the precise way you moved toward the group only drew more attention to your outfit—something straight out of Cosmopolitan: a tight gray cotton sports top that left your stomach bare, unapologetic, layered beneath a navy blue leotard with wide straps that hugged your body with near-military precision. The high-cut hips made your legs look endlessly long.
And those legs, covered in taut gray tights that hid absolutely nothing, completely short-circuited Steve’s brain.
“Hey!” Robin’s voice and a sharp shove to his shoulder snapped him back to reality.
“We have work. Stop drooling.”
Steve walked back to Scoops Ahoy as if nothing had happened, though his mind was still glued to the other side of the glass. The sailor hat suddenly itched, and the uniform felt ridiculously childish compared to… well, that.
“I’m putting a mirror on the counter,” Robin said as she went back to work. “That way you can drool over yourself instead of your mom’s aerobics instructor.”
“I wasn’t drooling,” Steve muttered, dropping his mom’s bags behind the counter and scooping ice cream with unnecessary force.
“Steve,” Robin said, rolling her eyes, “you were three seconds away from face-planting into the glass like a kid at a toy store.”
He didn’t answer. His traitorous eyes drifted to the clock. Time crawled by cruelly, like it knew exactly how to torture him. Outside, the music still filtered in—muted, but steady, like a heartbeat.
Reflected in the metal counter, Steve saw you again.
You moved with absolute confidence, counting steps, clapping sharply to set the rhythm. The mothers followed you with varying degrees of grace, including Mrs. Harrington, who was far too focused on not tripping to notice her son standing just feet away, questioning every life choice he’d ever made.
“I can’t believe my mom does this,” Steve whispered.
“Aerobics?” Robin said, nudging him aside to serve ice cream herself. “Trust me, that’s the least traumatic thing moms do when they think no one’s watching.”
Steve laughed softly, nervous and distracted, glancing at the clock again. Five twelve. His shift ended at six, and if he played his cards right, he could casually wait outside the studio when class ended—maybe talk to you, or at least see you up close.
And then it happened.
Mid-turn, mid-count, your eyes flicked to the side for just a second. The glass reflected lights, movement, people passing—but still, you saw him. The boy in the blue-and-white uniform pretending to be very busy serving ice cream.
Steve felt the hit straight to his chest and would’ve smiled like a lovesick schoolgirl if Robin hadn’t noticed and started laughing, pointing at him.
He immediately looked away, clearing his throat, fixing a cone that didn’t need fixing, yanking off the stupid sailor hat and tossing it at Robin just to make her stop.
“Oh, she saw you,” Robin whispered, amused. “She definitely caught you staring like a weirdo.”
“Shut up,” Steve said, though this time without much conviction, unconsciously fixing his hair.
“She saw you, Steve. And she didn’t make the ‘wow, the former popular guy now sells ice cream’ face. That’s a good sign.”
He swallowed.
“So what am I supposed to do with that?”
Robin shrugged.
“No idea, Harrington. You’re the expert with girls—not me.”
The studio kept pulsing with music, Steve’s eyes locked on the fogging glass. Boys stopped pretending to check their watches just to look at you, which made perfect sense to him.
[…]
At six o’clock sharp, Steve nearly sighed with relief, tossing the cleaning rag aside.
“Free,” he breathed, like he’d just run a marathon.
Robin watched him from the counter, that familiar knowing smile on her face.
“You leaving, or are you gonna spend another fifteen minutes pretending to clean just to see her again?”
Steve rolled his eyes, grabbing his mom’s bags.
“My shift’s over. No need to pretend when I can go do it directly,” he said smugly, already walking off with the plan he’d been building for the past hour.
He left Scoops Ahoy before Robin could add anything else, running a hand through his hair—messy enough to look effortless, neat enough to look intentional.
Hair mattered. A lot
He leaned against the wall outside the studio, holding his mom’s bags like he’d been there all along.
The music slowed. The mothers stretched, laughing, panting. You moved among them, correcting posture, lowering a shoulder here, adjusting a hip there, always patient.
Steve waited.
Not because he’d planned it meticulously—admitting that would mean admitting he cared too much—but he stayed, pretending to read a crooked electronics ad. The sailor hat was gone, but the uniform wasn’t.
He’d have to make it work.
The music stopped. The glass door opened. Mothers poured out, sweaty and cheerful.
Steve spotted his mom immediately, laughing with Mrs. Smith.
“See you at home, sweetheart,” she said, kissing his cheek and snatching the bags away. “Don’t be late.”
And just like that, she was gone.
Steve swallowed, resisting the urge to scream—his devoted-son act had completely fallen apart.
Then you stepped out.
Gym bag on your shoulder, water bottle in hand. Your hair was less styled now, damp strands clinging to your skin, making you dangerously attractive. Less poster, more real. More… sexy.
Steve straightened.
Now or never.
“Great workout,” he said smoothly, hands in his pockets, pushing off the wall.
You turned, surprised, then smiled when you recognized him.
“Thanks,” you said, brushing your hair back, eyes flicking over him. “Survive your shift?”
“Barely,” he smiled. “You’d be shocked how many sprinkles people ask for.”
You laughed—short, genuine—and Steve knew he’d passed the first test.
Everyone knew: make a girl laugh, and your chances skyrocket.
“I didn’t know you taught here,” he said, running a hand through his hair. “I mean, I knew you were a cheerleader, a great dancer and all—but this is different.”
“It is,” you nodded. “I like it. It’s temporary, but I really like it.”
“Temporary?” he asked.
“Yeah,” you laughed, adjusting your bag. “Just something to keep me busy over the summer.”
Steve nodded.
“I don’t think the studio’s gonna want to lose its best instructor once summer’s over.”
“Best instructor?” you raised an eyebrow, sipping your water. “That sounds dangerously like a compliment.”
He smiled, leaning into his well-practiced charm.
“It is.”
Your cheeks flushed, a soft giggle slipping out.
The silence that followed wasn’t awkward—just charged.
Steve noticed.
And used it.
“My mom adores you,” he added casually, though it was a calculated move. “She hasn’t stopped talking about the class.”
“Really?” you asked, surprised and proud.
“I swear,” he laughed. “She keeps mentioning the beautiful instructor—and now I get why.”
Your heart raced. You looked down, escaping his brown eyes. Steve Harrington was good at this. He knew it.
“Stop,” you said, embarrassed.
You walked toward the exit, Steve falling into step beside you, careful not to crowd your space. Neon lights reflected off the glass, bathing everything in pinks and blues.
“So,” you said, breaking the silence. “You working Scoops Ahoy all summer?”
“That’s the plan,” he chuckled. “Ice cream, ridiculous hat, sailor suit.”
“The hat’s mandatory?” you asked, biting your lip to keep from laughing.
“Unfortunately,” he sighed. “Part of the punishment.”
“Well, if it helps… you look pretty good in it.”
Steve knew then—he had a shot.
Outside, the heat lingered as the sky turned orange.
He stopped.
This was it.
“Hey…” he started, scratching his neck. “This might sound abrupt, but… would you go out with me Saturday?”
“What?” you asked, making sure you’d heard right.
“Saturday,” he repeated, more confident now. “No uniform, no hat. Just you and me.”
You raised an eyebrow, smiling.
“Is that a formal invitation, Harrington?”
“As formal as I get,” he grinned.
You laughed.
“So what does one do on a Saturday with Steve Harrington?”
“Depends,” he shrugged, pretending nonchalance while his eyes gave him away. “But it definitely starts with me picking you up for dinner. Maybe a walk through Starcourt when it’s quieter.”
You bit your lip, dramatic on purpose. Steve noticed—and forced himself not to grin too soon.
“Alright,” you finally said. “Saturday sounds good.”
Steve felt something like victory.
“Great,” he nodded once you reached your car. “Six thirty.”
“That early?” you asked.
“Well…” he sighed, leaning against your car. “I’ve got lost time to make up for—not talking to you in high school.”
Your cheeks burned again.
“So it’s a date.”
“It’s a date.”
The silence after was soft. Promising.
“See you Saturday,” you said, getting into your car.
Steve stepped back, smiling—waiting until you drove off before sprinting to his own car like a kid who’d just gotten a brand-new toy.
synopsis: the two biggest artists in the world have been compared to each other ever since childhood. what's the worst that can happen between friendly rivals who get a little too tipsy after a big award night?
tags: bad!era mike, black reader, childhood acquaintances to lovers, conflicted feelings & yearning, lighthearted rivals, alcohol use, making out, smut, switch!michael, oral (f), fingering, creampie, slight breeding kink(?)
wc: 5.1k
based on the song damned by miguel + michael’s ama 1989 look
notes: hii first full length fic for michael!! i saw too many edits of him to this song and it just sparked this… hope you guys enjoy! this was proofread but if there’s grammatical errors, i apologize!
California, 1970s.
Michael was high on the success of his first solo album and the breakthrough he was making on his own. He had plans for his visuals and short films, eager to share with the world his creative vision.
Around this time you had begun to find your own footing in the industry as a soloist, your path following similar to Michael's. You grew up as a Motown artist alongside your two older sisters, your trio becoming a household name by the time you were seven. You were two years younger than Michael but the comparisons were strong. Both very young leads of your respective groups with voices of gold.
Once you were in your mid teens, you couldn't escape the comparisons and you and your sisters were forced to do appearances alongside Michael and his brothers. You were fifteen and growing irritable with the need to group you with the fellow child star. You personally liked Michael and his gentle personality, but hated when others compared your talents.
Off The Wall came out months after your solo album had broken endless records, with Michael catching up closely to you.
"Ah! I congratulated her on the success of her album!" He quipped to an interviewer for one of the very few press releases he agreed to. "She's been a dear friend of mine ever since childhood. Our musical paths tend to align so I'm always looking forward to what's next for her."
Your careers were an endless cycle of comparison, lasting all the way until the moment Michael broke through with Thriller. A part of you felt slight resentment towards him for being the first black artist to truly crossover internationally. You followed shortly after, however you didn't sell as much as Thriller had. You were always in Michael's shadow to some extent, the second most selling album of time title haunting you as every interviewer asked the million dollar question—how did it feel being second best to Michael?
It felt like a punch in the gut to your artistry, though you never despised Michael himself for it. Not when a part of your heart was reserved for him, something he could never know.
AMA '89 night
A decade after your solo breakthrough, you appear on the American Music Awards red carpet, smiling brightly as you wave and pose for the blinding flare of cameras.
"This way darling!" The paparazzi call out, wanting the best shots of your frame fitting champagne colored dress. It shimmered under the lighting, pairing well against your skin tone.
You finish up your shots, blowing a kiss towards the press, and are led off the carpet by your personal assistant Lia, who rambles about all the stars you have to be seen with that night.
"As always, the press wants to see the King and Queen of pop together. Make sure to spend some time with Michael at any point tonight." You knew this was coming. You couldn't ever escape Michael if you were at the same event. Your stomach twists at the thought of him, as you zone out on Lia's words the moment she brought him up.
"Hey, did you hear a word I just said?" She says your name with a ounce of irritation and you glance at her with a sheepish smile.
"Nope. Something about formalities with other stars, especially Michael." She nods at you while guiding you towards your table for the ceremony.
"Alright well, at least you caught the most important part. I believe he should be seated somewhere near you so it'll be easy to just give him a quick hug, smile, kiss on the cheek like you always do and keep pushing." Her afro bounces as she whips her head around, searching for your table as you stop occasionally, greeting your fellow peers.
"Yes, that'll be easy." You speak through gritted teeth, finally continuing your conversation after cutting through the crowd.
"I know how much you despise him-"
"But I don't." You toss a glance her way as you sit down at your spot, a large ‘32’ on the table signifying the assigned table.
She sighs and nods unconvincingly. "Sure. Anyways, he's at table 35 I heard. Make yourself known at some point with him. I want it to be front page news tomorrow." She points a warning finger at you as your raise your hands in defense, laughing at her.
"You're the boss!" She smiles at you before disappearing off to another table. You're joined by a few familiar faces, grinning as you hug your close friend, Whitney.
"So glad you're here with me, dear. If I have to sit near another one of these rock bands I'm gonna lose it." She whispers as you hug, making your body shake with laughter.
You sit through the award show casually sipping on your cocktail, smiling when the camera panned to you, and getting up to hug Whitney each time she had won.
You held your breath as the winner for Favorite Pop/Rock Male Artist was about to be announced, a category Michael was nominated for.
When George Michael's name was called, you couldn't help and look towards Michael, his face adorning a smile as he clapped. Your heart nearly fell to your stomach when his eyes shift over towards you, two tables over. You look away, attempting to avoid his burning gaze.
You were called onto the AMA stage five times that night, sweeping every category you were nominated in. As you give your fifth speech of the night, your eyes land on Michael who stared in adoration, his eyes nearly sparkling like your dress.
You hate how a simple glance makes your stomach do flips, nearly throwing off your speech midway. You step off stage with a grin, and are met with a choir of congratulations as you return to your seat. A brief commercial break ensues, giving you a moment to recompose yourself before the cameras flared back up.
That moment is quickly ruined when you feel a hand brush against your shoulder. Turning, you see Michael looking down at you, his infectious smile crossing his face. He leans down, bringing his lips close to your ear to speak.
"Thought I'd come by and congratulate you." He pulls back enough to see your face as your eyebrow quirks up. You recognize the flashing appearing around you as the press snapped photos of their two biggest stars interacting. You ignore it, reaching for Michael so his ear is near your mouth, mimicking his actions moments ago.
"You can never let me approach you first can you? Always gotta one up me." You tease with a playful smirk forming on your lips. He chuckles and lowers once more, his breath fanning against your ear and neck.
"Seems only right considering you're the big winner tonight. Good sportsmanship is important to me." He stays close this time, watching you carefully. The venue was booming, the chatter of the crowd ringing in your ears— yet the pound of your heart seemed to overpower it all.
Your musical rivalry was more on the playful, almost flirtatious, side of things. You know Michael is a Virgo perfectionist and your ego and passion for greatness are two forces that clashed, and yet the two of you remained friends regardless.
"Thank you for the congratulations, Michael. I hope to see you on that stage tonight too." You spoke directly to him this time, his eyes filtering across your face. His large palm squeezes your knee as a thanks, goosebumps forming from his touch. He gets up just as the cue that commercial break was over began. You watch him with precision, catching the way he looks your way once more after sitting down, not expecting to see you already looking. A faint smirk crosses his faces before he looks down and you turn back towards the stage with a slow sip of your drink.
When he accepts his Lifetime Achievement award later that evening, you stand as you clap to show your support. His eyes cut across the crowd while he speaks, addressing the whole room with his gratitude, yet you make eye contact multiple times throughout his speech. He has to be messing with you…
The awards wrap shortly after Michael's award and you catch Lia approaching you mid conversation with Lionel Richie. She waits patiently beside you to finish your conversation, instantly grabbing your hand after you hug him.
"Alright now Mrs. social butterfly," You scoff at her remark. "We have an after party to attend! We're heading back to the hotel to change and arrive fashionably late. You'll be the talk of the night!" Lia smiles brightly at you, guiding you through the crowd towards your valet.
"I'm not showing up in this dress?" You questioned, waving at the cameras trying to capture a good shot of you.
"Girl, no. That's the point of afterparties, to come in a second show stopping outfit! For the Queen of Pop, you have to give them your absolute best." Your security secures you and opens the door of your car for you as you and Lia slide in.
"Is Michael already there?" You tilt your head. She looks away momentarily before holding your gaze once more, a hint of timidity behind it.
"No."
You groan knowing he's going to show up around the same time as you. Your spotlight will be stolen and grouped with your counterpart—once again.
"Great."
"Look right here, gorgeous!"
The paparazzi was starving— famished even, when you step out of your car, thanking your security as he holds out a hand for you to take.
You left behind the tight, floor length, sparkling champagne dress and opted for a shorter cut backless dress. There were gold chains connecting along the open back of the bright red number, making you feel oh so sexy.
Smiling, you walk into the afterparty feeling victorious. You managed to evade a clash with Michael, earning your own entrance.
You take in the glamor of the nightclub that's decorated beautifully for the musicians, before you hear Whitney's voice behind you. Your stomach does a flip when you see her with her arm looped over Michael's shoulder, grinning widely at you. Michael's gaze feels heavy, giving you a once over while bitting his bottom lip. You feel ill every time you see him do it, not realizing how attractive he looks.
"Hey girl! Glad you could finally join us, we gotta get you caught up!" Whitney removes her hold on Michael and decides to latch onto you now, steering you towards a more private section. "C'mon now, Michael!"
You feel warm knowing he's getting a full view of your back and you risk a glance behind you. His eyes are locked onto the small of your back so intensely he doesn't notice you've caught him until the last second, his eyes traveling up to yours before quickly looking away in embarrassment.
The smug look on your face remains throughout the night, knowing each time you glanced Michael's direction, he was already staring or acting as if he wasn't a second ago. Your prestigious group took shots and passed a bottle of champagne back and forth throughout the night, while also getting up to dance and socialize with other celebrities.
You can feel the alcohol in your system, not quite drunk but definitely tipsy, when you came back to your private section, sashaying your hips past Michael. His hand reaches for your wrist, grabbing your attention. You turn to him, the low crease of his eyelids showing he was intoxicated. He says something you can't catch under the pound of the music and lean down to his earlobe.
"What was that?" He pulls you closer to him, his hand moving to your waist, making you fight off a shiver.
"Come dance with me!" He looks at you excitedly, chewing his gum with a delectable grin.
"C'mon, ain't no press in here girl."
His words are enough to get you onto the lower floor, moving your body along to 'It Takes Two', Michael moving alongside you rhythmically. You enjoy seeing Michael dance so casually, different from the calculated, perfected routines he did on stage.
His hands find a hold on your waist, gripping you tightly while your arms link around his neck. The heat between the two of you begins to feel noticeable, as if it was tangible. Something a tension that only two decades of yearning can create.
You rock your hips, the feeling of Michael's proximity and the buzz tingling through your body from the music and alcohol, gives you the courage to gaze up into his already dark state. The quiet, reserved Michael you tend to know wasn't the same man standing before you with a fire lit behind his irises. Your lips part in a genuine display of shock, admiring the way he's making you feel seen by him, finally.
You detach from his hold slightly to turn your back to him, stepping close to him as you sway your hips seductively. You don't get the chance to see the way his bottom lip gets sucked between his teeth, nor the faint sound that leaves his lips upon feeling you press against him.
His hands find a place low on your hips as you practically throw your ass back on him, your back flush against his chest.
"I got an image to uphold, dear. You keep that up and we're gonna be front page news." He spoke lowly in your ear, his soft tone earning a sly grin from you as you turn back to face him. You grip the side of his face, bringing him towards his ear to speak freely.
"We're front page news either way. Let's give them something good."
Your playful comment has him dragging you towards the door, making a pit stop at the phone to call your security detail.
"Hey, Sam it's me. Send my car back to the hotel."
You expect the shutter of the cameras when the two of you rush out of the dark nightclub, shouts and hollers from the media trying to gather either of yours attention.
"Michael! Our king and queen! Over here!"
He holds the door open to his car, ushering you inside before following right behind, slamming the door. You're both in a fit of giggles as the driver asks Michael where to. He composes himself enough to direct him back to his hotel before the divider slides shut with a mechanical whir.
"For someone so particular about his image, you seemed to let go just for a second there." You tilt your head at him, catching the shy Michael start to creep back in when his eyes drop to his lap briefly.
"Yeah… That's what a bit of a buzz and twenty years of-" He cuts himself off, eyes going wide. You glance at him confused, catching a battle wage across his features.
"Mikey, what's wrong? Twenty years of…?" You question using his nickname reserved just for you, one you called him when you were younger.
His big brown eyes meet yours anxiously, a shy grin spreading. "It's what twenty years of being in love with you will do." He finishes faintly, his eyes struggling to keep contact with your own shocked, bright ones. If you were anyone else, his aviators would have been on, unable to fully get a glimpse of his vulnerability.
"We're so incredibly stupid," You huff a laugh, shaking your head in disbelief. You thought about how the feelings you harbored for years that were disguised as mutual respect, or sometimes resentment, were a way to keep yourself guarded. "I've been ignoring how I feel for you since I was fourteen, Mikey."
His eyes nearly pop out of his head at your revelation, his hands flying to your knees that are turned towards him.
"You're not fooling with me are you?" He speaks your name with such delicacy it makes you feel lightheaded. You shake your head, planting your hands on top of his.
"I could never. I don't think…anyone else could understand me in the way you always have." You nearly knock the wind out of Michael's lungs, as his grin grows wider.
"I've…I've always felt the same way," He flips his hands to squeeze your own. "You have no idea how many songs of mine you've helped produce." His voice drops in the slightest, illuminating the underlying meaning in his words. You feel a fire ignite in your belly, taking a hand and dragging it up to his chest to spur a reaction.
"Oh yeah? Which ones?"
"That's a secret." His voice came out soft as he spoke, his bright, toothy smile making you reflect back at him in the same way with an airy laugh. "May I… kiss you?" He asked gently, cupping your face with his large palm. His gaze is pure adoration, fixating on your plump lips before connecting back at eyes.
You answer him simply by closing the distance, your lips connecting like the final pieces of a puzzle. You sigh against his lips, pure bliss filling your senses as he grips your waist, moving his lips gently with yours. When he pulls away to watch your face, he hovers close enough to feel your breaths puff across his face.
"The Lady in my Life." He says, looking into your eyes with a careful glint.
"What… What about it?" You nearly whisper, toying a finger into his jheri curl.
"I wrote that for you. The Lady in my Life will always be you."
You don't give him a second to think before you're crashing your lips into his, full of passion and desire this time. He lets out a muffled noise, finally moving along with you. Staying connected, you climb into his lap, settling perfectly there. He already is half-hard, stirring a whine from you as you grind your hips down into him, his own grip gliding you against him.
You seperate for a moment to take a gulp of air before diving back into each other, your center meeting his own with a suppressed moan. He began to tug on your bottom lip just as the car slowed to a complete stop, halting your actions. Michael pulls away with a groan, resting his forehead against your own as you try to catch your breaths.
"We got maybe 30 seconds before they open that door. We should make ourselves presentable." He sighs against you, closing his eyes briefly as if he was relishing in the moment. You slide off his lap, readjusting your dress and wiping the lipstick from off your face as Michael straightened out his rumpled shirt, playing with his hair to look put together again.
By the time you make it through the threshold of his room, you're practically throwing yourself on him again, his noise of surprise becoming muffled between your lips as he locks the door behind him with one hand, the other slotted at your hip. He breaks away and directs you towards the bed, swatting at your ass once as he admires the design of your backless dress.
You sat on the plush king sized bed, looking up at Michael seductively as he slowly approaches you. "Gonna be shy with me, Mikey?" You tease, an eyebrow raised.
A knowing, sly grin spreads on his face as he stands before you, bringing a hand under your chin to tilt up towards him.
"Not when I've been.. burning… with desire for you for this long." Goosebumps form on your skin from his words just as he leans down, pressing his soft lips to yours.
You pull him on top of you, immediately comforted by the feel of his weight against you. The kiss held the same intensity displayed in the car, with Michael gently spreading your legs wider to nestle against your core. You moan into his mouth as he grinds his hips into yours painstakingly slow, his teeth pulling at your bottom lip as he pulls away, leaving a trail of kisses long your neck.
You try to shift your hips up, connecting with his clothed hardness and both groaning in sync. Your panties were sticking to you now, creating a wet patch on Michael's designer pants from where you met.
"Mikey, baby." He hums into your neck in response, working his way down to kiss down the valley of your breasts. "I need you to touch me. So bad."
You feel his smile against your skin as he traveled lower, your cocktail dress fully bunched up around your waist now. He kisses your inner thighs, shifting from one leg to the other, before you feel him right at your center, dragging a long finger along your soaked pussy. You whine and frantically grab at the sheets next to you, peering down at him as he presses a kiss against your covered folds. He loops his fingers around the thin material and with a slight raise of your hips, is able to drag them down fully. He groans at the sight of you spread out so bare for him and you can't help but spread wider.
"You have such a pretty pussy, prettier than I imagined." The word sounds vulgar coming from his sweet mouth, which turns you on even more, sending a fresh wave of arousal down to your pussy in response.
"Can I taste you, sweet girl?" He asks, his thumbs rubbing circles into your skin closest to your aching core. You frantically nod your head, forcing out a yes just as frantic, eager to feel him on you. He smiles at your desperation before he dips down, licking a long stripe straight up to your clit. You jolt and cry out, feeling his warm tongue flick along your clit, wasting no time in leaving you a withering mess. He gazes up to watch your every reaction, enjoying the way your lips are between your teeth before you fall back against the bed, pushing your hips up into his mouth.
He alternates between burying his tongue deep in your hole and pleasuring your clit, his nose bumping against you and stimulating you even more. Your hands are in his curls, keeping him in place as he slurps up every drop of your essence, wanting nothing more than to feel you gush around his face.
He works a finger in while sucking on your sensitive bud, earning a moan from you. The stretch was making you delirious, whining about how much you needed his cock.
"Not till you finish for me." He speaks against you, sending vibrations to your stomach. You feel the familiar twist in your gut signaling you're close to your climax, mumbling how close you are when a second finger goes in, scissoring you open for him.
"Mikey… I… Please…" You plead, just desperately searching for your release. His tongue and finger moves in tandem, moving quickly to bring you to your peak. Michael grinds his hips into the bed, searching for friction while your legs begin to shake above him, the tightrope inside of you snapping. You cry out his name, grinding your hips into his face as you ride out the waves of release, Michael groaning into your pussy as your slick leaks all over his tongue.
His movements still as you catch your breath, still shaking from the intensity of your orgasm. The loss of his fingers from your hole nearly makes you whine before the sight of him takes your breath away.
His eyes sparkle at you while he wipes your juices from his face, cheeks lightly flushed and his curls a mess from your grip. He slides his fingers into your mouth and you suck on the digits, holding eye contact while swirling your tongue along the finger pads, eliciting a soft moan from him. He pulls them out and makes quick work of pulling your dainty dress over your head, your full body on display for him as he watches in awe.
"Are you gonna join me or do I have to rip all of this off you myself?" You question with a tug on his trousers. His suit jacket was already lost earlier, making it easier to pop open his buttons while you pry off the heavy belt around his waist. Your hands are on his zipper before he lays a hand on top of yours, opting to do it himself.
"You just lay your pretty self right there." He speaks sweetly, his eyes carrying a shadow of nervousness that's mostly masked behind the profound lust. You've known Michael all your life— you know he's feeling shyer now.
You're about to speak before the sight of him in all of his glory has your mouth opening. You hone in at the sheer size and girth of him before glancing up at him, his lip between his teeth as he feels uneasy under your heavy gaze.
"Mikey, what happened to you not getting shy on me?" You offer a faux pout as he huffs a laugh.
"I'm not… I mean not really it's just… you know, I've liked you for so long and- and I can't believe-" You shut him up sitting up on your knees and dragging him towards the bed, gently pushing him back onto the soft mattress next to you. His eyes flash with shock, opening his mouth to speak before you plant a finger over his lips, looking down at him with an eyebrow quirked.
"I've thought about this probably as much as you have," You state simply, watching his wide eyes light up. "For the love of everything good, if I don't ride you right now, I'll go insane."
He nods as if his mouth had gone dry and scoots towards the middle of the bed. You swing a leg around him, straddling his lap as his hard dick pokes against your lower stomach. You grab him and begin to line the tip up with your leaking hole, his breaths growing heavy under you.
"Relax, pretty boy. Gonna make you feel real good." You purr right as you start to sink down, his mouth hanging open from the feel of your walls going down on him.
You ease down his thick length, pausing to accommodate to the stretch. Micheal's hands come to your waist, gently caressing you in encouragement. You sink all the way down with a moan, Michael whimpering as you pulsate around him. You give an experimental drag of your hips, lifting up and sinking back down once, making him moan loudly.
You start to bounce, steadying yourself with a grip on his shoulders as you slide down his length, both of your moans filling the room. His hands are gripped iron tight on your waist, watching with glazed over eyes as you ride his dick, the slick sounds your bodies produce becoming music to your ears.
You clench around him when he squeezes your ass, making him choke out a strangled noise of pleasure. You’re grinning in pure bliss, the stretch of his cock better than you ever imagined, your pussy leaking around him in response. When his cock hits you at a certain angle, you double over into his chest with a cry.
"Right there was good?" He questions, brows furrowing. You nod and don't notice his shift in demeanor until he starts pounding into you from below, eager to help you reach that spot again. The smack of skin on skin fills the room as he ravishes you from below, his large palms guiding you down to meet his thrusts by gripping your ass tightly.
You moan his name and squeeze him tightly as he fucks up into you, roughly smacking your ass. You leave a white creamy ring around his dick as you ride him, his hand connecting with your ass once more after seeing your reaction, crying out for more. Your clit rubs against his pelvic bone with each thrust, sending sensations to your aching clit. You rub the sensitive bud while Michael reaches for your breast bouncing in his face, squeezing the flesh there.
"Riding me so good… oh god… you're sinful." He nibbles at your earlobe as he talks into your ear, building up your second orgasm of the night. Your cunt squelches embarrassing loud but you're too fucked out to even care, moaning as you feel your peak approaching with each drag of Michael's cock.
"Mikey, I'm so close!" You cry out, feeling his dick hit deeply inside of you. His own soft moans and whimpers bring you to your release as you tighten around him, throwing your head back with a loud moan. He doesn't let up his pace as you ride out your orgasm, shaking as he pounds into your dripping walls desperately, chasing his own release.
He's about to pull you off him as his climax approaches, but you keep your legs firm around him, squeezing your walls tightly around him and sinking down on his cock to meet his thrusts. "Inside of me, let me milk you baby." You say with a drag of your hand along his chest.
He looses it at the thought of filling you with his seed, his thrusts becoming sloppy as his dick twitches, hot ropes of cum spilling out of him with a cry of your name.
You stay on top of him for a while, catching your breaths. His hand is firm on your back, gently sliding soothing patterns up and down your skin. You pull off of him shortly after, leaning back to let him watch his cum slowly drip out of your hole and onto the sheets. You take your finger and stuff the rest back into you, making Michael groan at the filthy sight.
"You're gonna be the death of me, woman." He sighs, giving a completely fucked out smile at you.
"The headlines tomorrow may take you out before I ever do." You tease, knowing the press were having a field day seeing the two of you get into the same car earlier.
"The King and Queen of pop finally together? Could be worse things to write about." He looks at you playfully, turning your hand over to plant a kiss at the back of it.
"They're already planning our wedding details!" You giggle, not catching the way his eyes falter for a second.
"Did you miss the lyrics in The Lady in my Life? I've been envisioning it."
You tackle him, littering his face with kisses as he cackles like a young kid, giddy that he finally had you in his arms.
And for the rest of his life, he silently prays.
note 2: mrs. young freak ho is back 😇 idk yall something about switch but sub leaning mike just do it for me… expect more of this from me i like my men #submissive LOL.
genre: fluff; angst; established relationship, idol au; workaholic reader gets pampered by workaholic yoongi
warnings: cursing, banter, slight angst, and a shit ton of fluff ?
word count: 2.2k
author's note i am loving this producer reader au and i will be keeping at it until i throw up from being sick of it :) i hate writing dialogue just for the record, ugh (in any situation, not just fic related stuff) but i'm doing my best! lowkey burnt out and don't have any ideas at the moment so, send away!
summary: wherein yoongi doesn’t want to see you overexert yourself in work, so he takes care of you (or min yoongi's love language)
it was way past midnight.
you were in your studio, spending the fourth night in a row there. the low hum of the air conditioning and the looping track playing from your earphones as your only company.
you were ardently standing there, having a staring contest with the microphone. a side of your huge headphones covering one ear while the other one pulled just slightly above it, not fully concealing the other just in case somebody called out.
[2:24 am] myg: you up?
the text interrupts the quietude of your studio that had been marinating for quite some time now followed by a few notifications after.
[2:24 am] myg: i sent you something. let me know when you get it and let me know
[2:25 am] myg: what you think about it
you sigh. you weren't particularly aware of the time until he texted. only then had you realized how late it was; accounting for the dead building that crept past your studio. but the nature of your job had you getting used to adapting a temporary nocturnal lifestyle that involved sleeping at 9:00 am in the morning and staying up until 4:00 am the next day. you knew it wasn't healthy; you weren't doing the right thing. but honestly, who's ever done the right thing especially when they were so immersed in their work?
[2:32 am] myg: ok i'll drop by
[2:32 am] myg: just need to wrap up
you gather your things and exit the recording booth, stumbling on a few things scattered on the floor. you take a look around your studio and discover how filthy your living situation had become for the past few weeks. filthy was probably an overstatement; you liked to keep things clean, get unnecessary things out of the way. but this was quite grimy compared to what you were used to. should probably clean up before he arrives, you thought.
but you were tired. still not quite in the right mood to do all the tidying—picking up the plastic bottles, rearranging some of the wires that were left tangled on the floor as well as the pieces of clothing left on the couch. he was probably busy, and probably wouldn’t come around for another few hours was, your rough guess.
and so you let it be. grabbing your laptop and sit on the couch, pushing away some of the clutter, deciding to do the rest of your work there instead. but that turned out to be a bad idea because just a few minutes in, your eyes started to get heavy and you started to lean on the couch more often. a week's worth of sleep was chasing you and decided that now was the time to pay your debt.
you should have also know better that whatever yoongi says, yoongi does; because you hear somebody input the password to your door and it opens a few seconds later to reveal a yoongi.
"hey," he peeks into the door, voice quiet. you could hear the slight strain it had. he was probably working as much as you were before he came.
"hey." your eyes follow him as he switches his outside shoes for inside ones, not anticipating a visitor, at least not for a couple more hours. yet you still forced a flat, evidently tired, smile out of your face.
you tear a piece of your earphones out of your ear, legs crossed, laptop open, and hair a mess, as if it had been ruffled around or pulled, before in desperation of extracting an idea from your brain.
he carefully settles in. the familiar natural scent he had mixing with his perfume creeps into the room. a bag in one hand, the other on the door frame, guiding him as he goes inside.
"you ate yet?"
"i think," you answer without looking at him and you scoot over to the side, gathering the scarves, jacket, and other clothes to make room for him to sit down.
"i'm asking if you ate." he chuckles, amused at your attempt to dodge the question, twist it in a way that makes sense but also doesn't.
he sits next to you, clothed arm brushing against your shoulders. the bag he was holding with his left hand settles down onto the table, right next to her notebook and a pile of paper, discarded lyrics you couldn't quite let go of just yet.
"heard from hobi that you might still be in here."
"hmm," a mindless reply. you were tired.
he gradually leans forward, looking at what you had on your screen for a few seconds before quickly batting his eyes to look at you instead. you could feel his breathing: slow, deliberate, exhausted. you pursed your lips, trying to think of something, anything else other than the presence next to you.
how you wished something as simple as a look from him wouldn't throw you off so much, but it does, and he knows it.
you give up, sighing. you lean back, resting your head against the wall. he takes this chance and gently removes your hand from the mouse, taking it into his, cautiously moving the track back to the beginning. he takes just a quick glance at you to which you nod at for consent, and plays it.
the sound fills the small space, clearly unfinished—evidently spent. it sounded like what you had envisioned, but just not in a way that satisfied you, still missing something.
"not bad. good enough for you to take a break." he comments hoping to sway you, peering at your reaction.
you grimace.
you turn to him and see that he had a look on his face. it was quick, but it was there. one that you knew all too well. just confirming something that you had been trying to put off for so long now: you were burnt out, and you desperately needed a break.
"god, this is fucking with me, really." you murmur, taking your hands to your face, pushing some stray hair away and taking a large inhale, exhausted.
this was one thing that you had in common. both similarly enamoured in creating, making sure every second in a piece had its purpose. something that was worth talking about. sewing beats and melodies into precise proportions that felt comfortable and snug but ones that also suffocated and strangled when it needed to.
however, you also periodically became too absorbed that in return you just shut everything off—especially him. not knowing when to return; only ever stopping when he has nothing left to give, pushing past the limit. you had always been so conscious about it, pointing it out whenever you see the him spiral.
but sometimes it's just too much.
and he doesn't always have the right words to say that he was descending again. dubious on how he should tell you that it was getting bad again. so bad that whenever he sinks, he unknowingly brings you with him.
it happens frequently than he would have wanted and starts with a few nights spent overtime in the studio that turn into weeks, bad days that come one after the other.
it occasionally brings out the worst in him. But no matter how difficult he can get, how critical—especially to himself, you just kept on understanding; bringing your light, sharing it for the both of you. never asking nor wanting anything in return.
and it had become yoongi's silent oath to not let you wander the same path. not wanting to see you in situations he has experienced before. loving you in quiet, covert ways—the way he knows how.
"you should eat." he suggests, yawning as he stretches his arms.
"what's this?" you pry open the bag and immediately got blown away by the savory smell you've always had during nights like these but was too tired to make it yourself: mandu-guk.
you sigh dramatically, exaggeratedly, and turn to face yoongi who was radiating nervous energy; he knew what was coming.
all of a sudden, you take his face and cup it in your hands, looking at him like how you would encourage a child who took their first steps. you tell him how grateful you are in a melodramatic way and immediately pepper his face with kisses, leaving him squirming underneath. 'yah, yah, stop!' he scolds with the biggest smile on his face.
he absolutely loathes receiving physical affection—or any kind of affection, really. and would prefer to show it through small gestures, the complete opposite of how you were. and so, it became your mission that whenever you do, you would crank it up ten times more to sway him, purposefully annoying him, despite finding it quite cringe as well.
but seeing the big smile on this man tells you he's right exactly where he wants to be. he smiles, proudly. deep inside this is what he came here for.
you eventually settle after wrestling him down with your hugs and appreciation as he questions his life choices beside you, while you enthusiastically open up your food.
you pick up utensils he's included inside the bag and take a bite, and then a few more.
"good?"
you just nod and give him a thumbs up, savoring the well-curated taste in your mouth.
it's your pout and the puppy eyes that come with it that does him. you try to trigger any kind of reaction in him just for fun. jutting down your lower lip and bat your eyelashes the best you can, as you await his reaction: scrunching his face in horror. you complete it with the most ridiculous aegyo voice as well.
"aww, thank you ba-"
"don't" he interjects, but his whole face was completely red. his horror quickly drowned by his laughs, covering his eyes with calloused hands—proof of his hard work. and you try your best to gulp down a giggle but ridiculously fail.
you thought of how lucky he was to have a girl that could make him cackle his heart out ;)
you eagerly consume the meal he made just for you while he watches, like a mother who says 'i'm full just watching you eat' when you invite him to eat with you—that line, he actually says.
in the meantime, he silently starts to clear out the table bombarded with paper scraps and plastic bottles that should have been discarded a long time ago. his arms reach out past you and cautiously clears them out, making sure to not disrupt you.
when you tried to dismiss him, saying he doesn't need to and that you will be the one that'll do it later, his brows furrow and insists.
"you're overworking yourself. take a break, hmm?" he says, and asks you which things are still of use to not mistakenly throw them away.
you eventually join him after finishing the majority of your meal, clearing out the clutter and finally tending to your precious cables left tangled on the floor now that you had the motivation and energy to do so.
moments later, you two were back on the couch, peacefully enjoying each other's company. your studio was already looking good. not spotless clean, but better than what it was a few minutes ago.
crossing your arms, resting a leg on top of yoongi's, and leaning your head on top of his shoulders, the temporary tranquility gave you a chance to rest your eyes.
he planted a kiss on your forehead, resting his head atop yours. slowly, you could feel the built-up stress and exhaustion evaporate as you finally had the chance to bask in comfort and surround yourself in a familiar scent.
it was a challenge to try and not fall asleep under such conditions. you were so close to just ignoring the work demanding your attention and drifting off to sleep, but your mind remained locked into the laptop just right in front of you, remembering the deadline pdogg had suggested when tracks should be submitted.
he somehow sensed this and started tracing shapes on your arm to comfort you.
"can't sleep."
"i know. should i turn the lights off?"
you groan.
"no, that's- i have so much to work on, still." you reply, gently freeing yourself from his embrace, although you didn't want to, and directed your attention back to chords and melodies.
yoongi sighs. he learned a long time ago that it's no use trying to convince you to try and rest because you would always decline. stubbornness and persistence being some of the things you also had common.
he does what be can do instead and asks what it was that he could get for you, to which you answered coffee. that was the only thing keeping you from passing out asleep and crashing on your couch. the majority of your bloodstream was probably pure caffeine at this point.
he happily obliges. sitting there, observing, and giving suggestions whenever you asked for it.
you take a look at him every now and then to see him battling his own demons as well: the urge to doze off. you chuckle to yourself, seeing his determination to stay up and be with you, despite your protests.
later on, as other people—normal, sane people anyway—start to get ready for work, you were still wrapping up to go back home, finally. you let out one last sigh in defeat, and crash on top of yoongi, quietly squeezing in, not even wanting to go back home just yet.
and as the building slowly comes back alive, you gradually drift off to slumber.
✎ ˎˊ˗ Pairing: idol Min Yoongi x choreo female Reader
✎ ˎˊ˗ Genre: Idol!au, situationship, angst, smut, coworkers (pretend to be shocked pls), love triangle
✎ ˎˊ˗ Summary: Across sleepless cities on tour, you and Yoongi cling to each other in an unspoken arrangement neither of you knows how to end, until someone new makes you wonder if you should.
✎ ˎˊ˗ Notes: Hi! New fic, yup. Warnings to be included within each chapter. Verrryy excited with this one esp cause it’s been cooking for a while. I think it’s gonna be angsty, and sexy, and yummy. Written for @glossdebut for winning a little contest I ran last year.
Preview // .01 // .02
INTRO UNDER THE CUT
You’re part of BTS’ BTS.
Bangtan Tour Sluts.
It’s a term one of the make-up unnies coined half-jokingly, after realizing the truth: you’re a group of women who’ve practically dedicated your lives to seven men who are not even your family.
You’re a sorority of girls who go on tour with the group, taking on multiple hats, making sure every tour stop goes as best as possible.
You willingly do every beck and call of theirs because you actually like them. They are nice and you want to see them succeed. And even if they’re not being nice (oh the stories you could tell!), you still do everything for them. Like good girls. Like sluts.
Maybe that’s just what devotion looks like in this business.
Yours started with Hoseok.
Back before you had a name that anyone could recognize, you were just another girl on YouTube flexing dance moves in her tiny apartment. Somehow, he saw one of your clips, a clean cover of Dope, and sent your link to their performance director.
You got the email weeks later, went in for an audition, and the rest is history.
Then came the rehearsals. The late nights. The endless counts of eight. You were still so broke in those early days that you couldn’t even afford a cab after a late night practice, so you’d wait at the bus stop outside the studio, hoodie soaked through, sneakers squishing from the rain.
One night, Jin pulled up beside the curb and offered you a ride. You remember Yoongi was in the passenger seat. Wordless for the most part, but he blasted the heater so you wouldn't get cold. You thanked Jin profusely as he dropped you off.
He shrugged and said, “Good thing Yoongi saw you.”
You still remember the heat sinking back into your bones.
It added up over time.
Jimin once wrapped your ankle when you landed wrong after some crazy choreo you were trying to hit. Even crazier, Namjoon paid for your eomma’s emergency medical bills, because you were still struggling then.
They noticed you beyond your work. Not all at once, but steadily, gradually, eventually. And maybe that’s all it takes. You’d follow them anywhere after that.
So you do.
The thing is, some of the Bangtan Tour Sluts do become that over time.
You once overheard a manager say: stupid idols date fans; smart idols date other idols. Or each other.
The boys are fine shyt. But after living together for years, the latter feels… borderline incestuous.
They’ve tried dating other idols too, but it’s chaos. Too many schedules to align, too many eyes watching, security doubling the second they want to meet up even in a different city for a simple fuck.
It’s easier this way. Closer. Quieter.
You don’t even blame them for it. This arrangement. The girls are hot as hell.
There’s Angel from Wardrobe who’s become Taehyung’s emotional support buddy. She’s on-call to dress him and undress him, whenever the situation calls for it.
Jungkook’s got a couple in his roster. Bina from glam and Tiff, also from glam. It could be problematic, sure, but so far they’re having fun.
Somehow, even if you highly considered becoming Seokjin’s...
Summary: Yoongi accidentally causes internet chaos during a concert in Mexico, then calls you right after just to get teased for it. Somewhere between embarrassing fancams, late-night flirting, and a random colorful skull from a market, long distance suddenly feels a little harder than usual.
Status: Oneshot
Pairing: Idol!Yoongi x Reader
Word Count: 4.4k~
Genre: Idol!AU, Fluff
Rated: T
Tags: Boyfriend!Yoongi, Secret, Slice of Life, LDR
Posting Date: May 17, 2026
SCC: Ko-fi ☕️ ・ Taglist 📝
That night, Seoul was at its coldest. Light rain had been falling since the afternoon, making the apartment air feel cool and cozy. You had already showered, wearing one of Yoongi’s oversized shirts that somehow had been staying in your closet more often than in his own lately. Your hair was still a little damp when you climbed onto the sofa carrying a thin blanket and a glass of iced americano with almost-melted ice.
The TV had actually been playing a drama for a while, but you weren’t really watching it. Your focus was only on mindlessly scrolling through TikTok. Your FYP that night was completely random—people reviewing spicy food, Jungkook gym edits, videos of angry cats getting bathed.
Until suddenly…
A concert video.
The lights were insanely bright. Fans screaming loud enough to burst your ears even through your phone speaker.
And in the middle of the screen—
Yoongi.
You automatically stopped scrolling.
His hair was soaked with sweat, his breathing still visibly heavy after performing. He was wearing a thin white tank top underneath and a black outer jacket that had already fallen halfway open. His face was red from the heat and exhaustion, but he still looked absurdly handsome in the most annoying way possible.
The caption said:
“HE ACCIDENTALLY TOOK OFF EVERYTHING 😭”
Your eyebrow instantly lifted.
“Hah?”
The video kept playing.
Yoongi was seen pulling off his jacket from behind his neck, probably because he was hot. But somehow, the inner shirt got dragged up with it.
And a split second later—
The entire venue literally exploded.
“KYYYYYYYYAAAAAAAAAA—”
The fans’ screams cracked from how loud they were.
The camera recording immediately shook violently. Someone dropped their phone downward. Someone else only recorded the venue ceiling because they got too hysterical.
Meanwhile Yoongi…
His expression was priceless.
He instantly stopped moving, blankly staring for one second like his brain was buffering, then quickly pulled his shirt back down while laughing shyly.
You immediately covered your mouth.
Then burst out laughing alone in the living room.
“OH MY GOD.”
Replay.
Replay again.
And the more you replayed it, the funnier it got because he genuinely looked like it was completely accidental. Even the member next to him turned around with a shocked-but-laughing expression.
The next TikTok appeared from another angle.
One zoomed in on Yoongi’s face.
One was in slow motion.
One used dramatic Titanic music.
Another one had the caption:
“Mexico survived earthquakes but not this.”
You practically collapsed against the sofa laughing.
“Poor him…”
But you still replayed it again.
Honestly, it wasn’t just funny.
Yoongi looked way too good there.
That white tank top clung to him because of the sweat. His arms were full of veins after performing. His black hair fell slightly onto his forehead. And his embarrassed, panicked expression somehow made everyone lose their minds even more.
Your phone even started constantly buzzing.
The BTS group chat instantly became chaotic.
Jimin:
hyung trending 😭😭😭
Hoseok:
I TOLD YOU NOT TO TAKE OFF YOUR JACKET ON STAGE
Jungkook:
Mexico will never move on
Namjoon:
internet is gone
You laughed again while screenshotting several videos.
Then without thinking, you opened Yoongi’s chat.
For a few seconds you were still smiling to yourself before finally typing.
You:
[5 screenshots]
Congratulations
Typing…
Typing stopped.
Typing again.
Yoongi:
I want to disappear
You immediately laughed again.
You:
No seriously 😭
This is so funny
Yoongi:
I just wanted to take off my jacket
You:
And accidentally took off your dignity too
Read.
No reply for a few seconds.
Then—
Yoongi:
You’re enjoying this way too much huh
You:
Very much
Yoongi:
Mean
You:
An entire stadium screamed like they got jumpscared
Yoongi:
I was shocked too
You:
Your face was so funny 😭😭😭
You replayed the video again while grinning to yourself.
Especially the part where Yoongi immediately pulled his shirt back down with an expression like “what the hell just happened?”
You even zoomed in on a certain screenshot.
Oh.
Oh no.
His arms were insane though.
Without realizing it, you took another screenshot.
You:
Btw are your arms even legal?
Yoongi took longer to reply this time.
Maybe he was showering. Maybe eating. Or maybe regretting his life because the entire internet was now filled with fancams of him.
Finally the chat bubble appeared again.
Yoongi:
Are you thirst tweeting now too?
You:
I’m a victim of the timeline
Yoongi:
Delete TikTok
You:
Can’t
The entertainment tonight is too good
Yoongi:
I’m tired
You:
But handsome
Read.
No reply for about a minute.
Then suddenly your phone screen showed an incoming video call.
You instantly laughed before answering.
The moment it connected, Yoongi’s face immediately filled the screen.
His hair was still slightly wet after showering. He was now wearing a loose black shirt with the collar hanging lower on one side. His skin was still slightly flushed from the concert and hot shower. He sat leaning against the hotel sofa while staring at you with a tired face.
“Just keep laughing.”
The second you heard his raspy post-performance voice, you laughed even harder.
“Sorry—really sorry but this is genuinely funny…”
Yoongi closed his eyes briefly while letting out a long sigh.
“I opened my phone and it was pure chaos.”
“Well that’s your fault.”
“It wasn’t intentional.”
“You know people are saying Mexico lost their minds tonight?”
“I want to uninstall the internet.”
You were still smiling widely while staring at the screen.
And damn it, the more you looked at him now, the more you kept thinking about him earlier on stage.
Sweaty. Heavy breathing. Tense arms.
God.
Yoongi watched your face for a few seconds.
Then the corner of his lips lifted slightly.
“Oh.”
“What oh.”
“So you were freaking out too apparently.”
“No.”
“Liar.”
“I was just surprised.”
“How many times did you replay it?”
You instantly went silent.
Yoongi narrowed his eyes slightly.
“Exactly.”
“…a few.”
“How many is a few?”
“Well… several.”
“You took screenshots too.”
Your eyes widened immediately.
“How do you know?!”
“I can tell from your face.”
“What’s wrong with my face?”
“You look guilty.”
You let out a small huff while leaning back against the sofa again.
Yoongi watched you with a faint smile. Even exhausted like that, he still had energy to tease you.
“You seriously…” you muttered quietly.
“What?”
“You made an entire country hysterical.”
“One country is exaggerating.”
“No it’s not. Their screaming was terrifying.”
Yoongi just laughed softly.
And oh my god, that soft laugh.
You hated how easily he made your heart feel weird just from his voice alone.
“You need to see the edits now,” you said while reopening TikTok. “Someone already made a slow motion version.”
“Don’t show me.”
“Too late.”
You played one video.
The second the hysterical fan screams blasted from your phone, Yoongi immediately covered his face with one hand.
“OH MY GOD.”
You burst out laughing again.
“Your expression is so funny!”
“I’m genuinely embarrassed.”
“It’s rare seeing you this embarrassed.”
“Because it wasn’t intentional.”
“You literally buffered on stage.”
“I panicked.”
“It showed.”
Yoongi sighed deeply while sinking further into the hotel sofa.
His shirt shifted slightly higher around the sleeves.
And you… unconsciously glanced again.
Yoongi noticed.
Very noticed.
“What are you doing?”
“Hm?”
“You keep staring.”
“I’m not.”
“You think I don’t know?”
You instantly got flustered.
“Fine, maybe a little.”
“You said it was funny.”
“It is funny.”
“So what is it now?”
You bit your lip briefly before quietly answering,
“…handsome too.”
Yoongi went silent for a few seconds.
Then he smiled very slightly.
A thin smile.
The kind that made your heart melt because he genuinely looked happy hearing it.
“You make me feel confident so easily.”
“Hey don’t get too confident.”
“Why?”
“Or you’ll intentionally take your shirt off at concerts.”
He immediately laughed.
“I’m not that bad.”
“You sure?”
“You’ve already seen it plenty of times too.”
And like someone pressed pause—
You instantly froze.
“…what?”
Yoongi casually leaned back while looking at you.
“Why are you pretending to be shocked now?”
“MIN YOONGI.”
“What?”
“That’s a different context.”
“What’s the difference?”
“AN ENTIRE STADIUM SAW THIS.”
“But who sees it the most often?”
Your cheeks instantly heated up.
“That’s not the point—”
“You literally sleep hugging me every night.”
“STOP.”
“And now you’re embarrassed?”
You immediately covered your face with a sofa pillow while groaning in embarrassment.
Yoongi just laughed victoriously from the other side.
“Finally embarrassed too.”
“You’re so annoying.”
“You started it earlier.”
“But now you’re doing it on purpose!”
“Hm.”
“What do you mean hm.”
“It’s cute seeing you flustered.”
You peeked from behind the pillow.
Yoongi was still smiling faintly while watching you. His face looked far more relaxed now compared to the beginning of the call.
And strangely enough, you really loved being the reason he relaxed after a long concert like this.
“You’re really tired huh?” you finally asked, your voice softer.
Yoongi nodded slightly.
“A little.”
“Did you eat?”
“Yeah.”
“Drink water?”
“Yes, mom.”
“Yoongi.”
He laughed softly again.
“I drank.”
You watched his face for a few seconds.
His eyes were slightly red from exhaustion. His voice sounded heavier too. But he still called you just because you teased him about that stupid wardrobe malfunction earlier.
Your chest warmed on its own.
“You should sleep later,” you said quietly.
“Later.”
“Don’t keep saying later.”
He looked at you for a moment.
Then quietly said,
“I miss you.”
Your expression instantly softened.
“…it’s only been a week.”
“Long.”
“You’re dramatic.”
“Yeah.”
You smiled faintly.
And for a few seconds, you just stared at each other through the screen, both exhausted but comfortable.
Until Yoongi finally spoke again casually,
“But seriously.”
“Hm?”
“You were more excited than the Mexico fans.”
You instantly glared.
“Because that’s my boyfriend.”
“Oh so you were jealous?”
“A little.”
“Aigoo…”
“What do you mean aigoo.”
“You’re cute.”
“Not cute.”
“You’re jealous over an accidental shirt slip.”
“It sounds stupid when you say it like that.”
“Because it is funny.”
You huffed in embarrassment.
And Yoongi, who had looked half-dead exhausted this whole time, just smiled even softer while quietly saying,
“The one who sees the most is still you anyway.”
You immediately collapsed backward onto the sofa while covering your face.
“OH MY GOD MIN YOONGI.”
. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.
You were still lying flat on the sofa with your face covered by a pillow, while Yoongi’s soft laughter kept coming from your phone speaker.
Satisfied laughter. The kind of laughter from someone who realized he had successfully made his girlfriend malfunction.
“Get up.”
“No.”
“Why are you so embarrassed?”
“Because you said it like that!”
“But it’s true.”
You lowered the pillow slightly, glaring at the screen.
“Yoongi.”
“Hm?”
“Don’t flirt when your face still looks like this after a concert.”
He raised an eyebrow slightly.
“Why?”
“Dangerous.”
That smile immediately appeared again. Small, crooked, annoying.
“I’m literally just sitting here.”
“Yeah, that’s the problem.”
Yoongi laughed softly while resting his head against the hotel sofa. The dim room lighting made the lines of his face look even sharper. His black hair was still slightly damp and falling over his forehead in a way that looked way too good for someone claiming to be exhausted.
And the thing making your heart race the most— He looked so comfortable right now. Relaxed. Soft. But his eyes hadn’t left you this entire time.
“You seriously…” you muttered quietly while avoiding his gaze, “you just caused internet chaos and still have time to tease me.”
“Because I miss you.”
His answer came too fast. Too honest. Your heart instantly skipped weirdly.
“You usually get clingy when you’re tired,” you said, trying to sound casual.
“And?”
“And right now I can’t hug you.”
Yoongi went quiet for a moment.
His expression immediately softened a little more.
“I know.”
The atmosphere suddenly became calmer.
You were already used to tour schedules. Used to video calls from different countries. Used to falling asleep on call until one of you passed out first.
But somehow this time felt different.
Maybe because Yoongi’s schedule was too packed. Maybe because you had gotten too used to being close before he left. Or maybe because right now he was looking at you like that while seeming like he really wanted to come home.
“You know,” he suddenly said, his voice low and raspy, “right after the concert, the first thing I did was check my phone for your message.”
You instantly looked back at the screen.
“Seriously?”
“Hm.”
“Why?”
“I already knew you’d make fun of me.”
You laughed softly.
“And you still looked for it.”
“Because I missed you.”
God. You genuinely couldn’t handle it when he suddenly got soft like this. Especially when he followed it up with a tiny smile while secretly staring at you.
“Yoongi…”
“Hm?”
“You make it hard to sleep.”
“I haven’t even started yet.”
You instantly froze.
“What do you mean you haven’t started?”
He casually shrugged a little.
“You said I was flirting earlier.”
“And?”
“But I was just acting normal.”
Your cheeks instantly heated up again.
“Okay then don’t start.”
“What if I do?”
“MIN YOONGI.”
He laughed softly again. Not loudly, but low enough to make your stomach feel weird. Then he moved slightly closer to the camera. And god. That was a terrible mistake.
Because now his face completely filled your phone screen.
“You know what the funniest part earlier was?” he asked quietly.
“What?”
“You got possessive immediately.”
“I was not possessive.”
“You literally said ‘that’s my boyfriend.’”
“Well he is.”
“And then you got jealous.”
“A little.”
“You really like me huh.”
You instantly glared in embarrassment.
“Overconfident.”
“But it's true.”
You let out a long sigh while covering half your face with the blanket. Yoongi watched you with a faint smile.
“Cute.”
“Don’t call me cute.”
“Why?”
“It just makes me more annoyed.”
“But you’re smiling.”
You reflexively touched your lips.
Damn it.
He was right.
Yoongi instantly looked satisfied.
“I know your expressions by heart.”
“You don’t need to know them by heart.”
“Too late.”
A few seconds later the atmosphere became quiet again. You could hear the hotel AC from his side. Occasionally there were distant sounds from the hallway, but other than that there was only the sound of your breathing.
Yoongi looked really exhausted now. His eyes were half-lidded. His loose black shirt slipped slightly off his shoulder when he moved. And unfortunately it made you remember the earlier video again.
Yoongi noticed again. “What are you thinking about?”
“Nothing.”
“You’re spacing out.”
“I just remembered earlier.”
“Which earlier?”
“You know which one.”
He smiled faintly.
“Oh. The Mexico incident.”
“Don’t call it an incident like it’s a scandal.”
“It felt like one.”
“The internet literally lost its mind.”
“You did too.”
You sighed softly.
“Well how was I supposed to react…”
“Hm?”
“You earlier were…”
You stopped yourself.
Yoongi waited.
And somehow that was worse than if he pushed you.
Because he just quietly stared at you, making you even more nervous.
“What?” he asked again softly.
“…hot.”
Yoongi immediately tried to hold back a smile.
“Oh?”
“Don’t get too confident yet.”
“But you called me hot.”
“You are hot.”
He finally let out a small laugh.
“Wow.”
“You’re not fair.”
“Why?”
“You know exactly what your post-concert face does to people.”
“What does it do?”
“Yoongi.”
“Answer first.”
You covered your face again.
Which only amused him more.
“Aigoo…”
“Stop laughing.”
“You’re so cute when you’re embarrassed.”
“And you’re so evil when you miss me.”
Yoongi went quiet for a moment.
Then with a lower, softer voice—
“I really do miss you badly right now.”
Your heart instantly dropped. The way he said things like that was always dangerous. Not excessive. Not dramatic. But because his tone stayed calm, it somehow felt more real.
“When are you coming home?” you asked softly.
“Still a few more weeks.”
You instantly pouted.
“That’s too long.”
“Hm.”
“I hate long distance.”
“Me too.”
Yoongi slowly rubbed his face before looking at you again.
“That’s why when I get home later, don’t complain.”
“Why do I suddenly feel nervous?”
“You’re the one who called me hot earlier.”
“I REGRET SAYING THAT.”
He laughed again.
“You can’t take it back.”
“Yes I can.”
“No you can’t.”
“You’re annoying.”
“But you miss me.”
You stayed quiet. Because he was right. And Yoongi knew you too well to the point where he could already see the answer before you even said it.
He leaned back again while staring at the screen for a few seconds. Then casually said,
“After the tour, I probably won’t let go of you.”
Your heart dropped.
“Yoongi…”
“Hm?”
“Don’t say things like that while looking at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“LIKE THAT.”
He laughed softly.
“I’m just saying I miss you.”
“The way you say it is the problem.”
“What if I was at the apartment right now?”
You instantly went completely silent. Yoongi saw your reaction and his smile became even thinner.
“Hmm.”
“Don’t hmm.”
“I’m just imagining it.”
“You’re doing this on purpose.”
“A little.”
“Yoongi…”
“I’d probably pull you onto the sofa already.”
Your breath instantly caught.
“And then you’d say you’re tired.”
“I am tired.”
“But you’d still come over to me.”
You genuinely couldn’t handle him once he started talking in that low voice. Especially now that his face already looked sleepy and soft. The deadliest combination.
“And then?” you asked quietly without realizing it.
Yoongi’s eyes immediately lifted slightly.
“Oh, so you want to keep listening.”
“Actually, never mind.”
“No. You asked.”
You bit your lip slightly. And Yoongi saw it. Of course he saw it.
“So dangerous,” he muttered softly.
“What?”
“The way you look when you’re embarrassed.”
You instantly turned your face away. Which only made him smile even more fondly.
“Come home soon okay,” you finally said quietly.
Yoongi’s expression instantly softened again.
“Hm.”
“I miss you.”
“I miss you more.”
“Overconfident.”
“I’ll prove it later.”
. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.
The time difference started becoming more and more annoying once BTS began touring in America.
In Seoul it was already evening while the sun there had only just risen. Sometimes you had just finished work while Yoongi was still at rehearsal. Sometimes you woke up in the morning to dozens of random texts from him sent at three in the morning local time because he couldn’t sleep again.
And the longer the tour went on, the more the longing started to settle in too.
Not the dramatic kind of longing that makes you cry every night. But the kind that appears in small things.
Like when you automatically took out two glasses from the cabinet before realizing you were living alone in the apartment right now. Or when you found Yoongi’s black hoodie still hanging over the living room chair and instinctively hugged it for a second because it still carried traces of his familiar perfume and laundry scent.
Or when you came home exhausted from work and realized there was no Yoongi sprawled across the sofa pretending to sleep just so you would approach him first.
That night you were sitting at the apartment work desk while staring at packaging design files that hadn’t gotten anywhere for hours. The desk lamp glowed brightly while the rest of the apartment stayed dim and quiet. Light rain fell outside the window, making the atmosphere feel calmer and lonelier at the same time.
You had just changed the song on Spotify when your phone vibrated.
Incoming video call:
Yoongi.
A smile instantly appeared on your face without realizing it.
You hadn’t even pressed accept yet, but half your exhaustion was already gone.
The moment the call connected, the screen immediately showed a shaky camera moving everywhere. At first there was only a bright sky and the sound of people passing by. Then a few seconds later Yoongi’s face appeared.
And seriously.
He looked way too relaxed for someone who was supposed to be world famous.
A black cap pulled low. An oversized gray hoodie. His mask was hanging under his chin because he was probably too lazy to talk with it covering his face. Black hair sticking out slightly from under the cap and moving with the wind.
He walked slowly while holding his phone low, like he was genuinely just some ordinary person wandering around an evening market.
Even though he was Min Yoongi.
That was exactly what stressed you out.
“You’re outside?” you asked while automatically sitting up straighter.
“Hm.”
Yoongi’s answers were always short when he was relaxed. His voice sounded heavier from tour exhaustion, but there was a lighter tone that rarely appeared whenever he was genuinely enjoying himself.
The camera shifted slightly, showing small stores around him. Everything was full of color. Neon hanging fabrics, hand-painted ceramics, tiny lights, and faint street music in the distance.
You immediately understood why he liked that place.
Because it felt alive.
And because it was exactly the kind of place that would make you stop at every shop just to stare at random cute things.
“You went out alone?” you asked again.
“Hoseok and Jungkook are eating. I got bored at the hotel.”
His answer sounded so casual that you had to stop yourself from sighing loudly.
Yoongi was always like this.
Sometimes he still forgot who he was now.
Not because he was arrogant or intentionally dismissing his own popularity. Actually the opposite. Sometimes he genuinely still thought he could casually walk around without attracting too much attention, especially outside Korea.
Even now?
Even people who didn’t follow BTS would probably still recognize his face.
And you knew perfectly well the other members often said the same thing—Yoongi was sometimes way too relaxed about himself.
“Are you even being careful?” you asked while lowering your laptop volume.
“I’m wearing a cap.”
You stared at the screen flatly.
“That’s not a disguise.”
“I’m also wearing a hoodie.”
“Wow. Incredible.”
Yoongi chuckled softly.
His laugh mixed faintly with footsteps and market noise, but it was still enough to make the corner of your lips lift too.
Even so, you kept paying attention to the surroundings behind the camera. People passed by without caring, but there was still a small nervous feeling sitting in your chest.
Not because you didn’t trust him to take care of himself.
But because you knew what the world was like now. One person realizes that’s Min Yoongi from BTS, and five minutes later there could already be a crowd.
And the funny thing was, Yoongi himself still looked genuinely confused whenever that happened.
“You seriously…” you muttered while leaning back in your chair, “still think you guys are nobodies sometimes huh?”
Yoongi stayed quiet for a second before finally smiling faintly.
“Sometimes I forget.”
“Exactly.”
“I’m just taking a short walk.”
“You say ‘just taking a short walk’ like you’re some guy running the neighborhood photocopy shop.”
He laughed more clearly this time.
And honestly, you liked hearing him laugh like that.
Lately the tour schedule has been too exhausting. His face often looked tired. So every time Yoongi sounded genuinely relaxed and comfortable, you felt relieved too.
The camera moved again, showing rows of tiny colorful stores. Neon-painted Mexico skulls, brightly embroidered fabrics, flower mugs, and strange ornaments that somehow still looked artistic.
“You’d love places like this,” he suddenly said.
And he was right.
Your eyes were instantly drawn to all the colors.
You have always loved bright things. Random tiny objects that were cute and overly crowded-looking. Even your apartment had colorful decorations. Yoongi often mocked for having “too many colors.”
“I bought something for you,” he added casually, as if that sentence alone didn’t instantly warm your heart.
You automatically turned quickly toward the screen.
“Hah?”
Yoongi looked satisfied seeing your reaction.
He was always like that. Sometimes purposely saying things suddenly just to watch your shocked expression.
“I kept seeing it and thinking about you.”
And god.
No matter how simple the sentence was, it still always made your chest soften.
Because Yoongi wasn’t the type to openly act romantic. Which was exactly why small things like “I saw this and thought of you” felt far more special.
You immediately started guessing excitedly.
Maybe a cute plate.
Maybe embroidered fabric.
Maybe a long brightly-colored dress Yoongi himself would never touch but would still choose because “this is so you.”
The more you imagined it, the more curious you became.
Especially because the way Yoongi kept holding back his smile clearly showed he was enjoying this.
“Come on, show me,” you whined.
“No.”
“Yoongi.”
“You’ll laugh.”
“It’s fine.”
He finally stopped walking in front of one of the stores. The camera lowered slightly toward shelves full of colorful ornaments.
Then he picked something up.
At first you didn’t realize what it was.
Until he lifted it closer to the camera.
“…is that a skull?”
Yoongi instantly grinned faintly.
“Yeah.”
You stared at the screen for several seconds with a blank expression.
Out of everything in Mexico…
Your boyfriend chose a skull.
But of course it wasn’t just any skull.
It was a brightly painted Día de los Muertos ceramic skull. Pink flowers, blue lines, neon yellow, tiny bright green details. It looked more cute than scary.
Still—
“Why a skull…”
“But the colors are cute.”
“You’re seriously weird.”
Yoongi actually looked proud of his choice.
He slowly rotated the skull toward the camera like he was showing off expensive artwork.
And the longer you looked at it, the more it really did feel… very you.
Crowded colors.
Weird.
Slightly chaotic.
“You like it, right?”
You tried holding back your smile.
Because honestly, this really was Min Yoongi-style romance.
Not flowers.
Not stuffed dolls.
Not expensive jewelry.
But a random colorful skull he saw at a market and immediately thought of you.
And somehow that made your heart ache from affection.
“You know normal people buy flowers for their girlfriends.”
“I’m different.”
“Clearly.”
“You don’t like it?”
You finally laughed softly while leaning your head back against the chair.
“I do…”
“Exactly.”
“But you’re still weird.”
Yoongi laughed in satisfaction again.
Behind him, the shop lights had started turning on because evening was approaching there. The bright colors around him looked warmer now. And in the middle of that crowded market, Yoongi stood there holding his ugly-cute little skull proudly.
Strangely enough…
That sight only made you miss him more.
Because you could clearly imagine him casually walking from store to store, then stopping the second he saw that thing and thinking:
“This would definitely be something Y/N likes.”
And now you really wished you were there with him.
Give Me Shelter, The Night Is Dark (Vampire!Michael Corleone x Reader)
Summary: Local superstition and a reclusive man offer you refuge when your parents grievously misstep in Sicily, putting your life in danger in more ways than one.
Note: Female reader, but no other descriptors are used. This incredibly self-indulgent gothic romance-esque idea came to me while I was half-asleep, and the time period is intentionally vague, but it’s not a modern setting (here's a little aesthetic tag for this fic). Do not interact if you’re under 18, terf or radfem, or post thinspo/ED content.
Word count: 4.6k
Warnings: Major canon divergence. Canon-typical violence. Emotional manipulation. Vampirism, including non-consensual blood drinking and compulsion (in the context of it being an ability vampires possess and can use on humans). Sexually explicit content involving elements of bloodplay. Do not interact if you’re under 18.
You couldn’t remember what had brought your family to the village of Corleone, only that your father had promised you and your mother an extravagant Sicilian vacation. Three days of beachside paradise in Mondello, eating fresh seafood cooked to perfection and entertaining the antics of handsome men with scars that stood out like bolts of lightning against their tanned skin were hardly enough to sate your voracious appetite for the weeks of bliss you were promised.
Despite your attempts at bargaining to stay in Palermo on your own, your mother refused, insisting she’d be better off throwing you into shark-infested waters than alone with the men who came calling to your hotel. Some days of travel through the breathtaking Sicilian countryside later, you and your parents arrived in Corleone, a village that appeared all but frozen in time, as if decades had passed it by with no one any the wiser.
To your dismay, you found the selection of eligible men to spend your time with far more limited than in Palermo. The working young men were too tired from their labor in the fields or their trades to engage in foolish antics with a vacationing foreigner. The rest were mafiosi, as you gathered from the veiled comments and numerous euphemisms the older villagers used.
These elderly became your companions during your stay in Corleone, talking wildly with their weathered hands over coffee or wine. Filomena, a woman of nearly eighty years and fluent in English, lived in the house next to the one your family was renting. Her husband Gianni only left the house if absolutely necessary, and she considered him a burdensome hermit. Each morning, she fetched you to accompany her into town. Some days, you’d do little else than sit outside of a cafe on the sleepy main street, eating and drinking and gossiping.
Your Sicilian improved immensely in the near month you kept up with their chatter. Those women always had their ears to the ground, as far as knowing more about your father’s business in Corleone than you did. The vacation he promised you was little more than a gesture of confidence toward Don Manusco, a man notoriously difficult to meet directly with. That your father achieved this naturally generated interest in the village, as no one knew of him. When pressed for more information about your own family’s line of work, you answered what you knew, that your father invested, mostly in stocks, but occasionally in new business ventures.
You were privy to little else, much to the disappointment of your companions, who moved onto other topics of discussion. One woman’s son sought work in Milan and within three months of getting hired at a factory, married a Northerner, much to her displeasure. In contrast, Filomena’s daughter was cloistered elsewhere in the countryside, preparing to take her vows and become a nun.
Their superstitions, however, intrigued you most of all. A curse and blessing existed for nearly every conceivable situation. The most striking tale they spun regarded an abandoned villa about a mile past the rental house. Foreboding and hostile, its faded facade peeking out from thorny vines, it was once the envy of the village. At one point in time, though no one could agree quite when, the Don of another family lived there. He took in a strange young man, reclusive yet polite, wandering the countryside with two armed shepherds as bodyguards. He married a local girl, but the marriage ended tragically soon after the wedding. In a sudden blaze of fire and betrayal, she was killed. The strange man vanished not long after, and anyone associated with the villa—including the old Don Tomassino—were soon found dead or had disappeared altogether. Thus, no one dared approach it for fear of the curse surely cast upon the place.
Some of the gruesome murders in the vicinity of the villa could have been attributed to the tradition of violence Don Manusco carried on following Don Tomassino’s death. It didn’t explain the livestock dying of unusual causes, an older woman interjected. Even the land surrounding it was cursed, and the local shepherds knew better than to let their flocks graze nearby, explaining the abnormally tall grass and overgrown foliage that surrounded the villa.
Yet another woman claimed to have seen a demon or ghost in the form of a man wandering the villa’s grounds at night. Of course, she didn’t get close enough to take a good look, instead uttering Hail Marys as she ran into the local church to take refuge until her husband found her some time later.
Your mind drifted to the villa sometimes, this forbidden and mysterious monument to grief and superstition that seemed to cast a longer shadow over the village than the mafiosos who ran it.
When your parents had gone to Don Manusco's for dinner one evening, Filomena insisted you join her and Gianni instead of eating alone.
The scent of stewing summer tomatoes with garlic and mouth-watering spices invited you inside the house, its windows open for hopes of cool breezes moving through. Gianni offered you wine and a simple antipasto spread of cheese and oranges to snack on while Filomena cooked dinner. Despite his reclusiveness, he somehow knew that your father’s dinner with Don Manusco involved more business than a friendly visit, the final chance for your father to seal what he hoped would be a lucrative deal with the mafia boss.
Two hours later, you sat across from Filomena at the small wooden table in their kitchen, filling your plate with the delicious meal she prepared. You ate in silence while Filomena spoke, bickering with Gianni every now and then. As the sun set over Corleone, unease crept over you, though you chose to attribute it to the heat of the day and eating too quickly.
Until a commotion erupted up the street, almost deafening as it approached, finally arriving outside of Filomena’s house. Frantic Sicilian shouting mingled with rapid pounding on the front door startled you into dropping your fork. Filomena and Gianni shared a worried glance before both getting up from the table to answer.
Wailing.
Screaming.
Arguing.
All you found yourself able to do was sit in confused silence. When they returned to the kitchen with a few other locals, panic truly set in.
“You have to leave!” Filomena cried, pulling you out of your seat by your arm.
“What’s going on?” you asked.
“Your father’s a fool–”
Gianni shook his head. “A dead fool–”
“Your father should have never brought you here if he were going to try to cheat Don Manusco!” an older woman said.
Another cursed. “Selfish bastard!”
“Go! As far from here as you can!” Filomena implored.
A hard push toward the back door was the extent of the help you’d receive from the villagers of Corleone.
Blood pounded in your ears, your heart beating in time with your feet against the uneven dirt path that nearly tripped you up in your desperate rush to the rental home. You opened the door, scrambling upstairs in a frantic half-crawl to reach your room.
You shoved clothes and essentials into a bag, hardly paying attention to what exactly you were packing, just knowing you couldn’t flee empty-handed and hope to rely on the goodwill of strangers.
In the kitchen, you grabbed what you could from the pantry and shoved everything into a wicker basket. With just that and your suitcase in hand, you clumsily ran across the uneven countryside roads, hoping to find somewhere to take shelter for the night. Every rustle of leaves and animal cry sent chills across your skin. Just when you felt hopeless for a place to hide, you saw the abandoned villa's high walls, overgrown with vines and bramble in the distance. Superstition be damned, it was better than dying at the hands of a mafioso.
The iron gate was closed, but not locked. You held your breath as you opened it, sending out silent thanks to the universe that it didn’t release some otherworldly screech and announce your presence. Hardly visible in the dead of night, the villa peeked out from beneath the plants that had overtaken it. Even from a distance, it appeared as if the building were hollowed out somehow. It remained your best bet.
Superstition offered you refuge, as masculine voices drifted above the villa’s high walls, the structure still sturdy despite the general state of disrepair.
“Should we go in?”
“You sound as much of a fool as that old man. That place is cursed. Even if she were in there, she'd be dead anyway.”
Their heavy, rushed footsteps against the rocky terrain fell silent after a few moments. You sighed in relief, allowing yourself to relax just the slightest bit. Until you glanced back at the villa again, a new sense of dread making your stomach turn at the prospect of having to go inside the place. While you didn’t believe all of the rumors you’d been told over the previous few weeks, being in its presence unsettled you.
Then again, feeling unsettled in an abandoned villa was preferable to whatever would happen if Don Manusco’s men got his hands on you.
After a moment of hesitation, you approached the shadowy building, hoping your luck wouldn’t run out when you got inside.
To your surprise, the interior wasn’t as poorly maintained as the exterior. The furniture betrayed the wealth of whoever lived there previously, though they’d seen better days. Dark wood scuffed or splintered. Dull fabrics that must have been rich violets or crimson upon their initial purchase.
You walked into the living room, freezing upon seeing lit candles around. Someone was living there after all.
“Hello? Is anyone–” you gasped upon seeing a man standing on the other side of the living room, partially obscured by shadows.
Even in the cover of darkness, his features rendered you speechless as he approached. Handsome seemed too pedestrian of a word to describe him. His raven hair fell across his forehead with a deceptive boyishness. Brown eyes, almost black as the night itself bore into your own. His skin wasn’t nearly as tan as the villagers you’d met, but you supposed someone who lived in such a place was wealthy enough to not have to partake in the grueling manual labor typical of the area, the strong Sicilian sun giving its residents a healthy glow which he lacked.
“What are you doing here?” he asked quietly.
“The men who were outside before—I think they’re going to kill me,” you said, panic overtaking your senses as his face remained unmoved by your explanation. “Please, I didn’t know anyone lived here.”
“Why do they want to kill you?”
“I think my father tried to cheat Don Manusco. I don’t know all of the details, but if they don’t want to kill me, then they’ll probably—“ Your voice caught in your throat.
“You can stay.”
“I’ll leave tomorrow and find a way to get back to Palermo.”
He shook his head. “You have a vendetta out against you now. Getting back to Palermo so soon will be nearly impossible, especially if Manusco has allies there.” He watched in unreadable silence as hopelessness ate away at your resolve. “You can stay,” he finally repeated. “Don’t leave the villa. Not during the day, and especially not at night. You’ll be safe.”
“Thank you. I owe you my life.” You offered him your name, as a courtesy and as collateral. More valuable than anything else you carried with you, he could use it to betray you for his own gain whenever he wished. You prayed it wouldn’t come to that.
“Michael Corleone,” he said.
“Like the village.”
He smiled the slightest bit, his dark eyes shining an almost betraying crimson in the moonlight. Ethereal. That was the right word for him. “Yes, like the village.”
Your host led you upstairs, helping you with your meager belongings despite your insistence you could handle your small suitcase and a basket of food, which you left on the console table in the foyer. The villa had certainly seen better days, its plaster walls cracked, crumbling in some places. You would’ve used caution going up the stairs if Michael hadn’t been so confident as he ascended them.
He paused at the top of the stairs, glancing at each of the doors along the hallway. After a few moments, he seemed to settle on one, leading you to a dark bedroom, full of odd shadows that made you pause. It seemed otherwise better taken care of than the rest of the villa you’d seen up to that point.
“It’s just me here. I’m afraid I’m not the best homemaker,” he half-joked in response to your hesitation to enter the room.
“No, I’m sorry. It’s nice. I can’t thank you enough, Michael.”
He nodded. “I have insomnia, so you’ll see more of me at night than during the day. The cellar stays locked, but you can have the run of the place otherwise.”
You bid each other good night.
When he shut the bedroom door behind you, you collapsed onto the bed and cried into your pillow, both from heartbreak and exhaustion, until you fell asleep.
The following morning, you awoke to fresh bug bites on your arm–inflamed and itchy, though perfectly in line with each other, oddly enough. Beggars couldn’t be choosers, and you supposed you’d rather deal with mosquito bites than whatever Don Manusco and his soldiers had in mind for you.
True to his word, Michael was nowhere to be found when you went downstairs to eat a breakfast of bread and hard salami. Again, not ideal, but you’d make do with what you brought with you. For the rest of the day, you explored the villa, acquainting yourself with your new albeit temporary home.
You found yourself with little to do to pass the time. Venturing out onto the surrounding grounds of the villa was hardly an option, most of it so overgrown you couldn’t take a proper walk. There were a few books in the house, but often you found your mind drifting to your parents, what their fate looked like and what could await you if Don Manusco found out where you were hiding. By the time you’d finally see Michael around in the evenings, you’d force yourself to stay up as long as you could to be in his company. Soon, your schedule nearly matched his nocturnal one.
Over the following weeks, you got to know Michael. At times, you couldn’t help but stare at him, but sometimes it felt as though you couldn’t do much else if you tried. He was a gracious host for how you imposed on him, showing concern for the bug bites you tried to hide from him. A good thing he noticed, as he brought you a cup of tea, a deep maroon color that he explained was a natural remedy from the village for the discomfort you were experiencing. A common occurrence that you’d been fortunate enough to avoid since arriving in Corleone.
“You’re not from around here either,” you said one night. “I can tell from your accent.”
“I’m from New York, but my father was born here,” he explained. “My last name is a mistake from when he immigrated.”
“Do you miss it?”
He was silent for some time, lost in thought before answering with a soft, “Terribly.”
“But you can’t go back.”
“No, I’m very sick. I wouldn’t survive the trip.”
“I’m sorry,” you said, your curiosity getting the better of you when you asked, “What do you have?”
“What I have is incredibly rare, there’s no word for it. Sunlight puts me in excruciating pain, and my appetite is abnormal.”
“How long have you been sick for?”
“Years. More than you’d believe.”
“You know, everyone in the village thinks this place is cursed. If you just talked to them, then they’d understand what was going on and maybe be able to help.”
“I can’t be around people. It’s not safe for them.”
“I don’t understand,” you said. “Are you contagious?”
He hesitated. “Not how you’d think.”
“No matter what you have, it’s not good to be alone,” you argued.
“You’re here now.”
“Only until it’s safe for me to go to Palermo and leave Sicily.”
He shook his head. “You won’t be able to leave. Not when a man like Don Manusco has a vendetta out against you,” he said, his intense gaze boring into you. Your chest grew tighter as he spoke. “This villa is the only place you’ll ever be safe.”
“Michael, you’re scaring me.”
“I’m sorry, sweetheart. I just know what he did to your parents…he and men like him have done to many others on this island, too.” Your silence perturbed him. He grabbed your shoulders, squeezing them gently, though his eyes seemed to blaze with fury. “I’m keeping you safe here, aren’t I?”
“Yes,” you whispered, your voice nearly catching in your throat.
“Then what’s there to be afraid of?”
“Nothing.”
“That’s right, as long as you stay here.”
“I can’t stay forever.”
He hummed dismissively, not bothering to acknowledge your statement. You soon excused yourself to go to sleep, a sudden uneasiness settling in your stomach.
You awoke late into the afternoon the following day, judging by the amber sunlight that streamed through the broken shutters. Still, your limbs felt heavy, and your head pounded as if you’d hardly slept at all. A quick glance at your arm revealed twin bug bites on your wrist again, this time darker than the previous ones, leaving your skin tender to the touch.
Dizziness turned the room over when you sat up from the bed, and you nearly considered going back to sleep, if it weren’t for the hunger that ached in your bones.
You ventured down into the kitchen, relieved to find a pot of tea sitting out. You didn’t even bother reheating it, though the consistency was odd, thicker in its room temperature state. The texture didn’t deter you, as the more you drank, the better you felt, your dizziness and aches gone as the tea overflowed from the corners of your mouth and dripped down your chin, insatiable until there was nothing left. Wiping off your face, you went back up to your room and fell back asleep.
A knock on the door woke you up in the pitch black some hours later. You lit the candle on your bedside table before getting up to answer. You knew it was Michael, concerned about why you hadn’t joined him yet.
Just as you got up to answer, he opened the door, letting himself into your room–except it wasn’t your room. It was his, and you supposed he could enter whenever he wanted.
Frozen in place by his gaze alone, you stood still and silent as he approached, demeanor darker and more intense as his presence filled the room, as if his essence somehow intermixed with each breath you took. A citrusy sweetness with a bloodcurdling undercurrent of violence filled your lungs. Despite this, you felt no fear, but rather anticipation when he finally reached out and caressed your cheek, his hand freezing against your warm skin.
“Michael,” you whispered.
“Don’t fight me, sweetheart.”
And you couldn’t. Not even if you tried. His eyes took in your face with a softness that betrayed his fondness for you. His lips pressed against yours, a chaste kiss to start, but it proved to be insufficient for him, as he claimed your mouth with the fervor of a man long starved for affection. His desire for you tangible as you kissed him back, allowing his hands to roam your body above your nightgown until his fingers brushed your thighs, pushing the hem up to your hips.
He laid you back on the bed, ridding you of your panties and slipping his fingers between your folds. “Tell me how it feels,” he said, his lips against your skin. “Tell me everything.”
Before then, you would have died rather than admit it to him, but at his urging, the dam broke. Of course your thoughts of him weren’t always innocent. Some nights, when you were sure he was elsewhere, you touched yourself to the thought of him. The confession slipped from your mouth so quickly that shame couldn’t catch you, not when Michael pushed his fingers inside you, the heel of his palm rubbing against your clit, denying you any sensation but absolute pleasure.
“I’ve wanted you since I first saw you,” he whispered, pressing desperate kisses into your neck. “You have no idea how hard it’s been for me not to–”
Your whine interrupted his train of thought, and a knife-sharp pain jolted through you when he sunk his teeth into your throat, breaking the fragile skin. His fingers curled inside you, a moan clawing its way out of you as you came, ecstasy pulsing through your limbs in waves that threatened to drown you in it. Spots clouded your vision and breath evaded you, the poignant scent of copper mixed with your sex made your head spin.
“Michael, I–” You passed out, though you awoke later, curled up next to him, your body sore and more fatigued than ever. You winced when you tried to move your head, a dull ache coming from your neck. “What did you do?” you mumbled.
“Sweetheart?”
“To my neck.”
“I’m sorry,” he said, petting your hair. “I got carried away. I haven’t felt this way in a long time.”
“Me either,” you admitted.
He smiled, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head. From then on, he was ravenous, and like a woman possessed, you gave in to him every time. Nights with him blurred together as thoughts of escaping Sicily and the danger that waited for you outside of the villa walls were almost nonexistent.
Some time later, though you’d largely stopped keeping track of the days by then, you realized your food supply was running low. Michael would go out at night and get some for you if you asked, though he never revealed where exactly he went. Still unsure of your safety from Don Manusco, you figured the farm up the road would be a good place to swipe some fruit from the orchard and anything else they might have lying around and not exactly miss.
The sun felt especially harsh when you went outside. Each step brought about unimaginable fatigue that made your bones ache. You hardly made it halfway to the farm before you had to rest beneath a large tree’s shade to rest your tired limbs and eyes.
“Excuse me, miss? Are you okay?”
You jolted awake, surrounded by a handful of elderly villagers from around the countryside. You recognized at least one of the older women as one of your old cafe companions in Corleone.
“I’m fine.”
The woman in question squinted at you. “Where do I know you from?”
“We’ve never met before,” you said, voice tight with panic. “I have to go. Goodbye.” You forced yourself up, using what little strength you had to return to the villa, ignoring their calls for you to wait. Exhaustion swept over you by the time you made it inside, promptly collapsing in the foyer. They had recognized you, and surely they had seen you retreat into the villa and were on their way to let Don Manusco know of your whereabouts. They’d be foolish not to with the price on your head.
Michael was nowhere to be found, and you worried that by the time you finally saw him that night, it’d be too late to tell him what transpired. Tears rolled down your cheeks as fear and guilt crept up on you. Your carelessness had put Michael in danger, too.
With no way of knowing how long it’d be until word got back to Manusco, you considered the layout of the villa, which you knew like the back of your hand, and the best place to hide if he or his men intruded in search of you.
In hindsight, the kitchen cupboard was a more obvious choice for a hiding spot, but it was the most your fatigued brain could come up with while you were panicked.
Your instincts had been right, though. The inevitable intrusion did come.
The voices that echoed through the foyer were the same ones from the night you first arrived in the villa. You kept a hand over your mouth, the other with an iron grip around the kitchen knife.
“Come on, Don Manusco isn’t angry with you. He just wants to talk,” one of the men called out.
“It’s a misunderstanding,” the other added. “He knows you didn’t have anything to do with your father’s schemes.”
You couldn’t take a chance on whether or not they were telling the truth.
Footsteps approached, growing louder with each passing second. You readied yourself for attack, until you heard a blood-curdling scream rip through the night and you dropped the knife in shock.
With all of the foolishness of your father, you opened the cupboard door. Blood pooled around the man’s head, a look of terror etched into his face, betraying his final thoughts. Your gaze lifted, and you stumbled backward, unable to comprehend the gruesome sight before you. If you hadn’t been watching Michael with your own eyes, you would have assumed an animal attack was responsible for the carnage at your feet. What more, after the initial shock wore off, an almost physical pull drew you to the spilled blood.
The villagers had been right. It wasn’t mere superstition, but reality, one more horrific than any of them could have fathomed. The unexplained murders, the livestock deaths, all by his hand. His illness a fabrication to conceal the true nature of his being, something unnatural that existed in the worlds between life and death with a hunger to match. He’d been feeding from you for weeks, allowing you to carry on believing lies. Of course you felt awful, constantly fatigued. You could only hazard a guess as to what was really in the tea you’d been drinking like a fiend.
You wished you could scream at yourself for your naivete, as if he’d help you out of the kindness of his heart and not expect something in return. Your willful ignorance of his odd behavior in exchange for refuge in the one place where you’d be safe from who you thought were the only men who wanted to harm you. But he saved you from Don Manusco and his men. He kept you alive. He could gain little from drawing out your death for so long. Unless…your eyes widened, and you looked at him in horror.
Michael spoke your name softly. “Do you understand now?”
“You–You’ve been making me like you.”
“I should have done it sooner. It’s the best way to keep you safe.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Would you have believed me?”
“I guess not.”
He cupped your face in his hands, “Things won’t be that different. We’ll be together. No one will be able to hurt you.”
“How–How much longer until I’m–”
“As soon as tonight, if you’ll let me.” Sensing your hesitation, he pressed a bloody kiss to your forehead. “There’s nothing to be afraid of. You trust me, don’t you?”
“Yes,” you whispered, overwhelmed by the urge to trust him, to commit to an eternity of all-consuming, reclusive violence with him. “I want to be with you. I want to be like you.”
His hands drifted down to your neck, his fingers digging into your pulse as he leaned in, his teeth grazing the half-healed wound he’d inflicted all those nights before. “I knew you’d make the right choice.”
Summary: Michael Corleone is the last person you expect to see at your best friend Connie’s wedding, and the last thing you expect to happen upon seeing him again after so many years is spending the night together. Maybe, it'll turn into something more.
Note: Female reader, but no other descriptors are used. No hate to Kay, she’s my girl, but wedding scene Michael drives me crazy🤭 She’s off living her best life elsewhere in this. Also, it was a lot of fun writing pre-everything Michael. Do not interact if you’re under 18, terf or radfem, or post thinspo/ED content.
Word count: 2.8k
Warnings: Sexually explicit content involving unprotected sex. Light play fighting.
Champagne and giggles overflowed at Connie Corleone’s wedding to Carlo Rizzi. Plenty of red wine was passed around in pitchers for the old guard, of course. For you and the other women conscious of not staining the rainbow of cocktail dresses and flowing gowns that dotted the backyard, you opted for lighter fare in tall flutes that sparkled in the early autumn sun.
Perhaps you were a bit too enthusiastic about the drink offerings, having already exchanged three empty champagne glasses for ones filled to the brim with glittering gold when the bride engulfed you in a hug. With a delighted laugh, you returned the gesture, kissing her cheek.
“I wanted to say thank you one more time for coming!” Connie exclaimed, her cheeks flushed pink from the excitement of the day. “God, it breaks my heart we couldn’t have gotten you a bridesmaid dress in time, but you look gorgeous.”
“Me? Connie, you look like a princess.”
“I feel like one,” she giggled.
“When you see your gift from me—I’m sorry it’s not more, I haven’t—”
“Stop it!” she scolded. “You came all the way from Europe just to be at my wedding. I couldn’t ask for a better friend.”
You didn’t bother correcting her. Her version of events sounded much nicer than you just got lucky with when the Red Cross put you on a boat home. “Anything for you.”
“I won’t keep you. This is probably the first time you’re eating real food in years. Mama, Sandra, and Theresa made most of it.”
Connie was right. You tried to savor your plate, packed with pasta drowned in homemade sauce, antipasto and crusty bread, and sandwiches that towered with fresh cold cuts. The Corleones knew a thing or two about good food, and had the means to pull the strings for the unfathomable ration books such a feast required.
A familiar yet unexpected voice startled you when your fork pierced a piece of mozzarella. “Is this seat taken?”
“Michael,” you practically gasped, taken aback by his even attending the wedding in the first place, but also how good he looked in his uniform. Cap tucked under his arm, medals and decorations on his chest, the photos you’d seen in the magazine didn’t do him justice. Finding yourself again, you gestured to the empty seat across from you. “Go ahead.”
“I can’t remember the last time I saw you, but you look great,” he said, his gaze fixed on you as he set his plate and glass down. He took you in, the girl he’d grown up seeing around the house and at school, now, without a doubt, a woman.
“You too, Captain,” you said, nodding toward the double bars on his uniform.
He snickered at your little joke, making you feel a bit more at ease in his presence. “I’m surprised you aren’t in the wedding party.”
“Honestly, I wasn’t even sure I was going to make it until a few days ago. I only just got back to New York on Thursday,” you said.
“You volunteered with the Red Cross, didn’t you?”
You nodded. “I was in England, and then France after the liberation.”
“Clubmobile, right?”
“Did Connie tell you?”
He shook his head, smiling the slightest bit. “All the pretty girls worked the Clubmobile.”
A mortifyingly girlish giggle escaped your lips. You quickly brought your glass to your mouth, though the champagne in it was likely the culprit of your embarrassing reaction to Michael’s compliment. Averting your eyes to the dancing guests, you tried to ignore the warmth that spread across your face.
You allowed yourself to look at him again a few moments later, relieved to find he was still sitting in front of you, amused, maybe even endeared, by you.
“You’re such a jerk, Michael,” you mumbled, only because he was your friend’s older brother, and when you were younger and starry-eyed and figuring out what it meant when your heart wouldn’t quite beat right around a boy, it was him who those tender emotions were kindled in secret toward—until you had your first real boyfriend.
He grinned at your remark, and the two of you ate and caught up in between his various family members stopping by the table to say hello. You weren’t sure what to make of his seeing you before any of them—flattered, a bit confused as well, but he laughed at your jokes and moved his seat closer to yours, so you must have been doing something right when he finally asked, “Do you want to dance?”
“I’d love to,” you said.
The chaos from Johnny Fontaine’s unexpected arrival and impromptu performance subsided when Michael led you out to dance. He held you close, the way soldiers had at the dances the Red Cross put on for servicemen, all to boost morale, or, as the war went on, to offer a break from reality. Among the many rules meant to be followed—and typically broken in one way or another in the haze of war—was to keep some emotional distance from the enlisted men, for your sake and their own, but with bodies so close together, tender touches and soft whispers over songs of twilight and moonbeams, it was tough not to be caught up in romance’s alluring snare.
Even then, with the war behind both of you, something about being in Michael’s arms made you truly understand why some girls risked their assignments for a man. There was something in how he looked at you, different from your childhood together, even from a few minutes prior. You felt breathless despite the slow song you swayed along to.
“Did you like Paris?” he asked quietly, throwing you for a loop.
You furrowed your eyebrows. “Paris?”
“You were in France, weren’t you?”
“Not Paris.”
“Where in France were you slinging doughnuts, then?”
“Little villages a few miles out from the front, mostly. More cows than people, but nice enough once the fighting stopped, and it was finally quiet—as quiet as it could get, anyway,” you said. “When Connie wrote you’d been wounded, I couldn’t help but think the worst. Plenty of guys out there—well, that article sure put me at ease. All the girls were jealous when I said I knew you.” You smiled. “I’m glad you’re alright, Michael.”
He glanced at your lips, and for an aching moment you were sure he was going to kiss you, but instead he gave you a smile, one that was real and made your heart flutter nevertheless, but left you disappointed.
“Where are you staying since you’ve been back?” he asked.
He seemed familiar with the hotel you were staying in when you mentioned it, offering to drive you back after the reception ended, and Connie and Carlo left for their honeymoon.
“It’s only until I can find a boarding hotel that has space,” you said. “I mean, it doesn’t have to be the Barbizon, but I’m not moving back in with my parents.”
“Here’s to that.”
The rest of the day and into the evening, Michael hung around you, unless he was pulled away by members of his family, each instance an annoyance to him. You knew they weren’t exactly supportive of his enlisting, but the situation couldn’t have been that bad, not since he was home, safe and sound at his sister’s wedding.
The Corleones, though endlessly kind to you, always been an odd family, and you learned through your friendship with Connie not to ask too many questions.
But Genco Abbandando was dying, and Vito insisted Michael go with the rest of the Corleone men to pay his respects to the elder. When you offered to take a cab back to your hotel, Michael promised the visit wouldn’t be long, suggesting you wait at the house with his mother until he returned to drive you into the city.
Your foolish desire to spend more time with him led to your waiting in the Corleones’ kitchen for a little over an hour, when you likely would’ve been showered and in bed in your hotel room by the time he arrived back for you, in one hell of a hurry to get you into his car and presumably get away from his family.
“Do you ever think about leaving New York?” he asked when the house was out of view.
You laughed. “Michael, I only just got back.”
“That’s not what I mean. The war—it wasn’t going to be forever, but it let you see what life could be like away from all of this, didn’t it?”
“Of course it did. I’m honestly not sure what I’m going to do with myself now,” you said. “How about you? Are you going back to school? Dartmouth, I mean.”
He nodded. “I start again the spring semester.” At a red light, he glanced over at you. “New England’s nice. Better than French cow country.”
“And do you suppose I could study in the department of pouring coffee and serving doughnuts?”
“You’re smart. I think you have a real future,” he said, the sincerity in his voice startling you. “All of that back there, that’s not for us. It never has been.”
You were silent for a few moments. “I guess you’re right.”
The city lights twinkling in the distance took the place of the stars they blocked out from the sky, growing larger as Michael crossed the bridge into Manhattan, the center of the universe. You’d never tell a soul how you cried just a few days prior upon seeing it again for the first time in years.
Besides his talk of the future, Michael kept the conversation light, and you could’ve sworn he was flirting with you. Working the Clubmobile, you learned quickly how to pick up on it, some men laying it on thick while others were irresistibly smooth. Michael could’ve easily just been teasing you, the way a friend’s older brother would, but when he pulled up to your hotel, either your ego or curiosity prompted you to invite him up for a drink.
You sobered up on the drive into the city, enough to remember you didn’t have any drinks in your room. The two of you would have to go to the hotel bar for that, but then you and Michael wouldn’t be alone, not how you wanted, anyway.
To your relief, he agreed.
With Michael in uniform, few questions would be asked by hotel staff as to why you suddenly had a man with you when you checked in on your own. It would have been easy to lie, claim he was your fiance who had only just gotten back Stateside. But you supposed you and Michael already looked the part, walking arm-in-arm through the lobby without an issue.
Your confidence soared on the elevator ride up to your modest room, which you let Michael into, knowing he wouldn’t judge the state of your accommodations.
“Mind if I make myself comfortable?” You didn’t wait for his answer, pulling your blouse from where it’d been tucked in your skirt. Slipping out of your heels, you sighed softly in relief.
“It’s your place,” he said, setting his coat over the chair in the corner and loosening his tie.
You grabbed his cap from where he set it down and placed it on your head, tilting the brim over your face a bit and posing in front of him with a hand on your hip. “How do I look?”
He sat down on the edge of the bed, giving you a once over, “I swear I saw you pinned up in some guy’s tent looking just like that.”
You laughed, taking the cap off and flinging it aside. “Oh, I don’t even know why I invited you up here!” Your laughter faded as something in your stomach turned sour, the situation feeling achingly too good to be true. Alone in a hotel room with Michael, the two of you entirely capable of making your own mistakes on the off chance he wanted you too. “Or why you even agreed to come up.”
“I didn’t come up here to drink.”
“No, you did it to be nice, because we’ve known each other for so long…” You sighed, sitting next to him. “I always figured you thought of me as your kid sister’s annoying little friend or something.”
He shook his head, saying your name softly in either protest or reassurance. His hand cupped your face as he turned it toward him, his thumb rubbing soft circles in your cheek. “Not for a long time. Especially not tonight.”
You kissed him, hands gripping his shoulders, closing your eyes as you melted in his embrace. Your skin feverish at his touch, you shuddered when his hand slipped up your untucked blouse until his fingertips reached your bra.
To say you hadn’t fantasized about Michael would have been an unconvincing lie to anyone who dared ask, but even in your wildest dreams, it was never quite like this, so bold and irreverent in the face of the tradition the two of you had just spent the day celebrating.
“I came up here because you’re beautiful,” he confessed against your lips, “because you’re the only familiar face I saw at my sister’s wedding that didn’t make me wish I were somewhere else.”
Silencing him with another kiss, your fingers raked through his soft black hair as your body pressed flush against his, unsure if you could withstand hearing more of his tender words without falling to pieces. You couldn’t, not so early in the night, but his desire grew difficult to ignore when he pulled you onto his lap. The pressure against your pussy made you moan, and with a hasty desperation, you shimmied out of your panties as he unbuckled his belt, freeing his hard cock within a few moments.
You slipped a hand between the two of you, pumping his length, feeling the way it twitched at your touch and gasping when Michael’s hips bucked. His teeth grazed your bottom lip, a whisper of an intent to devour you.
“I need you, sweetheart,” he groaned. “Need to feel you.”
Lifting your hips, you whimpered upon feeling his head brush your clit as you positioned yourself, slowly lowering as he filled you, cock throbbing against your walls that clenched around him. He assuaged the pain of taking all of him with a gentle kiss and soft praises, urging you to take your time, that you had all night together.
All night. The promise he would stay, at least until the morning, sent a teasing wave of pleasure through you. Gripping his shoulders, you tried to keep a steady pace as you rode him, wanted to show him that staying would be worth his while. He’d been right in the car, you wouldn’t be a virginal, wedding white bride. The both of you had seen and experienced too much to be considered innocent any longer, but it was something you shared, that no one else from that day would have understood.
Your thighs ached as you neared your climax, desperately chasing it despite the exhaustion that was creeping up on you. Crying out in frustration, you buried your face in the crook of Michael’s neck.
“I’m close,” you whined. “Michael, I—”
“I’ve got you,” he assured you, his hands making their home on your hips.
Your eyes fluttered shut as you let him guide your body, his thrusts doing most of the work while you rocked against him, seeking the friction against your clit that would bring you to release. It caught in your throat, a broken groan from your lips to his ears as you came, clenching around him, pleasure rolling through you, rattling your body like thunder. You barely caught your breath when he came, shuddering against you, practically cradling you against him as he filled you.
With a whimper, you lifted yourself off of him and rolled back onto the bed. Placing your hand on your chest, you felt your rapidly beating heart beneath your fingertips, focusing on it as it slowed the following minute or so and ignoring the stickiness between your legs, the evidence you slept with your best friend’s older brother.
Michael leaned over, brushing back the hair that stuck to your face. “What are your plans tomorrow?”
“Looking through the classifieds for a job,” you said honestly.
“Wanna put it off for a day?”
“With what money, Michael?”
“I’ll give you a line of credit.”
You grabbed one of the pillows from behind you, throwing it at him with a laugh. “Jerk!”
He grinned, pushing it aside to grab for one of your arms. You put up a weak fight, your breathless laughter giving away his almost certain win.
Having pinned you down beneath him, he pressed you for an answer. “So?” He kissed you. “What do you say, sweetheart?”
You rolled your eyes, smiling despite yourself. “I guess I can clear my schedule for a dashing war hero like you.”
“Dashing, I like the sound of that,” he murmured, bringing his lips to yours again, softly, with a tenderness that promised more for tomorrow, and even the day after, if you’d have him.
You smiled. “Me too.”
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
STARRING ... BEST FRIEND'S BROTHER!M. YOONGI X READER
WORD COUNT ... 10.4K
SUMMARY ... yoongi doesn’t know what you want from him, but he knows he wants you.
NOTES/WARNINGS ... slight angst. smut (18+/MDNI). i needed these two to fuck so bad. making them official because they mean the world to me <33 taehyung flirting with reader. jealous!yoongi. basically-lovers-but-not-really to lovers. fingering, p in v sex, protected sex. if i forgot anything let me know.
playlist : still into you (paramore), snooze (sza), kiss me (sixpence none the richer), so american (olivia rodrigo), pink + white (frank ocean), still the one (shania twain), runaway (the corrs), kiss from a rose (seal), are you bored yet? (wallows), here with me (d4vd)
you wake up to the sound of yoongi’s alarm vibrating against the nightstand.
it’s early. too early. the sky outside is still a soft shade of orange, and the only reason you’re even awake is because yoongi, in his infinite wisdom, forgot to turn off his alarm before rolling out of bed to use the bathroom.
and now it’s going off, loud and persistent.
with a groan, you shove your face deeper into his pillow, blindly reaching out to slap at his phone until it stops.
silence. finally.
except, now you’re awake. and now you’re aware. of the lingering warmth beside you, the faint scent of his shampoo clinging to the pillowcase, the way his blanket is still wrapped around you, heavy and comforting.
yoongi’s bed is dangerously comfortable.
it always has been, which is probably why you keep ending up here, despite all the logical reasons why you shouldn’t.
there’s an unspoken understanding between you. whatever this is, whatever you’ve let it become, doesn’t get talked about. doesn’t get labeled. doesn’t change anything outside the walls of his room.
the bathroom door creaks open, and you barely lift your head as yoongi walks back in, hair a mess, hoodie slung loosely over his shoulders, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.
"your alarm is annoying," you mumble, voice heavy with sleep.
"your face is annoying," he mutters back, dropping onto the bed with zero grace, exhaling sharply when his head hits the pillow beside yours. for a second, neither of you move.
then, yoongi shifts, turning onto his side, gaze flicking over your face like he’s searching for something. he must find it, because his lips twitch, just slightly.
"go back to sleep," he murmurs, tugging the blanket higher over your shoulders.
it should be weird. it should be so weird. but it’s not, so you do.
next time you wake up, yoongi’s side of the bed is cold and empty, and his bedroom door is open.
the house is quiet, save for the faint sound of the tv murmuring from the living room. you stretch, rubbing the sleep from your eyes, before finally dragging yourself out of bed, blanket still wrapped around your shoulders as you shuffle out into the hall.
yoongi’s mom is in the kitchen, flipping through a newspaper with a cup of tea in hand. she looks up when she hears you, barely fazed by the fact that you just crawled out of her son’s bedroom like it’s the most normal thing in the world because, at this point, it is.
“morning, sweetheart,” she hums, setting her mug down.
you blink, still half-asleep. “morning.”
her lips twitch slightly, and then she gives you the look.
the same knowing glance she’s been giving you for months now, the one that says you’re not as sneaky as you think you are but also i’ll let you keep pretending anyway.
heat creeps up the back of your neck, but you don’t acknowledge it, just tug the blanket tighter around yourself and step toward the fridge.
“yoongi up?” you ask, peering inside.
“mm,” she hums. “went out a while ago. said something about needing a new lighter.”
you roll your eyes, grabbing a carton of juice. of course. because god forbid he go a full twenty-four hours without replacing one of the dozen lighters he somehow loses in his own room.
you pour yourself a glass, avoiding his mom’s eyes, but you can feel her looking. assessing. thinking about whether or not she should say whatever’s sitting on the tip of her tongue.
and then, “just make sure you're using protection.”
you nearly choke on your juice. “what?”
she shrugs, oh-so-casual, turning a page in her newspaper. “just making sure.”
you gape at her. yoongi’s mom, the same woman who once scolded you and his sister for sneaking out at sixteen, now just casually suggesting that you and yoongi have been fucking each other in his room—which you've thought about, but in any which case is hardly any of her business.
before you can even think of a response, the front door swings open.
yoongi steps inside, looking obnoxiously unbothered, a fresh pack of cigarettes and a new lighter tucked between his fingers. he glances between you and his mom, brows furrowing slightly at your expression.
“what’s with you?”
you shake your head, gulping down the rest of your juice before setting the glass in the sink. “nothing.”
he narrows his eyes, clearly not believing you, but doesn’t push it. just tosses his lighter onto the counter and leans against it, watching as you continue standing there, blanket still wrapped around your shoulders, looking way too much like you belong here.
his mom, still smirking, picks up her tea again. “you kids hungry?”
yoongi shrugs. “i could eat.”
you exhale sharply, running a hand through your hair. “yeah. me too.”
his mom just hums, standing up and patting your cheek on the way to the stove.
yoongi steps up beside you soon after, close enough that you catch the faint scent of his shampoo, something fruity and familiar. he doesn’t say anything at first, just watches as you rinse out your glass, the weight of his gaze settling over you like a second blanket.
then an arm loops around your waist. it’s lazy, effortless. like it’s second nature to him now, the way he pulls you in, his fingers resting against the curve of your hip, thumb brushing slow, absentminded circles against your shirt.
you freeze, because his mom is still standing by the stove, very much aware and very much watching. yoongi doesn’t seem to care. instead, he dips his head, pressing a kiss to your temple, soft and fleeting, barely there at all.
he lingers for a second longer, like maybe he wants to say something. maybe he’s thinking about it. but then his mom clears her throat.
not pointedly, not in a hey get your hands off that girl kind of way, but in a so are you two finally gonna get your shit together, or? kind of way.
yoongi ignores her completely. just tugs you closer, resting his chin on top of your head, and sighs. “did you finish all the juice?”
“no,” you say, voice barely above a whisper. “there’s more.”
“good,” he murmurs, and that’s it. no teasing, no biting remarks. just this. his voice low and steady, his fingers still tracing idle circles against your side, holding you there like it’s nothing. like it’s everything.
his mom watches for a moment longer, sipping her tea. then, with a shake of her head, she turns back to the stove, muttering something about how she didn’t sign up for this bullshit but is too old to care anymore.
you should pull away. you really, really should. instead, you lean into him just a little more.
yoongi hums against your hair, the sound deep and quiet. “heading to the skate park later,” he murmurs. “gonna meet up with the others.” his fingers tap lightly against your hip, a slow, absent rhythm. “wanna come?”
you’ve been struggling to make friends in his sister’s absence. it’s not like you haven’t been trying. you’ve put yourself out there, made conversation, said yes to plans. but whatever you had going on with yoongi weighed enough guilt on your shoulders to sink you.
because replacing your best friend wouldn’t make you feel any better. wouldn’t fix the fact that she wasn’t here anymore and you had whatever you had going on with her brother.
but then again, if you had other friends, maybe you wouldn’t need to rely on yoongi’s presence so heavily. maybe you wouldn’t be here so much.
you were practically living with the mins at this point, rotating between yoongi’s room and his sister's, burrowing into the space she left behind like a stray cat that refused to be shooed away. as much as you loved being here, you also kind of hated it. hated feeling like a burden, like you were pushing too hard against the edges of a home that wasn’t really yours.
you’d only vanished for dinners with your own family after text after text about how they never see you anymore.
oops.
you shift, exhaling slowly, pressing your fingers into the warmth of yoongi’s hoodie. “who’s going?”
he shrugs against you. “jungkook, tae. maybe joon.”
you think about it. think about how nice it would be to get out of the house for a while. but mostly, you think about how you’re already too tangled up in yoongi’s orbit.
still, you murmur, “okay.”
yoongi doesn’t say anything right away. just tugs you in a little closer, fingers tightening at your hip, and presses another kiss to your forehead. lingering this time, sealing something in place. then, softly, “okay.”
he pulls back first, but only just. his hand stays at your waist, warm and grounding, making sure you don’t change your mind. “eat first,” he murmurs, gaze flicking toward the stove where his mom is flipping eggs. “then shower.”
you blink up at him. “are you calling me dirty?”
his lips twitch. “i’m saying you should shower.”
“sounds fake.”
he huffs, amused but unimpressed. “fine. smell like sleep and my hoodies forever. see if i care.”
you roll your eyes, finally stepping away from him, though you hate the way the absence of his touch feels so immediately wrong. still, you school your features into something appropriately annoyed as you grab a plate from the cabinet.
“can’t believe you’re bullying me first thing in the morning,” you mutter, grabbing a piece of toast.
yoongi snorts, swiping a slice of bacon off the stove before his mom can slap his hand away. “can’t believe you’re still talking.”
his mom groans. “i knew letting you two coexist was a mistake.”
you flash her a grin. “too late now.”
she just shakes her head, turning back to the stove.
yoongi bumps your hip with his before plopping down at the table, stretching his legs out obnoxiously under it. “shower,” he reminds you, mouth half-full of bacon.
you flip him off. he grins.
you roll your eyes, filling your plate with toast and bacon before sliding into the chair across from him. yoongi watches you with that lazy, knowing look, already knowing you’re going to stall as long as possible just to be a menace.
his mom sets a plate down in front of him, shaking her head. “if i hear either of you bickering before i finish my tea, i’m kicking you both out.”
“you love us,” you say, because it’s true.
she sighs, taking a sip. “unfortunately.”
yoongi snickers, stealing another piece of bacon. you don’t miss the way his mom flicks her gaze between the two of you, trying to decide if it’s worth saying anything else. but she just shakes her head again tbefore flipping open the newspaper.
you eat in comfortable silence, nudging at yoongi’s foot under the table just to be annoying. he nudges back. neither of you acknowledge it.
when you finally push your plate away, yoongi lifts a brow. “shower.”
you groan, slumping dramatically against the table. “why do you care so much?”
he chews, swallows, and says, “because you smell like my bed.”
your face heats instantly. “so?”
yoongi shrugs, reaching for his drink. “so people will think i’m obsessed with you or something.”
your heart stumbles over itself, trips and falls flat on its face.
“you are obsessed with me,” you blurt out, pointing at him. “admit it.”
he snorts, taking a sip of his juice. “nah.”
“liar.”
he just shrugs again. “go shower,” he says, pushing back from the table. “we’re leaving in twenty.”
you glare at him, but you still stand up, dragging your feet toward the hallway, making a show of how annoying this whole thing is.
right before you disappear into the bathroom, yoongi calls after you, voice laced with amusement. “don’t use my shampoo.”
you slam the door.
you knew yoongi liked to skate. it's been one of his most defining characteristics since the three of you were kids. along with his habit of being annoying and his penchant to get into trouble.
he'd showed you his collection of skateboards that day on his birthday, explaining how much he'd bought them for, showing you the designs he'd painted onto them himself, and telling you the tricks he'd done on them.
his hair had been blonde then. six months later, it’s a more minty color, faded at the roots. it suits him, you think. even if you’d never tell him that.
the walk to the skate park is quiet. comfortable. the late morning sun filters through the trees, casting warm patches of light onto the pavement, and the air still carries the crispness of early spring.
the path slopes downward, and you hesitate before saying, “i’ve been thinking about applying for an art course.”
“yeah,” yoongi says, kicking a loose rock down the path. “i heard you talking to my sister about it.”
you blink. “you eavesdropped on my call?”
he snorts. “you were in my room.”
fair point.
you nudge him with your elbow, ignoring the way your stomach twists at the idea of him remembering something so small. “so?”
he side-eyes you. “so what?”
you huff. “so, what do you think?”
yoongi rolls his shoulders like it’s obvious. “i think you should do it.”
it’s so simple. so straightforward. like there isn’t even a question in his mind about it.
you chew your lip, staring down at the pavement. “i dunno,” you mumble. “feels kind of stupid.”
yoongi stops walking. you get two more steps ahead before you realize and turn back, watching as he lifts a brow, expression flat.
“what?” you say.
his eyes flick over your face, unimpressed. “what’s stupid about it?”
you shift on your feet. “i don’t know. just... feels kind of late to be figuring out what i wanna do, i guess.”
yoongi stares at you for another long moment. then, without a word, he starts walking again. you fall into step beside him.
“you know namjoon didn’t start writing music until he was almost twenty?” he says eventually.
you frown. “that’s different.”
“not really.”
you glance at him, but he’s still looking ahead, expression unreadable.
“do it,” he says again, voice a little quieter this time. a little less teasing. “stop thinking about it and just do it.”
you exhale slowly, dragging your fingers along the strap of your bag. it’s so easy for him to say. but then again, yoongi has always done whatever he wanted, no matter how much trouble it got him into. maybe you should try it, too.
with that thought, your eyes linger on the side of yoongi’s face.
he’s always been like this. steady, sure of himself in a way that makes you envious. not in a loud, look-at-me way, but in a way that just is. like he’s figured out how to move through life without getting caught up in the little things that keep you stuck in place.
his gaze is focused ahead, brows drawn slightly, thinking about something but not saying what. the sharp line of his jaw softens when he chews at the inside of his cheek, something he does when he’s lost in thought.
you wonder what he’s thinking about. if it’s you, or if you’re just making it about you.
either way, you don’t look away.
maybe he feels your stare, or maybe he just knows, because after another few steps, he turns his head, catching your gaze like he was expecting it.
you don’t get the chance to glance away, to play it off.
his lips twitch slightly, the barest hint of amusement. “what?”
you shake your head, shrugging. “nothing.”
yoongi lifts a brow but doesn’t push. just keeps walking, hands still shoved deep into his pockets, that same small smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth like he knows something you don’t.
and maybe he does.
you're familiar with some of yoongi’s friends. not in a close way, but enough that their names and faces aren’t completely foreign.
namjoon’s the oldest of his skater friends, the one who’s always been around in some capacity, showing up at the min’s house just as much as you used to. taehyung is newer, though still familiar. he’s got one of those personalities that makes you feel like you’ve known him forever, even if you’ve only spoken a handful of times.
and then there’s jungkook.
he was a year above you in school, and if that wasn’t enough to cement him in your memory, yoongi’s sister having the fattest crush on him definitely was.
you remember the way she used to sigh dramatically about him, how she’d make you wait outside the gym after basketball practice just to happen to be there when he walked out.
it was embarrassing.
the skate park is already busy when you arrive, full of guys who look like they’ve been here since sunrise, boards tucked under their arms, half-drunk bottles of gatorade left forgotten on the ledges.
yoongi barely glances around before spotting his friends near the bowl, plopping down on a nearby bench.
“you wanna sit and watch?” he asks, looking at you expectantly.
you hesitate, toeing at a crack in the pavement. jungkook, who’s already mid-conversation with taehyung, spots you first.
“oh, shit,” he says, grin spreading. “yoongi actually brought someone?”
taehyung turns too, eyes widening slightly before recognition clicks. “oh, wait. i know you.”
jungkook’s brow furrows, scanning you again. “yeah, you were a grade below me, right?”
you nod. “yeah. and yoongi’s sister used to be obsessed with you.”
jungkook groans immediately, dragging a hand down his face. “please don’t remind me.”
yoongi snickers beside you. “it was painful to watch, man.”
taehyung laughs, draping an arm over jungkook’s shoulder. “so you do have rizz.”
jungkook shoves him off. “shut up.”
you snort, easing onto the bench next to yoongi, feeling the tension in your chest uncoil just a little. maybe this won’t be so bad.
jungkook shakes his head, still grumbling under his breath about why does everyone keep bringing that up, but the conversation moves on quickly. taehyung says something about a new trick he’s been trying to land, and jungkook immediately challenges him to prove it.
yoongi stretches out beside you, one arm draped across the back of the bench, fingers tapping idly against the wood. he doesn’t seem in a rush to get up, which means you’re not in a rush to either.
“so, you actually skate?” you ask, nodding toward where taehyung is already flipping his board into his hands, preparing for his turn.
yoongi scoffs. “do i skate?”
you lift a brow.
he exhales, sitting up straighter. “i’m not just some guy with a collection, you know.”
“i dunno,” you tease, tilting your head. “i’ve never actually seen you do anything.”
yoongi narrows his eyes. “i showed you my boards.”
“yeah, but that’s like—” you wave a hand, “—showing off a bunch of guitars and never playing one.”
yoongi clicks his tongue, shaking his head. then, without a word, he stands, rolling his shoulders as he grabs his board.
“stay here,” he murmurs before stepping toward the bowl.
taehyung and jungkook are already watching as yoongi drops in, casual as ever, carving the curve of the bowl like it’s second nature.
and okay. fine. maybe you underestimated him a little. because yoongi doesn’t just skate. he’s good.
like, really good. smooth and effortless in a way that looks instinctual. you don’t realize you’re staring until jungkook nudges your arm, smirking.
“damn,” he muses, watching yoongi flip his board before landing clean. “you got a crush or something?”
your stomach flips. “shut up.”
jungkook just laughs.
yoongi moves like he’s been doing this forever. he doesn’t hesitate before dropping in again, knees bending smoothly with the curve of the bowl, shifting his weight just right before pushing into his next trick.
your eyes stay locked on him, unable to look away as he kicks his board up into a perfect flip, landing clean, not even the slightest stumble. he’s completely in his element. focused, sharp, like nothing outside of this moment exists.
you exhale, dragging your fingers across the edge of your sleeve.
“you’re staring,” jungkook teases under his breath, leaning close.
you glare, shoving him away. “i’m watching.”
jungkook snorts, clearly unbothered. “sure. whatever helps you sleep at night.”
but you don’t take the bait. not when yoongi lands another trick, smooth and seamless, and something tightens in your chest.
because damn. you never doubted that he could skate, but you didn’t expect this. the precision. the ease. the way he moves.
taehyung nods toward yoongi, who’s gearing up for another drop-in, his hoodie pulled up over his head now, mint-colored strands falling into his eyes.
“he wasn’t doing all this last time we were here,” taehyung muses, tilting his head. “probably trying to impress someone.”
you roll your eyes, but your stomach does a weird little flip anyway.
jungkook smirks. “wonder who that could be.”
you elbow him in the ribs.
yoongi lands another clean trick, kicking his board up into his hands before finally stepping off, exhaling through his nose as he pushes his hoodie back.
his eyes scan the park once before landing on you, and—
oh. he’s smirking.
a knowing little thing, subtle but there.
your face heats instantly, and you hate the way jungkook and taehyung both make noises of confirmation at the same time.
yoongi strolls over, board tucked under one arm, sweat gathering at his hairline. he stops in front of you, looking entirely too pleased with himself.
“so?” he says, tilting his head. “believe me now?”
you cross your arms, forcing your expression into something unimpressed. “eh,” you hum. “i guess you can skate.”
yoongi huffs, shaking his head like. he leans in slightly, gaze flicking over your face, voice quieter when he murmurs “you were watching pretty hard for someone who just guesses.”
"fuck off," you say with a scoff.
taehyung points a dramatic finger at you, his eyes wide with mock intensity. “my turn!” he announces, loud enough to catch the attention of a few other skaters nearby, “this is for you.”
you blink. “uh—”
before you can even ask what he means, taehyung grabs his board, squares his shoulders, and launches into what you assume is supposed to be an ollie.
except his timing is completely off. his foot misses the pop, his weight shifts too far forward, and then he’s face-planting straight into the pavement.
it happens so fast you barely have time to react. one second he’s in the air, the next he’s sprawled out on the ground, limbs tangled with his board, the dull slap of skin meeting concrete ringing through the air.
there’s a brief, stunned silence, and then jungkook wheezes. yoongi snorts so hard he has to clap a hand over his mouth, and you press your fingers to your lips, trying—and failing—to suppress your laugh.
taehyung groans, lifting his head just enough to glare at the three of you. “y’all suck.”
jungkook clutches his stomach, barely able to get words out. “bro, i can’t breathe—”
yoongi shakes his head, stepping toward you. his arm hooks around your waist, tugging you flush against his chest, your laughter cutting off with a small, surprised inhale.
his voice is lower, teasing but warm, as he murmurs, “that’s what he gets for trying to impress my girl.”
your stomach flips. the words settle heavy in your chest, something warm spreading from your ribs outward, curling into your fingers, making your breath hitch just slightly.
yoongi doesn't let go right away, his hold lingering, fingers flexing slightly at your hip like he’s perfectly comfortable keeping you there.
taehyung, still facedown on the pavement, mutters, “i hate all of you.”
the skate park trip lasts another hour before the collective hunger settles in. someone suggests maccas, and there’s no argument. because really, there’s no better way to wrap up an afternoon of skating than cheap burgers and greasy fries, so you all walk.
yoongi’s close beside you, like he always is, hands stuffed in his hoodie pockets, shoulders relaxed. taehyung walks ahead, still rubbing at his scraped-up elbow, while jungkook pushes his board lazily along the sidewalk, rolling it forward with the tip of his shoe.
“so,” jungkook starts, voice full of something already obnoxious, “are you two, like… together or what?”
your reaction is immediate. “no,” you blurt, way too quickly, way too defensively.
yoongi huffs. it’s quiet, barely a breath, but you hear it. so does jungkook.
his brows shoot up, not expecting the level of urgency in your denial. yoongi, for his part, doesn’t say anything, but you feel the way his shoulders tense for a split second. the way his head tilts slightly, side-eyeing you.
you don’t look at him.
jungkook whistles low. “damn. that was fast.”
“right?” taehyung snickers.
your face heats. “because it’s not a thing.”
jungkook hums, unconvinced. “sure.”
taehyung nods. “yeah, totally. absolutely no thing happening here.”
you glare, shoving him as you walk past. yoongi stays quiet.
you don’t glance at him, but you feel his presence beside you, the weight of something tense hanging in the space between you. it doesn’t go away for the rest of the walk.
the mcdonald's is busy when you arrive, buzzing with the usual mix of skateboarders, students, and exhausted parents just trying to survive the afternoon rush.
the four of you shuffle into line, the overhead speaker crackling with some pop song that’s been playing on every radio station for months. jungkook and taehyung are still laughing about something behind you, but you don’t catch it. not when yoongi’s standing beside you, gaze straightforward.
you don’t know why you do it. maybe out of habit. maybe to see if he’ll react. but you nudge his arm, light, just a little bump against his sleeve.
he doesn’t move, doesn’t nudge back. doesn’t even look at you.
your stomach twists, something uncomfortably hot settling behind your ribs. yoongi doesn’t usually ignore you, at least not like this. not in a way that feels so intentional.
still, you don’t say anything.
the line moves forward. when you finally reach the counter, yoongi steps up first, rattling off his usual order without looking at the menu. and then he orders yours, too.
exactly how you like it. down to the make sure there's no pickles.
you blink, caught off guard, but before you can ask, yoongi beats you to it. “i know you don’t have money on you.”
you swallow, shifting on your feet. “oh.”
yoongi doesn’t glance at you. just hands the cashier a crumpled bill from his hoodie pocket.
“thanks,” you mumble, voice quieter than you mean it to be.
yoongi just hums. no teasing. no smug little comment. and that makes your chest ache even more.
you fidget with the hem of your sleeve, shifting closer before tilting your head up, peering up at him through your lashes. “… are you mad at me?”
yoongi exhales sharply through his nose. not annoyed, not exasperated. just something.
he tugs you against him. not rough, just a simple pull, his arm looping around your shoulder. his hoodie smells like faded detergent and cheap cigarette smoke and something unmistakably him.
“i’m not mad,” he murmurs, voice low, steady.
you don’t know what to do with your hands, so you just shove them into your own pockets, fingers curling into the fabric. “… promise?”
yoongi sighs, his grip tightening slightly before his chin rests against the top of your head. “yeah,” he mutters. “promise.”
he presses a kiss to your forehead. a silent reassurance. a quiet see? i’m not mad. “don’t worry about it,” he murmurs, voice low, steady.
and you nod, leaning into him.
the playground is quiet this time of day, mostly empty aside from the four of you and the occasional kid passing by with their parents.
jungkook lounges at the bottom of the slide, food balanced on his knees, absentmindedly sipping his coke. yoongi sits a little further off, at the edge of the sandpit, one leg stretched out, the other bent, balancing his burger in one hand.
you and taehyung are on the swings, feet planted in the sand, your bags resting on your laps. the metal creaks slightly as taehyung shifts, twisting just enough to face you, an amused glint in his eyes.
“yours any good?” he asks, nodding toward your milkshake.
you hum, taking another sip. “mm-hmm.”
he leans in, offering his cup, a small smirk tugging at his lips. “wanna try mine?”
you blink at him. “it’s the same flavor.”
he pauses, then laughs, shaking his head. “yeah, but maybe mine tastes better.”
you frown, taking his drink anyway, sipping through the straw before handing it back. “nope. exactly the same.”
taehyung snorts. “right. obviously.”
you don’t catch the way he watches you for a second longer than necessary, or the way yoongi’s gaze flicks over from where he’s sitting.
your fries are nearly gone when tragedy strikes. you shift a little too much, and what’s left of them topples straight into the sand.
you let out a groan, staring down at them in dismay.
taehyung doesn’t hesitate, nudging his own toward you. “here,” he says, tone light, almost teasing. “you can have some of mine. since i’m so generous.”
you smile, grabbing a handful. “thanks, taehyungie. you’re my favorite.”
taehyung blinks, not expecting that response, then recovers quickly, smirk returning. “oh, am i?”
you nod, popping a fry into your mouth. “mm-hmm.”
“better not let yoongi hear that,” he muses, leaning closer, voice dipping just a little lower. “he might get jealous.”
you glance over at yoongi, who hasn’t reacted at all. still sitting there, picking at the wrapper of his burger, expression unreadable. then you shrug, completely missing the way taehyung’s eyes narrow in amusement.
“he’ll live,” you say, reaching for another fry.
taehyung watches you for a moment, absently sipping his milkshake, before tilting his head. "so, you and yoongi," he starts, casual. too casual. "really not a thing?"
you pause. it’s a split-second hesitation, but it's there, and taehyung doesn’t miss it.
you glance over at yoongi before you can stop yourself, like your body reacts before your brain can catch up. he’s still sitting on the edge of the sandpit, half-focused on peeling the wrapper off his burger, but his jaw is tight, his fingers a little too still.
you swallow, forcing yourself to look back at taehyung.
"no," you say, a little slower this time. "we're not."
taehyung hums, he’s turning it over in his mind.
"so, hypothetically," he muses, stretching out his legs in the sand, "if someone, say, me, wanted to take you out—"
you blink.
"—you wouldn't be off limits or anything, right?"
your lips part slightly, confusion flickering across your face before you shake your head. "uh… no?"
taehyung grins, dragging a fry through his ketchup before popping it into his mouth. "good to know."
you don’t even have time to process that before he shifts again, leaning slightly into your space, his voice dipping just enough to make your ears warm.
he nods toward yoongi, then toward himself, smirking. "technically, you’re with me right now."
you scoff, rolling your eyes. "you wish, taehyung."
"oh, i do," he says smoothly, sipping his milkshake like it's nothing.
you shake your head, tossing a fry at him, and he catches it without missing a beat.
from the edge of the sandpit, yoongi exhales sharply through his nose.
the conversation drifts after that, slipping into something lighter. taehyung teasing jungkook about his tragic attempt at a kickflip earlier, jungkook firing back with a dig about taehyung eating dirt at the skate park.
you listen, half-engaged, but the weight of something still sits in your chest.
yoongi hasn’t said much. hasn’t looked at you much, either.
he finished eating a while ago, now idly toying with the straw in his drink, long fingers tapping a slow, absent rhythm against the plastic cup.
then, after a moment, “we should go.” his voice is even, casual, but something about it makes you straighten a little too quickly.
“yeah,” you say, standing, dusting sand off your jeans. “sounds good.”
taehyung flashes a grin, tilting his head up at you from his swing. “what, leaving me already?”
you roll your eyes. “yeh, i’m done with you losers.”
jungkook snickers from his spot at the slide, but doesn’t comment.
you move to fall in step beside yoongi like you always do, but when you do, he kind of shrugs past you. not harsh, not in an outright dismissive way, but pointed enough that you feel it.
your feet hesitate for a split second before moving again, catching up despite the slight hitch in your chest.
yoongi doesn’t look at you. doesn’t say anything else.
just walks, hands shoved in his hoodie pockets, gaze fixed ahead like there’s nothing to talk about. but you feel it. something in the space between you feels different. feels off.
and you don’t know what to do about it.
the walk home is quiet.
it’s not an awkward silence, not exactly, but it’s not the usual kind either. not the comfortable kind that’s filled with shared looks and nudges and stupid little comments that don’t really mean anything but still feel like something.
this silence is… something else. something heavier.
yoongi walks ahead, hands still shoved into his hoodie pockets, his pace easy, unbothered. you trail behind him, dragging your feet just enough to make yourself feel pathetic.
you don’t want to feel like this. don’t want to care that he’s keeping just a little too much distance between you, or that he hasn’t looked at you once since you left the playground, or that your stomach still twists a little too tightly when you think about the way he brushed past you.
but you do care. you care a lot.
you bite the inside of your cheek, arms crossed as you stare down at the pavement, forcing yourself to keep moving, to pretend like this doesn’t feel like some kind of punishment for something you don’t even understand.
when you finally reach his house, yoongi steps inside first, toeing off his shoes without a word before heading toward his room.
you hesitate at the entrance, shifting your weight between your feet.
technically, you don’t live here. technically, you could just turn around and go home. but you don’t. you never do.
so, with a quiet sigh, you step inside, closing the door behind you.
you linger by the entryway for a second longer than necessary, watching yoongi’s back as he disappears down the hall. he doesn’t look back, doesn’t wait for you.
so you swallow hard, shoulders curling inward, and follow after him anyway.
by the time you make it up to his room, yoongi’s already in the bathroom. the door isn’t closed all the way. just slightly ajar, steam from the sink curling into the dimly lit hallway. you hesitate for a second, fingers grazing the edge of your sleeve, before stepping inside.
he doesn’t acknowledge you at first.
just stands there, leaning over the sink, brushing his teeth with slow, methodical strokes, his hoodie peeled off and discarded somewhere on the floor. his hair is slightly damp at the ends, probably from splashing his face, mint-colored strands curling just slightly.
you grab your own toothbrush from the cup beside the faucet, running it under the water before squeezing out too much toothpaste. yoongi doesn’t glance at you, so you don’t glance at him either.
the silence is thick.
your shoulders brush as you move, barely, a light little thing that normally wouldn’t mean anything. except tonight, it does. tonight, you notice.
tonight, it feels like yoongi not nudging you back in the maccas line. it feels like yoongi shrugging past you instead of waiting.
you stare at your reflection in the mirror, at the way your brows are slightly furrowed, the way your mouth presses into a thin line as you scrub your teeth a little too hard.
this isn’t normal. normally, this is easy.
normally, you’d be bumping into each other, making faces in the mirror, shoving at his arm when he spits toothpaste too aggressively into the sink.
but tonight, he just brushes his teeth, and you do the same, and neither of you say a word.
when you finish brushing, you hesitate. just for a second.
toothbrush still in hand, you glance at yoongi out of the corner of your eye, watching as he rinses his mouth, spits, and swipes his hand across his face. he doesn’t look at you, just flicks off the faucet with a sharp movement and reaches for his towel.
your stomach feels tight. you should say something, but you don’t.
instead, you put your toothbrush back in the cup and turn toward his room, stepping past him without a word.
but before you can take another step, yoongi grabs you by the shoulders. his touch isn’t rough, but it’s firm. fingers pressing into the fabric of your shirt, stopping you cold.
your breath catches, pulse stumbling.
“what do you want from me?”
his voice is low, but there’s something frayed at the edges. something not entirely calm.
you blink, caught completely off guard. “what?”
yoongi exhales sharply through his nose, hands tightening slightly.
“what do you want from me?” he repeats, slower this time.
your heart pounds against your ribs. his face is so close, eyes dark, searching, his jaw clenched like he’s trying to keep his voice even.
“because i—” he swallows hard, fingers flexing against your arms. “i want you. wholly. completely.”
your breath stutters. his grip doesn’t loosen.
“there’s no one else in the world i want more,” he says, voice rough. “but i need to know if i’m wasting my time.”
your throat goes dry, your mind races. the air is thick between you, heavy with something you don’t know how to name, something you don’t know if you can handle.
yoongi’s eyes flick over your face, searching for something, for anything. and you don’t know what to say.
you swallow hard.
yoongi’s fingers twitch against your shoulders, breath warm where it ghosts across your face. he’s so close, too close, looking at you like he’s begging for something—an answer, a reaction, anything.
“what do you see when you look at me?” he asks, voice low, rough around the edges.
your throat feels tight. “yoongi—”
“because when i look at you,” he continues, cutting you off, “i see the girl i kissed in the kitchen on my birthday. the girl i’ve been sharing a bed with for the past six months.”
the words settle heavy in your chest, pressing down, down, down.
“the girl i’m—” he exhales sharply, jaw clenching for a beat before forcing the words out. “the girl i’m hopelessly in love with.”
your breath stutters. his eyes flick over your face, searching, desperate.
he’s shaking now, just slightly. just enough that you feel it, just enough that you know this is costing him something.
“so tell me,” he murmurs, voice quieter now, like he’s scared of what comes next, “what do you see?”
he’s laid himself bare. no more room to dodge, no more room to pretend. it’s your turn.
but your mind is racing, spiraling too fast, trying to catch up.
before you can think, before you can second-guess, before you can talk yourself out of it, you kiss him.
it crashes into him, hands fisting into the fabric of his t-shirt, fingers curling tight like you’re afraid he’ll disappear if you let go.
yoongi freezes. just for a second, just long enough for you to think you’ve fucked up, but then he moves. his hands slide from your shoulders to your waist, gripping, pulling, needing, mouth pressing firm against yours, breath hot and uneven as he exhales into the kiss.
it’s messy and urgent. six months’ worth of unsaid things spilling out all at once.
yoongi makes a noise in the back of his throat, somewhere between frustration and relief, like he’s wanted this for so long he can’t believe it’s finally happening.
and you don’t know why you ever tried to fight it.
yoongi’s hands are firm at your waist, fingers pressing into your sides, his body heat sinking into yours. he lifts you, hands gripping beneath your thighs, shifting you up until you’re perched on the bathroom counter, your knees falling open around him as he steps between them, slotting himself exactly where he belongs.
you gasp against his lips, hands flying to his shoulders to steady yourself, but yoongi just smirks, a slow, teasing thing as he exhales sharply through his nose.
his fingers squeeze at your waist, holding you in place, keeping you trapped against him.
then, voice low, amused, “deja vu?”
your breath catches, stomach flipping. because fuck.
the birthday. the kitchen.
his hands on your thighs, his body between your legs, the first time you let him kiss you like this.
your mouth parts slightly, but nothing comes out. you don’t know what to say, don’t know how to respond to the way he’s looking at you. your fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt, gripping tight.
yoongi’s smirk softens just a little, but his eyes stay locked on yours, sharp and knowing. “got an excuse to stop this time?” he murmurs, tilting his head.
you shake your head. “no.”
yoongi hums, pleased, his fingers flexing against your skin. “good,” he murmurs, before pulling you into him, mouth crashing back against yours.
yoongi kisses you like he’s starving for it, like he’s been holding back for months, fingers digging into your waist as he tugs you impossibly closer.
his hands move without hesitation. skimming up your sides, brushing beneath your shirt, teasing at the waistband of your shorts, testing how far you’ll let him go.
when you don’t stop him, when you only tighten your grip on his shirt, legs instinctively wrapping around his waist, he exhales sharply against your lips.
“yeah?” he murmurs, voice rough, barely holding back.
you nod, breathless. “yeah.”
that’s all he needs.
his hand slips past the elastic of your shorts, fingers pushing beneath the waistband of your underwear, pressing right there, just enough to make your stomach tighten, heat pooling deep in your core.
you gasp against his mouth, back arching slightly.
yoongi smirks, lips brushing against yours as he rubs slow, deliberate circles over your clit, teasing, barely enough pressure to satisfy.
“you’re already wet,” he murmurs, voice laced with something dark and pleased.
you bite your lip, hips shifting toward his hand, but he just hums, keeping the pace agonizingly slow.
“you like this?” he asks, like he doesn’t already know.
his fingers press down a little harder, circling just right, and you make a quiet, desperate noise. yoongi groans at that, his other hand gripping your thigh, keeping you open for him, his mouth brushing against your jaw.
“thought about this,” he mutters, lips ghosting over your skin, “so many times.”
his fingers move faster now, pressing, rubbing, teasing you to the edge, the heat between your legs burning beneath his touch.
“yoongi—” your voice breaks, head tipping back against the mirror.
his lips press against your throat, his breath heavy. he strokes over your clit again, pressing tight little circles that make your stomach twist, make your thighs tense around his waist, make your breath stutter out in sharp, quiet gasps.
yoongi groans against your skin, low and throaty, his mouth brushing along the curve of your jaw. he slides his fingers lower, pushing your underwear aside and teasing at your entrance, dragging them through your slick before pushing in.
a sharp inhale rips through you, your nails digging into his shoulders, his shirt fisting in your hands.
yoongi groans again, deep this time, his fingers sinking into your cunt nice and slow, stretching you open.
“fuck,” he mutters, mouth pressing against the corner of your lips, his breath hot.
his fingers curl, stroke, press into that soft, sensitive spot inside you, and your whole body tenses, a soft whimper slipping from your throat before you can stop it.
yoongi feels it, feels the way you tighten around his fingers, the way your hips jerk toward him, and groans, his forehead pressing to yours.
“yeah? you like that?” he murmurs, voice dark, rough.
you nod, breathless. “y-yeah.”
he exhales sharply, and his fingers keep moving. slow at first, dragging in and out, teasing you open, before pressing deeper, his thumb slipping up to rub your clit in slow, lazy circles. your thighs tremble around him.
“you always this wet, baby?” yoongi rasps, eyes flicking to yours, heavy-lidded, heated.
you don’t get the chance to answer, because then he’s crooking his fingers, pressing right fucking there, and all you can do is gasp, head falling back against the mirror with a quiet, breathless moan.
yoongi watches you. watches the way your body reacts to him, watches the way your lips part, the way your hands clutch at him, your whole body responding to him like you were made for his touch.
his breath shudders out.
“you’re gonna let me fuck you, aren’t you?” he murmurs, pressing his fingers deeper, harder, coaxing another whimper from your lips. his own brush against yours, not quite a kiss, almost. “tell me,” he breathes. “tell me you want it.”
your whole body reacts before your brain even catches up, hips rolling instinctively into yoongi’s hand, chasing the pleasure he’s pulling from you.
“i—” your breath shudders, voice barely above a whisper. “i want it.”
yoongi curses under his breath, his forehead pressing to yours for half a second before he drives his fingers into you again, pressing hard, and you squeal, the sound high-pitched and desperate. before it can fully escape, yoongi’s hand is covering your mouth, his fingers pressing against your cheek, his own breath coming out shaky.
“fuck,” he groans, voice thick with something dark.
his fingers don’t slow. they move fast and rough, pumping into you, curling deep, his thumb rubbing messy, urgent circles over your clit, dragging you closer and closer to the edge until your whole body is trembling, tightening around him, begging for it.
yoongi groans again, his hand still over your lips, muffling every soft, broken noise spilling from your throat.
“be quiet,” he breathes, voice strained, like he’s losing himself in the way you react to him, the way you feel around his fingers.
you can’t be quiet. not when he’s touching you like this, not when he’s looking at you like this. eyes heavy, jaw clenched, breathing ragged as he drives you closer and closer to the edge.
you whimper into his palm, your hands clutching at his wrist, your whole body tightening as pleasure crashes through you, sending a sharp, blinding wave of heat down your spine.
yoongi groans, watching the way you come undone around his fingers, feeling the way you squeeze down, hips stuttering against his hand.
he doesn’t move his hand from your mouth until the tremors in your thighs start to fade. when he does, he presses his forehead against yours, exhaling sharply, his fingers slipping out of you just as slowly as they slid in.
“we’re not done,” he says, voice low, utterly wrecked.
his breath is still heavy, his forehead pressed to yours, hands sliding back down to your hips, gripping. yoongi grinds against you, his hips rolling forward just enough that you feel him. feel how hard he is through his jeans, the way he presses right up against you.
your breath stutters, fingers tightening in his shirt, and yoongi groans, voice rough, barely holding himself together. “fuck, doll.”
your stomach flips. the name isn’t new. he’s thrown it around before, teasing, casual, just part of the way he speaks. but this is different.
his lips brush over your cheek, jaw, down to your throat, pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses between his words. “you feel that?” he murmurs, voice thick, almost shaky.
you nod, swallowing hard, and yoongi hums, dragging his mouth back up to your ear.
“this is what you do to me,” he breathes.
he grinds again. harder this time, pushing against you, making you feel him. letting you know exactly what you’ve done to him, exactly how much he wants you.
his fingers slip beneath the hem of your shirt, grazing the bare skin of your waist, warm and possessive, gripping like he’s making sure you don’t slip away.
“gonna make you feel so good, doll,” he murmurs, kissing just beneath your ear, smirking against your skin when he feels you shudder.
his hips roll forward again, pressing just right, sending a spark of heat straight through you, and a soft whimper slips past your lips before you can stop it.
yoongi groans at that, his grip tightening. “yeah?” he murmurs, teasing. “like that?”
you nod frantically, breathless.
yoongi smirks, lips grazing yours. “good,” he mutters.
then he kisses you hard, hands gripping your thighs, pulling you even closer as his hips roll into yours again, again, again.
your fingers move down fumble against the waistband of his jeans, your breathing uneven, hands barely able to keep up with the urgency buzzing through your veins.
yoongi feels it. feels your desperation, your need, the way your hands shake slightly as you try to pop the button.
he smirks. "impatient, huh?" his voice is low, teasing, lips brushing over yours as he exhales, the warmth of it sending a shiver straight down your spine.
"take these off," you whimper softly, frustrated, fingers tugging uselessly at the fabric, and yoongi chuckles.
“here, doll,” he murmurs, his own hands coming down to cover yours, moving with an effortless ease, his fingers brushing against yours as he pops the button open, then drags the zipper down, slow and deliberate.
he holds your gaze the entire time, watching the way your eyes flicker, the way your chest rises and falls too fast, too eager.
"there we go," he murmurs, voice thick with something almost fond.
his hands shift, moving to the waistband of your shorts now, his fingers slipping beneath the fabric, grazing warm over your skin.
“lift your hips for me,” he mutters.
you do, without question, and yoongi chuckles at that, his lips curling just slightly, pleased, before he drags your shorts down, letting them drop to the floor.
his gaze dips, his fingers skimming over your bare thighs, and he hums, voice deep, teasing. "much better."
your breath is ragged, your body thrumming with anticipation, but somewhere in the back of your mind you manage to think just clearly enough to gasp out, “wait—do you have a condom?”
yoongi huffs, lips brushing against your jaw as he mutters, “yeah, yeah. hang on.”
then, before you can say anything else, he pulls away, stepping back with a sharp exhale, raking a hand through his messy, mint-tinted hair.
you watch as he disappears into his room, the absence of his warmth making you ache, leaving you cold in a way that has nothing to do with the air against your bare skin.
you hear the faint slide of a drawer opening, the sound of something shifting inside. then the drawer shuts, footsteps padding back toward the bathroom.
yoongi steps inside again, his gaze flicking over you. still perched on the counter, thighs spread, lips parted, chest rising and falling fast.
his tongue swipes over his bottom lip. then, without breaking eye contact, he lifts the foil packet to his mouth and tears it open with his teeth.
your stomach flips.
his eyes are dark, focused, his breath steady as he pulls the condom free. “gonna be good for me, doll?” he murmurs, voice thick, nearly a growl.
you nod, too breathless to speak, and yoongi smirks.
then he steps between your legs again, his hands warm and possessive at your waist, his mouth ghosting over yours as he mutters “good girl.”
yoongi doesn’t rush, doesn’t fumble.
his fingers move smoothly, easily, like he’s done this a million times before, even as his chest is rising a little too fast, his muscles tense beneath his skin.
he hooks his thumbs into the waistband of his jeans, tugging them down in one slow, fluid motion, along with his boxers, just far enough to free himself, and your breath catches. he’s hard, aching and heavy, flushed at the tip, standing thick against his stomach.
yoongi exhales sharply, rolling his shoulders back, and then he’s sliding the condom over his cock, his fingers sure and steady, his gaze flicking up to yours through heavy-lidded eyes.
“you watching me, doll?”
your cheeks burn. “no....”
yoongi smirks, the corner of his lips curling, completely unbothered by your blatant lie. “sure you aren’t.”
his voice is amused, teasing, but there’s something darker beneath it. something satisfied at the way your thighs shift, the way your breath hitches when his fingers tighten at your waist.
the condom rolls into place, snug around the base, and yoongi gives himself a slow stroke, groaning under his breath before stepping closer, slotting himself between your legs once more.
his hands grip your thighs, spreading them wider, pulling you to the edge of the counter. his length presses against you, hot, throbbing right against your cunt, and you gasp, hands flying to his shoulders.
yoongi chuckes, but there’s something wrecked in his eyes now, barely holding it together. “still want this?” he murmurs, voice rough, hands squeezing at your skin.
your fingers curl into his shoulders. “yes,” you breathe.
yoongi groans, low and deep in his chest. “good,” he mutters. then he aligns himself and pushes in.
the stretch is intense. your breath stutters, nails digging into his skin as he pushes in slow but insistent, filling you inch by inch.
"fuck," yoongi groans through clenched teeth, his head dropping against your shoulder, his breath hot against your skin.
you whimper, your walls clenching down around him, trying to adjust to the sheer size of him, the way he’s stretching you open, making space inside you that wasn’t there before.
"tight—" yoongi grits out, his hands squeezing your hips, forcing himself to take it slow. his arms tremble slightly as he holds himself still, his chest rising and falling in deep, uneven breaths. "so fucking tight, doll," he murmurs, voice strained, lips brushing against the curve of your neck.
you moan softly, head pressing against the side of his. yoongi shudders against you, his fingers twitching where they grip your thighs, his body tense like he’s barely holding on.
"shit," he exhales, his voice wrecked, his forehead still pressed to your shoulder, breath heavy.
you’re both completely still, bodies locked together, hearts pounding in sync. yoongi grits his teeth, exhaling hard through his nose. then, his lips brush against your ear, voice barely more than a breath. "tell me when, doll."
your fingers tighten in yoongi’s shirt, legs trembling around his waist, your whole body thrumming with need, stretched tight around him but craving more, needing him to move.
you tilt your head back against the mirror, breath coming out in quick, shallow gasps.
"please," you whisper, voice wrecked, barely able to get the word out.
yoongi groans, deep in his chest, his hands tightening at your hips. "yeah?" he rasps, his voice low and gravelly. before you can even nod he snaps his hips forward.
the force of it knocks the breath from your lungs, sends a sharp, blinding spark of pleasure through your spine. yoongi curses under his breath, pushes in deeper before pulling back and slamming into you again and again, fast and hard.
every thrust sharp, his grip bruising, his breath hot against your neck as he groans against your skin, completely losing himself in the way you squeeze around him, the way you take him so perfectly.
"fuck, doll," he grits out, voice shaking, his fingers digging into your hips as he pounds into you. "so fucking good."
your hands scramble for purchase, gripping at his shoulders, his hair, his arms, anything to ground yourself as he drives into you, his pace unrelenting.
"wanted this," he groans, his lips brushing against the corner of your mouth. "wanted you for so fucking long."
your breath hitches, your body tightening around him in response, and yoongi feels it.
"shit," he groans, slamming into you harder, faster, deeper. "say it," he demands, his forehead pressing to yours, his breath ragged. "tell me you wanted this too."
your breath stutters, pleasure coiling so tight in your stomach it’s almost painful.
"i—" your voice breaks, another moan slipping free as he fucks in deep, his cock kissing that sweet spot, his pace just a little too much, just enough to make your thighs shake.
yoongi smirks against your lips. "c’mon, doll."
you clutch at his shoulders, nails scraping down his back, legs tightening around his waist as you finally choke out, "i wanted this."
his body shudders against you, a sharp exhale leaving his lips, his rhythm faltering just slightly before he picks it up again, faster, harder, driving into you like he’s trying to make up for all the months of waiting, of wanting, of not having.
"good girl," he breathes, his hand sliding up your back, pulling you closer and pressing his forehead to yours, his lips hovering just over yours, his breath hot and uneven. "so fucking good for me."
your stomach flips, heat rolling through you like a tidal wave, and you don’t know how much longer you can hold on. yoongi feels it. feels the way your body tenses, the way your legs shake, the way your walls clamp down tight around him.
"you gonna cum for me, doll?" he murmurs, voice dark, teasing, but there’s something almost soft under it, something needy, something that says he wants this just as much as you do.
you nod, breathless, your body already so close. yoongi groans, his pace punishing, his hands holding you exactly where he wants you.
"then be good," he rasps, voice breaking. "cum for me."
your head tilts back, mouth falling open as a sharp, broken moan escapes your lips, and yoongi reacts on instinct. his hand slaps over your mouth again, muffling the sound, his palm hot against your skin.
"shhh, doll," he groans, his forehead dropping against yours, his own breath coming in ragged, uneven pants. "you gotta be quiet."
his words barely register over the sheer pleasure that slams through you, waves of heat rolling through your body as you gush around him. your whole body shakes, thighs trembling, walls fluttering around his cock, the pressure between your legs snapping so hard you see white.
yoongi grits his teeth, his pace stuttering, his hand still firm over your mouth as he groans deep in his chest. "fuck, baby," he rasps, his voice low, wrecked, almost pleading.
his hips don’t relent, driving into you through the aftershocks, his pace growing more erratic, more desperate, chasing his own high as you pulse around him, your body still milking him for everything he has.
"so fucking tight," he mutters, his lips brushing over your damp skin, his breath hot, ragged. "tou're gonna milk me dry, doll. gonna cum so fucking hard—"
his words send another sharp, overwhelming wave of heat through your already-sensitive body, another muffled whimper slipping past your lips against his palm.
yoongi groans, his movements turning sloppy, his body tensing. and then, with a sharp, wrecked moan, he breaks.
yoongi slams into you one last time, his whole body tensing, a deep, wrecked groan spilling from his lips as he cums, hips jerking against yours, fingers digging into your skin. his breath is shaky, uneven, his forehead pressing against yours, his body trembling slightly as he rides out his high.
his hand is still covering your mouth, his palm warm against your flushed skin, muffling the soft, breathless whimpers still slipping past your lips.
it takes a second. a long, heavy moment where the only sounds in the bathroom are your mingled breathing, the faint hum of the overhead light, the distant creak of the house settling.
and then yoongi exhales hard, his body relaxing against yours, his grip loosening as he finally lets his hand drop from your mouth.
your lips are swollen, your chest rising and falling in deep, uneven breaths, your whole body still reeling from the intensity of it all.
yoongi leans in, pressing the softest kiss to the corner of your mouth. so gentle, so tender, reminding you that even after everything, he’s still him. "you okay, doll?"
his fingers brush over your cheek, his touch light and his gaze flicking over your face, checking. making sure you’re here, with him. making sure he didn’t just wreck you beyond repair.
you swallow hard, blinking up at him, your fingers still gripping the fabric of his shirt like you’re afraid to let go. "yeah," you whisper, voice hoarse, spent. "i’m okay."
yoongi hums, his lips twitching just slightly, a hint of something soft beneath the haze of pleasure still clouding his gaze. "good," he murmurs. "‘cause that was—" he exhales sharply, a small, breathy chuckle slipping past his lips, shaking his head like he can’t even find the words.
you laugh, quiet, breathless, your forehead tipping against his. "yeah," you murmur. "it was."
neither of you move right away. neither of you want to.
right now, it’s just you and him, breathing in the same air, existing in the same space, his hands still on your waist, your legs still wrapped around him, his lips still close enough that all it would take is the smallest movement to kiss him again.
and you want to. but before you can, yoongi snickers, shaking his head as he pulls back just enough to look at you, an amused smirk playing at the edges of his lips.
"well," he mutters, voice teasing, "guess we gotta shower now."
you groan, tilting your head back with an exhausted sigh, "can't we relax a bit first?"
but he just grins, leaning in to press another lazy, lingering kiss to your jaw. "c’mon, doll," he hums against your skin, lips curving as his hands squeeze at your hips.
Genre: Fluff that is all, just slice of life fluff.
Content warnings: None that I can think of but feel free to let me know if there are!
Word count: 3.6k Roughly
authors note: It’s been a minute since I had both time and inspiration to write but this Yoongi live still lives in my head rent free!
Your morning didn’t begin the way it usually did — not with your alarm, also not with your boyfriend’s grumpy groan about it being too early.
Instead, it started with a soft, startled “oof” beside you… followed by a loud, vibrating purr and an indignant little mrrrow.
“Good morning to you too, Tang-ah,” Yoongi rasped, his voice thick with sleep and fond exasperation. “You trying to assassinate me before breakfast?”
You blinked blearily, still half cocooned in blankets, and reached out blindly from your warm nest of sheets. Your fingers met sleek fur almost immediately. You threaded them through it, slow and lazy, and Tang’s purring deepened into something that felt like it could power a small engine.
The cat was perched triumphantly on Yoongi’s lower stomach, kneading with determined little paws like he was working dough.
You smiled into the pillow and shuffled closer to Yoongi’s warmth, draping yourself partly over his side.
“Told you he could open doors now,” you murmured sleepily. “Our boy is a genius, aren’t you, Tangie? Smartest in the whole house.”
You scratched under Tang’s chin, and he tipped his head back dramatically, soaking up the attention like royalty. His paws continued their rhythmic kneading, entirely unapologetic.
Yoongi’s quiet chuckle vibrated through his chest beneath you. You rolled onto your back to stretch, immediately regretting the movement when Tang transferred his full weight onto you with zero hesitation, absolutely baited into it by your oh so loving boyfriend.
“Yoon,” you protested weakly as the cat settled squarely on your chest like he’d claimed new territory.
“What?” Yoongi shot back, already throwing the blankets off himself. “He was making those biscuits on my bladder. I was two seconds from pissing myself. It was survival. All is fair in cat parenting my love”
He swung his legs out of bed, shuffling toward the ensuite with a sigh and stretch. “You deal with him. He’s your son now.”
You snorted softly and relented, bringing both hands up to scratch behind Tang’s ears. He immediately began kneading again, this time with far too much enthusiasm and absolutely no respect for personal space.
“Ow, that was my nipple!,” you muttered fondly as his paws pressed into your chest. “You have no concept of boundaries, do you?”
Tang answered by purring louder and kneading harder.
From the bathroom, Yoongi’s voice floated back, amused. “He learned that from you.”
You laughed quietly, carding your fingers through Tang’s fur as sunlight began to creep through the curtains, painting the room in warmth. The sheets were soft, the cat was smug, and the faint sound of Yoongi moving around the bathroom grounded everything in that gentle, lived-in way that made mornings feel nice.
You closed your eyes again with a contented sigh, trusting in the universal law of cats — once they had decided you were boring, they would move on to their next conquest. Sure enough, Tang abandoned you within seconds, hopping down from the bed with a purposeful flick of his tail.
“Off to commit crimes, my child” you murmured. “Probably going to scam your grandmother out of treats for breakfast, huh?.”
If you had to bet, he was already halfway down the hall, rehearsing his most pitiful meow.
The mattress dipped beside you again and before you could react, strong arms wrapped around your waist and dragged you backward. You squealed softly as Yoongi pulled you flush against his chest, his warmth enveloping you. He nipped playfully at your shoulder before pressing slow kisses there instead, his lips lingering against your skin.
“Hey,” you laughed breathlessly.
His hand slipped beneath your sleep shirt, warm palm settling just under your chest. The contact made you chuckle, half from surprise, half from the familiar comfort of him.
“Hhmm?” he hummed innocently into your neck.
“Oh nothing,” you said lightly, nudging his wrist with your fingers. “Just thinking your son learned that move from you.”
Yoongi’s face lit up with a wicked little grin as he lifted his head, eyes glittering with mischief. He buried his face back into your neck, planting another kiss there, slower this time.
“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” he murmured. “I’ll behave.”
You felt the words more than heard them.
His hand stilled, resting comfortably instead of wandering, and his voice softened when he asked, “What are your plans for today?”
You groaned a dramatic little sound then rolled onto your side so you could face him. “I have to edit the photos from the Allen wedding, make a start on putting together their album and slideshow… and I’ve also got some emails I’ve been pretending don’t exist.”
You cupped his cheek and kissed him, slow and lingering. “I should probably start editing soon, but what about you, my love? Off to the studio to be a musical genius and lyrical mastermind?”
You grinned when his cheeks flushed pink immediately.
“Hajima,” he muttered, scrunching his nose before the shy smile returned. But then his expression shifted — the teasing softness fading into something more thoughtful. His brows knit slightly as he hesitated.
“I will be… for a bit,” he said carefully. “But… I was also thinking I might go live today.”
You tilted your head. “Live?”
“Yeah,” he nodded faintly. “Maybe when I’m home… or maybe at the studio.”
His voice was quieter now, less certain. He stared at the pillow for a moment before glancing back at you.
“With one of the boys?” you prompted gently.
“No,” he said, shaking his head. “By myself.”
Your heart tightened at that. You could see it now — the nerves tucked beneath his calm, the way his fingers fidgeted slightly against the sheets. It wasn’t fear of ARMY. Never them. It was the weight of time, the vulnerability of showing himself again alone, without the comfort of his six brothers, after so long.
You smiled and ran your thumb slowly across his cheek, grounding him. “You know they’ve missed you.”
“I know,” he sighed softly. “I just… haven’t done it like that in a while.”
His eyes lifted to yours, searching.
“Baby,” you whispered with a small grin, “you don’t have to stay long. You could just say hi, show them you’re alive and still handsome.”
He snorted. “Handsome?”
“Devastatingly,” you corrected.
That finally earned you a real smile, slow and fond. He leaned in, pressing his forehead to yours.
“Will you watch?” he asked quietly.
“Of course,” you said without hesitation. “I’ll even be the first ‘Yoongi marry me’ in the chat.”
He kissed you then with a chuckle, gentle and grateful, his arms tightening around you as sunlight crept higher across the bed and the quiet hum of the house wrapped around you both.
Somewhere down the hall, Tang yowled dramatically.
You both sighed.
“See?” you murmured. “Already practicing for his drama debut.”
Breakfast was a quick, lazy affair — toast, sliced fruit, and a few stolen kisses before you finally sent him out the door. You watched Yoongi tug his jacket on, hair still soft and a little wild from sleep, before you pressed one last kiss to his lips and waved him off.
“Don’t forget to eat,” you called after him.
“I won’t forget, and don’t try to act like you're not as bad” he shot back with a grin.
The door clicked shut, leaving the apartment wrapped in a peaceful quiet. Almost immediately, soft paws thudded down the hallway behind you.
You smiled. “Of course you’re coming too.”
Tang followed you like a shadow into your office. You pushed the door open and crossed straight to the window, pulling the blinds up and letting the honeyed morning light spill across the room. Dust motes danced in it, turning the space warm and alive.
“Okay, Tang,” you murmured as you set your coffee beside your laptop and dropped into your chair. “Mumma needs to lock the fuck in on these photos.”
He jumped onto the desk with a soft thump and headbutted your chin in agreement.
Before booting up your laptop, you took a second to glance around the room — and your gaze softened when it landed on your favorite photo frame. Yoongi’s gummy smile was frozen there forever, joy written all over his face as he watched his brother marry the love of his life. You’d taken it without thinking, just another candid moment from the wedding… never knowing it would be the moment that quietly tied your lives together.
That was how you and Yoongi had met — photographing his brother’s wedding.
But that is a story for another day.
You opened your software and spent the first hour answering inquiries and booking new weddings, then finally pulled up the album you planned to work on today. The newlyweds filled your screen — the groom looking at his bride like she’d hung the moon, eyes bright with awe as they cut the cake.
Your chest warmed.
“Definitely going in the album, huh, Tang-ah,” you mused.
Your sentence was punctuated by a solid headbutt to your jaw.
“Violent agreement. Got it.”
You lost track of time after that, sinking into your editing flow — adjusting contrast, fiddling around with grayscale, softening colors, cropping just right. The only interruptions were the soft click of your mouse, the faint hum of the apartment, and the steady ping of your phone as Yoongi sent updates from the studio.
Tang’s dad 🐈⬛ : This song we’re working on… it’s so good.
You smiled instantly.
Y/N: Send me a snippet!
Tang’s dad 🐈⬛ : Nope. you have to wait like everyone else, baby.
You scoffed aloud, already picturing the smug grin he’d be wearing.
Y/N: Even though I’m sleeping with one of the producers?? rude. What kind of non-perks are these Min!!!
You hit send with a shake of your head, imagining the fond eye-roll he’d give his phone.
Eventually, your stomach betrayed you with an unmistakable growl.
“Okay,” you muttered. “Lunch time i guess, damn.”
It took about five seconds to decide ‘absolutely not’ to cooking. You grabbed your phone, opened the food delivery app, and ordered gimbap and another coffee for yourself — then added a second order for Yoongi to be delivered to the studio without even thinking about it.
You plucked a few strawberries from the fridge to tide yourself over and padded out into the living room, stretching your back out with a groan.
“I really need to fix my posture,” you scolded yourself. “I sit like a shrimp.”
Tang followed, tail flicking as you collapsed onto the couch and scrolled through Netflix, not really watching anything.
A little bit later your mouth full of food your phone buzzed again.
Tang’s dad 🐈⬛ : Thank you, for the coffee and gimbap my love.
Your lips curved immediately.
Y/N: you’re welcome baby, I even ordered the americano decaf for you and your old man stomach, oh sweet love of my life.
A pause.
Then—
Tang’s dad 🐈⬛ : Old man?! I am four months older than you…
Tang’s dad 🐈⬛ : Great now JK is calling me old man I hate you.
You laughed.
Y/N: No you don’t.
You were left on read.
You shook your head fondly, setting your phone down as Tang hopped up beside you and curled into your thigh.
“Bubs?” you told him. “Your dad is dramatic.”
Tang blinked slowly.
The apartment stayed quiet, warm with sunlight and the faint promise of delivery bags and new music somewhere across the city.
By the time you finally surfaced from your editing software again, your eyes felt dry and your shoulders ached in that familiar I’ve been sitting too long way. A decent portion of the album was finished, the rest of the photos neatly tagged and waiting for tomorrow. You saved everything with a satisfied hum and pushed your chair back just as—
Tang suddenly shot out of the room like he’d been fired from a cannon.
You grinned instantly.
The electronic lock disengaged with its familiar chirp, followed by a soft, fond voice from the hallway.
“Yeah, Tang-ah… Dad’s home.”
The loudest, most content meow Tang had made all day rang through the apartment, followed by frantic little paws skidding across the floor.
“Y/N, I’m home!”
“In my office, sweetheart,” you called back, glancing at the clock.
Fuck.
Had it really gotten that late?
You rolled your shoulders, wincing, just as warm hands settled on them and began kneading gently. A startled breath left you before melting into a soft sigh.
“And you have the nerve to get on my ass about my posture,” Yoongi murmured by your ear.
You hummed and reached back, fingers sliding into his long dark hair. You turned your head to press a kiss to his cheek.
“I’m merely helping out the elderly.”
You barely had time to snicker before he pinched your hip lightly.
“Fuckin’ brat,” he muttered, affection thick in his voice.
You turned in your chair fully to face him, as he leaned against your desk while Tang circled his ankles like a tiny bodyguard. Yoongi launched into stories from the studio — how everyone was buzzing because the album finally sounded finished, how Hobi had been utterly clowned by Jimin, Jungkook, and Jin for getting confused over the Super Tuna dance.
“Oh, they’ll never let him live that down,” you laughed. “Hobi’s gonna be out for blood next practice.”
“Exactly why I’m skipping it,” Yoongi said with a grin.
Then he hesitated.
You saw it immediately — the way his shoulders lifted slightly, the way his fingers flexed against the desk.
“Um… do you mind if I use the media room and go live?”
You didn’t even blink. “Baby, it’s your house too. You don’t have to ask.”
His shoulders dropped in relief.
“If we bring Tang in here,” you added. “I’ll keep him occupied. I’ll just shut the door and we can be quiet as a mouse, we will watch on my phone while I finish these last edits.”
You leaned up and kissed him softly. “You’re gonna do great.”
His lips curved against yours, that shy little smile you loved.
“Your glasses are still on the nightstand, by the way!” you called as he headed for the hall.
He lifted a hand in a wave without turning back.
Tang immediately tried to follow him.
“Oh no you don’t,” you said, scooping the cat up mid-betrayal. “Your dad has a very important celebrity thing to do.”
Tang yowled in protest as you shut the door.
You settled back into your chair with the cat in your lap, phone already in hand as you reopened your editing software. Through the closed media room door, you heard faint movement — the scrape of a chair, the soft click of a lamp.
A moment later, the Weverse notification lit up your screen.
쇼가 is live
Your heart fluttered as you tapped into Weverse, propping your phone against your now-empty coffee cup. The screen loaded and—
God.
God he looked so soft it almost hurt.
Dark hair still fluffy from the day, falling gently around his face, the black shirt fitting him criminally well. For a second he just sat there, blinking at the camera, clearly trying to convince himself this was a normal thing to do again.
Then he frowned.
Squinted.
Lifted the phone closer to his face.
“…Ah.”
You smiled so hard your cheeks ached.
He muttered something about his eyesight, fiddled with his hair, then leaned out of frame.
“I’ll be right back.”
You sighed fondly into the quiet office, hearing him move down the hallway picturing his little grandpa shuffle as he searched for his glasses.
“I told you where they were, idiot.” You whispered fondly
On screen, he came back wearing them, immediately looking more put-together and somehow even softer.
He talked about the cold weather first — the safe topic — brushing his bangs back, glancing nervously at the comments, squinting again.
“Why can’t I see the words very well?”
You scoffed quietly. “Old man.”
Comforted by the sound of his deep voice filling the apartment, you turned back to your editing. You adjusted contrast on a photo of the bridal party, smiled at how perfectly the sun caught the bride’s veil, and glanced over at Tang just to be sure.
He was sprawled across his cat tower like a loaf of burnt bread, tail flicking lazily.
“Good,” you whispered. “Stay.”
You dove back into your work, slipping into that familiar focused trance. Yoongi’s voice hummed in the background as he thanked ARMY for waiting, said he’d missed them, promised music soon.
You were so close to finishing.
Then—
“Mrrrow.”
Your heart dropped.
You snapped your head up.
The cat tower was empty.
You whipped around to the office door.
Now opened a fraction.
…Which meant he was surely already in the hallway.
“Fuck,” you breathed.
You froze in your chair, mind racing. You couldn’t go after him — not without making noise, not without being heard. You risked a glance at your phone just in time to see Yoongi’s expression change.
First: surprise.
Next: resignation.
Finally: pure fondness.
He looked and scoffed like a man who knew exactly what was happening, and accepted it.
“Tang,” he called gently.
Your stomach flipped.
“Mrrrow.”
“Yes. Today,” Yoongi said with a sigh. “Yes, Tang. Come on air today.”
You stared in horror as your cat was lifted into frame like a furry offering to the internet. You watched as Min Yoongi, world renowned artist, producer and rapper. Introduced your cat to the world with the most endeared smile, like he was the proudest millennial cat dad alive.
“This is Tang,” he said, smiling as Tang immediately demanded tummy rubs. “He’s… very loud.”
Tang rewarded him by screaming.
Yoongi chuckled and scratched under his chin. Then he frowned slightly and began patting Tang’s neck.
“Wait… where is your bell?”
You slapped a hand over your mouth.
No.
He disappeared off screen for half a second and reappeared holding it.
That stupid bell. So stupid it was adorable.
The tiny, ridiculous, baby chick-shaped bell you had bought at three in the morning because it was cute, yellow and absolutely unnecessary, and that alone made it necessary.
He fastened it back around Tang’s neck proudly.
“There,” he said, smiling like he’d accomplished something great.
Your heart fluttered painfully as he explained how he had originally wanted two cats — one named Sol and one Tang — but couldn’t. How Tang’s dad had been a street cat. How Tang could open doors. How smart he was.
You sank back into your chair, watching the screen with a hand still over your mouth.
Tang fussed in Yoongi’s arms, tail swishing, meowing indignantly. Yoongi answered every sound with hums and a little smile, rubbing his belly, patting his back.
Then came the butt pats.
Firm. Proud. Repetitive.
Tang melted into it instantly demanding more.
The rest of the live passed like a blur — Yoongi talking about music, Tang interrupting, Yoongi telling ARMY even more things about that menace of a beautiful cat.
You watched the whole thing from your desk, heart warm, eyes soft, knowing you would never tease him about this…
…Out loud, anyway.
When the live finally ended, you didn’t move right away.
You just stared at the black screen for a second and whispered:
“I love you, you ridiculous man.”
From down the hall, you heard:
“Mrrrow.”
And then Yoongi’s voice:
“Don’t try and act innocent now Tang-ah.”
Moving on instinct alone, you slipped out of your office and padded down the hallway, apology already forming on your lips.
“Yoon— baby, I am so sorry,” you said softly, poking your head into the media room with your hands clasped in front of you. “I only looked away for a second to fix the contrast on this picture and—”
“It’s okay, sweetheart.”
He was already smiling.
Tang was curled up in his lap like he’d been there all along, a black ball of fur rising and falling with slow, satisfied breaths. A deep purr vibrated through the quiet room, loud enough that you felt it before you fully heard it.
“He just missed his dad,” Yoongi added gently, running his hand down Tang’s back.
Your chest tightened.
“I should’ve noticed him opening the door,” you said, stepping fully inside and lowering yourself beside him on the couch. “I really am sorry.”
Yoongi shook his head. “He… actually helped calm my nerves.” He glanced at you then, eyes soft as they traced your face. “So it worked out.”
You let out a small laugh, leaning into him. “I’m also sorry I wasn’t the first ‘Yoongi marry me’ in the chat, for what it’s worth.”
You rested your head on his shoulder and slid your fingers into Tang’s fur, scratching lightly behind his ear.
Yoongi’s body shook with silent laughter, his arm coming around you automatically.
“Traitor,” he murmured fondly.
For a moment, you just stayed there — the three of you tucked into the quiet aftermath of something that had felt big something vulnerable and somehow small all at once.
You thought, not for the first time, that life couldn’t possibly get any better than this.
A boyfriend who loved you deeply.
A cat who loved you both loudly.
And a home that felt warm in every sense of the word.
Tang shifted slightly, stretching one paw out experimentally until it rested against your leg, as if testing whether he could still charm you too.
Your heart melted.
“Look at him,” you whispered. “He’s deciding if I’m worthy.”
“He is very selective,” Yoongi agreed solemnly.
You smiled into his shoulder, eyes drifting shut.
What you couldn’t know — what you had no way of knowing yet — was that hidden away in the safe at Genius Lab was a small velvet ring box. Waiting patiently. Quietly. Full of promises to make life even sweeter.
𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐛𝐢𝐠 𝐞𝐧𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡? | 𝐌𝐘𝐆 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐃𝐔𝐂𝐄𝐑 𝐀𝐔 (𝐌)
pairings: producer!min yoongi x popgirlie f!reader
genre: romance, smut, slight porn with plot, friends to lovers au
word count: 6K
beta read by @chaoticpuff17 (ily)
prompt: "There is just no way you two did not fuck each other's brains out."
summary: "You Big Enough?" - when an old flame resurfaced, rumours spiralled, and suddenly, every lingering glance and every touch between you seemed to carry weight. It had always been just music, just friendship—hadn’t it? No. You always had the vibe of 'will they, won't they.' This has become bigger than the music. Tension crackled, boundaries blurred, and there was this thing that Yoongi made sure you knew well besides that he was big enough. "They just talk. I fucking deliver."
warnings: minors dni 18+ | sexual tension, explicit language, themes of subtle (and not-so-subtle) possessiveness, teasing, sexual activity, rough sex, fingering (f receiving), miscommunication driving emotional conflict, dirty talk, raw fucking (stay safe!) choking and spanking as part of intimate scenes, creampie, fleeting nipple play, very subtle dominance/submission dynamics, implied size kink ... (as per usual, I'll add some if needed)
disclaimer: this story is purely fictional, it does not depict real-life events or involve any actual members of BTS. This story will contain strong language, explicit content, obsessive behaviour, sexual activity, sex without protection, choking and spanking as part of intimate scenes.
a/n: yall, I had this idea like a month ago and I wrote the initial part but lowkey forgot that it's in my drafts so I finished it yesterday (might come later to edit, pls excuse me im working overtime these days) and amazing and spectacular @chaoticpuff17 managed to read it so you can have it as a lil Valentine's day treat. So here is something simple, smutty, and cute for ya. Happy Valentine to all of you who celebrate, love you my little fairies! ♥
masterlist
Your hands hovered above the keys and your brain could not figure out what to press to make it sound as magical as you want. Your mind searched for the perfect melody for the bridge of her latest song—
"Try F-sharp minor," Yoongi suggested, his voice low and even. The studio is a second home for you. Always have been and dear Min Yoongi was as much a refuge as the soundproof walls and softly humming equipment.
You nodded, a small smile tugging at your lips.
"Perfect—" There was a warmth in his gaze, one that lingered a second too long.
"How do you always know, Yoongi-ah?"
"It's my job," he said simply, but the corners of his mouth quirked up. Your heart fluttered with a familiar yet unwelcome sensation. But you quickly shook it off, focusing on the music in front of her.
"I'm lucky to have you, then," you murmured.
Yoongi didn't respond immediately, and when he did, his voice was quieter than before.
"I'd say I'm the lucky one."
Before you could process what he meant, your phone buzzed, breaking the spell. You picked it up, seeing a message from your lifelong bestie, Jimin-ah.
Emergency. Coming over.
You frown but you are happy to not indulge in something you don't have the answers to. "Jimin-ah is on his way. Guess I'll have to call it a night."
Yoongi's expression was unreadable, but he nodded, knowing that it must be something important if you’re packing your stuff so quickly.
"I'll see you tomorrow, then."
"You need to fucking hear this," he says, her voice brimming with urgency when he bursts into the apartment like a whirlwind, his dark glossy hair bouncing as he flops onto the couch.
"You remember Seo Kang-joon?"
You hand him a glass of red wine and sit across from him.
"What now? Did he suddenly reappear after he ghosted me?"
Jimin winces.
"Actually, yeah. And I finally found out why he did so."
Your stomach drops. You liked that man when you went out, but the message you left a good amount of time ago went unanswered for an even longer period of time.
"Why?"
He hesitates, his eyes darting around the room. Finally, he leans forward, lowering his voice. "Everyone thinks you and Yoongi are… you know."
You blink.
"What?" you say, playing dumb.
"You knooowww…—
"—that."
He said through gritted teeth, trying to make you understand, but your brain was not cooperating.
"No, I dooooon't know that" You mimicked him, and he only stared dead serious at your stupidity.
"They think you've been doing it," he says bluntly. "Apparently, it's some open secret in the industry. Like, 'Oh, Y/N and Yoongi? Of course, they're a thing.'"
Your jaw drops. No way. No fucking way.
"That's insane. We're not… we're not like that."
"You sure about that buttercup?" Jimin raises an eyebrow and you merely nod.
"Cuz', he's not exactly denying it. And honestly, can you blame people for assuming? You've written two albums together, spent countless hours locked in the studio, and the way he looks at you…" he trails off, shaking his head.
"There is just no way you two did not fuck each other's brains out."
Your cheeks burn.
"That's ridiculous. Yoongi and I are friends. Just friends."
"Hmm, I don't know hun,—"
He was right. You weren't buying it. Not entirely.
But you weren't ready to admit that out loud—not yet, anyway. Your mind races. You replay every moment you've spent together, every lingering glance and fleeting touch.
Yoongi and you?
It was absurd, wasn't it?
Right?
Jimin watched you carefully, his perfectly shaped brows raised in amusement. "You're thinking about it, aren't you?"
"No," you scoffed, but your voice lacked conviction.
Jimin smirked, leaning back against the couch. "Look, babe, I wouldn't bring this up if I didn't think it was something you should actually think about. People don't just make this kind of shit up for no reason."
You sighed, rubbing your temples. "I just—why wouldn't he deny it?"
"That's what you need to figure out." Jimin gave you a pointed look. "You trust him, don't you?"
You hesitated. That was the problem, wasn't it? You trusted Yoongi more than anyone. He had been your anchor in the storm, your safe space when everything else felt uncertain.
But this—this was different.
The way he looked at you.
The way he always knew exactly what you needed.
You replayed every moment with Yoongi in your mind, combing through the memories with a fine-toothed scepticism, looking for anything—anything—that could have fed these rumours. The way he watched you while you worked in the dance studio, the quiet way he always made sure you had water before long sessions, the casual intimacy in the way he touched you—light, fleeting, like a habit neither of you had ever questioned.
Had you been blind this whole time?
Jimin's voice snapped you back to reality.
"Look, I think you need to talk to him. Like, actually talk to him."
You swallowed hard.
Talking to Min Yoongi had never been difficult before. But this? This felt dangerous.
The next evening, you stepped into the dimly lit studio, and the question sat on the tip of your tongue like a loaded gun.
Yoongi was already there, as always. The warm amber glow of the desk lamp cast long shadows across his sharp features, catching on the soft strands of dark hair that fell over his eyes. His fingers rested idly on the soundboard, a picture of quiet focus—until he looked up at you.
His gaze, steady and unreadable, held you captive.
"You're late," he murmured, but there was no accusation in his tone—just that familiar, quiet warmth.
You swallowed. "Got caught up with Jimin last night, forgot to set a reminder."
At that, something flickered across his face—too quick to name, gone before you could hold onto it. "Ah."
Silence stretched between you, thick with something you weren't ready to name. But you hadn't come here to tiptoe around things anymore.
So you stepped forward, pressing a hand against the cool surface of the mixing console, grounding yourself, only now taking his appearance in.
"I played with the structure a little last night after you went home and—" he broke the silence first, but you knew he sensed the sudden awkwardness in your posture, your whole being.
"Is something the matter, sleepyhead?"
"Nope, nothing at all."
You quickly retorted, trying to look anywhere else but his gorgeous face.
Yoongi's eyes, however, never wavered. They held a depth that made it impossible for you to escape his gaze. You had always known how intense he could be, but now, in the stillness of the studio, it felt almost intimate, the air thick with unspoken words that seemed to pulse around you like a melody begging to be heard.
He leaned forward slightly, his hands resting casually on the desk, but his posture was all focus—intent, almost as if he was waiting for you to unravel yourself.
"Are you sure about that?" His voice was lower now, a gentle challenge. He was pulling at the thread, testing the tension between you.
Your stomach twisted. This was the moment, wasn't it?
"I'm fine, Yoongi, just had a lot of wine last night," you said again, but your voice betrayed you. It cracked, ever so slightly, and you couldn't mask the uncertainty in it.
The silence between you thickened, and it felt like the space in the room had shrunk, until it was just you, him, and the suffocating pressure of the question you both knew was lingering.
He didn't look away, not even when you avoided his gaze, staring down at the soundboard like it could offer you some kind of escape. He moved to the electronic piano while lifting a brow at you.
"So as I said, I played with the structure—"
You watched him, leaning at the piano, his fingers poised just above the keys, waiting for him to break the silence again, to give you something more. But you didn't want more from him—not in the way you wanted it. Not yet.
Instead, you played a dangerous game, one of subtle manipulation, testing him, probing for the truth behind his unreadable expressions.
"You remember Seo Kang-joon, right?" You interrupt him, raising your voice just a little.
The name hung in the air between you, deliberately chosen, carefully placed like a baited hook.
Yoongi's fingers stilled for the briefest of moments. But it was enough. Just enough for you to notice. His posture shifted ever so slightly, his shoulders stiffening imperceptibly.
You bit back a smile, inwardly satisfied at his subtle reaction.
"I bumped into him yesterday on my way home. He... he actually asked me out on a date again. Said he lost his phone and had to get a new phone number, didn't remember mine."
A lie.
The words left your mouth so easily, like a lie you had rehearsed in front of the mirror, and yet your heart pounded with anticipation. You weren't expecting much. Just a flicker of jealousy, a crack in the calm façade he always wore. So your interrogation of his, perhaps, hidden feelings isn't unprovoked.
Yoongi didn't immediately respond. His fingers finally touched the keys, the faintest chord ringing through the room, but his eyes remained fixed on the piano.
For a long moment, there was nothing but the soft melody playing between you, the rhythm of his fingers meeting the ivories almost too steady.
And then, finally, he spoke. His voice was low, flat. "Is that so?"
Your breath caught. That was it?
You frowned, staring at him from across the room, searching for a reaction. Anything. But his expression was as controlled as ever. His calm demeanour was unshakable.
No way.
You leaned forward, the pressure of the lie beginning to claw at your insides. "Yeah, he asked me. He was actually pretty... persistent about it. He was sorry I thought he ghosted me." You let the words hang, trailing off deliberately, watching his reaction closely.
But Yoongi only nodded, his eyes focused on the keys.
"I see."
A small flame of frustration ignited in your chest. Was he really this indifferent? Was he truly going to let this lie slide without a hint of a reaction?
You stood up abruptly, unable to hold the pretense any longer. You could feel your temper rising, the anger bubbling just beneath the surface.
"You fucking see?!" Yoongi's fingers paused mid-chord as the tension in your voice snapped through the room. You busted out your feelings. Well, this was doomed from the start.
You stepped forward, your voice trembling with a mix of fury and something else—something raw that you hadn't been prepared to face. "You don't even care, do you? You don't care that everyone is saying we're fucking, that they think we're—" You cut yourself off, almost choking on the words. You couldn't bear to say them aloud, but you needed to know, needed to push him.
His gaze met yours, and in that instant, you knew he hadn't been indifferent. He'd been waiting. Waiting for you to unravel yourself, for you to show your cards. His eyes, dark and unreadable, pinned you in place.
"Is that what you wanted to hear?" His voice was cold now, controlled, with an edge that made your skin prickle. The air in the room thickened, turning heavy with the weight of his words.
"Well, perchance?!—" You gesture rapidly.
"You run around not denying it Yoongi,—?!"
The calm, controlled exterior he wore was unravelling, and you weren't sure if you liked the version of him that was emerging—or if it terrified you.
He stood up, slowly, deliberately. The sudden motion caused a cold shiver to run down your spine. He didn't step towards you, but the space between you both seemed to shrink in the way he carried himself—every step deliberate, every movement measured.
"Why do you care so much?" His voice was low, almost detached, but there was a certain sharpness to it now. It was the tone he used when he was dangerously close to losing control, but for now, he still kept it in check. "What's so important about what they think?"
You opened your mouth to reply, but the words tangled in your throat. You had been so sure of your reasoning—so certain of the way you wanted him to react—but now that he was giving you exactly what you wanted, you realized just how hollow that satisfaction felt.
"I dunno Yoongi—maybe because men ghosted me—maybe because you just might be the reason I had a dry season— or maybe you're that kind of motherfucker—"
Yoongi let out a sharp breath, a dry laugh escaping him as he shook his head. You elevated this to a different level now. "A motherfucker?" He repeated his tone somewhere between disbelief and amusement. "That's what we're doing now?"
You were too far gone to stop. The frustration, the pent-up emotions, the sheer nerve of him sitting there, all unbothered while you spiralled—it cracked something open inside you.
"Yes, Yoongi! A motherfucker! What else do you call a guy who lets rumours fly like this and doesn't even care?" Your hands gestured wildly as your voice grew more frantic.
"You don't deny it, you don't address it, you just exist in this limbo, letting people think we're screwing while I sit here looking like a desperate idiot who cannot get a hold of her man—"
His jaw clenched, his patience visibly wearing thin. "So what if I don't deny it?" He stepped closer, voice a fraction lower now, dangerously quiet. "What if I don't care what they think? What if I like the way it sounds?"
Your breath hitched.
Your mouth opened, but nothing came out. Your entire argument, the whole reason you'd brought this up, suddenly felt shaky, flimsy, like a house of cards collapsing under the weight of his words.
Yoongi watched you, his eyes dark and unreadable, waiting for you to process what he had just admitted.
Finally, your voice came out in a whisper, hoarse and unsure.
"The fuck, Yoongi?"
"I don't deny it," he said again, slower this time. His head tilted slightly, studying you. "Because it's not entirely wrong."
A rush of heat flooded through you—anger, shock, confusion, something else, something deeper and more dangerous. "Not… entirely… wrong?" You echoed, blinking at him. "Are you—are you actually fucking insane?"
Yoongi exhaled sharply, like he was just as frustrated as you were, like you were the one being difficult. "Y/N—"
"No," you cut him off, pointing a finger at him. "No, you don't get to just drop that and act like it's nothing."
"I'm not acting like it's nothing," he countered, his voice still calm, still infuriatingly composed. "You wanted to know why I never denied it? That's why."
"You can't be fucking serious right now, you fuck—" his body in your proximity startled you, but you let him pin you to the wall next to the mixing desk.
His hands caged you in, palms pressing against the wall on either side of your head. You felt the sharp inhale of his breath, the slow exhale, the tension buzzing between you like a live wire.
"You don't get it, do you?" His voice was quiet but razor-edged, his eyes dark and unwavering. "You've been running in circles trying to make me jealous, trying to get a reaction—" his gaze flicked down to your lips for just a second before meeting your eyes again, "pushing me like you want me to snap."
You listened. For once.
"You sat in that fucking booth with only your panties under that big shirt—"
"My fucking shirt—"
"My fucking shirt," he repeated, voice rough. "And you think I wouldn't become possessive? Think I didn't see the way you stretched in it, how you leaned in close, pretending like you didn't know exactly what you were doing?"
Your breath hitched. You did not realize he saw you this way.
You swallowed, trying to find solid ground beneath the sudden energy shift, but Yoongi wasn't giving you the chance.
"You wanted me to react?" His eyes burned into yours. "You wanted this?"
The heat between you became unbearable.
"I—" You started, but you had no words.
Because now, finally, Yoongi wasn't holding back.
And neither were you.
Your pulse hammered in your throat as his words sank in, wrapping around your ribs, tightening like a snare. You had been waiting—aching—for a reaction, pushing buttons you hadn't even fully understood yourself. But now? Now, Yoongi was looking at you like he had already decided.
His breath was warm against your cheek, the space between you non-existent.
"Say it," he murmured.
You licked your lips, the movement not lost on him. "Say what?"
Yoongi let out a short, dark chuckle. "That you like it. That you like this—the way I look at you, the way I see you."
Your stomach flipped.
"You're so full of shit," you whispered, but there was no weight behind it but pure provocation.
His fingers twitched against the wall before he exhaled sharply and leaned in, just enough for your breaths to tangle.
"And you'll be full of me."
"You big enough?"
Oh, that did it.
A sharp, involuntary gasp left his lips and your body betrayed you before your mind could catch up. The air between you turned electric, charged with something too dangerous to name.
Yoongi's gaze darkened, his tongue swiping over his bottom lip as if savouring the way your breath hitched when he looked at you that way. He bit down his lower lip before he spoke again, laying his palms on the flat surface of the table in front of the piano that lay on it–
"There are two possibilities happening between us—" He tilted his head slightly, gaze never wavering from yours, his voice a low rasp against your skin.
"One—we make this official,—" He said it like it was inevitable, like it was a fact written in stone. "No more rumours, no more bullshit. No one else but us. Just you and me."
Your breath stuttered, your heart slamming against your ribs.
"And the second?" you whispered, barely able to form the words.
Yoongi smirked, slow and sinful, his fingers twitching against the wall before he leaned in, his mouth a breath away from yours.
"I keep writing my songs, keep filling my verses with filth about how I would fuck you good and hard—until you finally beg me to bury my cock in your cunt."
“And people will hear you’re mine—”
Your entire body went hot. Yoongi's smirk widened, watching the way your breath stuttered, your pupils blown wide. He tilted his head, gaze flicking down to your parted lips, his voice dropping even lower. Your thighs clenched a traitorous reaction that made his smirk turn predatory.
"You—"
"That's the difference between them and me, baby." His fingers ghosted over your waist, light enough to make you shiver. "They just talk. I fucking deliver."
You swallowed hard, your pulse thrumming so violently it was a wonder you were still standing.
"You're so—"
"What?" Yoongi pressed in closer, his nose brushing against yours. "Say it."
You had no idea what you were going to say.
But when his fingers finally curled around your hip, pulling you flush against him, the words you should say, the ones that would stop this before it went too far—before you gave in—died in your throat.
"Fucking thought so." He smirked again. That smirk. That fucking smirk.
It did something to you, something dangerous, something you weren't sure you could control. It made you want to wipe it off his face—maybe with a slap, maybe with your mouth.
Yoongi knew it, too.
He leaned in just a fraction closer, his breath hot against your cheek, his grip tightening on your hip as if daring you to push him away.
You didn't.
"See?" His voice was silk and smoke, smooth but lethal. "You love this. You love the way I get under your skin. The way I make you feel."
Your nails dug into your palms. "You don't know shit about what I feel."
Yoongi chuckled, low and rough. "Don't I?"
His fingers traced a slow, deliberate path down your side, stopping just shy of indecency but still making you shudder.
"Tell me to stop," he murmured. "Tell me you don't want this, and I will."
It was the worst thing he could've said. Because the truth—the one you refused to admit even to yourself—was that you didn't want him to stop. Ever. You were so fucking needy to be touched after you got to know that your dried spell had a sorcerer and it was him. So technically now, he should be the one breaking it. And he knew it.
Your silence was all the confirmation he needed to press his lips against your neck.
His hands were suddenly everywhere—gripping your waist, sliding up your thighs, spreading you open like he had every right to.
"You think I'm going to let you run your mouth, push me to the edge, and not do something about it?" His voice was a rasp, thick with hunger. "You think I don't see how badly you want this?"
Your breath hitched as his thigh pressed between yours, the friction making your knees buckle. His mouth found your jaw, teeth scraping over sensitive skin before he kissed a path down your throat, sucking, biting, claiming.
You barely had time to think before he gripped your wrist, guiding your hand down—down—until your fingers brushed against him, hard and thick beneath his sweats. The sound that tore from his throat was pure sin.
"Feel that?" Yoongi growled, grinding against your palm. "That's what you do to me. That's what you fucking cause each time we're in this studio."
Your fingers flexed, a teasing squeeze that had his breath stuttering. He cursed under his breath, tilting your chin up with his free hand, forcing you to meet his gaze.
Dark. Devouring. Desperate.
"Tell me to stop," he murmured again, a cruel echo of earlier. But this time, there was no space between you, no restraint.
And you didn't.
Instead, you yanked his mouth to yours. Yoongi groaned into the kiss, the sound reverberating through you as his hands pushed under your shirt, fingers trailing over bare skin, leaving fire in their wake.
Your nails raked down his back as he lifted you effortlessly, pressing you harder against the wall.
His hips rolled, slow and devastating, and a moan ripped from your throat, shameless, wrecked.
"That's it, baby" he rasped, his forehead against yours, breath heavy. "That's the sound I've been waiting for."
His hand dipped lower, slipping past the band of your shorts, finding you soaked for him. Yoongi cursed, his fingers teasing, circling, before sliding through the wetness with devastating precision.
"Fuck," he groaned, voice hoarse. "You're already so fucking ready for me."
You didn't even get a chance to respond before he pushed a finger inside, then another, stretching you, filling you, working you open until you were trembling against him.
"Yoongi—"
"I know," he hushed you, his lips brushing against your ear, his fingers moving faster, deeper. "I've got you, baby. Just take it."
And fuck, you did. You took everything he gave, your body writhing against his as pleasure built sharp and unbearable, spiralling higher, tightening—
"Come for me," he ordered, his voice dark, commanding. "Come on my fingers like the desperate little thing I know you are."
And when he curled his fingers just right, his thumb pressing where you needed it most—
You shattered.
Completely. Utterly.
Yoongi swallowed your cry with his mouth, dragging it out, his hand still moving, still milking every last bit of pleasure from you until you were shaking in his arms.
Then, as you barely caught your breath, his voice came again, low and teasing.
"Now," he murmured, undoing the string of his sweats, letting them fall.
"I'll fuck you hard that you'll forget about those smutty books you're reading—"
Your body barely had time to recover before Yoongi was pressing closer, his fingers sliding away, leaving you aching and empty. But then—then—his hands were on your hips, tugging your shorts down, peeling them away with agonizing slowness, like he wanted you to feel every second of it.
Your breath stuttered as he stepped back just enough to look at you, his dark gaze trailing over your bare, trembling form.
"Fucking perfect," he muttered, almost to himself, before his hands gripped your thighs and lifted you, forcing your legs around his waist.
The weight of him, the sheer heat of him, pressed right against your core, had you gasping, fingers digging into his shoulders. Yoongi groaned low in his throat, rolling his hips just enough for you to feel all of him, hard and thick and ready.
"Ain’t big enough, huh?" he murmured, dragging his clothed crotch against your soaked heat. His voice was rough, strained. "I’ll show you how big I am."
Your nails bit into his skin, your body writhing against him as he kept teasing, kept torturing you with slow, precise movements. The friction had you panting, your forehead falling against his.
"Stop teasing," you managed, barely above a breath.
Yoongi chuckled, dark and knowing. "Look at you. So desperate for me already." His fingers gripped your jaw, tilting your face up so you had no choice but to meet his gaze. "Tell me how much you want it."
You let out a sound between a whimper and a growl, rolling your hips against him in a silent plea. But that wasn't enough for him. Your heart racing, you felt his warm palm connect with your skin, a stinging sensation spreading through your buttocks as he spanked you. You let out a small yelp, but Yoongi didn't relent, his hand rising and falling in a steady rhythm.
"Say it." His voice was like gravel, low and demanding. "Say you want me to fuck you, Y/N. Say you need me." He pulled down his sweats enough so his cock sprang free from the confinement.
Your pride clashed with your need, the battle waging for only a moment before he rolled his hips again, pressing the thick head of his cock right against your entrance—and your resolve snapped.
"Fuck—I need you," you gasped, your fingers twisting into his hair, tugging hard enough to make him groan. "Please, Yoongi—just fuck me."
Something broke in him then.
With a guttural sound, he aligned himself and pushed inside, the stretch of him stealing the air from your lungs. He didn't stop, didn't hesitate—just drove forward, sinking deep until he was fully sheathed inside you until there was no space between you, nothing left but the overwhelming, consuming feel of him.
"Fuck," Yoongi gritted out, his forehead dropping to yours. His hands flexed against your thighs like he was trying to hold himself back, to give you a moment. "So fucking tight."
You could barely breathe, barely think, pleasure and pain and something deeper rolling through you in waves. But then he shifted, just slightly, and—
"Oh fuck," you gasped, your head falling back against the wall.
Yoongi's grip tightened, his breath hot against your skin. "Yeah?" He rolled his hips again, slow and deliberate, dragging himself out before thrusting back in, harder this time. Your moan was wrecked, broken—exactly what he wanted.
"Fuck, you feel so good wrapped around me," he murmured, pressing open-mouthed kisses down your throat, across your collarbone. "Taking me so fucking well."
Then he moved. Snapping his hips as hard as he could to make your back rub against the wall, to make your head spin from the bouncing on his thick cock that made you see so many constellations. Up and down, up and down. He felt so good inside you, filling you completely as his hips slammed against yours.
The force of his thrust made you cry out, your fingers tangled in his dark raven hair, which you so openly adored when he kept longer. His mouth crashed down on yours, swallowing your moans as he drove into you with a fierce intensity, each stroke building on the last.
His hand cupped your breast and his thumb brushed over your nipple. The touch was gentle, a stark contrast to the fierce way he was driving into you. Your back arched, pushing your breast further into his hand, and you felt his fingers close around it, squeezing softly. The sensation was almost too much to bear, and you moaned loudly, the sound lost in the kiss that still claimed your mouth. Yoongi's hips kept moving, each thrust building on the last, and his hand on your breast seemed to be pulling you closer to some unseen edge. His fingers tightened around your nipple, rolling it between them, and you felt yourself teetering on the brink of something explosive.
Yoongi groaned, his grip almost bruising now, his thrusts turning erratic. "You gonna come for me again?" he rasped, his hips thrusting into you harder, each one was met with your breath hitching in your throat before you moaned. Loud.
"Gonna fall apart on my cock?"
It was too much—too good.
"I know what you want, love. What will make you cum around my cock."
Your body began to tense, your muscles coiling tighter and tighter as he spoke. "You want it rough," he growled, his thrusts becoming more savage, more primal.
"You want me to take you apart, piece by piece." His grip on your breast tightened, his fingers digging deep into your skin, and you felt yourself spiralling out of control.
His hand left your breast to envelope around your throat, his fingers wrapping tightly around your neck, his thumb pressing against the underside of your jaw. That was it. Your moans got even louder and he raised a brow. You felt a flutter in your chest as his grip tightened, his eyes burning with an intense hunger as he gazed into yours and he slowed down to observe your face that certainly did not hide any pleasure.
"Kinky," he rasped, his voice low and dirty. "So fucking kinky."
He held you in place, his grip on your throat tightening ever so slightly, he began to move his hips again, his cock stirring back to life inside you. His eyes burned with an intense desire, and you could feel the tension building in his body as he drove into you with slow, deliberate strokes.
"I'm going to fill you up, babe" he growled, his voice low and husky. "I'm going to make you take every last drop of me." And with that, he began to thrust into you harder again, faster again, his hips pounding against yours as he chased your release. You felt him swelling inside you, his cock growing thicker and hotter as he approached the edge.
Your orgasm crashed into you, and you could not even stop it. You wanted this to last until your body shuts down from all that pleasure he has given you. Your body locking up as pleasure burns through every nerve ending. You clenched around him, drawing a strangled moan from his lips, his hips snapping forward one last time before he broke. His release spilt deep inside you as he let out a low, guttural groan, his semen erupting into you in a hot, pulsing flood that warmed your walls. You felt him shudder and convulse above you, his body trembling with pleasure as he emptied himself into your waiting flesh
The sensation was overwhelming, the feeling of being filled and claimed by him almost too much to bear. His chest heaving with exertion and for a moment, neither of you moved.
"You're so fucking mine," he murmured, voice still thick with satisfaction. He lifted his head to meet your lips once more before he said.
"Don't you ever question my devotion for you—" he started, panting after the little stunt you just pulled.
“—Or the size of my cock, doll.”
You only smiled wickedly into his lips.
“You like us role-playing, tho—“ you started. Yoongi's grip on your waist tightened, his lips brushing over your collarbone as his breath warmed your skin. His hand slid lower, fingers tracing the curve of your body possessively.
"He could not stop talking about it the whole fucking night, babe."
"Who, Jimin?" he asked, his tone dripping with amusement, yet there was an underlying tension in it, like he was trying to keep himself in check to not turn you over and fuck you in the ass. Even though he had to thank Jimin for this fuck prompt he unknowingly gave you an idea of (such a mundane trope) and the final ride you two just had. The thanking will wait until whenever you decide you want Jimin to know about you two.
Of course, something similar happened at the start of your relationship and you could not help yourself to let him fuck you against that wall once again. This time with a similar scenario but slightly adjusted replicas.
You couldn't help but let out a small laugh, though it was edged with a hint of frustration. You shifted under his touch, your heart still racing from the intensity of the night.
"Yeah. Couldn't stop about how people talk about us fucking our brains out here—"
"But we are—" his voice thick with the weight of his meaning, but his tone now softer than before. His mouth pressed against the sensitive skin just below your ear, and his hands pulled you closer, if that was even possible, as if to remind you of just how much he could claim you again and again and again.
You gasped, your body reacting to him in ways you couldn't control, and you felt a rush of vulnerability, knowing how deeply he could read you. "Yoongi," you breathed, trying to keep your composure, but he wasn't making it easy.
"Yeah, you can say that again," Yoongi whispered, his lips brushing against your ear before his teeth grazed the lobe, making your entire body shudder.
You swallowed hard, your head spinning. "I'm serious," you managed to say, even though your voice came out shaky. "Jimin—he thinks I'm still under that dry spell cuz' everybody thinks we're doing it—"
"Let him yap, love."
"Yeah I would, but he went to a point where he talked about how I'm gonna need to buy that Tesla robot to fuck me cuz' no living man will, thanks to you and your not-so-subtle hints that we're doing it—"
"My not-so-subtle hints?" He chuckled.
You couldn't help but roll your eyes, feeling a mixture of amusement and frustration. "I mean, he was kinda making some good points," you teased, pretending to think it over. "We do have that whole 'will they, won't they' vibe going on."
Yoongi's fingers paused against your skin for a moment, as if he were considering your words, but then a slow, mischievous smirk crept onto his lips.
"What do you think, babe?"
"I—I think," you stammered, feeling the weight of the moment sink in, "I think we could've been doing a better damn good job of hiding it. But maybe—" You hesitated, your heart beating wildly in your chest.
"Maybe it's time we stop pretending."
"Well, next time Jimin mentions our 'vibe,' I'm making him listen to a few of our 'studio sessions.'"
Your eyes widened in mock horror. "Yoongi!" You gave him a dramatic shiver, and he chuckled, wrapping his arms around you.
"Exactly," Yoongi said, smirking mischievously. "That'll shut him up real quick."
"Good luck," you teased, tapping his chest lightly. "Maybe he'll start talking about how lucky you are to have me in your corner."
"Lucky, huh?" he mused, pulling you in for a hug. "You're damn right I'm lucky."
You grinned, enjoying the easy banter, letting the tension slip away as you let him hold you. It wasn't about proving anything to anyone—it was just the two of you, sharing this moment, enjoying each other's company and, of course, having a little fun at Jimin's expense.
"Wait—" you just realised.
"You know about my smutty books?!"
He threw his head back and gave a loud throat laugh in response.
Summary: You learn that the cute barista you’ve been crushing on might have an…otherworldly disposition after you accidentally cut yourself.
A college, coffee shop, and vampire AU all in one!
Pairing: Yoongi x Reader
Genre: Fluff, Angst, Smut, and anything in between
Word Count: 15,639
A/N: This is the longest oneshot I’ve ever written. I found this vampire!yoongi fic sitting in my WIPS back at the start of the year. I did my best to pick it up and rewrite the story into something interesting.
Hopefully you guys like it.
In your opinion, college is a fairly safe space. You go to classes, get along well with friends, enjoy sitting near the pond in the middle of your campus when the weather is nice. There are rarely any crimes—and when there are, it’s a stolen bike, a petty fight, or an…“attack”.
But! Attacks are rare.
Hell, sometimes they aren’t even acknowledged. Not everyone chooses to believe in folklore—that vampires are real and walking among us.
Some people are disbelievers because they’re too scared to give into the reality that every day they might be around someone who could pin them down and steal their blood in a split second. Others just…think it’s a hoax—the few and far between vampire attacks, that is.
“Those people just want attention. They can fake fang marks like that with special effects make-up.”
Society seems to be torn on their existence—just as some people refute the existence of ghosts or spirits, or even god and higher powers. You for one—well…you believe. At a younger age, in an event you’ll never forget—you had fallen off a swing at the park and gouged open your knee on the turf. In what seemed like a flash a shadow had appeared above you—a man looking to be in his late 20’s to early 30’s. When you glanced up he had knelt down—his eyes meeting your curious and slightly frightened stare. His eyes were crimson, and it had seemed as if his irises were pulsing with….with…
“You need to be more careful,” he had told you, his Adam’s apple bobbing heavily against his throat. He hadn’t bothered to help you up, instead stepping back— fingers trembling near his sides. “You can’t afford to get hurt around others if you keep smelling like that.”
And then he was gone. But despite his disappearance, his words stuck with you—lingered in the back of your mind for days—weeks, even.
What do I smell like? You had wondered, but had never bothered to search for the answer. Anytime you pondered potentially pricking your finger or making a harmless little cut, immediately those crimson eyes popped into your mind, and you found yourself weak at the knees—unable to follow through.
Years later, you’ve nearly forgotten about that man at the park—those deep red eyes and resounding words. You’re a college student—you’ve got papers to write, tests to take, applications to fill out—you don’t have time to worry about things such as ghosts, or higher powers, or vampires. As if. The only thing on your mind is class and the coffee you get every morning to help you through the day.
Also the cute, yet bored faced barista at the campus coffee shop you seem to face nearly 7 days a week, regardless of the time you leave to get your coffee. He’s charming in his own right—dark hair, styled a little lazily, and dressed in casual clothing that perfectly accentuates his body. He’s minimal effort good-looking, and you can’t believe how much you’re attracted to him sometimes.
“Morning,” you greet with a smile when you step up to the register, the line advancing forward. He doesn’t bother to look up, already hitting buttons on the screen in front of him and reaching to grab a cup to write your name on.
“Usual, right?” he asks in a low voice, sounding groggy, and you stare at the top of his head as he bends to grab a marker that had fallen on the floor.
“Tired?” you respond instead. He grunts.
“Long night.”
You hum in understanding as you watch him press the marker to the cup, however, instead of writing your name, with sloppy handwriting he ends up scribbling his own, and you break into a fit of giggles.
Cocking an eyebrow, the male glances up at you.
“Wow, suddenly our names are quite similar,” you say, pointing at the cup, and when he sees the permanent black Yoongi written he curses.
“Fuck, I’ll get you a new one–,” he begins apologetically, but you cut him off.
“No! It’s ok, it’s just a cup and you already know me, so it’s no big deal,” you laugh, smiling at him. He pauses.
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah, just draw a little heart next to it to make it cute and I think I’ll be fine,” you tease, and while Yoongi rolls his eyes, he can’t help the small smirk that comes to his face.
“I make no promises with that heart. Go ahead and swipe your card.”
Nodding, you do, and once the charge goes through you walk to the other end of the counter to wait, knowing by now that Yoongi will simply take your receipt and throw it away, since neither of you want it.
As you wait for your drink to be made, you pull your phone out and scroll through your twitter feed, trying to catch up on all the latest news and gossip before you run off to class. However, your finger only manages to swipe upward a few times before there’s a gasp behind you, and you turn to find a girl staring in horror at her phone which has just landed face down on the tile floor.
“Oh no,” you say, highly sympathetic as you squat down and gently pick the phone up since she’s clearly too petrified to do it herself. You peek at it, tilting the screen your way, and the hiss that escapes your lips is enough to let the girl know that she’ll be needing a new phone sometime soon.
“Shit, the glass,” you mumble as you return the phone to her, managing to mirror her thankful, albeit disappointed smile. She says that she’ll clean the glass up since it was her fault, but you tell her that you’ve got it, and reach over to grab a napkin.
“Don’t touch it, Y/N. We’ll clean it up,” you hear Yoongi’s voice command from the background, almost warning you to not do anything stupid, but you wave him off. You’ll be fine, it’s just a little glass.
So, putting the napkin next to the tiny shards, you gently use the side of your hand to brush the pieces onto the napkin. In the background Yoongi calls your name to get your drink, and then immediately sighs when he sees you bent down, trying to macgyver glass onto a napkin like a cave man.
“You’re dumb,” he grumbles as you stand up, turning to face him with the napkin full of glass in your palm.
“Hey, it worked didn’t it?” you grin triumphantly, but just as you transfer the napkin to Yoongi to be disposed of, a piece of glass tears through the thin layers of paper and scrapes your skin.
“Ow, fuck,” you curse, examining the damage as Yoongi hurriedly takes the glass from you and tosses it into the waste bin. You hold your palm out, fingers lightly pressing at the cut—red seeping at the edges—but before you can move to find something to clean yourself up, Yoongi’s hands are embracing your hurt one.
“Yoongi?” you say in surprise, watching as his thumbs brush against your palm, pressing down slightly on either side of the scrape. At the action more blood appears, and you glance up at him in shock.
summary: a movie night with your best friend turns into more than you expected
cw: inexperienced!eddie, inexperienced!reader, fem!reader, smut, hand job, mention of porn, mention of blow job, insecurity, manipulative behavior, secret crush, reader and eddie are both 21+, ye olde teaching trope, friends to lovers (wc: 1.2k)
18+ mdni
a/n: one more holiday headcanon ;)
Thinking of your best friend Eddie who invites you over to watch a scary movie on Valentine’s Day since you’re both single and neither of you have dates.
When you arrive at his place later in the evening he greets you at the front door with a goofy smile and pretty bouquet of flowers—your favorite kind. Just as a joke.
He’s not being serious!
Best friend!Eddie who compliments your new outfit then leads you down the hallway to his bedroom. You’re going to have to watch the movie in there because the VCR in the living room is on the fritz—or so he says.
While you make yourself comfortable on his bed he digs through a pile of video tapes on the floor before holding up a VHS case with a creepy-looking cover and giving you a wicked smile.
“Ready to get scared?”
Your best friend!Eddie who’s a bit careless and leaves his nudie magazines just lying around where anyone can find them. When you pick one up off his bedside table and start to flip through the crinkled pages, a look of horror dawns on his face.
In a flash he’s grabbing it out of your hands and tossing it across the room while covering his discomfort with nervous laughter.
“Uh sorry, Jeff or Gareth must’ve left that there.”
He doesn’t look at that kind of stuff!
At first you narrow your eyes in suspicion at the unlikely story but then decide to let it go. You’re pretty sure your best friend would never lie to you.
“I’m kind of glad to hear that,” you admit giving him a relieved smile that tugs at the strings of his heart. “Those girls are all so perfect and hot—it can make me feel a bit insecure.”
Best friend!Eddie who confesses that he thinks you’re much prettier than any of the girls in those magazines then blushes, tucking his hair behind his ear in the adorable way that makes you feel all warm and fuzzy inside.
You’re so lucky to have such a sweet best friend.
Best friend perv!Eddie who keeps shuffling closer to you on the bed during the movie until the side of his thigh is pressed up against yours and you can feel the weight of his fingertips as they ghost along the small of your back.
He’s just getting comfortable!
Best friend perv!Eddie who eagerly awaits the raunchy sex scene he knows is coming up midway through the film. When it starts, he glances over at you to gauge your reaction.
Your eyes grow wide as you watch the actress give the handsome lead actor a handjob in the spooky abandoned warehouse.
Ever the gentleman, Eddie holds up the remote. “I can fast forward this part if you like?”
But you just giggle and shake your head. You don’t want to miss a single moment. You’re paying rapt attention to the sordid action playing out on the screen, studying it closely and storing it away in meticulous detail for later use.
You’ve been feeling a bit self-conscious of late because you haven’t gone very far with anyone in that way, and all your friends at the college are more worldly than you and tease you about your lack of experience.
And sure, maybe a gratuitous scene in a horror movie might not be the most realistic depiction of sex, but at this point you’ll take whatever you can get!
Best friend perv!Eddie who notices you start to squirm in your seat as the steamy scene unfolds and pauses the movie to ask if you need to take a washroom break.
“It’s—not that,” you hesitate, licking your lips as you eyes drop down to graze over the noticeable bulge in his sweatpants. It’s not the first time you’ve seen his dick print—he’s explained before that sometimes he can’t help getting hard when he’s around someone as pretty as you.
It’s not personal!
When you look back up at his face, his eyes are big and soft. “What is it? You know you can tell me anything.”
And you feel a twinge of guilt for not being completely open and honest with him. It’s not like you to keep a secret like that from Eddie—he’s your best friend and you trust him more than anyone in the world.
With a shrug of your shoulders you let out a sigh and admit that you’re trying to pay attention to the movie so you’ll know what to do in bed.
It takes Eddie a moment to recover.
Best friend perv!Eddie who confesses that he hasn’t fooled around with many people either and assures you it’s nothing to be embarrassed about. Teases that you could always practice on him if you wanted—then laughs. He’s only pulling your leg. It’s just a joke!
But like, seriously. He wouldn’t mind.
Before long he’s got his hand over yours guiding it up and down between his thighs. Teaching you how to stroke him just the way he likes. He’s going to talk you through it and make sure you know just how much he loves the way you’re making him feel.
“That’s it, spit on your hand. Yeah, now stroke it a little faster.”
He’s sprawled on his back naked from the waist down, hem of his white undershirt clutched in one hand over his chest, the gold chain around his neck catching the light as he watches his slick cock glide in your palm. He’s comfortable with his body and when you look down at him it’s obvious why. Tattoos scattered over smooth, pale skin. Thick cock springing from a thatch of dark curls at his base. He’s absolutely gorgeous.
And more than anything you want to be able to make him feel good but your arm soon grows tired and you start to slow down, your strokes becoming messy and uneven. Finally you let out a frustrated sigh.
“Is it too much?” he asks in a soft voice and you nod with big glassy eyes. You feel like such a failure. None of the guys at the college are going to want to date you if you can’t manage to get them off.
“Hey, don’t worry.” He smiles, reaching up to tenderly cup your cheek. “I mean, you could always use your mouth if that’s better for you.”
And with the way he’s looking up at you in that moment you can almost believe he’s being completely selfless. Under the spell of those earnest brown eyes it’s easy to imagine he’s only thinking of you and your comfort.
“Yeah, I guess I could try?”
You stifle a gasp when he uses his thumb to pull down your plump bottom lip, smearing the pretty new shade of lipstick you’re wearing. He loves the way the color makes your mouth look so sweet. So inviting.
Then he pushes past the glossy barrier of your lips into the wet warmth of your mouth. Whimpering a little, you suck on the thick digit and he smiles while reaching down with his other hand to give himself a few lazy strokes.
Yeah, you’re going to do just fine.
Best friend perv!Eddie…he’s always looking out for you <3
Warnings: Swearing, over drinking to forget, small hint of non-consentual touching, general angst, Smut (the most smut I’ve ever written 😳), unprotected sex, oral-both receiving, very tiny hint at depression and suicide
Word Count: 9,863
This is definitely a little more mature than I usually write, but I still hope everyone likes it! This is one of my favorites I’ve ever written.
You hated Min Yoongi. You hated him since the first night you moved in next door to him, since the exact moment you realized the walls in your new apartment were thinner than advertised and that your neighbor believed that the middle of the night was an acceptable time to emotionally assault others with bass-heavy melancholy music.
His music was always too loud. Not fun loud. Not accidentally caught in a good song loud. It was the kind of loud that seeped through walls at midnight, all low beats and melancholy piano, like he was personally determined to permanently haunt you with his playlist.
That first night, you tried to ignore it.
You were exhausted. Surrounded by half-unpacked boxes. Your mattress was on the floor, your back ached, and the cookie dough ice cream in your freezer was calling your name. You told yourself it would stop soon. That no one was rude enough to blast music past midnight on a weekday.
You were wrong. By twelve forty-seven, your patience had snapped clean in half.
You marched out into the hall barefoot, hair in a messy bun, irritation buzzing hot under your skin. You knocked once. Then again. Harder. By the third knock, the music cut off abruptly.
The door opened.
Min Yoongi looked at you like you were an inconvenience he hadn’t scheduled.
He was dressed in all black, black T-shirt, black joggers, black socks, and somehow managed to look both half-asleep and fully awake and judgmental at the same time. His dark hair was tousled, eyes sharp behind rimless glasses that were questionably attractive. He took you in with one slow glance, from your barefoot feet to the spoon still clutched in your hand.
“Yes?”, he said flatly. “Your music.”, you replied, already more annoyed by his tone, “It’s too loud.” He blinked. Once, “No it’s not.” You stared at him, “I can feel it vibrating my couch.”
He scoffed, “That sounds like a you problem.” You scoffed back at him, “Are you serious?”
He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossing, “Do you usually introduce yourself by complaining?”
“Well, do you usually introduce yourself by being inconsiderate?” Something flickered in his eyes, irritation, maybe. Or amusement. It was hard to tell.
“I’m Y/N. I just moved in.”, you continued, “And I’d really love it if my first night here didn’t involve your emo-boy playlist rattling my walls.” His jaw tightened, “You could’ve texted the building manager instead of stomping over here like you own the place.”
“I don’t have their number yet.”, you shot back, “But congratulations…you’re my first official complaint when I do get it.”
Silence stretched. Thick. Uncomfortable. “I’m Yoongi by the way.”, he sighed, turned, and lowered the volume just enough to prove a point rather than fix the problem.
“There.”, he said, “Better…princess?”
The nickname did more to you than it should have so you narrowed your eyes at him, “Barely.” He met your gaze, unimpressed, “Get used to it.”
You stared at him in disbelief, “Wow. You’re an asshole.”
“And you’re extremely impolite.”, he replied coolly, “Knocking on my door in the middle of the night dressed in your pajamas.”
You laughed, sharp and humorless, “Unbelievable.”
“Good night.”, he said, already closing the door.
It shut firmly in your face. You stood there for a second, stunned, then stormed back to your apartment and ate your ice cream straight from the container out of spite.
From then on, everything about him irritated you.
Yoongi, in your professional opinion, was cold and mysterious. Quiet in a way that felt intentional. The kind of man who nodded instead of waved, who never held the elevator for fear of having to have any hint of a social interaction with another human, who looked like he judged people for breathing incorrectly. He wore black like it was a personality trait and never smiled.
And you? You were, according to him, a stuck-up brat.
You’d overheard that one through the thin apartment walls one night when he was arguing with someone on speaker named Jungkook after you had spent five minutes banging on his door to quiet it down. She’s always complaining. Acts like she owns the building. She’s stuck-up and a brat. “Well…you have always had a thing for brats.”, the guy on the other line said, “I’m sure you can shut her up one way or another.”, he finished with the smirk in his tone clear.
You choked on your wine and added rude and has shitty friends to the growing mental list titled Reasons Min Yoongi Is the Worst.
So when there was a knock on your door at 10:51p.m. on a Thursday, your first thought was a polite murderer. Your second was an insomniac yet sweet old lady needing to borrow a cup of sugar to bake cookies that she would hopefully share with you. Your third was that you were not wearing a bra and whoever this was had better be worth it. You yanked the door open, irritation already loaded and ready to fire.
And there he was.
Min Yoongi, standing in the hallway in a black coat, those stupidly cute glasses he always wore barely hanging onto the tip of his nose, hair slightly mussed like he’d run a hand through it one too many times. His eyes looked tired. Not cold, just…worn. In his arms was a black cat, bundled awkwardly against his chest like an afterthought.
The cat blinked at you. Slowly. Judgingly.
You stared. Yoongi stared. The cat stared.
“…What.”, you said finally.
Yoongi cleared his throat, “I…I need help.”
You almost laughed. Almost. Because the universe had a twisted sense of humor and apparently loved irony more than you loved sleep.
“You’re knocking on my door.”, you said, “At night. Voluntarily…for help.” His jaw tightened, “Y/N please don’t make this harder than it already is.” You crossed your arms, “That’s rich, coming from you.”
The cat shifted, pressing its face into his coat like it wanted to disappear. Yoongi glanced down at it, then back at you, “I’ve been called out of town last minute. For a business trip. I can’t back out.”
You waited. Nothing else came.
“…And?”, you prompted.
He sighed, “My usual cat sitter is busy.”
You blinked. Looked at the cat again. Sleek black fur. Wide gold eyes. One ear tipped slightly, like it was also curious about what you’d have to say next.
“That’s a cat.”, you said slowly.
“Yes.”, he nodded.
“You’re a cat dad?”
“I…guess so...”, he nodded again while his irritation with you was clearly growing.
“You’re asking me to…watch it?”
His shoulders lifted in the smallest, most reluctant shrug you’d ever seen, “Yes…temporarily and out of desperation.”
You laughed this time. A short, loud sound, “You think I’m a stuck-up brat, remember?”
His lips pressed into a thin line, “Yes I do think that. I also think you’re…responsible.” That threw you off. You tilted your head, “You don’t know anything about me.”
“I know you feed the strays by the dumpster every morning.”, he said, “And that you carried Mrs. Han’s groceries up three flights of stairs when the elevator broke. And that you yell at me for my music almost every night, which means you’re home most of the time, which means you don’t disappear for days.”
You stared at him. He shifted, clearly uncomfortable, “I pay attention to things.”
The cat chose that moment to stretch, the cutest tiny little paws pressing into his chest, a soft mrrp escaping its mouth. The cat knew what it was doing by putting on a show.
Your resolve cracked. Just a little. Like a hairline fracture you pretended not to notice.
“What is its name?”, you asked. His expression softened instantly, “Sugar.” You laughed because of course he ironically named a black cat Sugar.
You sighed, stepping back and opening the door wider, “How long?”
“Three days. Maybe four.”, he said. “And if I say no?”, you questioned. His mouth twisted, resigned, “Then I’ll figure something else out.”
You looked at Sugar again. The cat met your gaze, unblinking, like he already knew you had lost.
“Fine.”, you muttered, “But only because he’s cute and…if he scratches my couch, you’re buying me a new one.” Yoongi nodded immediately, “Done.”
You took the cat from his arms before you could change your mind. He was warm. Solid yet soft. He purred almost instantly like a traitor.
Yoongi hesitated in your doorway, “I’ll text you with instructions. Food. Nap requirements. Sensory time. Vet number. Emergency contacts.”
“Relax.”, you said, “I’ve kept tiny humans alive. A cat should be easier.”
He huffed a quiet laugh before he could stop himself. It startled you both. When he turned to leave, he paused. “Thank you.”, he said, softer than you expected.
You didn’t answer. You just watched him walk down the hall, coat swaying, shoulders still tense like he was bracing for something.
You closed the door and looked down at Sugar. “Well...”, you said, “Your dad’s kind of a jerk. I just want you to know that.”
Sugar purred louder as if to say, “I know but he means well.”
You had a strange feeling, unwelcome and persistent, that this was not going to stay simple for long.
Watching Sugar went…annoyingly well. That was the first problem.
You had fully expected chaos. Scratched furniture. A cat that hissed at shadows and judged you from high places like a tiny gargoyle. Given his owner, you had assumed Sugar would be aloof, emotionally unavailable, and maybe secretly plotting your downfall.
Instead, Sugar was a cuddle menace.
The very first night, he’d leapt onto the bed, kneaded your thigh like he was three days behind at the biscuit factory, and promptly curled up against you with a purr that sounded like a malfunctioning engine. By morning, he had migrated to your chest, warm and heavy and completely unapologetic about it.
“You are not supposed to be this affectionate.”, you told him, scratching behind his ears. Sugar blinked slowly, the universal cat language for another servant to be mine now.
The days passed easily. You fed him, brushed him, learned that he liked sitting in the bathroom sink while you got ready and that he would scream—actually scream—if you gave him anything less than six treats at a time. You talked to him more than you cared to admit. Complained about your job. About your exes. About one particular man next door who played music too loudly and pretended he didn’t care about anyone or anything.
Sugar listened. Sugar purred. He rubbed himself around your ankles every morning and every night to make sure you continued to stay in his love trance.
By the time there was another knock on your door four days later, you felt…weird about it. Like you didn’t want things to change.
You opened the door to find Yoongi standing there again, travel-worn and tired, one hand stuffed into his pocket and a dark glass bottle in the other.
“Hey.”, he said. “Hey.”, you echoed.
Sugar bolted past you before either of you could say anything else, skidding slightly on the hardwood as he launched himself at Yoongi’s legs. Yoongi dropped to a knee instantly, setting everything down to scoop him up.
“Hey, buddy.”, he murmured, voice melting into something soft and fond that didn’t match the man you had built in your head at all. Sugar headbutted his chin. You watched, arms crossed, heart doing something stupid in your chest.
“He was…fine.”, you said, too quickly, “Didn’t cause any trouble.” Yoongi looked up at you, a faint smile tugging at his mouth, “I didn’t think he would.” You snorted, “Liar.”
He stood, cat secure in one arm and held out the bottle. You recognized the label instantly. Your favorite wine. The one you only bought on special occasions because it felt too indulgent to be a regular purchase.
“As a thank you.”, he said, “For helping. And for…you know…everything.” You hesitated before taking it, “You didn’t have to.”
“I know.”, he said simply, “I wanted to.”
Your fingers brushed when you accepted it. The contact was brief. Electric in a way you absolutely refused to acknowledge.
“Sugar likes you.”, he added, almost like an afterthought. You shrugged, “He has good taste.” That earned you a quiet huff of laughter. It made you feel weirdly good.
And then it was over. He left. Sugar went home. The hallway returned to its usual silence, broken only by bass-heavy music a little too late at night and the familiar irritation that followed.
Things between you and Yoongi still stayed mostly strained after that with little hints of something brewing. Polite nods in passing. Short, clipped hellos. The occasional passive-aggressive note about noise levels slipped under his door and under your door an equally passive-aggressive apology note that somehow didn’t sound apologetic at all.
Life went on. Until four weeks later, there was another knock. This time, it was earlier. Early evening. You opened the door already suspicious. Yoongi stood there, hands in his coat pockets, shoulders tense like he was bracing for rejection.
“I know this is short notice again.”, he said, “But I have another trip. Just two nights.”
You glanced past him instinctively.
“No Sugar?”, you asked. His mouth twitched, “He’s in the carrier in case I had to move on to plan B. I didn’t want to…assume.” You sighed. Loudly. Dramatically. For effect. “You’re lucky he’s cute.”, you said.
Relief washed over his face before he could stop it. “Thank you Y/N.”, he said again. You stepped aside, already making room, “Same rules as before.”
“Which are?”, he questioned. “If he scratches my couch you buy me a new one. An expensive one. Maybe leather.”
Yoongi smiled, really smiled this time. Just a small one. But it lingered, “Deal.”
The power went out on a Tuesday night, which felt unfair in a deeply personal way. The day had already been unkind enough. You were halfway through reheating three day old leftovers when your kitchen lights flickered once…twice…and then surrendered completely. The building fell into a hollow quiet. Rain battered the windows, wind howled down the hallway vents, and somewhere next to you, a door opened.
A knock followed. Hesitant. Almost too polite. You already knew who it was. You opened the door to find Yoongi standing there with Sugar’s carrier in one hand and his phone in the other. He looked irritated in that tightly wound way he got when things were out of his control.
“Power’s out.”, he said, as if you hadn’t noticed. “So I see.”, you laughed.
Sugar meowed mournfully from the carrier.
He shifted his weight, “I can order you dinner or something. As a thank you. Since…you know the powers out and everything.”
It was awkward. Clumsy. Clearly rehearsed and abandoned halfway through.
You opened your mouth to answer, but his gaze drifted past you, to your counter, where the bottle of wine he’d given you weeks ago still sat, unopened. The label caught the glow of the emergency hallway lights.
Something shuttered in his expression.
“Actually..”, he said quickly, “forget it. You probably have plans. I’ll just…Sugar, come on.”
The subject changed so fast it left whiplash.
“Yoongi.”, you started, but he was already stepping back, pride reasserting itself like armor.
“Good night.”, he said before quickly entering his apartment.
You watched him walk away, frustration buzzing under your skin, the storm raging on outside.
For the next couple of months, this strange almost-thing settled between you two.
You watched Sugar here and there. Sometimes for a night, sometimes for a weekend. The handoffs got easier. The conversations longer and less about the cat. You learned Yoongi drank his coffee black and slept a concerning amount of too little. He learned you hummed when you cooked and pretended not to like his music choices even when you recognized the songs.
You still argued. Still snapped. Still complained when the bass crept too loud. But now there were pauses. Lingering looks. Words swallowed at the last second.
The line between dislike and something else blurred. Then one night, when Yoongi came to pick Sugar up, you surprised both of you.
“Do you want to stay for dinner?”, you asked.
He froze, hand still on Sugar’s carrier.
“And…we could open a bottle of wine.”, you added, gesturing vaguely toward the kitchen. Yoongi hesitated long enough that you almost took it back.
“I don’t want to be a burden.”, he said quietly. “You’re not.”, you quickly replied, “I’m offering.”
He agreed. Carefully. Like the decision mattered more than it should have. Dinner was simple. Comfortable in a way that scared you both. The wine was already half gone when the shift happened.
You were sitting closer than before, not touching, not quite, but close enough to feel the warmth of him through the couch cushions. The room felt softer, edges blurred by alcohol and laughter that concerned you both. Yoongi’s voice was low, relaxed in a way you hadn’t heard before, and you found yourself watching his mouth when he spoke instead of listening to the words.
You stood to refill your glass. When you turned back, he was already looking at you through those stupid glasses you’d come to deeply love.
The moment of silence stayed. Dangerous.
You didn’t plan the kiss. You just…stopped thinking. Stepped into his space, fingers brushing his arm like you were testing the temperature of something you already knew would burn.
You leaned in anyway.
The kiss was tentative at first, more question than answer. When he kissed you back, it was careful, restrained, until it wasn’t. His hand came up to your waist pulling you to straddle his lap, steady and grounding, like he was anchoring himself before he let go. You didn’t move away. You kissed him further, your hands tangling in his hair.
Then he pulled back. Just enough to breathe.
“Y/N.”, he said quietly, “I…I need to say something.” Your heart thudded, “Okay.”
He didn’t let go of you. That somehow made it worse.
“I’m not looking for anything serious.”, he said, “I don’t…do relationships. If this happens, it’s just sex between neighbors. Nothing more.”
The words landed heavier than you expected.
“Oh.” you said.
You searched his face for hesitation, for regret, for something that said he didn’t really mean it. But he looked honest. Guarded. Afraid, maybe, but firm.
You swallowed, “Right.”
“I don’t want to mislead you.”, he added. You forced a small smile, “I appreciate the warning.”
There was a moment where you could’ve stopped it. Where you could’ve stepped back and said no, said you wanted more than that, said you didn’t want to be the kind of person he used as an escape.
Instead, you nodded. “Okay.”, you said, “Then…okay.”
Something flickered in his eyes, relief tangled with something darker, but he didn’t argue.
Your transition onto your knees was a blur of frantic hands and discarded layers. You quickly undid his belt with ease sliding the fabrics down just enough for him to spring free. Yoongi was a man of few words, but the way he moved, deliberate, intense, spoke volumes. He leaned back against the sofa, legs spread, pumping himself a few times with practiced ease, watching you with an intensity that made your skin flush.
The "stupid" glasses were slightly crooked now, reflecting the dim light of the apartment, but his gaze remained fixed on you.
"Y/N," he rasped in excitement of what was to come, his free hand coming rest on top of your head, fingers weaving through your hair. It wasn't a command, but an acknowledgment that he was ready to move forward.
You stilled at the sight of him. Large, the tip angry red and already slick from the precum you watched him continue to spread up and down his shaft. You had never seen anything like it and you wanted him so badly. Yoongi suddenly stopped his movements worried that maybe you had changed your mind.
“You don’t…you don’t have to if you don’t want too..”, he started.
But you looked up at him, defiant and wanting, before leaning forward. When you took him into your mouth, Yoongi’s head hit the back of the sofa with a muffled thud. A low, guttural groan vibrated through his chest, a sound of pure, unadulterated release.
You were meticulous, using your tongue to trace the length of him, learning the rhythm that made his hips twitch involuntarily.
His breath came in shallow, jagged hitches. His knuckles were white where he gripped the fabric of the sofa, his other hand tightening slightly in your hair, guiding you with a desperate sort of friction but never enough to hurt.
Every time you looked up, you caught his expression, eyes blown wide behind his lenses, teeth sunk into his lower lip to keep from waking the rest of the building.
He was trying to stay detached, trying to keep it "just sex," but the way he called your name, breathless and broken, suggested that even if he didn't want a relationship, he was completely undone by you.
The air in the apartment felt heavy and charged as he finally reached his breaking point, his body racking with a shudder as he came, his warm seed sliding down your throat, that seemed to pull the air right out of the room. When it was over, he stayed there for a long moment, chest heaving, looking at you like you were the most dangerous thing he’d ever allowed to touch him.
He didn't let the distance last though. Yoongi reached down, his large hands catching you under your arms and hoisting you up with surprising strength. He didn't put you back on your feet; instead, he maneuvered you until you were the one leaning back against the cushions, your legs draped over his shoulders as he settled between them.
"My turn.”, he whispered. The gravel in his voice sent a fresh spark of heat straight to your core.
He didn't rush. Yoongi approached you with the same quiet, focused intensity he gave most of his life, observant, rhythmic, and devastatingly effective. He started with the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, his breath hot against your skin, his thumbs tracing the line of your lace underwear before hooking into the fabric and dragging it down.
When he finally pressed his face to you, you let out a sharp, fractured gasp, your fingers digging into the upholstery of the couch.
He used his tongue with agonizing slowness at first, tasting you, learning how you reacted to every flick and pressure. He found the exact spot that made your toes curl and stayed there, relentless.
The only thing louder than your heartbeat was the wet, rhythmic sound of his focus and the low growl he made in his throat when you arched against him.
You reached down, trying to pull him closer, your fingers tangling in his dark hair. He let you guide him, but he didn't stop until you were shaking, your breath hitching in a way that bordered on a sob.
He looked up then, his glasses sliding down the bridge of his nose, his mouth wet and his expression completely wrecked. He saw the way your eyes were rolled back, the way you were hovering right on the edge, and he gave you a small, ghost of a smirk, the first sign of the confident, playful neighbor you never thought he could be.
He used his fingers to open you further, his tongue swirling in a devastatingly fast rhythm that pushed you over.
The climax hit you like a wave, sudden and all-consuming. You called his name, not like a neighbor, but like someone who was already dangerously deep in this. Yoongi didn't pull away; he held you through the tremors, his forehead resting against your stomach as your breathing slowly returned to the room.
Eventually, he shifted, crawling up the length of your body to collapse beside you on the narrow sofa.
“I’m not finished with you yet.”, he said before kissing your lips, the taste of yourself still prominent.
When he moved and settled back between your thighs, the blunt pressure of him against your entrance made your breath catch. He paused, his arms bracing his weight on either side of your head, looking down at you with an intensity that felt like a physical touch. Embarrassment crept in. You tried to turn your face away, but he stopped you.
"Look at me.”, he rasped, his voice a low vibration that you felt in your chest, “I want to see your face as I fuck you.”
As you met his gaze, he finally pushed forward. He moved slowly at first, his jaw tight as he filled you completely, stretching you until you felt like you might break. A low, guttural sound escaped his throat, a mix of a groan and a curse, as he buried his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling sharply. The sensation of your tight walls too much for him.
The pace didn't stay slow for long. He began to move with a relentless, driving rhythm that matched the frantic beat of your heart. Every thrust was deep and purposeful as if he were trying to leave a permanent mark on you.
The slap of skin and the friction of the sofa became the only soundtrack to the room. You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, wanting to erase every inch of space between you.
His glasses had long since been discarded, and without them, his expression was exposed, vulnerable, fierce, and entirely undone.
"You're too much Y/N.”, he whispered against your skin, his teeth grazing your shoulder, “I told myself I wouldn't do this... that I wouldn't let you in like this."
He shifted onto his knees while moving his grip, his hands sliding under your hips to tilt you upward, changing the angle until you were sobbing his name into the quiet room. He wasn't holding back anymore, the quiet, reserved neighbor was gone, replaced by a man who was claiming everything you were willing to give as his.
The friction built into a blinding white heat. You felt the tension coil in his muscles, his back arching as he hit his limit. “Please Y/N.”, he begged between gasps, “…I can’t hold out much longer…please come with me.”, he groaned as he reached between you both rubbing your clit with all he had left. You came with a cry of his name, squeezing his cock so tightly his hips stuttered from the sensation. With one final, devastating surge, he collapsed against you, his breath coming in ragged, broken gasps as he came, filling you to the brim, the force of it shaking both of your bodies.
For a long time, neither of you moved. The only sound was the synchronized, heavy thrum of two hearts slowing down. He kept his face hidden in your hair, his hands still clutching your hips as if he were afraid that if he let go, the reality of what this meant would come crashing back in.
You told yourself it was fine, that you were an adult, that you had agreed to this. That you could handle it being only sex. But you knew you were trying your hardest to convince you’re of that.
The last thing you remembered was slowly drifting off to sleep while trying to reach out for Yoongi with no success.
In the early morning light, you woke up covered by a blanket but to an empty apartment. The cushions were cool where he’d been. The apartment was quiet. Too quiet.
You sat up slowly, a dull ache settling in your chest as reality crept back in. His jacket was gone. His shoes. Sugar’s carrier.
On the counter, the wine bottle stood empty. The glasses rinsed. Placed neatly by the sink like an apology that didn’t quite count.
You stared at it longer than you should have. You had agreed to nothing more. You told yourself you hadn’t expected anything else.
Still, as you wrapped the blanket tighter around yourself, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something had been taken with him when he left and that agreeing hadn’t made it hurt any less.
After that night, nothing was supposed to change. That was the rule. So you tried your best.
You still watched Sugar.
The first time after that night, Yoongi dropped him off without stepping inside. He lingered in the doorway, eyes flicking past you like he was afraid of seeing evidence of something he didn’t want to name.
“He’s got his food measured out.”, he said, “He’ll probably steal your pillow again.”
“Figures.”, you laughed.
Your fingers brushed when you took the carrier. Neither of you commented on it. He didn’t stay. Didn’t ask how you were. Didn’t mention the wine or the way he’d left before sunrise. You told yourself that was good. Clean. Exactly what you had agreed to.
Sugar, the traitor that he was, slept curled against your ribs that night, purring like he was trying to fill a space.
The second time it happened, because it did happen again, it was quieter.
Then the third and fourth times happened. On the fifth time Yoongi texted instead of knocking.
Can I come over?
You stared at the message longer than you should have. When you opened the door, he didn’t look at you right away. He set Sugar down carefully, then straightened, hands shoved into his pockets.
“You okay with…us staying for a while?”, he asked, like it was a casual night in, “Just tonight.” You nodded, “Yeah of course.”
It was different this time. Slower. Less urgency, more familiarity. You knew the slope of his shoulders now, the way he exhaled when he finally relaxed. He knew how you liked your hands held, how you went still before you melted.
He laid you back against the pillows of your bed, the cool sheets a sharp contrast to the heat radiating from his body. Yoongi didn't hover; he sank into the space beside you, propping himself up on one elbow. His free hand traveled from your knee up to your hip, his thumb hooked into the waistband of your shorts, dragging slowly across the skin there.
"You're so warm," he whispered, his voice a gravelly low vibration that seemed to settle right in your chest. He started with your breasts, running his hands across them, mesmerized at the way your nipples perked from his touch. His fingers went lower and lower until he entered them into your wet folds. He groaned at the sensation.
He continued to fuck you with his digits while he kissed you this time, it was deep and rhythmic. He tasted like cherries and coffee. He moved over you with a heavy, grounding grace, his knees slotting between yours. He took his time, peppering small, stinging kisses along the column of your throat. “That’s it.”, he nearly growled, “Fuck yourself on my fingers.”, he gasped as he watched you arching your back to get yourself off with his hand. Your own hands tangling in the soft hair at the nape of his neck as you came down from your high.
As the layers between you disappeared further, the air in the room seemed to thin. He entered you with a slow, singular focus, a low groan escaping him as he buried his face in the crook of your neck. It wasn't about the friction; it was about the weight of him, the way his heartbeat thudded against your ribs, perfectly in sync with your own.
He moved with a steady, deliberate pace that forced you to feel every inch of the connection. Every time he pushed forward, his forehead rested against yours, eyes closed tight as if he were memorizing the feeling.
The only noise was the rhythmic creak of the bed and the hitch in your breath. He kept his hands locked with yours, fingers entwined and pressed into the mattress, anchoring you both to the moment.
When the tension finally broke, it wasn't an explosion but a slow melt. He held you tightly, his muscles trembling slightly under your touch, breath coming in ragged, hot puffs against your skin.
You didn’t talk about how to handle the morning. He still left before it.
After that, it became a pattern neither of you acknowledged.
Yoongi traveled. You watched Sugar. Sometimes Yoongi stayed the night in your bed still leaving before the morning. Sometimes he didn’t stay at all and left soon after. Sometimes you argued over nothing and everything, about his music, about your work schedule, about who bought the wrong flavor of cat treats or who stole whose coffee mug.
Sometimes you still ended up in bed anyway.
That was the complicated part.
He would show up tense and closed off, only to soften when Sugar climbed into his lap or when you handed him a drink without asking. You’d tell yourself you could keep it casual, that you were fine with what it was.
But then he’d do things that didn’t fit the rules.
He’d stay long after Sugar fell asleep, talking quietly on your couch about your day or where you grew up. He’d remember how you liked your pizza and that you hated white chocolate. He’d brush his thumb along your wrist absentmindedly while watching tv like it belonged there.
And then he’d pull back. Every time.
You hated that part. You hated how good he was with Sugar, how careful, how gentle. You hated that seeing it made your chest ache. You hated that you started to feel relieved when his trips lined up with your weekends, that you caught yourself wondering if he missed you when he was gone.
One night, after he left, you sat on the edge of your bed and stared at the door, anger curling tight in your stomach. You hadn’t asked for more. You knew you couldn’t. But you were starting to want it.
Maybe that’s what made the fights come back sharper. More personal. Words slipped out that shouldn’t have.
“You don’t get to act like this doesn’t matter.”, you snapped one night as he was putting his belt back on. “Y/N…I told you what this was.”, he shot back, jaw tight, “I was clear and honest from the start.”
“And yet YOU keep crossing the line!”, you cried. He froze. You struck a nerve that he had been trying to hide.
Sugar watched from the arm of the couch, tail flicking like he was taking notes on what not to do.
After that, things fractured deeply again. Yoongi stopped staying over. He stopped asking you to watch Sugar. The music went low. The hallway felt colder.
You hadn’t just agreed to sex. You had agreed to fall quietly whether he did too or not. And it hurt more than you ever expected it to.
You had been trying to learn to live again without Yoongi and Sugar in your life. One morning, laundry bag in one hand and grocery list in the other, you stepped into the hallway and stopped.
Yoongi stood by his door, saying goodbye to a woman. Her hair was tousled. His shirt was haphazardly buttoned like he threw it on without a care. A bright bruise, fresh, was on his chest. She smiled up at him, familiar and easy.
Your chest went cold. Yoongi looked up. Your eyes met.
The woman kissed his cheek and walked away without a glance in your direction. The elevator closed behind her, leaving just the two of you in the hallway, the weight of everything unspoken pressing down hard.
Yoongi’s expression flickered, surprise, guilt, something sharper. You tightened your grip on the grocery list and quickly walked away from him not trusting your eyes not to betray you any further. She got to stay with him until the morning. That hurt, maybe more than the fact that he was with someone else entirely.
After seeing Yoongi with that woman, something inside you snapped, not loudly, not all at once, but enough that you stopped caring how carefully you’d been holding yourself together.
You went out. You drank more than you meant to. Then more after that. You laughed too loudly, let a stranger buy you shots, let yourself believe that wanting to feel wanted was the same as being fine.
It wasn’t.
You barely remembered getting back to your building. You remembered fumbling with your keys. Remembered the hallway tilting. Remembered a man you didn’t know with his hands where you hadn’t invited them to be, his weight too close, his breath hot with alcohol and impatient.
You were pinned against your own door when it happened.
Your laugh stopped sharp. “No please stop.”, you said, but it came out wrong, slurred, unsteady, useless.
The door next to you opened. “What the hell is going on?”, Yoongi’s voice cut through your drunken fog like ice water. The man turned, annoyed, “Hey man, mind your own business.”
Yoongi took one look at you…your unfocused eyes, your unsteady legs, flushed cheeks, your skirt that was hiked up higher than he knew you would’ve been comfortable with, and the way you weren’t pushing back so much as trapped, and something dark and furious crossed his face.
“She’s too drunk.”, Yoongi said flatly, “Get your hands off her.” The guy scoffed, “She’s fine.” Yoongi stepped closer, “Stop touching her…now.”
Something in his tone made the man hesitate. Yoongi didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t need to. He positioned himself between you and the guy without touching either of you at all. He was solid and immovable.
“Leave.”,’ he said again.
The man cursed under his breath, muttered something about not being worth the trouble, and backed away. The hallway felt suddenly too quiet as his footsteps disappeared down the stairs.
Your knees buckled as soon as he was gone. Yoongi caught you by the waist, steadying you without pulling you close. “Easy.”, he said. You shoved at his chest weakly, “Don’t…don’t touch me.”
His hands dropped immediately.
“You don’t get to play hero now.”, you slurred, anger flaring hot and misplaced for the moment, “You don’t get to act like you care about me now.”
He didn’t answer. You lashed out anyway, words sharp and ugly, fueled by hurt and humiliation and alcohol. You called him names you didn’t mean. You accused him of things he didn’t do. Your voice cracked on the last one.
Yoongi didn’t say a word. He never got angry. He didn’t even so much as sigh.
He unlocked your door, guided you inside without force, and sat you on the edge of the bed. He handed you a glass of water and waited until you drank it, watching you like he was afraid to blink and miss something.
He knelt in front of you then, careful, respectful, and gently cleaned smeared makeup from your face with a wipe. His touch was light, almost reverent, like he was trying to give you a silent apology.
When he stood, you caught his sleeve.
“Stay.”, you whispered, “Please.”
He hesitated.
You continued, “Please Yoongi. I’m really drunk and I’m scared and…there’s so much going on in my brain right now.” You started to cry. Hard.
“Shhh okay I will.”, he said quietly, “I’ll stay.”
Relief washed over you, heavy and warm. You curled onto your side, exhaustion pulling you under fast. The room felt safer with him there. Comforting.
As sleep just about took you, you heard footsteps.
Soft. Careful.
Then the click of the front door. You didn’t have the energy to go after him.
By morning, the apartment was empty just like you expected it to be. Your head was pounding. Your stomach was turning. Your heart was filled with embarrassment as the night before came back to you in short bursts.
You got a delivery that you hadn’t ordered. A large coffee and a bacon, egg, and cheese bagel with extra hot sauce just how you liked it.
You knew who it was from and that gesture hurt a lot. More than it should have.
You waited two days. Long enough for the headache to fade. Long enough for the embarrassment to settle into something quieter and heavier. Long enough that avoiding him started to feel worse than facing him.
When you finally knocked on Yoongi’s door, your heart was pounding like you were the one who’d done something unforgivable.
The door opened almost immediately.
He looked tired. Not hungover-tired like you, but worn. Like he hadn’t slept much since that night. His hair was softer than usual, falling into his eyes, and for a split second you almost said his name the way you used to in your head.
Almost.
“Hey.”, you said. “Hey.”, he replied.
Silence stretched between you, awkward and brittle. “I just…”, you exhaled, “Can I talk to you? For a minute.” He stepped aside, “Yeah.”
You didn’t go far in. Just stood near the door like you weren’t sure you deserved more space than that. “I wanted to thank you.”, you said, “For…stepping in. The other night.”
He nodded once, “You don’t need to thank me.”
“I do.”, you insisted, “You didn’t have to. Things could’ve gone worse. And I…”, you swallowed, “I was out of line. I was drunk. I said things I didn’t mean.” He leaned against the door, arms folded loosely, eyes on the floor, “You were upset.”
“That doesn’t excuse it.”, you shook your head. “No.”, he agreed quietly, “It doesn’t.”
The honesty stung, but you deserved it. “I’m sorry.”, you said, “For yelling at you. For calling you names. For putting you in that position. I was angry that you kept leaving before the morning. You would never stay with me. Like…like once the sex was over you got what you came for and you didn’t need me any more.”
Yoongi was quiet for a long moment.
“That was never the case. I…I was worried.”, he said, “And scared. And…I didn’t know how to stay without making things worse.”
You nodded slowly, “I thought you always left because you didn’t care.” He shook his head, “No…I left because I care too much.”
The words hung between you, dangerous and unresolved. He straightened then, like he’d made a final decision in that moment. “Y/N…I’ve been thinking about us.”, he said, “About everything that’s happened.”
Your chest tightened.
“I think it’s best if we stop.”, he continued, “…Completely.” You felt like the floor dipped beneath you, “Stop…what?”
“This.”, he said, gesturing vaguely between you, “Whatever we turned into. The sex. The fighting. The nights in. The half-in, half-out.”
“So you want to go back.”, you said slowly, “to hating each other?”
“No.”, he said almost too quickly, “To before it was complicated. Before I hurt you. Before I crossed lines I didn’t know how to take back.”
You crossed your arms, bracing yourself, “So what…neighbors who argue about loud music and pretend nothing happened?”
“Yes.”, he said softly, “Because that’s safer. For both of us.”
Safer. The word felt like a verdict.
“I didn’t ask you to protect me.”, you said, hurt creeping back in despite your best effort. “I know.”, he replied, “But I’m doing it anyway.”
You searched his face for doubt, for regret, for something you could push against.
You found resolve instead.
“…Okay.”, you said, even though it scraped on the way out, “If that’s what you want.”
“I think it’s what we need.”, he said.
You nodded once, sharp and decisive, because lingering would only make it worse.
“Thanks again.”, you said quietly, “For the other night.” He met your eyes then, something raw flickering there, “Anytime.”
You stepped back into the hallway before either of you could say something you’d never be able to take back.
The door closed gently behind you.
And just like that, you returned to the way things were before, only now, you knew exactly what you were missing.
After that day the tension came back sharper. Meaner than either of you intended. Attempts to see if you actually went back to hating each other or if there was still something else there. Like a bruise you kept pressing just to see if it still ached.
You were hurt. That was the part you didn’t say out loud. Hurt and angry and stupidly embarrassed for ever thinking that you could mean something more than convenience of sex to someone who laid it all out for you from the start.
And Yoongi?
Yoongi pretended none of it bothered him.
He went back to being clipped and cold. He barely looked at you in the hallway. His music crept back up in volume, usually not loud enough to complain about without looking petty, but loud enough to feel deliberate. When he passed you, his expression was unreadable like you were just another neighbor again.
So you did what you’d always done. You fought. You snapped about the noise when it got to that point. He snapped back about you being a dramatic pain in the ass. You accused him of being inconsiderate. He accused you of always needing control. Old habits resurfaced easily when neither of you wanted to admit how badly missing the new ones had hurt.
He never asked you to watch Sugar again. He knew better.
Then one morning, the weather turned vicious. The wind howled outside, cold seeping through the cracks in your door, rattling the windows like it wanted in. You were halfway through pulling on your favorite comfy sweater when frantic knocking shook your apartment.
Not annoyed knocking. It was panicked knocking.
You opened the door already scowling and froze.
Yoongi stood there, hair disheveled, coat half-zipped, eyes wide and frantic behind his glasses in a way you’d never seen before. His breathing was uneven, like he had been running.
“What do you want?”, you snapped, hand already tightening on the door knob.
“I can’t find Sugar.”, he blurted, “He…he must’ve gotten out when I got my new desk delivered.”, Yoongi continued, words tumbling over each other. “The door was open for a few minutes and I didn’t see him and I’ve looked everywhere. He never goes far. He always comes when I call.”
Your anger flared hot and immediate. You started to shut the door.
“Please Y/N.”, he said.
The word cracked. You paused.
Yoongi swallowed hard, eyes glassy, “I know I don’t have the right to ask you. I know I messed things up. But I can’t…”, his voice broke, just barely, “It’s freezing outside and it’s supposed to snow tonight. I can’t lose him.”
You exhaled sharply, fury and concern tangling into something painful.
“Fine.”, you said, “Let me grab my coat.”
You spent the entire day searching.
You walked block after block, calling Sugar’s name until your throat hurt. You checked under cars, behind dumpsters, inside stairwells. You knocked on doors. You posted flyers. The cold seeped into your bones, but neither of you complained.
Yoongi grew quieter as the hours passed.
By the evening, his shoulders sagged. His voice went hoarse. When you finally went back to his apartment to regroup, he sank onto the couch.
“He’s never been gone this long.”, Yoongi said, rubbing his face with both hands, “I should’ve been more careful.”
You stood in the living room, scanning the space absently, habit more than hope.
Then you saw it.
Something black. A flinch of something moving. Just barely visible beneath the TV stand. “…Yoongi.”, you said slowly. He looked up, hollow-eyed, “What?”
You crouched, heart pounding, and reached carefully beneath the stand. Your hand touched something soft…and furry. A familiar meow answered you.
“You have got to be kidding me.”, you breathed as Sugar wriggled free, stretching like he hadn’t just caused emotional devastation to you both.
Yoongi froze.
Then he was crossing the room in two strides and dropping to his knees, scooping Sugar up and squeezing him tight much to the dismay of the cat. He buried his face in his fur, breath hitching, hands shaking.
“God.”, he whispered, “You stupid fucking demon cat from hell. You scared the shit out of me.”
Sugar purred loudly, unapologetic. You watched, something in your chest softening despite yourself.
“You’re…a good cat dad.”, you said quietly. Yoongi’s ears turned pink instantly. He didn’t look at you, “Don’t tell anyone. I have a reputation to uphold.”
For the first time in months, the silence between you didn’t feel like a weapon. And Sugar, the little menace, curled contentedly in his arms like he’d planned it all along.
Yoongi sat on the floor for a long moment, Sugar cradled against his chest like something precious and breakable. When he finally stood, he set the cat down gently, making sure he wasn’t planning anything before turning to you.
“Y/N…I think I owe you more of an explanation.”, he said. You crossed your arms, not defensive but protective, “You owe me honesty.”
He nodded. Once, “I know.”
He didn’t pace. Didn’t deflect. He dropped onto the couch, eyes fixed on the floor like if he looked at you too long, he might lose his nerve.
“I don’t let people in.”, he said, “Not really. I never have. It’s easier to keep things contained. Predictable. There’s…usually…less hurt that way.”
You stayed quiet.
“I thought I could keep our relationship strictly about sex. When I realized I was falling for you and I had lost control .”, he continued, voice low, “It scared the hell out of me.”
Your chest tightened.
“I didn’t know how to handle it.”, he admitted, “So I did what I always do. I ran. I picked fights. I made you the enemy again because that felt safer than wanting you.”
You swallowed hard. “Is that why I saw you saying goodbye to that woman that one morning? You just wanted to replace me?”, you asked, even though you already knew the answer wouldn’t fix how it had felt or change anything in the past.
He looked up then. Straight at you. His eyes were honest in a way that hurt.
“She was an old friend. We’d been…casual, on and off, but I never had the feelings for her that I do for you. I thought if I distracted myself, the feelings I have for you would…just go away.”
Your jaw clenched.
“They didn’t. We didn’t even go all the way that night. I couldn’t do it.”, he said quickly and defensively, “It actually made everything worse. Because the entire time, all I could think about was how I wished she was you and that’s when I knew I was gone. I felt stupid. Guilty. Like I’d already ruined something I didn’t know how to protect.”
The anger you’d been carrying didn’t disappear, but it shifted. Softened at the edges.
“You should’ve talked to me.”, you said quietly. “I know.”, he replied, “I was wrong.” The admission sat between you, fragile and real. “I don’t want to fight with you anymore Y/N.”, he said, “And I don’t want to pretend you don’t matter to me when you matter more than anything.”
You moved closer before you could overthink it. Before fear could talk you out of it. “You don’t get to run every time something scares you.”, you said. “I don’t want to.”, he replied, “Not anymore.”
For a moment, neither of you moved. Then you leaned in.
The kiss was different this time, slower, steadier. No tension snapping, no anger fueling it. Just warmth. Familiarity. Relief. His hands came up gently, like he was asking permission even now and you let yourself melt into him.
When you pulled back, Sugar chose that moment to jump onto the couch and settle in, tail flicking smugly. You huffed out a laugh, “He really is the worst.” Yoongi smiled, soft, unguarded, “Yeah…but he saved me.”
You met his eyes, “Us, maybe too.”
The silence of the apartment changed. It was no longer the heavy, cautious quiet of two people negotiating a truce. It was the thick, electric stillness of two people who had run out of words and excuses.
Yoongi didn't let go. His hands slid from your face down to your waist, his grip tightening as he pulled you flush against him on the couch. The heat of his body burned through your sweater and the apology he’d just given felt like it had been the final barrier holding back a flood.
"I've spent every night for the last few months thinking about how you looked in bed.”, he rasped against your ear, his voice dropping an octave, rough and stripped of its usual cool, “And every day hating myself for letting you get away."
He didn't wait for a response. His mouth crashed back onto yours, but the gentleness had been replaced by a starving, wreckless need. His tongue slipped past your lips, deep and demanding, tasting of coffee and a desperate, bottled-up hunger. In one surging motion, he pulled you off the couch. You barely had time to gasp before he was backing you into the hallway wall. The thud of your shoulders hitting the drywall was followed by a low, primal groan as he pressed his entire weight into you, his hardness a blunt, undeniable promise against your thigh.
His hands were everywhere at once, tugging at the hem of your shirt, finding the soft skin of your waist, kneading with a possessive intensity that made your breath hitch. He hiked you up, your legs instinctively locking around his hips, and he didn't miss a beat, carrying you toward the bedroom with a focused, almost predatory intent.
When you hit the mattress, the friction of his dark denim against your skin was a jarring, delicious contrast to the softness of the sheets. Yoongi moved over you like he was reclaiming lost territory. He stripped his shirt off in one fluid motion followed by his jeans, the muscles of his back tilling under the dim light, and when he looked down at you, his eyes weren't just tired, they were dark with a craving that made your toes curl.
He leaned down, his teeth grazing the sensitive spot on your neck that he hadn’t forgotten and as his hand slid lower, certain and demanding, you realized the music wasn't the only thing about Min Yoongi that could make your world consistently shake.
Yoongi reached down, his fingers finding you, slick and ready. He let out a shaky, jagged breath at the feel of you, his forehead dropping to rest against yours. "Tell me.”, he hissed, his thumb catching on your center, "Y/N tell me you want this as much as I do."
"Yoongi, please.”, you begged, your fingers digging into the muscles of his forearms.
He didn't make you ask again. He guided himself to your entrance, pausing for a heartbeat as he looked into your eyes, searching, needing to see that you were truly there. Then, with a low, guttural growl, he buried himself inside you in one deep, soul-shaking thrust.
The sensation was overwhelming, a tidal wave of fullness that made your head fall back into the pillow. Yoongi stayed still for a moment, his eyes squeezed shut, his jaw clenched so hard the bone jumped. He looked like he was in pain or maybe just finally at peace.
"God Y/N, you’re so tight.”, he choked out, his voice cracking.
He began to move, his pace slow and agonizingly deep at first, before the rhythm took over. Each thrust was a reclamation, a signature written into your skin. He wasn't the cold, stoic guy you once knew. He was raw and unraveled, his breath coming in ragged hitches against your neck.
As the tension coiled tighter and tighter, Yoongi’s pace turned frantic. He gripped your hips, his fingers leaving faint marks as he drove into you with a desperate, rhythmic force. You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, chasing the peak that was hovering just out of reach.
When it finally broke, it was violent. Your vision blurred as waves of heat crashed over you, your name falling from Yoongi's lips like a prayer as he came, his body shuddering with the force of it. He collapsed against you, his heart hammering a frantic rhythm against your own, the silence of the room finally replaced by the sound of two people breathing as one.
The storm outside continued to rattle the windowpanes, but inside the room, the air had settled into a heavy, peaceful warmth. The intensity of the last hour had bled away, leaving behind a quiet that finally felt safe.
Afterwards Yoongi didn't pull away. He didn’t run. Instead, he collapsed further, softly agaisnt you, his forehead resting in the crook of your neck as his breathing gradually slowed. He felt heavy and solid, his skin radiating a heat that made the rest of the world feel miles away.
After a moment, he shifted, rolling onto his side and taking you with him. He tucked your head under his chin, pulling the duvet up until it covered both of your shoulders, creating a small, dark cocoon. His movements were slow and gentle as if he were handling something incredibly fragile.
"Are you okay?", he whispered, his voice a low, gravelly vibration against your neck.
"Yeah.”, you breathed, Tangling your fingers in the soft dampness of his hair, “Better than okay."
He let out a long, shaky exhale that felt like a surrender. He began to trace idle, nonsensical patterns against your bare arm, slow circles and light lines that made your skin tingle. It wasn't the touch of a man who was satisfied and ready to sleep. It was the touch of someone who couldn't quite believe you were still there.
"I missed you. More than I knew how to say.", he mumbled against your hair.
Then he started peppering tiny, soft kisses along your jawline, slow, sleepy ones that lingered. He looked nothing like the cold, judging man in the hallway now. His features were softened by the shadows, his eyes half-closed and soft with a vulnerability he’d spent months trying to hide.
"I'm not going anywhere.”, he promised, his arms tightening around you, pulling you so close there wasn't a breath of space left between you. He tucked his legs around yours, anchoring you to him, “Tomorrow. The day after. I’m staying."
Just as you were drifting off to the sound of his steady heartbeat, a familiar weight landed on the foot of the bed. A soft mrrp echoed in the dark, followed by the rhythmic thumping of a tail.
Yoongi let out a tiny, genuine huff of a laugh. He reached out one arm, eyes still closed, and felt around until his hand landed on Sugar’s fur, dragging the cat upward until the three of you were a tangled pile of limbs and soft breathing.
"See?", Yoongi whispered, his voice thick with sleep as he kissed your forehead one last time, “Even the cat knows you’re stuck with us now."
Permanent Tag List: @kam9404 @itsmina29 @amarawayne @coffeedepressionsoup @tea4sykes
•••> Summary: You are just an ordinary woman with a strange aura about you that Yoongi can’t seem to resist- even past the compulsion of his mentor. The question is: why?
•••> Pairing(s): Yoongi/Reader
•••> Requested by @itsgottabeyoo-ngs : “Hi daddy, One shot request with vampire Yoongi x brat reader. Bonus points for adding in choking or spitting idk make it filthy k thanks love you byeeeee xoxoxoxox”
Thank you for the request, babe! This one is a bit to unpack, as you can see. I hope you enjoy :)
~#~
Yoongi never claimed to have his thirst under complete control.
He stands before his brothers once every week for the feed, snarling as he consumes his share of blood, while the others bear witness so as to provide him ceremonial protection- a vampire is very vulnerable while he consumes blood. The polydipsia made one lose all form of reason and sense of mind, driven to the brink of animalistic insanity when it was in the process of mildly quenching the eternal hunger.
Polydipsia, used to describe his level of thirst, was the word made just for him in his own little world.
Summary: Suga of BTS is on the edge, racing against the clock to finish his solo album. With just three songs left to complete and a looming deadline, he's struggling to find inspiration. In a last-minute move, his company pairs him with the highly secretive Producer K, a renowned but elusive figure in the music industry. Everyone assumes Producer K is a male, but when Suga meets the mysterious producer, he's shocked to discover that K is actually a talented and confident woman. As they collaborate, the line between professional and personal begins to blur. Their chemistry is undeniable, but with a ticking clock and the pressure to deliver, can they finish the album on time? Or will their growing connection derail everything they've worked for? Secrets, passion, and music. Can Suga keep his focus, or will Producer K. change everything?
A/N: I miss these two already!! 🥺 This story was highly influenced by me having Yoongi's SDL and Reed Wonder's The machine on repeat. Hope you enjoy reading this story as much as I did writing it! Let me know your thoughts 💕.
The soft hum of equipment filled the studio, punctuated by the click-clack of Yoongi's keyboard. His desk was a mess of coffee cups, scribbled notes, and sheet music—proof of hours spent chasing inspiration that eluded him.
"Hyung," a staff member, Jihoon, said cautiously, standing near the doorway. "I think we need to talk about your album. Specifically, the last tracks you’re stuck on."
Yoongi swivelled his chair, eyebrows knitting together. "I'm not stuck," he said sharply. "I just need time."
"You have three months before the release date," Jihoon reminded him. "And right now, three of the songs don’t have melodies. You’ve been staring at the lyrics for weeks."
Yoongi sighed, dragging a hand through his hair. "I’m working on it."
Jihoon hesitated, holding back a smirk. "The team suggested bringing in another producer."
Yoongi’s eyes narrowed. "I don’t need help. This is my album. I’ve handled everything myself before, haven’t I?"
"This time, we’re short on time," Jihoon countered. "And we’re talking about Prod. K. He’s incredible! The guy with the minimalist beats and genre-blending compositions. Even you’ve praised his work."
Yoongi leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. "I praised the music, not the person. And I don’t work with strangers, especially ones I’ve never even met."
"It’s non-negotiable, hyung." Jihoon sighed. "The higher-ups already agreed. We’re bringing him in to collaborate."
"Bringing him in?" Yoongi repeated, his tone laced with sarcasm. "I’ve never even seen his face. For all I know, he could be some arrogant newbie."
Jihoon smirked, his gaze flickering with amusement Yoongi didn’t appreciate. "Lets not judge, just wait until you meet him."
Yoongi grumbled, turning back to his monitor. "Fine. But don’t expect me to make this easy for him. And when he leaves because I’m too ‘difficult,’ you can tell the higher-ups they were wrong."
~~ Y/N POV ~~
"Are you out of your mind?!" I hissed, pacing the small office where my team had dropped the bombshell of the century. "To collaborate with Suga of BTS in person? Sure, it’s an honor, but that’s a no from me. If my identity gets leaked, the fact that I’m a woman, working with him in some tiny studio, any sasaeng will have me on their hit list before I even step out the door."
My manager, Minji, leaned back in her chair, arms crossed but eyes pleading. "Y/N, listen. This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. His songs are streamed millions of times. You can’t just brush this off."
"I’m not brushing it off," I shot back. "I respect his work, don’t get me wrong. But I’m not willing to risk it. There are plenty of artists who would kill to have me on their projects just by sending them my demo, and they’re happy to communicate with me online without ever knowing who I am. Why him? Why now? Why like this?"
Minji sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. "It’s not just about you. The label needs this. We’re in a tight spot financially, and this contract is massive. Do you know how much they’re offering?"
I didn’t want to hear the number. Money had never been my motivator, but the way Minji’s face softened told me it was enough to make a difference, not just for me but for my entire team. I groaned, dropping into a chair and crossing my arms. "Why can’t anyone hear my opinion? I don’t want to do this. I’m not just some faceless entity, you know."
"You’re not," Minji said gently. "But you also know how much this could elevate your career. Three songs, Y/N. That’s all they’re asking for. Just three."
Her words echoed in my head, the weight of them pulling me in two directions. Logic screamed to take the job, but fear—fear of exposure, of judgment—held me back.
"Fine," I said finally, hating how small my voice sounded. "I’ll think about it."
***
That night, I found myself on an unintentional deep dive into Min Yoongi’s a.k.a SUGA a.k.a AGUST D world. It started innocently enough: a quick search to refresh my memory of his discography. But then one song led to another, and another, until I was buried in hours of music he’d produced, lyrics he’d written, and performances that made me forget why I was so hesitant in the first place. Scrolling through fan edits and live clips, I couldn’t help but be charmed. There was a reason people adored him, not just for his talent, but for the quiet charisma that seeped through the screen. His easy confidence, the way he handled himself on stage and in interviews, was magnetic.
"Focus," I muttered to myself, shaking off the distraction. But the deeper I went into his work, the harder it was to ignore his genius.
His music was haunting, intricate, and raw. The kind of art that pulled you into someone’s soul, no matter how much they tried to hide. I couldn’t help but wonder how someone with this much expertise got stuck?
By the time dawn broke, I called Minji. "Minji," I said the moment she answered, her voice still groggy. "I’ll do it."
"Wait, what? You’re serious?" she asked, clearly surprised.
"Yes, but on one condition."
"Name it."
"No one finds out who I am. If my identity leaks, I’m out."
Minji exhaled sharply. "We’ll make sure of it. I’ll talk to the higher-ups and confirm everything. Thank you, Y/N. This is the right decision."
I wasn’t sure if it was the right decision, but it was the one I’d made.
The next couple of days blurred into a whirlwind of paperwork. Contracts, NDAs, and endless signatures filled my time, the reality of the collaboration sinking in more and more with each passing document. Ironically, a small part of me hoped that Min Yoongi would refuse to sign the NDA. Maybe he’d see the clause about not sharing my identity, find it too ridiculous, and decide the collaboration wasn’t worth it.
But no.
He signed it.
When Minji told me, I stared at her like she’d grown a second head. "He signed it?"
"Yeah," she said, looking just as surprised. "No arguments, no complaints. Honestly, I thought he’d push back, but he didn’t."
I leaned back in my chair, letting out a long breath. "This guy… He’s full of surprises."
"Don’t get your hopes up," Minji warned. "Just because he signed doesn’t mean this will be smooth sailing."
"I know," I muttered. But in the back of my mind, I couldn’t help but wonder. How different was the man behind the screen, the one whose music I’d admired for a while, from the person I was about to meet?
***
A few days later, everything was finalized. Minji and I were contacted by Jihoon, one of the team members who worked closely with Suga.
"He’s coming to pick us up personally?" I asked Minji, eyebrows raised as I adjusted my headphones around my neck.
"Apparently," Minji replied, glancing at her phone. "Guess he wants to make sure we actually show up."
When Jihoon arrived, he was younger than I expected, his energy warm and casual. He greeted Minji with a polite bow and a bright smile, then turned to me. For a moment, his expression faltered, his eyes darting behind me like he was waiting for someone else to appear.
"Uh… Hi," he said, looking between Minji and me. "You’re both here for Suga, right?"
"Yes," Minji answered smoothly. "This is K." She gestured toward me.
Jihoon blinked, confusion written all over his face. "Wait… You’re Producer K?"
I gave him a tight-lipped smile. "That’s me."
"You’re kidding," he said, then immediately looked apologetic. "I mean, sorry, I just—uh—"
"You were expecting someone else?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Kind of, yeah," he admitted, scratching the back of his neck sheepishly. "No offense, but I thought you’d be, you know…"
"A guy," I finished for him, crossing my arms.
He laughed awkwardly. "Well, yeah. I mean, your music has this… vibe. It’s not what I’d expect from—" He cut himself off again, realizing he wasn’t helping.
"From a woman?" I challenged, though there was no malice in my tone.
"Not what I meant!" Jihoon exclaimed, waving his hands. "It’s just…forget it. I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to offend you."
Minji chuckled, patting him on the shoulder. "Don’t worry. She gets that a lot."
I didn’t hold it against him. The entire point of my stage name was to avoid this kind of reaction, but moments like these reminded me why I kept my identity under wraps. Jihoon composed himself quickly and gestured toward the sleek black van parked nearby. "Anyway, let’s get going. Suga’s waiting for us at HYBE."
***
The drive to HYBE was surprisingly pleasant. Jihoon was chatty, making an effort to ease the awkwardness of our initial interaction.
"So," he began, glancing at me through the rear-view mirror, "I’m curious. How long have you been producing?"
"About six years," I replied.
"Wow, and you’re already working with Suga," he said, genuinely impressed. "That’s not something just anyone gets to do."
"I’m aware," I said, keeping my tone neutral. "It’s a privilege."
He nodded. "Have you been a fan of his music for a while?"
I hesitated. "I respect his work. He’s incredibly talented."
Jihoon grinned knowingly. "You’re downplaying it, huh? That’s fine. Most people get nervous meeting him for the first time. Don’t worry, he’s actually a lot nicer than people think."
Minji let out a quiet laugh beside me. "I don’t think nervousness is the issue here."
Jihoon glanced between us, confused but wisely decided not to press further.
***
Pulling up to HYBE’s towering building was intimidating, to say the least. I’d seen pictures online, of course, but being there in person was a different experience.
"Here we are," Jihoon announced as he parked the van.
As we stepped out, I adjusted my hoodie, making sure it covered my face as much as possible. Even with the NDA in place, I couldn’t shake the paranoia of being recognized. Jihoon led us through the back entrance, avoiding the main lobby and elevators filled with staff and trainees. "We’re heading straight to the studio," he explained. "He’s already there."
The walk felt longer than it probably was, my heart pounding with a mix of anxiety and anticipation. When we finally reached the studio, Jihoon paused at the door, turning to us.
"Ready?" he asked.
"As I’ll ever be," I replied, tightening my grip on my laptop case.
He opened the door, and there he was, Min Yoongi, sitting in front of a massive console, his back to us.
He turned at the sound of the door, his expression neutral as he stood to greet us. His gaze swept over Minji first, then landed on me. For a moment, he said nothing, his sharp eyes scanning me from head to toe. Then he frowned, looking at Jihoon.
"This is K?" he asked, his tone sceptical.
Jihoon winced. "Uh, yeah. This is K."
Yoongi’s frown deepened as he crossed his arms. "You’re joking, right?"
I stepped forward, meeting his gaze head-on. "Last time I checked, I’m not a joke."
His eyes narrowed slightly, his expression unreadable. "You’re not what I expected."
"Good," I said, setting my laptop on the table. "Let’s get started."
Yoongi smirked, leaning against the edge of the console, arms crossed. His sharp gaze never left me as he added, "I have to say, your previous work didn’t exactly… scream ‘feminine touch.’ If anything, I thought you’d walk in here with a beard and flannel shirt."
I blinked, caught off guard. "Excuse me?"
Jihoon coughed awkwardly, stepping back as if distancing himself from Yoongi’s comment. Minji shot him a warning look, but I could see the corners of her mouth twitching like she was trying not to laugh.
Yoongi raised a hand, his smirk widening. "No offense. I’m just saying your music has this raw, almost aggressive energy. It’s impressive. I just didn’t picture..." He motioned vaguely toward me. "...this."
Minji quickly interjected, "Alright, we’ll leave you two to it. Jihoon and I have some things to take care of."
"Wait—" I started, but Minji grabbed Jihoon by the sleeve and dragged him toward the door.
"You’ll be fine," she called over her shoulder. "Just... play nice, both of you."
The door shut with a soft click, and I was left staring at Yoongi, who looked far too amused for my liking.
"Let me guess," I said, narrowing my eyes. "You think this whole thing is a waste of time, right? That I’m here because someone in your company thought you needed ‘help.’"
He shrugged, moving to his chair and spinning it lazily before sitting down. "Help isn’t the word I’d use. But yeah, I wasn’t exactly thrilled about this arrangement."
"Trust me," I said flatly, "neither was I."
That earned a low chuckle from him. "At least we’re on the same page."
I took a deep breath, trying to keep my irritation in check. I’d dealt with condescending colleagues before, but Yoongi’s nonchalant attitude was already grating on my nerves. How different was he from the Yoongi I’d seen in interviews or fan videos? This guy wasn’t the soft-spoken, thoughtful artist fans adored. He was sharp, blunt, and entirely too smug.
"Let’s just get to work," I said, pulling out my laptop and external drive. "You have lyrics, right? Show me what you’ve got."
Yoongi grabbed a notebook from the desk and slid it across the table. "Here. Three tracks I’m stuck on. The lyrics are solid, but I can’t find the right sound to match them."
I flipped through the pages, skimming the lines. His handwriting was neat but compact, and the lyrics were, as expected, incredible. Emotionally raw, introspective, and layered with meaning. They demanded a melody that could do them justice.
"What’s the vibe you’re going for?" I asked, keeping my tone professional.
Yoongi tapped his fingers on the desk, his expression thoughtful. "Something atmospheric. A mix of minimalistic and haunting, but with enough depth to make it feel powerful. Think piano-driven but layered with electronic textures. I want it to hit hard emotionally but not overwhelm the lyrics."
I nodded, already forming ideas in my head. "Okay, let’s try something."
Opening my laptop, I connected it to the studio’s system and pulled up my digital audio workstation. I started layering a simple chord progression on the piano, experimenting with minor chords to create the moody tone he wanted. Yoongi watched silently for a moment before leaning forward. "No, that’s too soft. It needs more tension."
I adjusted the progression, adding a dissonant note to the second chord. "Better?"
He nodded. "Yeah. Now bring in a low synth pad to fill it out."
I worked quickly, adding the synth and tweaking the sound to give it a subtle pulse. The room filled with the beginnings of a melody, and for a moment, the tension between us eased as we both focused on the music.
"Not bad," Yoongi muttered, almost to himself. "But it still feels... flat."
I bit back a retort, reminding myself that this was his music. "What do you suggest?"
He leaned back, closing his eyes as he listened. "The transition between the first and second chords needs more weight. Maybe a reversed sample or a swell to build anticipation."
I nodded, grabbing a sample from my library and reversing it. After a few adjustments, I played it back. The swell added a subtle but impactful build to the transition.
Yoongi opened his eyes and smiled faintly. "That’s better."
"Glad I could meet your standards," I said dryly.
He chuckled again, the sound low and almost teasing. "Relax. I’m not here to make this harder than it has to be."
"Could’ve fooled me," I muttered under my breath, earning another amused glance from him.
Despite his initial scepticism, Yoongi was a perfectionist, and that part of him was something I could respect. He pushed for the smallest details, catching nuances that most producers might overlook. But he also didn’t hold back his opinions, which made working with him both frustrating and oddly invigorating.
As the hours passed, we fell into a rhythm. He’d point out what wasn’t working, I’d offer a solution, and we’d tweak it until we found something we both liked. By the time we wrapped up for the day, we’d made significant progress on the first track. The rough demo already had a haunting, melancholic energy that complemented his lyrics perfectly. Yoongi leaned back in his chair, stretching his arms above his head. "Not bad for our first day."
"Let’s hope tomorrow’s just as productive," I said, saving the project file.
He smirked, standing up and grabbing his notebook. "We’ll see. You’re not as bad as I thought you’d be."
"Gee, thanks," I said, rolling my eyes. "You’re a real charmer."
"Only when I want to be," he shot back, heading for the door.
As he left, I let out a long breath, leaning back in my chair. Working with him was exhausting, but I couldn’t deny the excitement bubbling under my frustration. For all his arrogance, Yoongi was undeniably talented, and I found myself looking forward to the challenge of working with him.
***
The next morning, Yoongi and I sat in the studio reviewing the progress from the day before. The demo played softly in the background, and while it sounded promising, there were a few sections that felt off.
"We need to rework this transition," Yoongi said, pointing at the waveform on the screen. "It’s too abrupt. It needs more build-up."
I nodded, fingers hovering over the keyboard. "Agreed. Maybe adding a soft vocal sample or layering the synth more would smooth it out."
"Try it," he said, leaning back in his chair with a thoughtful expression.
As I adjusted the track, Yoongi’s phone buzzed on the table. He glanced at the screen, frowned, and stood up. "I need to take this. Keep working. I’ll be back."
He left the room without another word, the door clicking shut behind him. I sighed and refocused on the track, tweaking the layers as the melody slowly started to evolve. But after about twenty minutes, I decided to take a break. My coffee from earlier had caught up with me, and I needed to find the bathroom.
Stepping into the hallway, I started down the corridor when I heard Yoongi’s voice from around the corner. I paused, not wanting to interrupt, but something about his tone made me linger.
"...So yeah, Jihoon, I didn’t know she was a girl," he was saying.
I froze, my pulse quickening.
"I mean, if I’d known that was the case, maybe I would’ve pushed back harder at the beginning. Told them I didn’t need the help. She’s okay and talented, sure, but there are other producers out there who could’ve done this just as well."
My stomach twisted. Was that really what he thought of me? I took a step back, the faint creak of my shoe on the floor startling me. Afraid he might notice, I turned and quickly walked the other way, heading toward the nearest staircase to find another bathroom. I didn’t want to hear anything else.
After finally finding a bathroom and giving myself a moment to cool down, I headed back to the studio. I was determined not to let Yoongi know I’d overheard him, but my annoyance simmered beneath the surface. When I stepped back into the room, he was already there, seated casually at the console like he hadn’t just dismissed my abilities a few minutes ago.
"Done with your break?" he asked, not looking up as he scrolled through the project file.
"Yeah," I replied shortly, taking my seat across from him.
He raised an eyebrow, glancing at me briefly. "You okay? You sound... off."
"Just tired," I said, forcing a neutral tone.
He didn’t seem convinced, but he didn’t press the issue. "Alright. Let’s pick up where we left off."
We dove back into the work, but my responses to his suggestions were clipped.
"That transition is too smooth," he said at one point. "It needs more contrast."
"Fine," I replied curtly, adjusting the settings without looking at him.
A few minutes later, he frowned at another section. "This part feels like it’s missing something. Maybe we should—"
"Add another layer?" I interrupted. "I know. Already on it."
Yoongi blinked at me, surprised by my tone. "What’s with the attitude?"
"Nothing," I said quickly, not meeting his gaze.
"Doesn’t seem like nothing," he said, leaning back in his chair. "If you’ve got something to say, just say it."
I clenched my jaw, my fingers tightening around the mouse. "I don’t have anything to say, Yoongi. Let’s just get this done, okay?"
His eyes narrowed slightly, and for a moment, I thought he might push further. But then he shrugged, turning back to the monitor. "Whatever you say."
The tension in the room was palpable, and it didn’t go unnoticed by him.
"Look," he said after a long silence, his voice softer but still firm, "if something’s bothering you, it’s better to air it out now. We’re supposed to be a team, remember?"
I laughed humourlessly. "Team? Right."
Yoongi sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Okay, what did I do? You were fine this morning, and now you’re acting like I kicked your dog."
I hesitated, torn between calling him out and keeping what I’d heard to myself. In the end, I shook my head. "It’s nothing. Let’s just focus on the music."
He didn’t look convinced, but he let it drop, his focus returning to the track. For the rest of the session, I kept my replies short, my tone professional but distant. If he noticed, he didn’t comment again. But as I left the studio that evening, I couldn’t shake the sting of his words. He might think I was talented, but apparently, that wasn’t enough.
***
Sunday was a rare blessing, my day off, a chance to breathe away from the suffocating confines of the studio and Min Yoongi. The contract was clear: three months to collaborate on three tracks for his upcoming album. That deadline loomed over every interaction, and yet, the past week had felt like a year.
I sat across from Minji at our favourite café, the smell of freshly brewed coffee mingling with the faint hum of chatter around us. She was nursing her caramel latte, her expression a mix of curiosity and concern.
"Okay, spill," she said, leaning forward. "How’s it going with Yoongi? Are you two getting along?"
I scoffed, stirring my drink with unnecessary aggression. "Getting along? Not even close. He’s impossible."
Minji raised an eyebrow. "Impossible how? Isn’t he just... quiet and focused?"
"Quiet? Sure. Focused? Definitely. But it’s like working with a brick wall that also has an opinion on everything. He’s a perfectionist to the point where it’s unbearable. We made progress on a track, a full week’s worth of progress, and on Friday, he decided he didn’t like it and scrapped the whole thing. We’re starting from scratch tomorrow."
Her eyes widened. "He threw it all away? After a week? Was it really that bad?"
I shook my head, frustration bubbling to the surface. "No, it wasn’t bad. It was good, really good, actually. But it wasn’t perfect by his standards. He nit-picks every little thing, and don’t even get me started on his work ethic. The man doesn’t stop. I get it, he’s Yoongi, he’s supposed to be this genius producer or whatever. But does he have to be so infuriating?"
Minji smiled sympathetically, sipping her latte. "Well, you knew this wasn’t going to be easy. He’s got a reputation for a reason. But isn’t it a good challenge? You’re working with one of the best."
I leaned back in my chair, staring at the ceiling. "I thought it would be different, you know? I had this idea of him in my head. This brilliant, creative artist who would respect me as a collaborator. Instead, he’s... cold, demanding, and so stubborn."
Minji chuckled. "Sounds like he’s met his match."
I rolled my eyes but couldn’t help the small smile tugging at my lips. "Oh, please. If he’s met his match, he doesn’t realize it. He probably just sees me as another producer he has to tolerate."
"That’s not true," Minji said, shaking her head. "You’re talented, Y/N. He’ll see it eventually."
I sighed, taking a long sip of my coffee. "I hope so, because right now, it feels like we’re just butting heads. He questions everything I do. And don’t even get me started on his attitude. He’s so... smug sometimes."
"Smug how?"
"Like—ugh!" I gestured vaguely, trying to find the words. "It’s the way he looks at me, like he’s constantly judging whether I’m good enough to be there. He doesn’t say it outright, but I can tell he’s thinking it. And it drives me insane."
Minji laughed, leaning back in her chair. "You’ve got it bad, huh?"
"Bad?" I asked, narrowing my eyes. "Bad as in annoyed? Yes. Bad as in anything else? Absolutely not."
"Sure," she said, her tone teasing.
I groaned, burying my face in my hands. "You’re impossible."
Minji grinned, nudging my arm. "You know, maybe this is good for you. A little friction can spark creativity. And who knows? Maybe he’s just testing you."
"Testing me?" I repeated, giving her a sceptical look.
"Yeah. Like, seeing how far you’re willing to push yourself. Maybe he’s trying to figure you out."
"Or maybe he’s just a workaholic control freak," I muttered.
Minji laughed, raising her hands in mock surrender. "Okay, okay. Point taken. But don’t let him get under your skin too much. You’ve got this, Y/N. And who knows? By the end of three months, maybe you’ll even like him."
I snorted. "Not a chance."
But as much as I hated to admit it, her words stuck with me.
***
The following week was no easier than the first. Yoongi and I worked tirelessly in the studio, bouncing ideas off each other, experimenting with melodies, and layering sounds. For every step forward, there seemed to be two steps back.
"This bassline isn’t strong enough," Yoongi said on Tuesday, frowning at the speakers.
"I think it works," I argued. "It’s subtle, but it adds depth to the track."
"Subtle isn’t what we’re going for," he countered.
"And what are we going for, exactly?" I asked, crossing my arms.
He gave me a look, the corner of his mouth twitching like he was holding back a smirk. "Something better than this."
I wanted to throw my notebook at him.
By Wednesday, we’d managed to salvage some of the earlier work, only for Yoongi to suggest another round of revisions.
"You’re kidding," I said, staring at him.
"Do I look like I’m kidding?" he replied, completely serious.
"Do you ever smile?" I shot back.
He raised an eyebrow. "Do you?"
The tension between us was constant, a tug-of-war where neither of us was willing to back down. And yet, beneath the frustration, there was a strange kind of rhythm to our interactions. As much as I disliked him, I couldn’t deny that he was brilliant. Watching him work was like witnessing a master at his craft, every decision precise, every movement deliberate. But that didn’t mean I liked him. And I certainly wasn’t going to let him know just how much I respected his talent.
***
The afternoon sun filtered through the blinds of the studio, casting soft golden stripes across the equipment. I was at the workstation, tweaking some samples on my laptop while Yoongi stepped out for a meeting, or whatever it was he disappeared to.
The door opened suddenly, and I assumed it was him coming back. "Did you finally decide to—"
I froze mid-sentence as someone entirely different walked in. The man was tall, with a warm smile and an unmistakable energy that lit up the room. His eyes scanned the studio until they landed on me, his confusion immediately evident.
"Uh… hi?" he said, his smile faltering slightly. "I’m looking for Yoongi. Did I walk into the wrong room? I am pretty sure this is the right one though..." he started scratching the top of his head, clearly confused.
"No, this is the right place," I replied, standing awkwardly. "He just stepped out for a bit."
His eyebrows shot up, and he pointed at me with a mix of curiosity and disbelief. "Wait—who are you? Why is there… a girl in here?"
I frowned, crossing my arms. "What’s that supposed to mean? Girls aren’t allowed in studios now?"
His hands shot up defensively, and he chuckled nervously. "No, no! That’s not what I meant! It’s just… Yoongi didn’t mention working with someone new today. And you’re clearly not Jihoon."
"Clearly," I said dryly.
He laughed again, but this time it sounded more genuine. "Okay, let me start over. I’m Hoseok, but you probably know me as J-Hope."
Ah, then it clicked , of course it was J-Hope. His sunny demeanour didn’t match the grumpy energy Yoongi radiated, though, which was a refreshing change.
"Nice to meet you," I said, offering a polite nod. "I’m Y/N."
Hoseok’s expression didn’t change for a moment as if he were trying to process something. Then he grinned, leaning slightly closer like he’d just discovered something exciting.
"Wait a second," he said, his tone playfully suspicious. "I’m not even supposed to be here, you know. I heard Yoongi was working with the producer K who doesn’t even disclose their identity, but I just couldn’t resist. I love the music that K has done, so I had to come meet him. Will sign an NDA and everything."
I felt a twinge of amusement at his enthusiasm but kept my expression neutral. Something told me it was okay for him to know. "Well, congratulations. You just met… him."
Hoseok blinked, and then his jaw dropped dramatically as he pointed at me. "No way!"
"Way," I said, trying not to laugh.
His hand flew to his chest as if he were clutching imaginary pearls. "That’s why Yoongi didn’t even say anything when I begged for details! He just said, ‘There’s an NDA in place’ and refused to elaborate."
"Pretty much," I replied with a shrug.
Hoseok stared at me for a beat longer before a wide grin spread across his face. "You’re good. Like, really good. I’ve been following your work, but I never would’ve guessed you were… Well, you!"
I chuckled, shaking my head. "Is that a compliment or a subtle way of saying I don’t look the part?"
"No, no, definitely a compliment," he said quickly, waving his hands. "It’s just… Yoongi’s been extra secretive about this whole thing. And now I see why."
"Yeah, well," I said, gesturing vaguely around the room, "he’s not exactly a ray of sunshine to work with."
Hoseok laughed loudly, his shoulders shaking. "Trust me, I know. But if you’re still here, that means you’re tougher than most. Or really patient."
"Or both," I muttered under my breath.
Hoseok’s grin widened, and he gave me a mock salute. "Well, K—er, Y/N—it’s an honor to meet you. Seriously. Your work speaks for itself."
He continued, a small smile playing on his lips. "Trust me, when I say this, Yoongi wouldn’t work with you if you weren’t talented. He’s picky about these things. So if he’s giving you a hard time, it’s probably because he knows you’re good enough to keep up with him."
I blinked, caught off guard by the compliment. "That’s… nice of you to say."
"Just calling it like I see it," he said with a shrug.
Before I could respond, the door opened again, and Yoongi walked in. His eyes flicked between me and Hoseok, his expression unreadable.
"What are you doing here?" he asked Hoseok, his tone laced with mild irritation.
Hoseok grinned, completely unfazed. "Came by to check on you, of course. But I see you’re in good hands."
Yoongi’s gaze shifted to me, and for a moment, I thought I saw a flicker of something—annoyance? Curiosity? It was hard to tell.
"Don’t you have your own schedule to worry about?" Yoongi asked, walking over to his desk.
"I’m on a break," Hoseok replied cheerfully. "And besides, I wanted to meet your mystery producer. You could’ve mentioned she’s not a guy, by the way."
Yoongi’s jaw tightened slightly, but he didn’t respond. Instead, he focused on the stack of notes in front of him, clearly dismissing the conversation.
"Well," Hoseok said, standing up and stretching, "I’ll leave you two to it. Nice meeting you, Y/N."
"Nice meeting you too," I said, watching as he strolled out of the room.
The door clicked shut behind him, leaving Yoongi and me alone again.
"You’ve been busy making friends," he said, not looking up from his papers.
"Is that a problem?" I asked, arching an eyebrow.
He glanced at me, his expression unreadable. "Just don’t let him distract you. We’ve got work to do."
"Wouldn’t dream of it," I said, turning back to my laptop with a hint of sarcasm.
Yoongi didn’t push further, but I could feel his gaze linger on me for a moment before he returned to his papers. But as I settled back into the project, I couldn’t help but think about what Hoseok had said. Maybe Yoongi’s high standards weren’t a bad thing. Maybe, just maybe, they were proof that he saw something in me worth pushing for.
***
The next day, I walked into the studio, ready to dive into the work, but there was something off in the air. Yoongi was sitting at his desk, staring at his screen, tapping his pen rhythmically on the surface. It was a subtle change, but it didn’t escape me, he wasn’t his usual, calm and collected self.
I sat down at my workstation, glancing over at him. He was clearly deep in thought, but there was an edge to his silence today that felt... different. More charged. I wondered if it had anything to do with yesterday’s interaction with Hoseok. Yoongi didn’t acknowledge my arrival, which was typical, but today his lack of response felt unusually pointed. After a long, tense silence, he finally spoke without looking up.
“Didn’t you want your identity a secret?” His voice was cold, almost accusatory.
I froze.
“Excuse me?” I asked, trying to hide the annoyance creeping up my neck.
“Talking to Hoseok yesterday," he continued, now looking at me with an unreadable expression. "The whole 'I can’t reveal my identity' thing. So why are you suddenly so comfortable with him knowing?"
I felt a flash of irritation surge through me, but I kept my voice level.
“I never said I was ‘comfortable’ with it,” I replied. “I’m just doing my job. And I don’t owe you an explanation about my personal decisions”.
He narrowed his eyes, as if trying to read between the lines, but said nothing more. The tension hung heavy in the room as he returned to his screen, though his fingers seemed to hesitate over the keys. I couldn’t help but scoff under my breath. What did he think? That I just decided to throw away years of carefully cultivated anonymity for fun? Minji had already alerted me that J-hope had also signed the NDA. I glanced at the clock on the wall.
“Let’s just get to work,” I said, my tone clipped, trying to deflect from the awkwardness of his question. “You said you wanted to tweak the second verse.”
“Yeah," he muttered, still not meeting my gaze, "but now I’m wondering if I even want to keep collaborating with someone who can’t keep things private.”
There it was again. That little jab. He wasn’t even trying to hide it. I gritted my teeth, my patience thinning.
“I’ve been working in this industry for years, Yoongi,” I said, fighting to keep my composure. “Long before this project. I know what’s at stake. Don’t lecture me about privacy.”
He finally glanced up, his eyes meeting mine. There was a flicker of something, was it guilt? But he quickly masked it with his usual indifference.
“Right,” he said, standing up and walking toward the soundboard. “Let’s get this over with.”
The rest of the session passed with both of us avoiding eye contact as much as possible. Despite the friction, we did manage to make some progress. I’d never admit it aloud, but Yoongi was damn good at what he did. Even when he was being insufferable. After a while, he took a deep breath, rubbing his temples like he was trying to stave off a headache.
“You’re not what I thought you’d be,” he muttered, half to himself.
I raised an eyebrow. “Oh? And what did you expect?”
He gave me a sideways glance, not quite meeting my eyes.
“I don’t know,” he said slowly. “Maybe someone more... calculated. Or quieter.”
“Is that so?” I shot back, my voice laced with sarcasm. “Because I thought you liked chaos in your music.”
He smirked at that, but the tension still lingered between us, thick and unresolved.
As the day wore on, we continued to push through, though it was clear neither of us was really in the mood for any small talk or the usual banter. The chemistry that had started to form in previous days was gone, replaced by an almost uncomfortable distance. I finally stood up to stretch, my back aching from sitting for so long. Yoongi glanced at me, his expression unreadable.
“You’re leaving?” he asked, voice cool, as though he didn’t care.
“Yeah. I’m going to grab something to eat,” I replied curtly, gathering my things.
Halfway through gathering my things, for a split second, I thought I saw Yoongi open his mouth as if he was about to say something. Maybe it was the exhaustion on his face or just the weird tension between us, but for a brief second, I thought, just maybe, he was going to offer to grab something to eat with me. Instead, he just turned away, his back to me as he focused on his work. I blinked, swallowing the unexpected disappointment that bubbled up. What was I even expecting? It wasn’t like we were friends. Shaking off the weird feeling, I grabbed my bag and left the studio, the door clicking shut behind me.
***
Once I got to the company’s cafeteria, I was finally able to relax. The soft buzz of voices and clinking silverware was a welcome break from the tension in the studio. I grabbed a tray and found a seat by the window, trying my best to shove aside any thoughts of Yoongi.
He was a talented producer, no doubt, but the way he treated me was... irritating. I shouldn’t have expected anything different. This was business, not friendship, and I had no time to be distracted by someone who probably saw me as just another collaborator, nothing more.
I opened my notebook and jotted down a few ideas for the next two songs we still needed to work on. The first song was nearly done, but we’d been working on it for two weeks, and I wasn’t sure how to feel about it. It was slow progress, and I could already feel the deadline creeping closer.
I was so deep in thought, sketching out some melodies, that I didn’t notice Hoseok standing in front of me until he waved his hand in front of my face.
“Y/N?” He raised an eyebrow, looking amused.
I jumped a little, then glanced up at him. “Oh, hey, Hoseok. Didn’t see you there.”
He slid into the seat across from me, still grinning like he knew something I didn’t. Hoseok leaned back in his chair, his eyes scanning me curiously. “So, how’s it going? He’s not making it too hard for you, is he?”
I almost snorted at the question. “Hard? That’s an understatement. But yeah, I’m surviving. We’re getting somewhere.”
He raised his eyebrows, clearly surprised. “I didn’t think you’d be the type to get along with Yoongi so easily. He’s a bit... stubborn, right?”
I shrugged, taking a bite of my food to avoid answering too directly.
“You’d be surprised what I can tolerate,” I said, feeling defensive for some reason.
Hoseok tilted his head, his gaze sharp. “I guess so. But you know, it’s funny.”
I looked up from my food, confused. “What’s funny?”
Hoseok smirked. “I didn’t think you’d be the type to be such a fan of Yoongi’s music.”
I blinked, unsure if I heard him right. “What do you mean?”
Hoseok just pointed at my phone on the table, where I’d left it open to a playlist of Yoongi’s songs.
I froze, then quickly reached to hide it, but it was too late. Hoseok’s grin widened.
“You know, I really didn’t expect that,” he said, leaning in a little closer, his tone teasing. “I mean, I always knew Yoongi’s music was good, but seeing you listen to it like that... I got to admit, I’m curious what you think of it.”
I felt heat rise to my cheeks. “I’m just... trying to learn more about him, okay? It’s part of the job.”
“Sure, sure,” Hoseok said, still grinning. “I mean, I get it. He’s got a certain... appeal. But hey, don’t let it distract you too much. He’s not the easiest person to get close to.”
“Yeah, I’ve noticed,” I muttered, returning to my food, trying to act like I wasn’t the least bit fazed.
Hoseok studied me for a moment, then leaned back in his chair with a thoughtful expression.
“Well, if you want my advice...” He grinned again, his eyes mischievous. “Try not to fall for the music and the man, yeah?”
I choked slightly on my food, coughing. “What?!”
Hoseok laughed, clearly enjoying my reaction. “I’m just saying, Y/N, don’t get too swept up in it all. Yoongi’s a complicated guy. He’s not someone who’ll make things easy.”
I scowled, but there was a small part of me that couldn’t help but appreciate Hoseok’s frankness. “I’m not falling for anything, Hoseok. I’m just here to do my job.”
Hoseok just winked and stood up. “Whatever you say. But if you do need to talk about him... I’m always around.”
Hoseok paused, about to turn around before he shot me a sly grin over his shoulder. “Actually… I don’t know if you’re comfortable with all this yet, so you don’t have to if you don’t want to. But I’m known for throwing some pretty epic parties around here,” he said, his tone playful. “I’m throwing one at the company soon, gathering the staff, and some of the BTS members will be there too.”
I raised an eyebrow, confused at where this was going. “A party?”
“Yeah, and I can introduce you as the ‘Assistant of Producer K,’ so you won’t have to expose your identity if you’re worried about that. It’ll be low-key, just a way for you to get used to the vibe here. Who knows? You might even get a chance to chat with Yoongi... outside of the studio.” He smirked, his gaze lingering on me as if he could see through the walls I’d built up. “You can bring a plus-one too, if you want.”
It was tempting, especially with the idea of getting out of this studio for a while. Plus, Hoseok seemed genuine, and I didn’t want to just keep hiding away in my little corner of the world.
Still, I was cautious. This wasn’t my scene, and I wasn’t sure I was ready to step into the spotlight, especially if it meant running into Yoongi in a setting like that. The thought of it made my stomach flip.
“I’ll think about it,” I said, trying to sound neutral.
Hoseok grinned, clearly satisfied with my answer. “Take your time. You know where to find me if you decide.”
With that, he left, leaving me alone with my thoughts.
I sat there for a moment, turning the invitation over in my head. A party? An opportunity to get used to the vibes, meet people, and possibly see Yoongi in a completely different light. It could be good for me to step out of my shell, get out of my head for a bit. But... was I ready for that?
I shook my head, pushing those thoughts aside for now. There was no need to make decisions in a rush. I’d think about it later.
I finished eating in silence, trying to push all the thoughts about Hoseok’s offer out of my head. It wasn’t like me to just drop everything for a party, but something about the idea of getting out of the studio, meeting people, and maybe getting a chance to see Yoongi in a less... tense environment intrigued me. But I couldn’t focus on that now.
I stood up, pushing my tray toward the dirty dish bin, and made my way back to the studio. As I walked through the hallway, I couldn’t help but feel a strange sense of déjà vu. It was like I’d just left, but already it felt like I’d been away too long. The faint hum of the studio's equipment reached my ears before I even stepped through the door.
When I entered, the first thing I noticed was Yoongi, still at his spot, but now with a bowl of noodles in front of him. The faint smell of the broth hit me, and I couldn't help but cringe. Didn’t he ever leave this place?
Yoongi looked up from his meal, barely acknowledging me as I entered. "You’re back," he muttered, his voice a little muffled by a mouthful of noodles.
"Yeah," I said, letting the door close behind me. "Still working, I see."
“Of course,” he replied, the tone in his voice sounding almost too casual. "The faster we finish this, the sooner we can move on to the next track."
I dropped my bag onto the table and pulled my chair out. “That’s the problem, isn’t it? You keep rushing through everything, thinking you can just ‘move on’ from one song to the next. But this isn’t a race, Yoongi.”
He looked at me sharply, his brows furrowing. "I'm not rushing anything. We need to get this done before the deadline, and you can’t expect me to just waste time on something that isn’t working."
I stared at him, my patience thinning. “You’re not even open to trying something new. Every idea I suggest gets shot down, but you’re so attached to this ‘perfect’ vision of yours. Well, guess what? Perfect doesn’t exist.”
Yoongi set his bowl down, the chopsticks clinking against the edge. “So what, you think I’m not doing my best?” His eyes narrowed, and the room suddenly felt smaller. “You think I don’t care about the quality?”
I leaned back in my chair, crossing my arms. “It’s not about that, Yoongi. You’re too set in your ways. You think your way is the only way, but this is a collaboration. I can’t just keep following your orders. I’m not your assistant.”
He let out a frustrated sigh and rubbed his forehead, like I was the last thing he needed in his life right now. "I never said you were my assistant."
“Then stop treating me like one,” I snapped, feeling my annoyance rise. "I’m not here just to cater to your ideas. If we’re working together, we need to meet in the middle."
The silence stretched between us for a few long moments. Then Yoongi glanced away, exhaling sharply as if trying to push back his own frustration. "Fine," he muttered. "We’ll figure it out. But don’t expect everything to happen overnight."
“I don’t,” I replied dryly. "But I expect respect, which is something you seem to be lacking in."
He didn’t answer right away, just went back to staring at his noodles. For a moment, I thought it might be best to just call it a day and leave, but something about the lingering tension kept me rooted to the spot.
"By the way," I said, the words leaving my mouth before I could second-guess myself. "Hoseok invited me to a party. At the company. I’m thinking about going."
Yoongi’s head snapped up at the mention of Hoseok’s name, and I caught the flash of something in his eyes—a mix of surprise, confusion. It was hard to tell. But whatever it was, it was there, even if he quickly masked it with a smirk.
“Hoseok?” he repeated, almost like he couldn’t believe it. “What’s he got to do with you going to a party?”
"I don’t know," I said, shrugging. "Maybe I’ll go. I might need a break from the studio. Get out of here for a bit. And who knows? It might be nice to talk to someone who isn’t you."
Yoongi didn’t seem pleased with that, but he said nothing. Instead, he shifted in his chair and looked at the screen in front of him, ignoring me completely.
“You’re really not going to let this go, are you?” he asked, his voice low.
“I don’t know,” I replied, leaning forward on my elbows. “You’ve been pretty hard to work with lately. Maybe a break is exactly what I need.”
Yoongi sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I didn’t ask you not to take a break. I’m just... trying to get this done.”
I tilted my head, studying him for a moment. "Fine. Just let me know when you’re ready to actually collaborate. You can stop being so defensive for two seconds."
There was another tense silence before I stood up to leave the room. But as I reached for the door, something inside me—maybe frustration, maybe curiosity—made me turn back.
“By the way,” I said, walking back to Yoongi’s desk. “Could you give me Hoseok’s number? I might need it for the party.”
Yoongi froze for a second, his fingers stopping mid-air as if I’d just thrown him off balance. His eyes narrowed, and for a second, he didn’t say anything.
"Why would you need that?" he finally asked, voice tight.
"Because I need to respond to him if I am showing up or not," I replied, my tone sharp.
Yoongi glared at me but didn’t say anything else, a muscle in his jaw twitching. After a beat, he reluctantly scribbled something down on a piece of paper and slid it toward me. “Here. But if you think I’m going to chase you to the party... you’re wrong.”
I took the paper, glancing at it before shoving it into my pocket. “Thanks. I’ll make sure not to expect you there.”
Without another word, I turned and left, my mind buzzing with more questions than answers. What was going on with Yoongi? And, most importantly... Why did his attitude bother me more than I cared to admit?
***
I grabbed my phone, fingers hovering over the screen before I hit send. The past few days had been a blur of studio time and late-night meals. I needed something to break the routine. So, Thursday evening I finally decided to take Hoseok up on his offer.
Y/N: Hey Hoseok, it's Y/N! I just wanted to double-check the party details again. You said it’s at the company building, right? What time should I be there?
The response was almost immediate, Hoseok’s usual energy practically jumping out of the screen.
Hoseok: Yep! It’s at the company building. We’ll start around 7 PM, but feel free to come anytime after that. You know how these things go. And don’t worry, I’ll make sure you’re introduced properly as “Prod K’s assistant” so no one will know who you really are. It’ll be low-key, promise!
I let out a relieved sigh. That sounded like exactly what I needed … low-key, no expectations, just a chance to escape the studio for a bit.
Y/N: Thanks, that sounds perfect. I’ll be there. Can I bring my friend Minji? She’d love to come.
Hoseok: Of course! Bring whoever you want. It’s all about having a good time. I’m looking forward to seeing you there!
I grinned at the message, feeling a little lighter. At least for one night, I could just focus on having fun and not worry about my identity or working with Yoongi.
Putting my phone down, I leaned back in my chair, letting out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. The whole idea of going to a party sounded so... normal, so different from the chaos I had been drowning in lately. The studio, Yoongi’s sharp comments, and the constant pressure to produce. Maybe this would be a good chance to just... breathe.
I glanced over at the calendar on my desk, mentally counting the days.
The next day, I texted Minji.
Y/N: Hey, I’m going to that party Hoseok invited me to on Sunday. Want to come with me?
Minji: YES YES YES YES. This is going to be so fun! Who else is going?
Y/N: Apparently, all the BTS members will be there too.
Minji: Wait, like ALL of them? Are you serious? We need to plan our outfits then.
Y/N: Just don’t go overboard, okay? Let’s keep it chill.
Minji: You know I can't do “chill” when it comes to parties!
I couldn’t help but laugh at that. Minji was always up for an adventure. I knew she’d be bouncing off the walls all weekend in preparation. I didn’t mind though. If anyone could pull me out of my head and get me excited for something, it was her.
When Saturday evening arrived, the studio was buzzing with an unexpected energy. After three weeks of near-constant back-and-forth, I finally felt like we’d made some real progress. The first song was done. It wasn’t perfect, but it was as close as we could get in such a short time, and for the first time in a while, I felt the weight lift off my shoulders.
I glanced at Yoongi, who had been hunched over his computer screen for hours, typing away at the final tweaks. His brow was furrowed in concentration, but when the last beat dropped into place, he sat back in his chair and let out a long, satisfied sigh.
"We did it," he said, turning his head to meet my eyes.
It wasn’t much, but there was a slight spark in his gaze. A hint of pride, even if he tried to hide it behind his usual indifference.
“Yeah, we did,” I said, unable to stop the small smile tugging at my lips. "It’s... good."
Yoongi paused, eyes locked on mine for a moment before a smirk tugged at the corners of his mouth. "I guess you don’t completely suck at this after all."
I raised an eyebrow, playing along. "I’m glad to know you’re impressed."
We both laughed softly, the tension that had been hanging between us for weeks finally easing. It was a strange feeling, one I wasn’t used to with him, but I couldn’t deny it. It felt... nice. Like we’d just hit a milestone together.
Yoongi extended his hand, and I hesitated for a split second before I went for it, my palm feeling warmer than usual. Our high-five was awkward, neither of us really knowing how to react. But in that brief moment, I realized how unusual it was for us to share something this... simple.
"Congratulations," I said, nodding toward the screen. "We actually did it."
"Yeah," Yoongi replied, his voice softer than I expected. "I’ll see you on Monday, then. We’ll tackle the next one."
I blinked, taken aback for a second. Monday? Just like that, the professional distance came back. I hadn’t expected him to say that so casually, but I guess it was what we were supposed to do: get the work done, pack up, and move on.
But for some reason, as I sat there in the quiet of the studio, a thought lingered. He’s really not coming to the party, huh?
I glanced over at him, but Yoongi was already packing up his things, seemingly focused on getting out of the studio as quickly as possible. He didn’t even look back at me as he gathered his notes and the leftover snacks we had both been snacking on throughout the day.
I stood up and grabbed my bag, deciding it was better to just let it go. No need to dwell on something that wasn’t going to happen. He was Yoongi, professional, distant Yoongi. He wasn’t someone who would show up to a party for fun.
"Alright," I said, the awkwardness settling back into my chest. "See you Monday, I guess."
Yoongi glanced over at me for a brief moment, nodding. "Yeah. See you."
As I left the studio, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something had shifted, but I couldn’t place what. Maybe it was just the relief of finally finishing the first song. Or maybe it was just the weird dynamic between us, the unexpected moments of quiet camaraderie that had popped up over the last few days.
But as I stepped out of the building, I realized how much I was looking forward to the party on Sunday. It was the break I needed.
***
Sunday evening came faster than I expected. Minji showed up at my apartment just as I was pulling out a few potential outfits from my closet. She threw her bag on the couch and plopped herself down with a dramatic sigh.
“Finally, a party!” she exclaimed, leaning back and stretching like she’d just run a marathon. “We’ve been cooped up with that brooding genius for weeks. We need this.”
I rolled my eyes, laying a sleek black turtleneck dress over the back of the chair. “It’s not ‘we’. I’m the one stuck with him in the studio.”
Minji snorted. “You say that like I’m not the one dealing with your constant texts complaining about how annoying he is. ‘Minji, he’s impossible. Minji, he’s a perfectionist. Minji, he’s so irritatingly—’”
“Okay, okay,” I interrupted, throwing a pillow at her. “I get it.”
She caught the pillow with a grin. “Admit it, though. You’re starting to like working with him, aren’t you?”
“Like is a strong word,” I muttered, holding up a dark green dress and then discarding it. “We finally finished one song yesterday. That’s it.”
“But you’re not denying it.” She smirked, standing up to rummage through the pile of clothes I’d pulled out. “Ooh, this one’s cute.”
She held up a sequined gold dress, and I shook my head immediately. “Too flashy. I’m not trying to stand out. Just look professional and approachable.”
Minji rolled her eyes. “You know this is a party, right? Not a corporate meeting?”
“Still. I want to keep a low profile,” I said, picking up the black turtleneck dress. It was tight enough to show some curves but modest enough to feel professional, with long sleeves and a hemline that hit just above the knees. “What about this?”
Minji tilted her head, considering. “It’s very you. Chic, understated, mysterious. And Yoongi’s probably going to notice you in it.”
I groaned. “Not everything is about Yoongi!“
Minji raised an eyebrow, smirking as she flopped onto the couch. “Oh, really? If it’s not about Yoongi, then why are you quoting him like he’s living rent-free in your head?”
I rolled my eyes, crossing my arms. “Because it’s relevant! When I told him Hoseok invited me, Yoongi literally said, ‘But if you think I’m going to chase you to the party... you’re wrong.’ And yesterday, after we finished the song, he ended with, ‘See you Monday.’” I huffed. “He couldn’t have been clearer about not showing up.”
Minji snorted. “Wow. He really went out of his way to make sure you knew, huh?”
“Exactly.” I tossed the dress onto the bed. “So, can we drop this whole ‘Yoongi might surprise you at the party’ thing? It’s not happening.”
Minji held up her hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. No Yoongi talk. But honestly, he sounds so extra about it. Like, what’s his deal? You’re the one who didn’t even want to be there with him in the first place.”
“Exactly!” I said again, throwing my hands up. “I don’t even care if he shows up or not. This is supposed to be my break. I just want to go, enjoy the night, and pretend I don’t have deadlines hanging over my head for one evening.”
Minji smirked knowingly but didn’t say anything more as she got up to sift through her own options for the party. After a moment, she held up a red dress with a dramatic neckline and sparkling details. “What about this for me? It screams ‘I’m the fun friend.’”
I laughed, shaking my head. “You don’t need a dress to say that. Everyone already knows.”
***
A little while later, we were both ready. Minji had gone with her glittery red dress, while I stuck to my black turtleneck one.
As we grabbed our things, Minji gave me a playful nudge. “Okay, so, final thoughts: what if Yoongi does show up, despite everything he said?”
I shot her a withering look. “Then I’ll eat my words. But that’s not happening.”
Minji grinned as we headed out the door. “We’ll see.”
***
The energy of the party was already palpable as Minji and I entered the venue. The music was loud enough to drown out any awkward thoughts, and the lighting cast a warm, celebratory glow. Before we could get our bearings, a familiar figure spotted us and made his way over with an enthusiastic wave.
“Welcome, welcome!” Hoseok beamed, his smile as bright as the room itself. “You made it! I was starting to think you’d ditch last minute.”
Minji laughed. “Not with you hosting, J-hope. She couldn’t say no.”
I shot her a quick glare but turned to Hoseok with a polite smile. “Thanks for inviting us.”
As we exchanged pleasantries, a small group approached him, each handing over neatly wrapped gifts or gift bags.
“Happy birthday, Hobi!” one of them exclaimed, pulling him into a quick hug before leaving the gift with him.
I blinked, taken aback. “Wait... birthday?” I turned to Hoseok, brows furrowed. “Is this... your birthday party?”
Hoseok gave me a sheepish grin. “Well, yeah. Kind of.”
I stared at him, stunned. “You didn’t tell me it was your birthday!”
“Of course, I didn’t,” he replied, laughing. “If I told you, you wouldn’t have come. Admit it!”
I opened my mouth to protest, then paused, realizing he wasn’t entirely wrong. “…Okay, fair. But now I feel terrible. I didn’t bring you anything.”
He waved it off with a casual flick of his hand. “Don’t even worry about it. Your presence is enough of a gift.”
Minji rolled her eyes playfully. “Wow, smooth.”
I ignored her, offering Hoseok a tentative smile. “Well, if that’s the case, I owe you dinner. My treat. Birthday special.”
Hoseok’s grin widened, and he gave me a mock bow. “I’ll hold you to that.”
As the party carried on, my mind wandered, unbidden, to Yoongi. If it was Hoseok’s birthday, then surely Yoongi would be here, right? They were bandmates, practically brothers. Despite everything he’d said, it felt impossible that he wouldn’t show up to celebrate.
Right?
Hoseok, catching my distracted expression, nudged me lightly. “Come on, let me introduce you to the guys.”
As Hoseok led me through the crowd, I tried to shake off the lingering thoughts about Yoongi. I couldn’t help myself, though; the idea that he wasn’t here, despite everything, gnawed at me. Was he really just going to stay out of sight, like he’d said? Or had something else kept him away?
"Hey, over here," Hoseok called, his voice cutting through my thoughts as he pulled me toward the others. "Everyone, this is Y/N and Minji, the assistant and the manager of Producer K!"
The guys all turned to look, some with grins on their faces, others with more curious expressions. I gave a small wave, trying to maintain the composure I knew I needed for moments like this. Being around people like them—BTS—was something I wasn’t used to, but I was starting to adjust, or at least, I hoped I was.
"Y/N and Minji, huh? Nice to meet you," Jimin said first, flashing me a grin that lit up his whole face. "Hoseok's always talking about Producer K’s work. You must also be a pretty big deal if you’re working with him."
"Yeah, I've heard about his skills," Taehyung added, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "Nice to meet some of the brains behind the scenes." He gave a slight bow, which I returned awkwardly.
"We've been hearing a lot about you guys," Namjoon said, his deep voice steady and reassuring. "It's nice to finally put a face to the names."
"Thanks," I replied, trying to keep the mood light. "We just do our part in the background."
They all nodded, seeming satisfied with my answer. But it was clear that Hoseok’s introduction had piqued their interest, and the attention felt overwhelming. I quickly shifted my gaze to see if Yoongi had come in yet, but the crowd was thick, and I didn’t spot him immediately.
"Minji," I whispered, trying to keep my voice low, "Do you think Yoongi’s coming?"
Minji raised an eyebrow. "Why? Are you hoping he does?"
I shot her a sharp look, but she just laughed, nudging me playfully. "Relax, Y/N. If he’s coming, he’ll show up eventually. For now, just enjoy the party. You’ve earned it."
I sighed and nodded, trying to push the thoughts of Yoongi aside. There was no point in stressing over something I couldn’t control.
As the introductions continued, Hoseok pulled me into a more private corner of the room, away from the group for a moment. "You’re doing great," he said with a genuine smile. "I know this might feel like a lot, but you’re handling it well. The others are just excited to meet you. They’ve heard a lot about producer K."
"Thanks," I replied, a little surprised at his sudden encouragement. "I’m just trying to keep a low profile, honestly."
"Yeah, I get it," Hoseok nodded knowingly. "You know, though, if you want to meet some more people, I can introduce you around. You don’t have to worry about your identity being exposed here. "
I just nodded, grateful for his understanding. But part of me was still wondering, was Yoongi going to show up? Or had I been right all along? Was he truly not interested in stepping outside of the studio for something like this?
At that moment, Jungkook stepped over to join us. "What’s up, guys?" he said with a smile.
Hoseok grinned and gave him a playful nudge. "Hey, you! This is Y/N, Producer K’s assistant. You’ve heard a lot about her, right?"
Jungkook looked at me, his expression slightly puzzled at first before breaking into a smile. "Ah, yeah, I’ve heard a little. Nice to meet you, Y/N." He gave a casual wave, but there was a glimmer of curiosity in his eyes.
"Nice to meet you too," I replied with a slight smile.
Jungkook seemed to sense the tension in the air, glancing between Hoseok and me. "So, Hyung, who else did you invite?"
Hoseok grinned, looking around the room. "A lot more people, but ah, yes, Y/N—the only member you haven’t met yet is Jin. He’s in the military, so it’s just the rest of us holding down the fort tonight."
I nodded, trying to mask my surprise. "Ah, I didn’t realize. That must be tough for you guys."
Hoseok shrugged, but there was a hint of something bittersweet in his eyes. "Yeah, but it is what it is. We’re all proud of him, of course. We just miss him, that’s all."
Jungkook nodded in agreement. "It’s been a while, but we’ll manage. He’ll be back before we know it."
I felt a pang of empathy for them, understanding how difficult it must be to have someone so important absent from events like this. But the conversation quickly shifted as Hoseok directed it back to me.
"So, Y/N, now that you’ve met the guys, are you having fun? No pressure, just curious." He raised an eyebrow, clearly looking for my reaction.
I forced a smile, trying to get out of my own head. "Yeah, it’s been good. Just a little overwhelming."
"Totally understandable," Jungkook said, giving me a reassuring smile. "But don’t worry. It’s just a party. No big deal."
I chuckled softly, grateful for the small bit of comfort. But my thoughts still drifted back to Yoongi. Would he really not show up?
Just then, I spotted Minji on the dance floor, looking like she was having the time of her life. Without a second thought, I nudged Hoseok. "I think I need to join her," I said, already pushing my way through the crowd.
"Go ahead," Hoseok replied with a grin. "I’ll be around if you need anything."
I made my way over to Minji, and we quickly fell into the rhythm of the music, letting the beat carry us away. The drinks were flowing, and before I knew it, the atmosphere shifted into a carefree, almost electric vibe. As more people showed up, the party grew livelier, and from time to time, some of the BTS members would come over and join us on the dance floor. It was fun, it was wild, but... my mind kept drifting back to Yoongi.
Unable to hold it in any longer, I pulled Hoseok aside when I caught him by the bar. "Hey, Hoseok... Where’s Yoongi?"
Hoseok glanced at me with a raised eyebrow, then shrugged. "Oh, he was here earlier, literally before you showed up. Now that you mention it, though, I haven’t seen him since."
I felt a strange mix of disappointment and... relief? I wasn’t sure anymore. Maybe it was better this way, but somehow, a part of me couldn’t shake the feeling that something was missing from the night.
Minji and I were having a blast, drink after drink, dance after dance. The music, the energy, everything was a blur of fun. I couldn’t remember the last time I had let myself enjoy the moment so freely, and for a while, it was exactly what I needed. But after a few more songs, I started to feel a little dizzy, the world spinning just slightly out of focus.
"Minji, I’m going to head somewhere quiet for a bit," I said, my voice a little unsteady. "I just need to lay down, get myself together. I’ll be back in a bit, okay?"
She shot me a playful grin, still bouncing to the beat. "Take care of yourself, girl! I’ll be here if you need me!"
With that, I slipped away from the dance floor, trying to stay steady on my feet. I remembered the studio I’d worked for the past weeks had a cosy sofa tucked away in one of its corners. It was the perfect place to rest for a bit until the dizziness passed.
I made my way to the studio, feeling the coolness of the hallway against my skin. The noise of the party seemed to fade as I pushed open the door, the silence of the room a welcome contrast to the chaos outside. I sank onto the sofa, closing my eyes for a few moments, hoping to just let the room settle.
I was only half-aware of how long I’d been there when I heard the door creak open. My eyes fluttered open, and I instantly tensed. Had someone followed me in?
There, standing in the doorway, was Yoongi. He looked surprised to see me there, his eyebrows knitting together as he glanced around the room before fixing his gaze on me.
"What are you doing here?" he asked, his tone still as clipped as ever.
I raised an eyebrow at him. "What are you doing here?" I shot back. "I thought you weren't even coming to the party."
His eyes narrowed for a moment, but then he seemed to shrug it off. "Well I did. But, I don’t exactly need to announce my presence to everyone." His voice was colder than usual.
I bit my lip, frustration rising in my chest. "Then why are you here, Yoongi? If you're so indifferent about the party, why are you hiding out here?"
His shoulders tensed slightly as he crossed his arms in front of him while standing next to the coach, his eyes not quite meeting mine. "Not hiding. Just... thinking." He sighed. "I could ask the same thing."
I crossed my arms too, feeling the heat of irritation flood my veins. "I’m just getting away from the noise for a bit, okay?"
He didn't seem convinced, his lips forming a faint, sarcastic smile. "Right. Just taking a break. From everything, including the party, in my studio huh?"
Before I could respond, the unease that had been building between us finally snapped thanks to the alcohol. I pushed past him, moving toward the door. "Fine, I’ll leave. You can have your privacy too, Yoongi."
I turned sharply, my frustration boiling over, and reached for the door. The cool metal handle felt solid beneath my fingers, offering a small comfort. But as soon as I used it to crack the door open, I heard a sharp intake of breath behind me. A hand shot out, and in one swift motion, Yoongi’s arm stretched across me, pushing the door shut and blocking my escape.
I froze, my pulse quickening as I felt the warmth of his body close behind me. I couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe for a moment, caught in the tension of his presence. His arm hovered just inches from my face, the muscles in his forearm flexing as he braced himself against the door. I could feel the faint shift of air from his movement, the pressure of his proximity filling the space between us. He was so close, but he didn’t touch me.
His breath was warm against the back of my neck, his presence so tangible that it almost felt suffocating. I couldn’t help but stiffen, the tension in the air thick and heavy. My hand, still gripping the door handle, trembled slightly, and I could feel my heart thudding in my chest.
"Let go," I muttered, my voice low, tight with a mix of anger and something else that I couldn’t quite place.
But Yoongi didn’t budge. He was silent for a long moment, his body pressed just behind mine, not quite touching, but close enough that I could feel his every movement, his breath still brushing over the back of my neck.
"No," he said, his voice soft but firm’’...stay.” There was no hesitation in his tone, as though he had made up his mind about this. About me.
I didn’t turn to face him. I couldn’t. But I could hear the subtle shift in his tone. It wasn’t just the frustration from before—it was something else now. Something quieter.
"Why?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper, though my hands were still shaking, my fingers gripping the door handle as if it might ground me. "Why should I stay?"
Yoongi’s breath seemed to hitch at that, and he shifted slightly, his chest brushing against my back as he leaned in just enough for me to feel the weight of his presence. "Because," he started slowly, his voice almost a murmur, "I didn’t tell you to leave."
His words were unexpected. I hadn’t anticipated this, whatever it was, this softness in his tone, this tension building between us.
I could feel myself bristling and I turned around to face him. "Why should I listen? You didn’t even want to work with me in the first place. Why should I stay here with you now?"
"Who told you that?"
His voice, quieter now when his eye caught mine, but the words still stung. "I overheard you that day, talking to Jihoon on the phone, during the first week. You said you should've argued harder with your company to not work with me... and you said it was because I’m a woman."
I could feel my chest tighten as the words left my lips. The tension in the air thickened, and before I knew it, I felt tears pricking at the corners of my eyes.
Yoongi’s face faltered. His eyes softened.
"I didn’t say that." Yoongi's voice was quieter, almost apologetic now. "If you heard me properly that day... I said I knew you were talented. And I knew how much you value your privacy. I know this whole thing is risky for you. That’s why… if I had known you were a woman, I probably wouldn’t have agreed to work with you. I didn’t want to blow your cover or make you feel uncomfortable around me the whole time".
I blinked, my heart dropping. I felt like I had heard those words, but it was as if I hadn’t truly processed them until now. Not in that context. I could feel my breath catch in my throat. I didn’t know what to say. His words were so different from what I had thought. My mind was swirling, and before I could stop it, a few tears broke free and slid down my cheek.
Without a word, Yoongi stepped closer, his hand brushing my cheek gently, his thumb swiping away the tears while holding my face.
I froze, staring up at him, unsure of what was happening, but the proximity, his nearness, was overwhelming. I could feel the weight of his gaze on me, and his touch was so soft it almost made my heart ache.
His eyes met mine again, searching, lingering. We were so close now. His breath mingled with mine as he looked down at me, and I could feel the heat between us.
"Can I..." He started, his voice low, almost hesitant, but before he could finish, the door suddenly jolted behind me.
I jumped, both of us stepping away instinctively, my heart racing. The air between Yoongi and me shattered in an instant.
It was Hoseok. He stepped inside, a playful grin on his face, but his eyes didn’t seem to notice me. "Yoongi! Where’s Y/N? She was looking out for you earlier, and then she just disappeared on me."
I couldn’t look at either of them. I just stood there, my back to the door, trying to breathe normally.
Hoseok stepped further into the room, a confused expression crossing his face as he noticed me and the way Yoongi was standing. He glanced between us, his gaze flicking back to Yoongi. "Everything good here?" he asked, sounding half-serious, half-playful.
I quickly moved, my cheeks flushed, and hurried out of the room, unable to handle the awkwardness any longer. Hoseok called after me, but I didn’t look back. I just needed to get away, to breathe, to think.
But as I walked away, I couldn’t stop the images of Yoongi’s eyes on me, his breath on my skin. What had just happened? I wasn’t sure, but my heart was pounding in my chest as I moved further from that room, from him.
***
When I finally made it back to the party, I spotted Minji chatting away with Taehyung. She looked up and waved me over, her usual bright energy making her stand out. But I couldn’t shake the feeling from earlier. Yoongi's words, his actions. I knew I needed to leave.
"Minji," I said, cutting through the conversation. "We need to go." She blinked, surprised at the abruptness of my tone, but nodded without questioning me. I turned to Taehyung, who had been listening to Minji ramble on, with a smile on his face.
"Tell Hoseok I’m sorry, but I have to leave. I'll see him again soon," I said, my voice steady. "And remind him that I still owe him that dinner."
Taehyung raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. He just gave me a knowing smile. "Alright, take care. I’ll let him know."
Minji and I made our way out of the venue, the lights of the party fading as we stepped into the cool night air. The moment we were in a taxi, I let out a breath I didn’t realize I had been holding.
Minji glanced at me, her eyes practically sparkling with mischief as she read me like an open book. “Wow. So you did meet him. What happened? Tell me everything. Now."
I rolled my eyes but couldn't help the small smile tugging at my lips. "You’re relentless, you know that?"
Minji threw me a playful look. "You're not getting away with it. I need to know all the details. Was it awkward? Did he talk to you? What did he say? Was it... was it like, a moment?"
I groaned, leaning back against the headrest. "Honestly, it was... complicated." I paused, gathering my thoughts. "We had a bit of an argument, and then, out of nowhere, he blocked the door when I tried to leave. He didn’t want me to go. And then, he... he said some things. I don’t know. Things about me being a woman, about my privacy... It just felt like it was all crashing down in one moment."
Minji’s face shifted from excitement to concern. "Wait, what? He said what about your privacy?"
I sighed deeply, recalling the mix of emotions from that moment. "I told him I overheard him on the phone saying he didn't want to work with me because I was a woman. I was mad. And I think I was hurt, too. He didn’t deny it. He said... he said that he knows I’m talented and that he wouldn’t have worked with me if he knew I was a girl because it could’ve blown my cover. I... I didn’t know what to think."
Minji stared at me, processing everything I’d just said. "Wow. That’s a lot. But it sounds like he really didn’t want to hurt you, Y/N. I mean, he doesn’t want to blow your cover, and he’s not the type to just say stuff for no reason. I think he might’ve been trying to protect you in his own way."
I shook my head, still not fully understanding it all. "Maybe. But it doesn’t make it easier. He’s so confusing, Minji. One minute, he’s mad at me, then we’re... closer than I thought. I don’t even know if I want to deal with it."
Minji placed a hand on mine, her expression softening. "You’re allowed to be confused. I get it. But maybe, just maybe, this could be a good thing. He’s not the only one with walls up, you know? You’ve got yours too."
I sighed, leaning back again. "Yeah, but this... this is different. He’s not supposed to make me feel like this."
Minji didn’t say anything at first, but then she shrugged slightly. "Look, I can’t tell you what to do. But whatever happens, you’ll figure it out. You always do."
Her words were comforting, even though I wasn’t sure if I agreed. I wanted to know what Yoongi wanted from me, if anything. But for now, I had to focus on what came next.
***
The next morning, I woke up feeling like I was moving through a fog. I didn’t know if it was the alcohol from the night before or the confusion swirling around my thoughts, but I had to get up, get ready, and go to work. It was just another day. I was a professional, after all.
As I stared at myself in the mirror, I couldn’t help but think about everything that had happened between Yoongi and I the night before. The words, the tension, the way he blocked the door... It all felt like a surreal dream now. I quickly pushed those thoughts away, forcing myself to focus. I’d told Minji last night that I wouldn’t mention it again. That was the plan. I was going to walk in, act normal, and get through this day like nothing had happened. I had a job to do.
I dressed quickly, choosing something that felt both comfortable and professional, jeans and a simple blouse. Nothing too attention-grabbing. With one last look at myself in the mirror, I headed out.
The drive to the studio was quiet, my mind a little too preoccupied with what I’d left behind. I thought about texting Minji again, but I didn’t want to be that person who overanalysed everything. I’d deal with it.
The moment I stepped into the studio, I immediately spotted Yoongi, already seated at the desk, headphones on, his gaze focused on the screen in front of him. The familiar quiet hum of the place seemed to swallow up any lingering awkwardness between us.
I set my bag down on the sofa and made my way over to the desk, trying to appear as casual as possible. I could feel Yoongi’s eyes flicker briefly in my direction, but he didn’t acknowledge me right away. That was fine. No need for anything weird to happen today. I wasn’t going to let it.
“Morning,” I said, offering a neutral smile, willing myself to act as though last night had never even happened.
Yoongi just nodded, his expression still unreadable. "Morning."
I took my seat and opened my notebook, flipping through the pages as if the routine of it all would help settle the tension that had been gnawing at me since our confrontation the night before. The silence between us felt a little less suffocating, though. It wasn’t that we were talking more, it was just that Yoongi didn’t seem as harsh on his tone today. No biting comments yet, no sharp observations either.
He adjusted the volume on the speakers and clicked around on the computer for a few seconds before speaking again. "You finished that beat you were working on Saturday?"
“Yeah, it’s done,” I replied, finally meeting his gaze. His eyes were focused on the screen, but I noticed there was a slight change in his demeanour. The tension from before, the coldness, seemed to have faded. It wasn’t gone completely, but it was much more subtle now.
He didn’t respond immediately, just tapped a few keys on the keyboard before nodding. “Alright. Let’s hear it.”
I slid the flash drive with the updated track across the table. Yoongi took it, plugged it into the system, and started the track without a word. The room filled with the sound of the beat I had been perfecting, and I waited, watching his reaction closely.
As the beat played, Yoongi’s brow furrowed slightly, but he didn’t make any negative comments this time. He just let the track play all the way through, his eyes scanning the waveform on the screen, listening intently.
When the track ended, he leaned back in his chair, finally looking over at me. “Not bad.”
I couldn’t help but feel a small relief wash over me. "Not bad" from Yoongi was a compliment, even if it didn’t sound like one. At least he hadn’t outright criticized it.
“Thanks,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady, though I could feel my nerves creeping back up again. “Anything you want me to change?”
Yoongi scratched his chin thoughtfully. “It’s a little too clean. Add some grit, something to make it stand out more. We need it to hit harder.”
I nodded, taking mental notes. “Got it. I’ll work on that.”
It felt almost normal, the way we interacted. No lingering animosity, no mention of what had happened the night before.
As the session continued, the vibe between us remained steady, calm and professional, with just a touch of the underlying tension we hadn’t addressed. We worked for hours, tweaking the track here and there, going back and forth on the sound and rhythm until everything was just the way we wanted it.
At some point, Yoongi stood up and stretched, letting out a quiet sigh. “I’m going to grab a coffee. You want anything?”
I blinked, surprised. He’d never offered to get me anything before, not like this. His tone was casual, though, like it was no big deal.
“I’ll take an iced coffee,” I said, half-smiling at the unexpected gesture.
Yoongi didn’t say anything, just nodded and walked out of the studio. The moment the door clicked shut behind him, I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. It wasn’t like everything was magically fixed, but there was something about this new, less tense dynamic that felt... better. More comfortable, even.
As I sat back in my chair, I tried to focus on the track again, but my mind kept drifting. What has changed between us? I knew I wasn’t imagining it, there was definitely something different today. But I wasn’t sure what to make of it.
When Yoongi came back with the coffee, we fell back into the routine of the session, but now, it felt almost easy. We were working smoothly, and I caught him glancing over at me once or twice, his eyes lingering a little longer than before.
Still, neither of us brought up what happened the night before. Not yet. Maybe it wasn’t the right time. Or maybe it was something neither of us wanted to revisit.
***
As the day came to a close, I packed up my things, feeling the weight of the day lifting off my shoulders. I had managed to get through the session with Yoongi without any more awkwardness, which was a small victory in itself. As I grabbed my bag, I looked over at Yoongi, who was already absorbed in his work again.
“See you tomorrow,” I said casually, ready to leave the studio.
Yoongi gave me a small nod, his focus not wavering. “Yeah, see you.”
I left the studio and stepped into the cool evening air, the city lights twinkling in the distance. I needed a distraction. Something to take my mind off everything that had happened with Yoongi.
I pulled out my phone and quickly sent a text to Hoseok.
Y/N: Hey, are you free tonight?
Hoseok: Yeah, I’m free. What’s up?
Y/N: I told you I owe you dinner. Want to grab some barbecue tonight?
Hoseok: Haha, of course I didn’t forget! Even Taehyung reminded me about it last night after you left! So yeah, sure, let’s do it. When and where?
Y/N: How about at 7 at that popular spot in Gangnam?
Hoseok: Perfect! I’ll see you there. I’ll be starving by the time we meet!
Y/N: Same here. I’m ready to eat my weight in meat.
Hoseok: Haha, I’m looking forward to it. See you soon, Y/N!
Y/N: See you soon!
I smiled as I read our conversation. Hoseok had a way of lightening the mood, and the idea of spending the evening with him, laughing and eating good food, felt like the perfect way to unwind.
When I arrived at the restaurant, the smell of grilled meat hit me as soon as I stepped inside. I scanned the room for Hoseok and spotted him right away. He was sitting at a table near the back, looking up at me with a wide smile as always.
"Y/N!" he greeted me, standing up to wave as I approached.
"Helloo!" I said with a grin, taking my seat across from him.
He immediately grabbed the menu, flipping through it. "So, what are you in the mood for? Meat, meat, and more meat?" he asked, wiggling his eyebrows playfully.
"Definitely," I replied, laughing. "I’ve been craving barbecue all day."
We both ordered a few different cuts of meat, and as we waited for the grill to heat up, Hoseok leaned back in his chair, looking at me curiously.
"So, what happened last night?" he asked casually, the question catching me a bit off guard.
I hesitated for a second, my fingers tapping on the table. "What do you mean?" I asked, pretending not to understand what he was getting at.
"You know... I could tell something was a little off when you left the party, after i caught you with Yoongi at the studio.." Hoseok said, his tone soft but inquisitive. "Everything okay between you two?”
I shrugged, forcing a smile. "Yeah, everything’s fine," I said, though the words didn’t feel entirely true. "We finished the first song. Two more to go, and then we’ll be done."
Hoseok didn’t seem convinced. He nodded and took a sip of his drink before continuing. "Well, that’s good. I’m glad to hear you’re making progress. But, uh... are you sure everything’s okay with him? You know... since you’ve been working really closely together."
I looked down at my hands for a moment, gathering my thoughts. "It’s fine, Hoseok. Really. Just... we have our days, you know?"
He raised an eyebrow but didn’t argue. "If you say so."
The food arrived, and the sizzling sounds of meat on the grill distracted us both for a moment. Hoseok was quick to start cooking, flipping the pieces of meat with ease. The smell was intoxicating, and I could already feel my stomach growling in anticipation.
We continued to eat, talk, and laugh, the mood light and easy. Hoseok was a great conversationalist. We talked about music, our favourite songs, and his plans for the future. It felt so natural, like we’d known each other for years instead of just a month.
At one point, he pulled out his phone. "Hey, I’d like you to hear something," he said, tapping away at the screen. A moment later, his phone was playing a new track, a smooth, upbeat melody that instantly grabbed my attention.
"This is one of my newer tracks," Hoseok said, watching me closely as the music played. "I’m really proud of it so far, but I’d love to hear your thoughts on it. What do you think?"
I closed my eyes for a moment, letting the music wash over me. "This is really good, Hoseok," I said, smiling. "It’s got such a great vibe. It’s... it’s got that perfect energy."
He grinned, clearly pleased with the feedback. "Thanks. I’m hoping it’s going to be a hit. But, you know, it’s not finished yet. Still got a bit of work to do."
"Well, I’d be happy to help with anything you need," I said, my tone sincere. "I think you’re on the right track. I can already picture it in a club."
"Yeah? You’re the expert," he said, leaning back in his chair with a proud smile. "Maybe I should bring you on as a collaborator someday."
I raised my eyebrows at the suggestion. "Collaborator? That would be interesting."
Hoseok laughed, shaking his head. "I’m just saying... if you’re up for it…"
"Maybe," I teased, taking a sip of my drink.
As the night went on, we continued to enjoy the barbecue, the conversation flowing easily between us. It was a welcome distraction from the confusion that had been hanging over me lately. It was hard not to feel at ease around Hoseok. He was kind, funny, and genuine in a way that made me feel like I could let my guard down.
Eventually, after we’d eaten our fill and were lounging in our seats, Hoseok pulled out his phone again. "Come on, let’s take a photo," he suggested, grinning. "You know, for the memories."
I nodded with a smile and he grabbed his phone, opening the camera. We both leaned in, the grill between us, holding our drinks up like we were toasting. "Best birthday gift ever," Hoseok said dramatically as the picture snapped, before quickly typing something into his phone.
"Done!" he said proudly. "I posted it to my close friends on Kakao Talk. You know, just in case anyone wants to know how I spent my special days."
I laughed, shaking my head. "You’re crazy."
"I know," he said with a wink, taking another drink from his glass. "But seriously, Y/N, this has been fun. Thanks for asking me to come out tonight. You’re a lot of fun to hang out with."
I smiled, feeling a warmth in my chest. "Of course. I’m glad we did this. It’s been way too long since I’ve had a night like this myself."
"Same here," Hoseok said with a smile. "We should do it again sometime."
As the night wound down to an end, I couldn’t help but feel a sense of contentment. It had been a good night, and it felt like I’d finally had a chance to breathe again. The pressure I’d been carrying, the weight of my thoughts about Yoongi and everything that had happened, seemed to lighten a little as I had sat there across from Hoseok, laughing and eating with no other worries.
When the bill arrived, I was quick to grab it, remembering my promise. "It’s on me tonight," I said, pulling my card out before Hoseok could protest. I shook my head, giving him a playful look. "I owe you dinner, remember?"
He laughed, raising his hands in surrender. "Alright, alright. I’ll let you have your moment." He watched me pay, his expression softening into something more genuine. "But next time, I’m the one picking the place and bill."
"Deal," I said, with a smirk. "But only if it’s something equally as good as tonight."
"Haha, I’ll try," he replied, still laughing.
As we walked out of the restaurant, we decided that the evening had been a success, and that we would definitely plan another time to hang out. It was nice to have a real moment with him, away from all the stress and confusion, it had been exactly what I needed, an evening of laughter, food, and friendship. And for that, I was thankful.
***
The next day, I walked into the studio feeling lighter than I had in weeks. My relationship with Yoongi seemed to had softened after yesterday, and dinner with Hoseok had been a bright spot in an otherwise chaotic schedule. I was ready to tackle the second track with a fresh perspective.
As always, Yoongi was already in the studio when I arrived, sitting at the mixing desk, adjusting levels with his usual quiet focus. He acknowledged me with a small nod as I set up my things. His demeanour seemed normal at first, calm and business like.
We dove into the track, bouncing ideas back and forth. At first, everything felt fine, normal even. But as the hours ticked by, Yoongi’s feedback became sharper, his tone more clipped.
“Can you take this seriously?” he snapped suddenly after I made a suggestion about the arrangement.
I looked up, startled. “I am taking this seriously. What’s going on with you today? You seemed fine yesterday.”
“Nothing’s going on,” he said curtly, not looking at me. His fingers tapped at the keyboard with more force than necessary. “You just need to focus more on the job you’re supposed to do.”
I frowned, confused by his sudden change in attitude. “We’re making progress,” I said cautiously, trying to keep my voice calm. “I’m confident we’ll meet the deadline.”
Yoongi spun his chair to face me, his eyes narrowing. “If you really cared about the deadline, you would focus on the work instead of going out to dinner with Hoseok and wasting your energy there.”
His words hit like a slap. I blinked, completely taken aback. “How do you even know about the dinner?”
He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. “He posted it on Kakao Talk. All the guys were talking about it in the group chat.”
I froze, trying to process what he was saying. Of course Hoseok had shared it, but it was a perfectly innocent dinner, and he’d been excited about it. Still, I felt a strange pang of guilt under Yoongi’s intense gaze.
“I invited him because I felt bad about going to his birthday party without bringing a gift,” I explained, my voice steady but defensive. “I just wanted to make up for it.”
Yoongi’s eyes stayed locked on mine, unreadable. “It’s interesting,” he said coolly, “how close you are with him. I’m the one you work with every day. You don’t see us going to dinner, do you?”
I opened my mouth to respond but hesitated, unsure of what to say. Before I could gather my thoughts, Yoongi waved a hand dismissively. “Never mind. Let’s just get back to work.”
The room fell into an awkward silence. I stared at him for a moment longer, trying to make sense of his reaction, but his posture was closed off, his focus fully on the screen in front of him. With a frustrated sigh, I turned back to my notes and forced myself to concentrate on the task at hand.
The rest of the session felt strained. Yoongi’s usual calm, measured feedback was replaced with sharp, almost impatient remarks. It wasn’t just the work, something else was clearly bothering him, but I couldn’t figure out what.
Then, halfway through a take, his phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen, his expression tightening. Without a word, he stood and began gathering his things.
“What’s going on?” I asked, breaking the tense silence.
“Nothing,” he said shortly, not meeting my eyes. “Let’s cut this short today.”
“Yoongi—” I started, but he was already slinging his bag over his shoulder.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said, his tone final.
And just like that, he was gone, leaving me alone in the studio. I stared at the door for a long moment, my emotions a mix of confusion and frustration. Whatever had just happened felt personal, even though I couldn’t understand why.
As I packed up my things, my mind kept circling back to his words, to the way he’d looked at me. You don’t see us going to dinner, do you? What did that even mean? Why did it sound like he cared, like it bothered him?
Shaking my head, I gathered my bag and left the studio. No matter how much I wanted to make sense of it, I wasn’t going to let Yoongi’s mood derail the progress we were making, or my own peace of mind. I had a job to do, and I wasn’t about to let this strange tension get in the way.
***
The next day, Yoongi and I exchanged only a few words when I arrived at the studio. His mood seemed calmer than yesterday, though still a little distant. I decided not to push it.
We worked steadily through the day, both of us falling into the rhythm of our tasks. It wasn’t awkward, just focused, like two professionals determined to meet their goal. The hours passed in a blur of music, notes, and adjustments. By the time Yoongi looked up from the computer, his face was lit with mild surprise.
“Ah, shit,” he muttered, glancing at the clock. “It’s late,” rubbing the back of his neck. “We should stop here for today. It’s good progress.”
I nodded and stood up, but as soon as I tried to take a step, my legs wobbled beneath me. I reached out to steady myself against the desk, my vision spinning slightly.
Yoongi was already on his feet, stepping toward me with concern etched on his face. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” I said quickly. “I think I’m just a little dizzy. Now that I think about it… I didn’t even eat lunch.”
Without a word, he reached for my wrist and tugged gently. “Let’s go.”
“Wait, what?” I asked, caught off guard. “Go where?”
“To eat,” he said simply, his tone leaving no room for argument.
I tried to protest as he led me out of the studio and toward his car. “You don’t have to do this. I’ll grab something on the way home.”
Yoongi ignored me, opening the passenger door and gesturing for me to get in. Reluctantly, I slid into the seat, and he shut the door before walking around to the driver’s side.
The drive was quiet, the hum of the engine the only sound between us. I glanced at him a few times, wondering why he was going out of his way like this, but his expression was unreadable.
We arrived at a small, cosy restaurant tucked away in a quiet part of the city. Yoongi parked the car and got out without a word, waiting for me to follow.
Inside, the warm lighting and inviting atmosphere made me relax a little. We were seated at a corner table, and soon, the smell of grilled meat and savoury dishes filled the air.
“About yesterday,” he started, his voice softer than I’d ever heard it.
I glanced up, momentarily stunned. He wasn’t looking at me; instead, his gaze was fixed on his plate, as if the words were hard to push out.
“I was out of line,” he admitted, exhaling sharply, almost like the confession itself was a weight lifted.
I blinked, my chopsticks hovering mid-air. Yoongi rarely, if ever, admitted fault. This was unexpected.
“I took a lot of things out on you,” he continued, his tone laced with a hint of self-reproach. His chopsticks moved idly, pushing food around on his plate as if it could somehow distract him from the vulnerability of the moment. “Things that weren’t your fault. And for that, I’m sorry.”
The sincerity in his voice made my breath catch. This wasn’t the stoic, sharp-tongued producer I’d been working with for weeks. This was Yoongi stripped of his usual defences, and it threw me off balance.
“You... You’re apologizing?” I finally said, a mix of disbelief and teasing slipping into my tone.
His lips twitched into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “Yeah. Don’t make a big deal out of it.”
“I mean, how can I not?” I said, leaning back in my chair, folding my arms in mock astonishment. “Min Yoongi admitting he’s wrong? I didn’t think I’d live to see the day.”
He let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head. “Don’t get used to it.”
Despite his attempt at brushing it off, I could tell the apology mattered to him. He wasn’t the type to say things he didn’t mean, and the effort behind his words wasn’t lost on me.
“Look,” he continued after a moment, his voice steadying. “Yesterday... I just have been under a lot of pressure, and I let it get to me. That wasn’t fair to you. You’ve been working hard, and I should’ve recognized that.”
“Thank you,” I said, my voice softer now. “That means a lot.”
I couldn’t help but laugh, the tension between us melting away. As the meal went on, we started to relax, trading small talk about work and life. Yoongi even ordered a bottle of wine, and soon we were sipping glasses of it, the conversation growing lighter.
For the first time, it felt like I was seeing a different side of him, one that wasn’t guarded or buried in his work. And for a moment, it was easy to forget the weight of the studio, the deadlines, and everything else that had been hanging over us.
By the end of the night, my cheeks ached from laughing, a rare, warm contentment spreading through me. Yoongi had surprised me, not just with his apology, but with the way he let his guard down, even if just a little. Maybe he wasn’t as closed off as I’d assumed. Maybe there was more to him than I’d ever expected.
As we stepped outside the restaurant, the crisp night air greeted us.
"Hey, you can’t drive now since you’ve had a drink," I said, glancing at Yoongi. "Should we call a taxi or something? Or maybe Hobi? I saw his stories, he was bored at home, he could probably come pick us up."
Yoongi’s expression shifted, and he immediately shook his head. "No," he said, his voice firm. "I’ll handle it. I’m calling Jihoon."
I raised an eyebrow, confused for a moment but let it slide. The warmth from the alcohol in my system faded quickly, leaving me shivering slightly in the cold. I wrapped my arms around myself, trying to stave off the chill.
Yoongi noticed. “It’s getting cold,” he said, almost to himself. Before I could respond, he shrugged off his jacket and draped it around my shoulders.
The unexpected gesture made me pause. The weight of the jacket and the faint scent of his cologne caught me off guard. I looked up at him, my eyes wide. “Oh, you didn’t have to do that,” I said softly.
He waved it off. “It’s fine. I’m not cold.”
I tilted my head, sceptical. “Really? Your hands must be freezing,” I said, blowing warm air over my own hands and rubbing them together in a futile attempt to warm them.
Yoongi’s eyes flicked to my hands, his expression unreadable. Without a word, he reached out, wrapping his hands gently over mine. The sudden warmth of his touch stopped me in my tracks.
His hands were warm, enveloping mine completely. I glanced up at him, startled. He didn’t say anything, his gaze locked on mine, intense yet unreadable. For a moment, the world seemed to fall away, leaving just the two of us standing there, connected by something unspoken.
My breath hitched, the moment heavy with tension neither of us dared to break. But before it could go any further, the sound of a taxi pulling up snapped us back to reality.
“Jihoon’s here,” Yoongi said, his voice steady as he stepped back, letting my hands go.
I quickly pulled my hands behind my back, hiding the tingling warmth that lingered from his touch. Jihoon stepped out of the car, waving casually as he approached.
“Thanks for coming,” Yoongi said, handing him the keys to his car.
“No problem,” Jihoon replied with a grin. “You guys look like you had a good night.”
Yoongi nodded and gestured for me to get in the backseat. He opened the door for me, waiting until I was seated before climbing in beside me.
The ride was quiet, with Jihoon humming along to the radio in the front seat. I stared out the window, my thoughts swirling as I replayed the events of the night. The warmth of Yoongi’s jacket around my shoulders and the memory of his hands over mine lingered, leaving me more confused than ever.
Unable to resist, I flicked my gaze toward him. His profile was sharp in the dim light, the strong line of his jaw catching my attention. Why does he have to look like that? My eyes drifted downward, landing on his hands resting casually on his lap. Those veiny, capable hands that had so effortlessly wrapped around mine earlier.
My face grew warm as I recalled the moment, a rush of heat spreading through me. Embarrassed by my own thoughts, I quickly snapped my gaze back to the window, determined not to look at him again for the rest of the ride. ‘Focus on something else, anything else,’ I told myself, even as my heart stubbornly refused to settle.
When we pulled up in front of my place, Jihoon parked smoothly, and Yoongi stepped out of the car before I could say anything. He stood there for a moment, looking composed as ever, his hands tucked casually into his pockets.
“Bye,” he said simply, his voice even but low enough to make my stomach flip. “See you tomorrow.”
I managed a small smile. “Okay. Bye.”
He watched me walk to my door, and when I turned back for a second, he was already getting back into the car. Jihoon gave a small wave before driving off, leaving me standing there, suddenly alone.
Once inside, I leaned against the door, the events of the evening replaying in my mind like a whirlwind. Dinner, the jacket, his hands over mine... It was all too much. I sighed, pulling the jacket off to hang it up, only to freeze mid-motion.
“Oh no.” My voice echoed in the quiet space. His jacket. I still had it.
I grabbed my phone, typing quickly.
Me: I just realized I still have your jacket. Did you guys leave already?
His reply came faster than I expected.
Yoongi: It’s fine. You can give it back another day.
I stared at the screen, his words making me bite my lip. For a moment, I debated responding, but what else was there to say? Sighing, I put my phone down and folded the jacket neatly. The faint scent of him lingered, a mix of something warm and clean, distinctly Yoongi.
I groaned softly, shaking my head. “Don’t overthink it.”
But as I walked away, I caught my reflection in the hallway mirror, my flushed cheeks betraying my effort to play it cool.
***
The next day, everything felt smoother. The tension from the past week seemed to have evaporated, leaving behind a productive atmosphere in the studio. Yoongi and I worked through the second track effortlessly, the beats and lyrics falling into place with surprising speed. By lunchtime, we had made significant progress, and the track was nearly perfect. Yoongi gave a brief nod of approval before leaning back in his chair.
"One more to go," he said, his tone casual, but I could tell he was feeling a sense of accomplishment too.
Just then, the door to the studio opened with a loud creak, and Hoseok walked in, a grin spreading across his face as he spotted us.
"Hey, look at you two," he said, his voice light. "I come in, and it’s all quiet. Something going on huh?"
Yoongi and I exchanged a glance. "The second track is done, so we're almost there. One more track, and the album’s done."
Hoseok leaned against the doorframe, his expression softening slightly. "Damn, it’s hard to believe we’re almost there." His eyes flickered toward Yoongi, then back at me. "I’m excited, but... also a little nervous. You know, with everything happening soon."
I raised an eyebrow, curious. "What’s going on? What are you talking about?"
Hoseok sighed dramatically, walking further into the room. "Well, since you two are now so close to wrapping up, I need to tell you something." He sat down on the edge of a nearby desk, his eyes locking on me. "I’m going to the military soon."
For a moment, there was silence as I processed the information. My stomach dropped slightly as the reality of it set in. "Wait, you’re leaving already?" I asked, the words slipping out before I could think.
Hoseok smiled gently, his eyes a little softer than usual. "Yeah. It’s going to happen soon. So..." He leaned forward, his tone turning playful but with an undercurrent of something more serious. "I’m going to use that to guilt-trip you two into hanging out with me tomorrow night. I’m hosting a little get-together at my place. Come along, since you’ve worked hard on this album, you deserve a break. You know you want to. Let’s have one last hurrah before I disappear for a while."
Yoongi, who had been silent until now, looked up with a raised eyebrow. "You really think you can just guilt-trip us into going out?"
Hoseok nodded with a sly grin. "Yup. It’s my last chance to make you guys hang out with me before I go. Please?" He looked at both of us, his expression softening, almost pleading.
Yoongi shot me a glance, and I shrugged. "I mean, we’re done with the second track, so it wouldn’t hurt to let loose for a night."
Yoongi looked hesitant for a moment, but Hoseok wasn’t backing down. "Come on, it’s just one night. You can relax and have some fun. Besides, you two need a break, right?"
I chuckled, the tension in the room starting to melt. "Alright, alright. I’ll come, Hoseok. You don’t need to keep trying to guilt-trip us." Yoongi also nodded.
Hoseok’s face lit up, a wide grin spreading across his face. "Yes! That’s what I’m talking about. You won’t regret it. I’m inviting a few people, and we’ll just hang out, eat, talk, maybe play some games."
Yoongi grunted, but there was no denying the slight curve of a smile on his lips. "Fine. One night. But don’t expect us to get drunk or anything."
Hoseok laughed, shaking his head. "Who said anything about getting drunk? I just want to spend some time together, that’s all. We’re all so busy, and before you know it, I’ll be gone."
He was right. As much as we all had our own things to focus on, this was a moment to come together before everything changed. And honestly, after working so hard on the album, I could use a little time to relax.
"Alright, we’re in. What time should we be there?" I asked, already feeling a little more at ease about it.
"7 PM. Don’t be late," Hoseok said with a wink. "I’m going to make sure there’s food, so just come hungry."
"Okay," I agreed, nodding. "See you tomorrow, then."
As Hoseok left the studio, I glanced over at Yoongi, who was already back to his work. I couldn’t help but feel a sense of relief. Despite everything, the day had been productive, and now we were going to take some time for ourselves. I didn’t know how often I’d get moments like these, where things felt normal, light and easy.
"Guess we’re going to Hoseok’s," I said, trying to keep things casual.
Yoongi gave a small nod, his expression unreadable as always, but there was a faint sense of relaxation in his posture. "Yeah, yeah," he muttered again, almost as if to convince himself.
***
The next day, Yoongi and I had somehow hit a streak, two days in a row of working together without any tension. We finished everything we had planned for the day, and as the evening rolled around, we were both in a surprisingly good mood.
As the last song for the day played out, I looked up from my computer and caught Yoongi’s eye.
"Guess that’s a wrap for today," I said, stretching out my arms. "See you at the party, yeah?"
Yoongi gave me a small nod, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his lips. "Yeah, see you there."
I stood up to grab my things, feeling a sense of calm wash over me. It had been a long time since we’d gotten along this well, and I wasn’t going to overthink it. Tonight was supposed to be fun, a chance to relax.
"Try not to get too drunk," I teased lightly as I started toward the door.
Yoongi rolled his eyes. "Could say the same thing to you.”
"Uh-huh," I shot back, laughing as I left the room. "Sure."
As I walked out, I could feel the lightness in my step. For once, it felt like things were moving in the right direction. The night ahead felt full of possibilities, even if it was just hanging out with the rest of the team.
When I got home, I quickly changed into something casual, not wanting to overdo it for Hoseok’s party. I kept it simple, a pair of jeans and a loose top. Around 7 PM, I made my way to Hoseok’s place, and when I arrived, I found the others already there.
The atmosphere was warm and relaxed, the smell of food filling the air. The place was buzzing with laughter and easy conversation. I caught sight of Yoongi sitting at the corner of the room, his usual calm demeanour in place, but there was something different about him tonight.
His hair was styled, and the black shirt he was wearing seemed to fit him just right, accentuating his broad shoulders. There was an easy confidence in his posture, and as I studied him for a moment, I realized he looked… hot.
I quickly averted my gaze, not wanting to get caught staring. The last thing I needed was to get all flustered over him again. I turned my attention to the rest of the room and spotted Hoseok in the middle of a conversation with a few other guests. He seemed to be doing his usual thing, laughing and talking animatedly, but I wasn’t sure I wanted to interrupt just yet.
Instead, I made my way over to where Jimin, Jungkook, and Taehyung were chatting near the food table. They were all mid-laugh when I approached, and Jungkook waved me over with a grin.
“Y/N! Come join us, we were just talking about the new choreography for a music video,” he said, his eyes lighting up with excitement.
“Oh? What is it about this choreography?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.
Taehyung leaned in with a mischievous grin. “We’re learning this really complicated move that involves, like, spinning and flipping, but it looks ridiculous when we try it,” he said, laughing.
Jimin jumped in. “Taehyung’s over-exaggerating, it’s not that bad. But we’re definitely working on something new for the next video, and it’s going to be fun.”
“Yeah, we’re going to have to rehearse a lot,” Jungkook added with a playful smirk. “Taehyung might need extra practice though,” he teased.
I chuckled. “I’m sure you’ll all manage. You guys are pros, after all.”
Taehyung pouted but then grinned again. “Yeah, but you should see us try. We look like a bunch of drunk chickens. Maybe we’ll film it for behind-the-scenes footage.”
“Please do, I’d love to see that,” I replied, laughing along with them.
As we were talking, I noticed Hoseok making his way over with a big smile on his face. He clapped his hands together and announced, “Alright, everyone, I think it’s time for a drinking game! Who’s in? It’s going to be fun, I promise!”
Jimin immediately jumped up, grinning. “I’m in! Let’s do this!”
“Count me in too,” Taehyung said, raising his hand. “I’m ready to win this game.”
I glanced at Jungkook, who gave a playful nod. “Let’s go. This should be interesting.”
With that, the four of us headed over to the designated table where the drinks were already set up. Hoseok was already grinning, ready to start the game, and I couldn’t help but feel a little excited about just having fun and not overthinking things.
The game started with some light-hearted activities, rapid-fire questions, and silly tasks that made everyone laugh. It was a great way to break the ice, and before long, we were all feeling more relaxed, enjoying the playful atmosphere.
Then, the game shifted into something a bit more daring: Love Shots. The concept was simple: when the bottle spun, it landed on a couple who had to take a shot together. The catch? You had to show the best “couple moment” before drinking.
I glanced around at everyone as the bottle spun, my heart racing a little at the thought of it landing on someone I knew. Of course, it landed on me and Hoseok first. He flashed me a grin that was as mischievous as it was charming.
"Well, looks like we're the first couple for the night, huh?" he said, winking.
I laughed and leaned in slightly. "Guess so. Let’s make this quick, yeah?"
We took our shot in sync, laughing after, and I couldn’t help but notice the way Hoseok’s eyes sparkled when he was having fun. It made me a little giddy.
The game continued, and once again, the bottle spun, this time landing on Hoseok and me again. A few people around the table groaned, teasing us about being the “official couple.” We just grinned at each other, ready for the next round.
I quickly glanced over at Yoongi, who had been quiet all night, sitting at the table but not participating. He wasn’t drinking either. His gaze was locked on Hoseok and me, and there was a strange tension in his expression. He wasn’t judging, but he wasn’t engaging either. It was hard to ignore, and I wondered if he was actually bothered by us being partnered up for the game.
Earlier, I had briefly talked to him when the game first started. I asked why he wasn’t drinking, and he had simply said, “Not feeling like it tonight.” There was something about his tone that made me want to ask more, but I didn’t push it. He wasn’t the type to open up unless he was ready.
"Alright, Y/N, it’s your turn again!" Taehyung called out, snapping me out of my thoughts.
The bottle spun again, and this time, it landed on Hoseok and me again. We both burst into laughter, but this time I noticed Yoongi’s eyes briefly flicker towards us. He didn’t look away, but he didn’t speak either. He just observed, his hands folded in front of him as the game carried on.
Hoseok, being a bit more playful, shot me a grin and said, “Guess we’re really the perfect couple, huh?”
I smirked, playing along. “Yeah, looks like I’m stuck with you, Hobi.”
We drank again, and I could feel the warmth of the alcohol creeping through me, loosening my nerves and making everything feel lighter. But despite the fun, I couldn’t shake the feeling that Yoongi’s quiet presence at the table was adding a certain weight to the game. His lack of participation made the contrast between us even more noticeable.
The game finally came to an end after what felt like hours of spinning bottles and laughing until our sides hurt. But as the night wore on, a lot of people were either passed out, waiting for their turn, or feeling too sleepy to continue. I noticed the energy in the room starting to wind down, and with work to do tomorrow, I figured it was best to leave.
I stood up, scanning the room for Hoseok. I spotted him laughing with a few of the other guests, his eyes bright and full of energy despite the late hour. I made my way over to him, tapping him lightly on the shoulder.
“Hey, Hobi,” I said, offering him a warm smile. “I think I’m going to head out now. I’ve got work tomorrow.”
Hoseok turned to me with a disappointed but understanding expression. “Aww, already? Well, it was really fun having you here. You sure you don’t want me to come with you?”
I shook my head, grateful for the offer but knowing he had a lot of guests to attend to. “Nah, you stay and enjoy. I’ll just grab a taxi. I’ll be fine.”
Before Hoseok could respond, there was a shift in the air. Yoongi, who had been quiet all evening, stood up suddenly from his spot at the table. His voice was calm, but his words caught us both off guard.
“I’m leaving. I’ll take Y/N with me,” he said, tone firm but casual.
The room fell a bit quieter at his declaration. Hoseok blinked in surprise, clearly not expecting Yoongi to step in. There was an unspoken tension as we all stood there for a moment, unsure of how to react.
I quickly turned to Hoseok, offering him one last smile. “I’ll see you soon, okay? Thanks for everything tonight.”
Hoseok smiled back, still a little surprised by Yoongi’s sudden intervention, but he nodded. “Alright, take care. See you soon.”
I didn’t give him a chance to say anything else before I quickly made my way toward the door, following Yoongi. I couldn’t help but feel a little flustered. What just happened? Why did Yoongi suddenly decide to take me home?
“Yoongi, wait up!” I called out, catching up to him as he made his way outside.
Yoongi was already ahead, his long strides purposeful. When I caught up with him, I hesitated for a moment before speaking. “Yoongi… you didn’t have to do this, you know…”
He didn’t look at me as he continued walking, but his voice was calm. “It’s fine. You’re not going to take a taxi alone this late. It’s safer this way.”
I opened my mouth to argue, but I stopped myself. There was something in the way he said it that made me not want to push back. Instead, I just followed him outside, the cool night air brushing against my skin as we made our way to the car.
I had no idea what this meant, or what was running through Yoongi’s mind, but for now, I was just grateful that he had decided to take me home.
The drive back home was quiet but comfortable, with only the hum of the car filling the space between us. It wasn’t awkward, though. There was something peaceful about it, something unspoken that made the silence feel easy.
When we arrived at my apartment block, Yoongi stepped out of the car first, walking around to open the door for me.
“Thanks,” I said softly, already preparing to say my goodbyes as I stepped out.
But before I could, Yoongi spoke up, his tone surprisingly serious. “Actually… Can I have my jacket back?”
I blinked in confusion, not entirely sure I’d heard him right. “Seriously?” I asked, laughing a little at the unexpected request. “You’re really asking for it back now?”
He glanced at me with a small shrug, his eyes hiding whatever thoughts were going through his mind. “It’s cold,” he said simply.
I let out a sigh. “Okay, follow me. I took it from the dry cleaners today, and I was planning on bringing it to you tomorrow.”
I stepped inside my apartment, Yoongi following and standing halfway between the living room and the corridor. I quickly scanned the room, searching for the bag with the jacket in it. The silence stretched on as I fumbled through a few things, but Yoongi broke it, his voice unexpectedly blunt.
“So, you and Hobi, huh?”
I paused for a second, confused by the sudden shift in the conversation. “What about me and Hobi?”
“Well, all the dinners, the flirting today with the love shots… is there anything I should know about?” His gaze was steady, but I could see something flicker in his eyes.
I shook my head, trying to keep my tone light. “No, we’re just friends. He’s actually a nice person who respects me and my work.”
Maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe it was just me overthinking things, but Yoongi’s next words caught me off guard. “But I thought these past few days we were on good terms as well.”
I felt a little defensive at that. “But I’m not working with Hobi. I’m not under a contract with him.”
Yoongi didn’t seem satisfied. “Besides all that, I still felt like we could be more than just coworkers.”
I blinked, not sure if I understood him right. “What? Do you want us to be friends?” I joked, trying to deflect the tension.
Yoongi’s eyes narrowed slightly, but I continued “Do you even hear yourself right now? If I had told Min Yoongi two months ago that he’d be asking me to be friends, he would’ve laughed in my face.”
Yoongi’s expression darkened for a moment. “Hell no, I don’t want to be friends with you.”
I crossed my arms, trying to hide the sudden heat rising to my cheeks. “Pff, then I don’t want to be friends with you either,” I shot back, scoffing. “Besides, you’re the one who brought it up in the first place. You were the one sulking about me being friends with Hobi and not with you.”
Yoongi’s eyes flickered with irritation. “I’m not sulking because you are friends with him, I am because you are close to a guy that’s not me.” His voice was quieter now, but there was an edge to it.
“What?” I asked, genuinely confused.
Yoongi took a step closer, his expression darkening. “Let’s cut the crap. You’re telling me that after everything that’s been happening these past two months, the tension, the lingering touches… you never felt anything?” His eyes were locked onto mine, searching for something in them.
My breath hitched in my throat, but before I could respond, he continued. “And after what happened at Hobi’s birthday party… you didn’t move away from me. Hell, you were practically begging me to kiss you with the way you were looking at me. Don’t tell me you weren’t thinking about it too.”
I froze, my mind racing, trying to process his words. I hadn’t expected him to bring up that night, let alone accuse me of anything. My pulse quickened as I searched his face, unsure of what to say.
Yoongi watched me closely, waiting for my response, but all I could do was stare at him, caught in the web of his words.
“What? I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I stammered, stepping back slightly, trying to play it cool, but my heart was pounding in my chest. Yoongi’s gaze was intense, his expression unreadable, and I couldn’t help but feel exposed under the weight of his words. Was he serious? Was I imagining all of this? I didn’t want to admit it, but everything he said was starting to make sense, whether I liked it or not.
Yoongi didn’t seem satisfied with my denial. He stepped closer, his eyes locked on mine with a new intensity. “Oh really?” he murmured, his voice low and steady, but there was a hint of something sharper in it now. “Then tell me to stop.”
Before I could process the situation, before I could even think about what to say, he was on me. His lips crashed into mine with a sudden force that caught me off guard. The kiss was hard, desperate, as if he was trying to prove something to both of us. His hands gripped my arms firmly, pulling me in closer.
For a few seconds, I froze, not sure how to respond. His lips moved against mine with an urgency that made my mind race, but my body just… didn’t react. I couldn’t. My heart was beating so fast, my thoughts tangled in confusion. Was this real? Was he really kissing me?
Yoongi pulled back suddenly, his hands dropping from my arms. He stepped away, his expression flickering with something I couldn’t quite place. His breathing was heavier now, and he seemed to be searching for something in my eyes, a sign, maybe, of whether or not I felt the same.
“I— maybe I misunderstood,” he muttered, almost to himself, his voice quieter, as if the weight of his actions was suddenly dawning on him.
His words trailed off into a shaky breath, and for a moment, it felt like the room held its breath, everything hanging in the air between us. I stood there, wide-eyed, my lips tingling from the kiss, not knowing how to process what had just happened.
Yoongi’s eyes flicked to the ground for a second, and he muttered a curse under his breath. “Fuck…I’m sorry… I actually thought…” He cut himself off, looking at me like he was trying to gauge my reaction, like he was waiting for me to say something, anything.
The silence between us stretched on, thick and heavy, and I could feel my chest tightening with every passing second. I couldn’t let him walk away thinking he had made a mistake. I couldn’t just stand there and let this moment slip away.
Without even thinking, I stepped forward, my hands shaking slightly, but I reached for him. I grabbed the front of his shirt, tugging him closer to me until there was no space left between us. My heart was still racing, but this time, there was no hesitation. I kissed him back, pressing my lips to his with the same urgency that he had given me.
Yoongi stiffened at first, but after a second, he responded, his hands coming up to cup my face as he kissed me back. This time, there was no hesitation, no second-guessing. His kiss was deep, full of everything he hadn’t said, all the things that had been building up between us. His lips moved against mine, his fingers threading into my hair as he pulled me closer, if that was even possible.
I could feel the heat of his body against mine, the way his heart seemed to be racing just as fast as mine. The world outside of us faded, and for the first time in a long time, all I could think about was him, Yoongi, and this moment we were sharing.
When we finally pulled apart, both of us breathless, I was left reeling. My mind was spinning, but there was something in the way Yoongi looked at me, something that made it all feel right, even if it didn’t quite make sense yet.
I took a step back, trying to catch my breath, still processing everything that had just happened. "What’s happening?" I asked softly, my voice a little unsteady. "Are you sure tomorrow you're not just going to act like none of this happened?"
Yoongi didn’t say anything right away. He seemed to be weighing my words carefully, like he was searching for the right response.
Then, he took a slow step forward, closing the distance between us once more. His eyes were intense, but there was a softness in them now, something that made me feel like I wasn’t just some passing thought. "Nah," Yoongi finally spoke, his voice low and steady. "Let me show you how much I've been stopping myself from anything happening."
Before I could process his words, his hands were on me again, pulling me back toward him with an urgency that caught me off guard. He kissed me again, this time it wasn’t rushed, but full of something more than just desire.
Yoongi’s hands were gentle yet firm as he backed me toward the living room, the heat of his body practically radiating against mine. I could feel my pulse quicken with every step he took. When my backside finally met the armrest of the sofa, a shock of electricity shot through me, my heart hammering in my chest.
He didn’t give me a moment to breathe before his hands were on me again, this time lifting me effortlessly, laying me down onto the sofa. I gasped slightly as I landed, and Yoongi followed, his body pressing over mine, his presence suffocating in the best way.
His eyes never left mine, and the way he hovered above me, his weight just barely touching me, made my stomach twist with anticipation. "Are you gonna tell me to stop, Y/N?" Yoongi's voice was rough, but there was something almost challenging in it. He leaned in slightly, the tip of his nose grazing mine as he waited for my response. "Or are you actually gonna admit how much you want this? That this is actually happening."
I swallowed hard, my mind swirling with conflicting thoughts. I was caught between every instinct screaming at me to push him away, to stop this before it went any further, and another side of me that wanted to give in, to feel everything he was offering without hesitation.
His lips hovered just inches from mine, and I could feel the warmth of his breath on my skin, making my heart race. I opened my mouth to say something, anything, but the words caught in my throat. Instead, I just looked at him, trying to understand what this all meant.
The silence between us was almost suffocating now, the tension thick as I weighed my next move. Yoongi didn’t pull away, didn’t pressure me further. He just waited, giving me space, but still holding me in place with that unyielding gaze of his.
For a moment, I thought I might choke on the words I wanted to say. But the truth was, I already knew. I couldn’t deny it anymore.
"I—" My voice faltered, and I quickly cleared my throat, suddenly feeling exposed. "I want this," I admitted, the words coming out breathlessly, almost as if they were ripped from me. It was scary, letting the truth hang in the air between us, but it felt... necessary.
Yoongi’s eyes softened, just a little. He leaned down, his lips brushing against mine once more, but this time, it wasn’t a question. It was an answer, his answer to everything we had left unsaid.
Despite the clothes still between us, I wrapped my legs around his body, pulling him closer, craving more of the intimacy building between us. Yoongi’s voice was low and dripping with desire as he whispered, “Good, because I’ve been dying to know how you taste…”
Smirking, he lowered himself further, letting his breath ghost over my pants. My heart raced as I gave him a silent nod, granting permission. Slowly, he unzipped them, his movements deliberate and teasing. My breath hitched as he slid my pants down my legs, throwing them on the floor. Just as he hooked a finger under my panties to remove them, I gently stopped his hand.
“Wait…” I whispered, my voice shaky. Gathering what little confidence I had, I added, “It’s only fair you lose a piece of clothing too.”
His eyebrow quirked up in amusement. “Desperate to see me naked already, Y/N?” he teased.
“Huh, you’re the one who just claimed you’ve been dying to know how I—”
Before I could finish, Yoongi silenced me with a kiss, his lips rough and insistent, leaving me breathless. His tongue swept against mine, teeth grazing in just the right way. When he finally pulled back to let us catch our breath, he reached for the hem of his shirt and tugged it over his head. Smirking, he stood before me, his torso now bare, revealing his defined muscles despite the soft lines of his body.
“There. Happy now?” he asked, a teasing glint in his eyes.
This man. Such a tease.
“Much better,” I quipped with a smirk of my own.
“Now, let me finish what I started,” he murmured, his voice a low growl that sent a shiver down my spine. “Let you experience my famous tongue technology...…” His lips quirked into a mischievous smile as he lowered himself between my thighs, his hands trailing down to hook under the waistband of my panties. He slipped them down with tantalizing slowness, his fingers brushing against my skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake.
“Who calls—” I started, but the words dissolved into a gasp as his tongue made its first bold stroke, fast and deliberate, over my folds. My head fell back against the sofa, a moan escaping before I could even think to stop it.
He didn’t give me time to recover. His tongue moved again, sweeping over me with precision, eliciting another sharp cry. Each stroke was firm, purposeful, and maddeningly good. My body arched into him, instinctively chasing the pleasure he so expertly provided.
“Yoongi,” I managed to whisper, my voice shaky and strained, but he didn’t respond, not with words at least. Instead, his lips and tongue continued their relentless exploration, the wet heat of his mouth driving me to the edge of reason.
My hands shot to his hair, my fingers tangling in the soft strands, pulling lightly, not to guide him, but to ground myself. His name fell from my lips in fragmented pleas, each one blending into the next. His low hum of approval vibrated against me, sending an electric shock straight to my core.
He reached for one of my knees, pushing it further aside to open me up to him completely. His grip was firm yet gentle, and the shift only deepened the intensity of his attention. His tongue flicked, swirled, and teased, hitting every spot that made my body tremble.
The room was thick with the sound of my ragged breathing and unrestrained moans. Each cry seemed to fuel him, urging him on as his pace quickened. I gripped his hair tighter, the sensation building with every stroke. A hand reached for his shoulder, my nails grazing the smooth heat of his skin.
“Yoongi…” I whimpered, my voice shaky and raw, a desperate plea in the form of his name.
He pulled back briefly, his lips glistening as he looked up at me with a devilish smirk. “That was to answer your question,” he said, his voice rough with satisfaction. He ran his tongue slowly over his lips, collecting anything he’d missed, and the sight alone sent another wave of heat through me.
I couldn’t let him have the upper hand, not entirely. Tugging at his hair, I directed him back between my thighs. “Less talking,” I breathed, my voice barely above a whisper, “more doing.”
He chuckled low, the sound vibrating against me as he dove back in without hesitation. This time, his movements were even more determined, his tongue working with an intensity that made me cry out. My body writhed against him, my breaths coming in sharp, shallow gasps as I clung to him, overwhelmed by the pleasure coursing through me.
Yoongi’s hands gripped my thighs firmly, keeping me in place as he worked his magic. His tongue alternated between long, teasing strokes and quick, precise flicks, sending me spiraling closer to the edge.
He was relentless, unyielding, and devastatingly good. Too good. If he could do this with just his tongue, the thought of what else he could do made my head spin. The heat pooling low in my belly grew hotter, tighter, until it felt like I might combust.
“Yoongi,” I gasped, my voice breaking as my body tensed beneath his touch. “I think I’m gonna—”
“Cum on my mouth, baby,” he murmured against me, his voice low and commanding, the vibrations sending me over the edge.
I shattered, my release hitting me like a tidal wave. My back arched, my head falling back as his name tore from my lips in a broken cry. My vision blurred, and for a moment, all I could feel was the overwhelming heat of pleasure washing over me.
He didn’t stop, his tongue continuing to lap at me, drawing out every last tremor until I was trembling beneath him. When he finally pulled back, his face was smug, his lips glistening as he swiped his tongue over them again.
“You taste better than I imagined,” he murmured, and my cheeks flushed at his confession. How many times had this man fantasized about this? It wasn’t like I hadn’t entertained some dirty thoughts over the past weeks, but hearing him say it out loud, so unabashedly, felt different.
Before I could reply, Yoongi leaned back up and kissed me passionately, sharing the taste of myself on his lips. The kiss was deep and consuming, his tongue sweeping over mine with deliberate slowness. Then he trailed wet kisses down to my neck, biting softly, not enough to leave a mark, but enough to make a point. It was possessive in the most exciting way.
As he toyed with the hem of my shirt, I decided to turn the tables. My hands moved to the waistband of his pants undoing his zipper. He froze for a moment, his eyes wide, searching mine. “Y/N… you don’t have to. Just because—”
“I want to,” I interrupted, my voice steady despite the nervous flutter in my chest. His breath escaped in a shaky exhale at my words.
“Besides,” I teased, leaning in closer, my lips brushing against his ear, “let me show you what other sounds these hands can produce.”
I bit my bottom lip as I pulled his pants down completely, leaving him in nothing but his boxers. My hand brushed over him, his length already hard and straining against the fabric. My fingers lightly grazed over him, stroking just enough to tease. Yoongi hissed, a mix of pleasure and frustration.
“Y/N… don’t tease me,” he groaned, his voice thick with need.
“Me? Tease you?” I feigned innocence, grinning up at him as my hand continued its slow, deliberate motions. He let out a shaky breath, his hips instinctively bucking toward my touch.
I leaned up to capture his lips again, all while my hand maintained its slow, torturous rhythm. “Y/N…” Yoongi moaned, the sound low and drawn out.
With that, I tugged his boxers down, his cock springing free and slapping against his stomach. My hand wrapped around him, the heat and hardness startling me for a moment. Pre-cum was already dripping from his tip, and I swiped my thumb over it, spreading it along his length as he trembled beneath my touch.
His hips instinctively bucked forward, chasing the friction as a low groan escaped his lips. My fingers moved deliberately, starting with slow, measured strokes that made his thighs tense beneath me.
“Y/N…” His voice was barely above a whisper, a strained mixture of need and restraint.
I leaned forward, brushing a kiss along his jawline before murmuring, “Relax.” My breath was hot against his skin, and I could feel the shudder it sent through his body.
One hand worked up and down his length, my palm twisting slightly with each stroke, while the other cupped and teased his balls, massaging them gently. His body responded to every touch, his muscles taut and trembling as he fought to stay in control.
“Fuck…” he groaned, his brows furrowed, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip as his chest heaved with uneven breaths.
The intimacy of it all had my own heart racing, my body reacting to the sight of him unraveling beneath me. My hand picked up speed, stroking him faster and firmer, my thumb gliding over his sensitive tip with each pass.
“You’re driving me crazy,” he muttered, his voice rough and breathless.
“Good,” I teased, leaning in to kiss his collarbone, my lips trailing over the sharp lines of his neck. “That’s the idea.”
His hips lifted again, chasing the rhythm of my hand. His groans deepened, each one more desperate than the last. The sounds he made were intoxicating, sending heat pooling low in my belly.
“Y/N,” he gasped, his voice cracking slightly. One of his hands reached out, gripping my thigh tightly as though he needed something to anchor himself.
Yoongi eyes fluttered open, locking onto mine with a fiery intensity. “I’m—”
“I know,” I cut him off softly, my hand never slowing.
His half-lidded eyes met mine, his skin glistening with sweat. “Where…?” he managed to ask, his voice barely audible.
I didn’t answer with words. Instead, I went to my knees and opened my mouth, holding his gaze. His expression faltered for a split second, a mix of desperation and awe flashing across his face.
Yoongi adjusted slightly, taking his cock in his own hand, his body hovering over mine, and with a few more strokes, he spilled into my mouth. I took everything, swallowing it down as I maintained eye contact. His breathing was ragged, and I could feel the slight tremble in his legs as I kissed the tip of his cock, making sure nothing was left behind.
When it was over, he sank down, his body pressing against mine. His lips found mine again, kissing me deeply, as if he couldn’t get enough.
When he pulled away, he rested his forehead against my shoulder, his voice soft but filled with satisfaction. “Fuck, you’re incredible.”
Yoongi’s hand trailed lazily across my skin, finding the thin strap of my bra under my shirt. “Next time,” he murmured, his voice low and teasing, “I’ll make sure you’re not wearing anything at all.”
He hooked a finger under the strap, pulling it slightly before letting it snap back against my skin with a soft smack. I gasped, half-laughing, and swatted at his chest, but he just grinned, his eyes gleaming with mischief.
With a satisfied sigh, he stood up, stretching slightly before scanning the room. His pants and boxers lay crumpled on the floor a few steps away. “As much as I love this view,” he teased, casting a lingering look at me sprawled on the sofa now, “we might want to at least partially dress before someone accidentally walks in.”
Rolling my eyes, even though I lived alone, I reached down to grab my panties, slipping them on with a quick movement. “Happy now?” I quipped, arching an eyebrow as he smirked at me.
“Not entirely,” he shot back smoothly, already heading to the smaller sofa across the room. He grabbed the folded blanket and returned to the larger couch where I laid, tossing it over us as he sat back down and pulled me toward him.
“And why is that?” I teased, arching a brow as I snuggled into his chest.
He smirked, his arms wrapping securely around me as he scooped me into a comfortable position against him. His warmth enveloped me, and I felt myself relaxing despite my teasing words.
“Because, I’ve been messing up so far,” he said, his voice soft but firm, “ but I’m not letting you go away this time.”
I blinked, startled by the quiet sincerity in his tone. It wasn’t just a playful remark; it felt like a promise, one that made my heart flutter and my chest tighten all at once.
“You’re stuck with me now, Y/N,” he added, resting his chin on the top of my head. “Hope you can handle that.”
I couldn’t help but smile, burying my face against his chest to hide the blush creeping up my cheeks. “We’ll see,” I replied softly, my voice muffled away.
For the first time in a long while, I felt safe. Wrapped in his arms, I allowed myself to close my eyes, lulled by the steady rhythm of his heartbeat and the warmth of his embrace.
***
The next morning, I woke up to an unsettling emptiness. The warmth of Yoongi’s embrace from last night was gone, replaced by the coolness of the sofa beneath me. Disoriented, I blinked against the soft morning light streaming through the curtains. Everything about last night had felt surreal—like the universe had finally shifted into place. But now, as I sat up and looked around the room, it all felt like a dream.
My gaze darted to the floor, where his shirt had been tossed haphazardly, and the hallway where his shoes had been kicked off. They were gone. Every trace of him had vanished. A sinking feeling settled in my chest.
Did he regret this? Was it a mistake for him?
I couldn’t stop the questions from flooding my mind, each one louder and more insistent than the last. For me, it hadn’t been a mistake. Not even close. Last night had been a moment of pure, unfiltered connection, a night that felt like it had shattered every barrier between us.
But had it meant the same to him?
Frustration began to bubble up, mixed with a touch of anger. If he had regrets, he should’ve said something. Leaving like this? That was low.
Determined not to let him get away with it, I marched to my room, pulling on a fresh pair of jeans and a casual shirt. If he thought he could disappear without a word, he had another thing coming. The moment I was tugging on my shoes, ready to storm out and demand answers, my phone buzzed on the coffee table.
I snatched it up, my frustration spilling over as I saw Minji’s name on the screen. Great, this better not be about work, I thought as I pressed the phone to my ear.
“Hello?” I said curtly.
“Y/N, are you okay?” Minji’s tone was brisk but edged with concern.
“What do you mean?” I asked, more annoyed than curious.
Minji sighed heavily on the other end. “That’s good. You’re fine. I was worried for a second. Didn’t you hear? Someone raided HYBE last night. A crazy fan broke in and they believe they were trying to expose Suga’s album.”
“What?” I froze, my heart skipping a beat as her words sank in.
“Yeah, it’s all over the news this morning. Security’s gone into overdrive,” Minji continued. “Anyway, just wanted to check if you were caught up in any of it.”
“I have to go,” I said abruptly, hanging up before she could respond.
My mind raced. If HYBE had been raided and rumours about Yoongi’s album were true, then that meant he must be there.
I grabbed my car keys and drove as fast as I could, keeping just within the speed limits. My mind buzzed with thoughts about Yoongi and everything Minji had said. Twenty minutes later, I pulled up in front of HYBE.
I stepped inside, my pulse quickening as I made my way through the familiar halls. When I reached the studio, I stopped in my tracks. Yoongi was pacing back and forth, his phone pressed tightly to his ear. He hadn’t noticed me yet, too absorbed in his conversation.
“Please make sure they’re caught and thoroughly questioned about what they saw,” he said, his tone firm but composed. Whoever he was speaking to replied, but I couldn’t make out the words.
Yoongi sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah, I know we had contracts here. Honestly, I don’t care about the album, it’s going to get released soon anyway. What matters is that Producer K’s information stays protected. Make sure no sensitive details leak, okay?” He paused to listen again. “Alright. Call me as soon as you have any updates.”
As he ended the call, his gaze finally landed on me. I was frozen in place, trying to process the past 24 hours, the intimacy, the sudden emptiness when I woke up, and now this chaos.
“Hey,” I said, breaking the silence. “What’s going on?”
Yoongi’s expression softened when he saw me, but the stress in his posture remained. He sighed and motioned for me to sit down, but I stayed standing, waiting for answers.
“Someone broke into HYBE last night,” he began, his voice steady but laced with frustration. “They managed to get into a secure area. Luckily, nothing was taken, at least nothing physical, but there’s still a risk of leaks.”
I blinked, processing his words. “So… this morning—”
He cut me off with a sheepish smile. “Shit, I’m sorry. I should’ve woken you up, but you looked so peaceful, and I didn’t want to disturb you. When I got the call, I panicked. I didn’t even think, I just grabbed my stuff and rushed over here. I had to make sure everything was locked down. The NDAs, your information, everything. But I think we’re okay. Nothing seems to have been compromised.”
My chest loosened at his explanation, relief washing over me. “So… you didn’t leave because you regretted it?” My voice came out quieter than I intended. “It felt like… maybe you didn’t care about anything that happened yesterday.”
Yoongi’s eyes widened, and he stepped closer to me, closing the distance between us in just a few strides. “Ahh, baby,” he said, his tone filled with disbelief. “Are you kidding me? How could I ever regret it?”
He leaned down and brushed his lips against mine, soft and lingering. The kiss was brief, but the warmth of it stayed with me. As he pulled back, he smirked, a playful glint in his eyes. Without another word, he scooped me up effortlessly, his hands firm on my thighs as he lifted me.
“Yoongi!” I squealed, instinctively wrapping my arms around his neck.
“You’re stuck with me now,” he teased, his smirk deepening as he carried me toward the door. My back pressed against it as he gently pushed me, one of his hands leaving my body just long enough to twist the lock. The soft click echoed in the quiet room. His eyes flickered with something darker, more intense, as he leaned in closer.
“And don’t even think about doubting me again,” he murmured, his lips brushing against the shell of my ear, sending shivers down my spine.
Before I could respond, Yoongi moved us again, carrying me to the producer’s table, the one we’d spent countless hours working on together. He placed me on top of it, the cold surface pressing against my thighs. My body shifted slightly, the edge of the keyboard beneath me accidentally activating a few buttons with soft clicks and beeps.
A mischievous smirk spread across his face as he leaned over me, caging me in with his arms on either side. “Looks like we’re making more music, Producer K,” he teased, his voice low and dripping with amusement.
Immediately his lips captured mine, soft and demanding all at once. The kiss deepened almost instantly, his hand threading into my hair to tilt my head for better access. I gasped against his mouth as his other hand slid down, gripping my waist firmly to keep me anchored to him.
The kiss was electric, slow, and yet so full of intensity it left me breathless. His tongue brushed against mine, coaxing me into a rhythm that made my heart race. My hands found their way to his shoulders, then slid up behind his neck, pulling him even closer.
Yoongi let out a low hum of approval, the sound vibrating against my lips. The tension in the room grew thicker with every passing second. His teeth grazed my bottom lip, tugging gently before he soothed it with another kiss.
“You taste soo good,” he whispered against my mouth, his breath warm and tantalizing. He kissed me again, harder this time, as though he was trying to erase any lingering doubts from my mind.
“Are you going to fuck me or not?” I asked, my voice laced with impatience and desire. Enough with the teasing, I wanted him, here and now.
A smirk played on his lips as he looked at me. “Yes, right here on this table,” he murmured, his voice deep and full of promise. “I’m going to make you feel so good, baby.”
Slowly he reached for the hem of my shirt, pulling it up and over my head. His dark eyes lingered on me as he kept his promise from the night before. He leaned down, gently biting one of my bra straps and pulling it down with his teeth, the act equal parts sensual and possessive. Then his hand slid the other strap off my shoulder, his fingers brushing over my skin in a way that sent shivers racing down my spine.
His hands unclasped my bra, letting it fall away completely. The cool air of the room ghosted over my now-bare skin, goosebumps forming in its wake. His gaze was hungry, appreciative, as he took me in.
He didn’t waste a moment, cupping both of my breasts in his warm hands. His thumbs brushed over my nipples, teasing them until they hardened under his touch. Leaning in, he wrapped his lips around one, his tongue swirling and flicking while his other hand kneaded the other.
A soft moan escaped my lips as my hands tangled in his hair, pulling him closer. My legs around his waist instinctively pull his body closer and flush against mine. The hardness of his arousal pressed against my clothed core, teasing me further.
Yoongi groaned softly against my skin, his breath hot as he alternated between kissing and sucking on my sensitive flesh. After a moment, he pulled back slightly, his lips glistening as he grinned down at me.
“Your skin is so soft,” he murmured, his voice low and husky. He stood upright and reached for the hem of his shirt, pulling it off in one smooth motion.
The sight of his toned chest and the way his muscles moved as he tossed the shirt aside made my breath hitch. My hands instinctively trailed over his bare skin, feeling the heat of him beneath my palms.
He proceeded to slide my pants down along with my panties in one smooth motion, leaving me bare beneath him. My cheeks flushed as I turned my head to the side, shying away from his gaze. The reality of the moment hit me, this was happening, in the studio no less. Something I had never done before, especially not with a co-worker. I had always been professional, keeping clear boundaries. But Yoongi? He was different. He was so much more.
Before my thoughts could spiral further, two of his fingers gently grasped my chin, tilting my face back toward him. His dark eyes softened as they met mine, a faint smile curling his lips. “You’re perfect,” he murmured, his voice filled with genuine adoration.
He leaned down and kissed me deeply, his lips moving against mine with a passion that made me forget all my worries. When he pulled away, I was left breathless, my body trembling.
Without breaking eye contact, he stepped back and slid his boxers down, his cock springing free in a way that had my stomach tightening with need. He reached into a nearby drawer, pulling out a condom. The sight of him, so confident and focused, made my mouth water.
I whimpered softly, my body arching toward him. “Please…” I whispered, my voice trembling with desperation.
Yoongi smirked at my plea as he rolled the condom over his length slowly, his eyes never leaving mine. He moved closer, his cock teasing my entrance as he pressed the tip against me, applying just enough pressure to drive me wild.
Then he pulled back, a devilish grin on his lips.
“Yoongi!” I cried out, my hands gripping his shoulders in frustration.
Yoongi chuckled softly at my frustration, his deep voice resonating in the quiet studio. “Patience, baby,” he teased, leaning down to press a kiss to the corner of my mouth. “I want to savour this.”
His words sent a shiver down my spine, but my body was anything but patient. My legs tightened around his hips, trying to draw him closer. He gave in just a little, letting his tip press further against my entrance, his cock teasing me.
“Please…” I whimpered again, my voice trembling.
“God, you’re so needy,” he murmured, but there was no mockery in his tone, only a mixture of desire and affection. He pressed forward slightly, just enough to stretch me, and the sensation made my breath hitch.
He paused, his hand brushing over my cheek. “Are you okay?” he asked softly, his gaze searching mine.
“Yes,” I breathed, nodding. “I need you, Yoongi… all of you.”
That was all the encouragement he needed. Slowly, he pushed into me, his cock filling me inch by inch. The sensation was overwhelming in the best way, an exquisite mix of pleasure and pressure that made me gasp. My nails dug into his shoulders as he slid himself fully inside me, both of us pausing to catch our breaths.
“You feel so good,” he groaned, his head dropping to my shoulder. His lips brushed against my skin, leaving hot, open-mouthed kisses as he began to move.
The first few thrusts were slow and deliberate, his hips rolling against mine in a rhythm that made me lose all sense of time and place. My moans filled the room, blending with the soft sounds of his breathless grunts and the quiet creak of the table beneath us.
“Yoongi…” I gasped, my hands sliding down to his waist to pull him closer. His movements grew more intense, each thrust hitting deeper, sending waves of pleasure coursing through me.
His hand slid down to my thigh, lifting it higher to change the angle, and the new position made me cry out. “That’s it, baby. Let me hear you.”
I clung to him, my body arching into his as the tension built to an unbearable peak. Every movement, every touch, was driving me closer to the edge. His name fell from my lips in a breathless chant, and I could feel his body tensing too, his control slipping with each passing second.
“I’m close,” I managed to gasp, my fingers tangling in his hair as I pressed my forehead against his.
“Not so fast…” he murmured, his lips brushing against my ear. In one swift motion, he pulled out completely, leaving me trembling and desperate for more. He grabbed my hips, pulling me down and guiding me to turn around. His hand on my back guided me to lean forward, making my chest press against the cool surface of the studio desk. I tried to make myself stable, hands roaming over the desk for support when I accidentally hit a button on the keyboard that sounded like the recording audio one.
“Yoongi, I think I—”
“Leave it on,” he growled, his voice dripping with lust. His hands ran down my sides, gripping my hips firmly as he aligned himself behind me. Without another word, he thrust into me again, harder this time, making me cry out in surprise and pleasure.
The new angle was overwhelming, his movements fast and relentless, each thrust sending shockwaves through my body. My hands scrambled for something better to hold on to, finding the edge of the desk as I felt my climax building faster than ever before.
“Yoongi,” I moaned, my voice trembling. “I’m going to—”
“Me too,” he groaned, his pace quickening. His fingers tightened on my hips, pulling me back to meet every thrust.
The tension inside me snapped like a rubber band, and I shattered around him, a cry escaping my lips as waves of pleasure consumed me. His name fell from my lips in broken gasps, my body trembling with the force of my release.
“Fuck,” Yoongi hissed behind me, his movements growing erratic as he followed me over the edge. With a low groan, he stilled, his hands gripping me tightly as he emptied himself into the condom.
We stayed silent for a moment, both of us catching our breaths as the studio filled with the sound of our laboured breathing. Yoongi’s hand slid up my back, his touch gentle now as he leaned down to press a soft kiss between my shoulders.
“You’re perfect,” he whispered, his voice softer than before, filled with a mix of affection and satisfaction.
I turned my head slightly to glance at him, a small smile tugging at my lips despite the lingering haze of pleasure. “You’re pretty perfect yourself,” I replied breathlessly.
His lips quirked into a smirk as he helped me straighten up, his hands still lingering on my waist. “You keep driving me crazy when there’s work to be done,” he said, his voice still low, a hint of amusement in his eyes.
“Work?” I teased, arching an eyebrow.
We both laughed softly, the tension replaced by a comfortable warmth as we started dressing up together. After fixing ourselves up, Yoongi and I sat back at the desk, quietly adjusting to the shift from intimacy to professionalism.
A sudden realization hit me like a bolt of lightning. My eyes widened as I glanced at the screen. The red "REC" light was still blinking, the audio still rolling.
"Wait," I said, trying to keep my voice steady, but my heart was racing. "Yoongi... the recording…"
Yoongi's gaze followed mine to the screen.
I stifled a laugh, trying to process the situation. "We... we didn’t just—"
"We did," he muttered, running a hand through his hair as he reached for the mouse, clicking the stop button on the recording. The sudden silence felt almost louder than the chaos that had just unfolded.
There was a long pause before either of us spoke, and then Yoongi burst into a fit of laughter, the tension completely evaporating. "I can't believe you hit the record by accident," he said between chuckles, shaking his head. "That’s... that's going to be something to remember."
I shook my head, laughing despite the embarrassment that was slowly creeping in. "Oh my god, I didn’t mean to! What if—what if someone listens to that? You have to delete it…"
Yoongi leaned back in his chair, still chuckling. "Relax, I’m pretty sure the only one who’s ever going to hear that is you... and maybe me, when I’m in need of some... inspiration."
I shot him a mock glare. "You’re terrible."
But the laughter between us continued, as if we’d both just acknowledged the absurdity of it all. "Alright, alright," I said, regaining some composure. "So, do we actually erase it... or keep it as a very private memory?"
Yoongi eyed the screen for a moment, a playful glint in his eyes. "I think we keep it," he said with a smirk. "Just in case we ever need to prove who’s really in charge around here."
I raised an eyebrow, a challenge in my smile. "I still have to work with you..."
Yoongi leaned closer, his smirk widening. "We can always record something else to balance it out."
My face flushed again, but this time, it was the shared humour that made the tension feel lighter. The teasing, the jokes, the way we were able to slip back into this comfortable space of banter, it made the moment feel normal again.
***
As time passed, Yoongi and I quietly navigated our secret relationship, keeping things low-key while indulging in countless late-night dates after work. Between stolen moments in the studio, quick getaways to his place, and intimate sessions that blurred the line between work and personal time, we found our rhythm. Every touch, every kiss, every fleeting glance became a quiet promise, a bond that only grew stronger despite the secrecy. The sexual tension between us was undeniable, and we gave into it time and time again, the boundaries between us disappearing with every heated exchange.
April 17 arrived, and Yoongi and I were standing in J-Hope’s living room. It was a quiet evening before the storm of emotions that would come the next day, J-Hope was leaving for the military, and Yoongi was going to see him off tomorrow. As much as I wanted to be there for the farewell, I knew I couldn’t. Not yet. My identity had to still stay hidden, my relationship with Yoongi too, at least for now.
Yoongi caught my eye from across the room, a soft smile playing at his lips as he walked over to where I was standing by the window. "You okay?" he asked quietly, concern flickering in his gaze.
I forced a smile, trying to hide the tension I felt. "Yeah, just thinking about tomorrow," I said, glancing over at J-Hope, who was still chatting with some of the others in the room. "You’re going to see him off right?"
"Of course," Yoongi replied, his voice warm but heavy with the realization that things were changing. "He’s my brother. I’m not going to let him go without saying goodbye properly."
I nodded, feeling a pang of longing. "I wish I could be there, but... you know why I can’t."
"I know," Yoongi murmured, squeezing my hand. He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. "It’s just... it’s tough for both of us, huh?"
I nodded again, my chest tight. "Yeah. It’s not just about J-Hope going. It’s about the secrecy, the not being able to show anyone who we are... it gets exhausting."
Before Yoongi could respond, J-Hope called out from across the room, his voice teasing. "Yoongi, Y/N! You two are awfully quiet over there. What’s going on?"
I looked up and forced a grin, trying to act casual. "Nothing, just—"
J-Hope walked over with a playful glint in his eyes, crossed his arms. "You know, I’ve always seen the tension between you two," he said with a teasing smirk. "That’s why I kept pushing Y/N to hang out with me when Yoongi was around. I had to give him a little nudge."
Yoongi raised an eyebrow, clearly amused by J-Hope’s words. "Really? You were the one pushing her?"
I laughed, feeling the heat rise to my cheeks. "Well, it worked, didn’t it?"
J-Hope chuckled, but his smile softened as he looked between the two of us. "I get it now. You two are like an open secret. But listen," he continued, his tone more serious, "tomorrow, when I’m gone, make sure you both take care of yourselves. Yoongi, I know you’ll look after her. And Y/N, be good to him, alright?"
I nodded, the words heavy in my chest. "I will. You just... you just be safe, okay? Come back to us soon."
Yoongi echoed my sentiment, his voice steady and sincere. "Take care of yourself, man. We’ve got your back. Always."
J-Hope smiled at us both, his eyes a mixture of gratitude and affection. "I know. Thanks, guys. I’ll miss you both."
***
The next day, after Yoongi returned from seeing J-Hope off, we somehow managed to finish the last track just before the deadline. It felt like a weight lifted off our shoulders. The album, which had been months in the making, was finally ready, set to release on April 21st with nine tracks. It was a huge achievement, and that night, we celebrated in typical Yoongi fashion, with whiskey at his place, and, well, sex. The kind of passionate, no-holds-barred kind that made me forget about the stress of the last few months.
The following days leading up to the album release were a whirlwind. We couldn't spend much time together, since Yoongi had a full schedule of promotional activities. Meanwhile, I was at home, taking the rare opportunity to relax and mentally prepare for the next project Minji had set up for me. Life was moving quickly, and I knew the grind would start again soon.
That night, as I was settling into my evening routine, my phone buzzed with a notification. Yoongi's live stream was about to start. He had mentioned earlier that his company would have him livestream his full album for his fans to celebrate the release. I was excited, though admittedly a little nervous to hear how the tracks we worked on together sounded to the public.
I clicked on the stream and watched as Yoongi greeted his fans, his usual cool demeanor giving way to the warmth of being surrounded by people who admired his work. I listened closely as he played the first six songs, the ones he had worked on solo. Each track was a piece of his soul, his sound so distinct and raw. Then came the three songs we collaborated on, and I couldn’t help but smile. Hearing them in front of thousands of fans was surreal, but in a way, it felt like we were still connected. Every note, every lyric felt like a reflection of the quiet moments we shared, the time we spent creating together.
As the ninth track played, I expected the stream to wrap up, but then Yoongi’s voice came through again. It was softer this time, almost like he wasn’t sure if he should say the words that were coming.
“This last song is a very last-minute addition to the album,” he began, his tone low and a little more introspective. “Making this album have a total of 10 tracks. I felt like this album was missing something... and this track summarizes everything that’s been going on with me lately. It’s called SDL.”
I froze, heart pounding in my chest. I hadn’t known about this last-minute addition to the album. I thought everything had been finalized. But here he was, introducing a track that was somehow more personal than any of the others. My stomach tightened as the beat dropped, and the chorus rang out:
"Yeah, somebody does love
But I'm thinking 'bout you."
The lyrics hit me like a wave, each word carrying a weight that I couldn’t ignore. It felt so raw, so vulnerable. Before I could process it all, I grabbed my stuff and rushed out the door. I knew Yoongi would still be at HYBE, where the livestream was taking place. Without thinking twice, I jumped into my car, determined to get there. The song had caught me completely off guard, and I needed to see him. I needed to understand what this song really meant.
It wasn’t just a track—it was a message. A message that had left me reeling, and I wasn’t going to wait to figure it out.
I arrived at HYBE, my heart still racing from the drive. As I stepped out, I caught sight of Jihoon leaving the building, and without thinking, I called out to him.
"Is Yoongi still here?"
"Yeah, last time I saw him, it was just a few minutes ago at the studio," Jihoon replied casually.
I didn't even say goodbye as I ran inside toward the studio, my mind set on finding Yoongi. When I reached the door and pushed it open, I could tell it wasn’t the same as the first time we met, where his eyes had been skeptical and full of surprise. This time, when our eyes met, I saw something completely different, softness, warmth, and love.
I closed the door behind me and moved closer to him, my breath still catching up from the run.
"Y/N, what are you doing here?" Yoongi asked, his voice laced with concern. He came to me, his hands instinctively reaching up to fix my hair, his touch gentle as he noticed my flustered state.
I took a deep breath, trying to steady myself. "That last song, I saw your live... where did that come from? I thought the album had only 9 tracks."
Yoongi paused, his hands lingering in my hair as he gave me a soft smile. "As I said on the live, that song is what’s been going on in my head these past couple of months."
I raised an eyebrow, still trying to piece it together. "So, you mean to tell me... I’m your inspiration?"
He nodded, his eyes never leaving mine. "Yes. You know I’m not great with my feelings, and better than anyone, you understand how hard it is for me to express myself. With everything that’s been going on between us lately… I thought this would be the clearest way to show you how I feel, the way we know best: through music."
“Why didn’t you play it for me before? In private?” I asked, my voice soft but laced with curiosity.
“I wanted it to be a surprise, like a big romantic gesture that only we would recognize,” he admitted, his voice wavering slightly. “I felt like I needed to redeem myself for how I acted at the start. To be honest, we were so good together that I’m sure we could’ve finished those tracks in less than a month. But I kept being a jerk, nit-picking everything just so we’d have to restart. It was selfish, but I wanted to steal every last minute with you. You walked into this studio and captured my heart and soul with everything you are, and I wasn’t ready to let that go so easily.”
His words hit me with full force, my heart pounding in my chest as the weight of his confession settled. I stepped closer, my emotions bubbling to the surface, and before I could think or say anything more, my lips found Yoongi’s. The kiss was soft at first, tentative, as if I were trying to tell him everything I couldn’t put into words. It was a kiss full of everything: love, apology, understanding, and a promise for more. We didn’t need more words, just the closeness, the music, and the quiet understanding between us. The kiss deepened, and in that moment, we both knew: this was just the beginning.
Summary: Suga of BTS is on the edge, racing against the clock to finish his solo album. With just three songs left to complete and a looming deadline, he's struggling to find inspiration. In a last-minute move, his company pairs him with the highly secretive Producer K, a renowned but elusive figure in the music industry. Everyone assumes Producer K is a male, but when Suga meets the mysterious producer, he's shocked to discover that K is actually a talented and confident woman. As they collaborate, the line between professional and personal begins to blur. Their chemistry is undeniable, but with a ticking clock and the pressure to deliver, can they finish the album on time? Or will their growing connection derail everything they've worked for? Secrets, passion, and music. Can Suga keep his focus, or will Producer K. change everything?
A/N: I miss these two already!! 🥺 This story was highly influenced by me having Yoongi's SDL and Reed Wonder's The machine on repeat. Hope you enjoy reading this story as much as I did writing it! Let me know your thoughts 💕.
The soft hum of equipment filled the studio, punctuated by the click-clack of Yoongi's keyboard. His desk was a mess of coffee cups, scribbled notes, and sheet music—proof of hours spent chasing inspiration that eluded him.
"Hyung," a staff member, Jihoon, said cautiously, standing near the doorway. "I think we need to talk about your album. Specifically, the last tracks you’re stuck on."
Yoongi swivelled his chair, eyebrows knitting together. "I'm not stuck," he said sharply. "I just need time."
"You have three months before the release date," Jihoon reminded him. "And right now, three of the songs don’t have melodies. You’ve been staring at the lyrics for weeks."
Yoongi sighed, dragging a hand through his hair. "I’m working on it."
Jihoon hesitated, holding back a smirk. "The team suggested bringing in another producer."
Yoongi’s eyes narrowed. "I don’t need help. This is my album. I’ve handled everything myself before, haven’t I?"
"This time, we’re short on time," Jihoon countered. "And we’re talking about Prod. K. He’s incredible! The guy with the minimalist beats and genre-blending compositions. Even you’ve praised his work."
Yoongi leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. "I praised the music, not the person. And I don’t work with strangers, especially ones I’ve never even met."
"It’s non-negotiable, hyung." Jihoon sighed. "The higher-ups already agreed. We’re bringing him in to collaborate."
"Bringing him in?" Yoongi repeated, his tone laced with sarcasm. "I’ve never even seen his face. For all I know, he could be some arrogant newbie."
Jihoon smirked, his gaze flickering with amusement Yoongi didn’t appreciate. "Lets not judge, just wait until you meet him."
Yoongi grumbled, turning back to his monitor. "Fine. But don’t expect me to make this easy for him. And when he leaves because I’m too ‘difficult,’ you can tell the higher-ups they were wrong."
~~ Y/N POV ~~
"Are you out of your mind?!" I hissed, pacing the small office where my team had dropped the bombshell of the century. "To collaborate with Suga of BTS in person? Sure, it’s an honor, but that’s a no from me. If my identity gets leaked, the fact that I’m a woman, working with him in some tiny studio, any sasaeng will have me on their hit list before I even step out the door."
My manager, Minji, leaned back in her chair, arms crossed but eyes pleading. "Y/N, listen. This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. His songs are streamed millions of times. You can’t just brush this off."
"I’m not brushing it off," I shot back. "I respect his work, don’t get me wrong. But I’m not willing to risk it. There are plenty of artists who would kill to have me on their projects just by sending them my demo, and they’re happy to communicate with me online without ever knowing who I am. Why him? Why now? Why like this?"
Minji sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. "It’s not just about you. The label needs this. We’re in a tight spot financially, and this contract is massive. Do you know how much they’re offering?"
I didn’t want to hear the number. Money had never been my motivator, but the way Minji’s face softened told me it was enough to make a difference, not just for me but for my entire team. I groaned, dropping into a chair and crossing my arms. "Why can’t anyone hear my opinion? I don’t want to do this. I’m not just some faceless entity, you know."
"You’re not," Minji said gently. "But you also know how much this could elevate your career. Three songs, Y/N. That’s all they’re asking for. Just three."
Her words echoed in my head, the weight of them pulling me in two directions. Logic screamed to take the job, but fear—fear of exposure, of judgment—held me back.
"Fine," I said finally, hating how small my voice sounded. "I’ll think about it."
***
That night, I found myself on an unintentional deep dive into Min Yoongi’s a.k.a SUGA a.k.a AGUST D world. It started innocently enough: a quick search to refresh my memory of his discography. But then one song led to another, and another, until I was buried in hours of music he’d produced, lyrics he’d written, and performances that made me forget why I was so hesitant in the first place. Scrolling through fan edits and live clips, I couldn’t help but be charmed. There was a reason people adored him, not just for his talent, but for the quiet charisma that seeped through the screen. His easy confidence, the way he handled himself on stage and in interviews, was magnetic.
"Focus," I muttered to myself, shaking off the distraction. But the deeper I went into his work, the harder it was to ignore his genius.
His music was haunting, intricate, and raw. The kind of art that pulled you into someone’s soul, no matter how much they tried to hide. I couldn’t help but wonder how someone with this much expertise got stuck?
By the time dawn broke, I called Minji. "Minji," I said the moment she answered, her voice still groggy. "I’ll do it."
"Wait, what? You’re serious?" she asked, clearly surprised.
"Yes, but on one condition."
"Name it."
"No one finds out who I am. If my identity leaks, I’m out."
Minji exhaled sharply. "We’ll make sure of it. I’ll talk to the higher-ups and confirm everything. Thank you, Y/N. This is the right decision."
I wasn’t sure if it was the right decision, but it was the one I’d made.
The next couple of days blurred into a whirlwind of paperwork. Contracts, NDAs, and endless signatures filled my time, the reality of the collaboration sinking in more and more with each passing document. Ironically, a small part of me hoped that Min Yoongi would refuse to sign the NDA. Maybe he’d see the clause about not sharing my identity, find it too ridiculous, and decide the collaboration wasn’t worth it.
But no.
He signed it.
When Minji told me, I stared at her like she’d grown a second head. "He signed it?"
"Yeah," she said, looking just as surprised. "No arguments, no complaints. Honestly, I thought he’d push back, but he didn’t."
I leaned back in my chair, letting out a long breath. "This guy… He’s full of surprises."
"Don’t get your hopes up," Minji warned. "Just because he signed doesn’t mean this will be smooth sailing."
"I know," I muttered. But in the back of my mind, I couldn’t help but wonder. How different was the man behind the screen, the one whose music I’d admired for a while, from the person I was about to meet?
***
A few days later, everything was finalized. Minji and I were contacted by Jihoon, one of the team members who worked closely with Suga.
"He’s coming to pick us up personally?" I asked Minji, eyebrows raised as I adjusted my headphones around my neck.
"Apparently," Minji replied, glancing at her phone. "Guess he wants to make sure we actually show up."
When Jihoon arrived, he was younger than I expected, his energy warm and casual. He greeted Minji with a polite bow and a bright smile, then turned to me. For a moment, his expression faltered, his eyes darting behind me like he was waiting for someone else to appear.
"Uh… Hi," he said, looking between Minji and me. "You’re both here for Suga, right?"
"Yes," Minji answered smoothly. "This is K." She gestured toward me.
Jihoon blinked, confusion written all over his face. "Wait… You’re Producer K?"
I gave him a tight-lipped smile. "That’s me."
"You’re kidding," he said, then immediately looked apologetic. "I mean, sorry, I just—uh—"
"You were expecting someone else?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Kind of, yeah," he admitted, scratching the back of his neck sheepishly. "No offense, but I thought you’d be, you know…"
"A guy," I finished for him, crossing my arms.
He laughed awkwardly. "Well, yeah. I mean, your music has this… vibe. It’s not what I’d expect from—" He cut himself off again, realizing he wasn’t helping.
"From a woman?" I challenged, though there was no malice in my tone.
"Not what I meant!" Jihoon exclaimed, waving his hands. "It’s just…forget it. I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to offend you."
Minji chuckled, patting him on the shoulder. "Don’t worry. She gets that a lot."
I didn’t hold it against him. The entire point of my stage name was to avoid this kind of reaction, but moments like these reminded me why I kept my identity under wraps. Jihoon composed himself quickly and gestured toward the sleek black van parked nearby. "Anyway, let’s get going. Suga’s waiting for us at HYBE."
***
The drive to HYBE was surprisingly pleasant. Jihoon was chatty, making an effort to ease the awkwardness of our initial interaction.
"So," he began, glancing at me through the rear-view mirror, "I’m curious. How long have you been producing?"
"About six years," I replied.
"Wow, and you’re already working with Suga," he said, genuinely impressed. "That’s not something just anyone gets to do."
"I’m aware," I said, keeping my tone neutral. "It’s a privilege."
He nodded. "Have you been a fan of his music for a while?"
I hesitated. "I respect his work. He’s incredibly talented."
Jihoon grinned knowingly. "You’re downplaying it, huh? That’s fine. Most people get nervous meeting him for the first time. Don’t worry, he’s actually a lot nicer than people think."
Minji let out a quiet laugh beside me. "I don’t think nervousness is the issue here."
Jihoon glanced between us, confused but wisely decided not to press further.
***
Pulling up to HYBE’s towering building was intimidating, to say the least. I’d seen pictures online, of course, but being there in person was a different experience.
"Here we are," Jihoon announced as he parked the van.
As we stepped out, I adjusted my hoodie, making sure it covered my face as much as possible. Even with the NDA in place, I couldn’t shake the paranoia of being recognized. Jihoon led us through the back entrance, avoiding the main lobby and elevators filled with staff and trainees. "We’re heading straight to the studio," he explained. "He’s already there."
The walk felt longer than it probably was, my heart pounding with a mix of anxiety and anticipation. When we finally reached the studio, Jihoon paused at the door, turning to us.
"Ready?" he asked.
"As I’ll ever be," I replied, tightening my grip on my laptop case.
He opened the door, and there he was, Min Yoongi, sitting in front of a massive console, his back to us.
He turned at the sound of the door, his expression neutral as he stood to greet us. His gaze swept over Minji first, then landed on me. For a moment, he said nothing, his sharp eyes scanning me from head to toe. Then he frowned, looking at Jihoon.
"This is K?" he asked, his tone sceptical.
Jihoon winced. "Uh, yeah. This is K."
Yoongi’s frown deepened as he crossed his arms. "You’re joking, right?"
I stepped forward, meeting his gaze head-on. "Last time I checked, I’m not a joke."
His eyes narrowed slightly, his expression unreadable. "You’re not what I expected."
"Good," I said, setting my laptop on the table. "Let’s get started."
Yoongi smirked, leaning against the edge of the console, arms crossed. His sharp gaze never left me as he added, "I have to say, your previous work didn’t exactly… scream ‘feminine touch.’ If anything, I thought you’d walk in here with a beard and flannel shirt."
I blinked, caught off guard. "Excuse me?"
Jihoon coughed awkwardly, stepping back as if distancing himself from Yoongi’s comment. Minji shot him a warning look, but I could see the corners of her mouth twitching like she was trying not to laugh.
Yoongi raised a hand, his smirk widening. "No offense. I’m just saying your music has this raw, almost aggressive energy. It’s impressive. I just didn’t picture..." He motioned vaguely toward me. "...this."
Minji quickly interjected, "Alright, we’ll leave you two to it. Jihoon and I have some things to take care of."
"Wait—" I started, but Minji grabbed Jihoon by the sleeve and dragged him toward the door.
"You’ll be fine," she called over her shoulder. "Just... play nice, both of you."
The door shut with a soft click, and I was left staring at Yoongi, who looked far too amused for my liking.
"Let me guess," I said, narrowing my eyes. "You think this whole thing is a waste of time, right? That I’m here because someone in your company thought you needed ‘help.’"
He shrugged, moving to his chair and spinning it lazily before sitting down. "Help isn’t the word I’d use. But yeah, I wasn’t exactly thrilled about this arrangement."
"Trust me," I said flatly, "neither was I."
That earned a low chuckle from him. "At least we’re on the same page."
I took a deep breath, trying to keep my irritation in check. I’d dealt with condescending colleagues before, but Yoongi’s nonchalant attitude was already grating on my nerves. How different was he from the Yoongi I’d seen in interviews or fan videos? This guy wasn’t the soft-spoken, thoughtful artist fans adored. He was sharp, blunt, and entirely too smug.
"Let’s just get to work," I said, pulling out my laptop and external drive. "You have lyrics, right? Show me what you’ve got."
Yoongi grabbed a notebook from the desk and slid it across the table. "Here. Three tracks I’m stuck on. The lyrics are solid, but I can’t find the right sound to match them."
I flipped through the pages, skimming the lines. His handwriting was neat but compact, and the lyrics were, as expected, incredible. Emotionally raw, introspective, and layered with meaning. They demanded a melody that could do them justice.
"What’s the vibe you’re going for?" I asked, keeping my tone professional.
Yoongi tapped his fingers on the desk, his expression thoughtful. "Something atmospheric. A mix of minimalistic and haunting, but with enough depth to make it feel powerful. Think piano-driven but layered with electronic textures. I want it to hit hard emotionally but not overwhelm the lyrics."
I nodded, already forming ideas in my head. "Okay, let’s try something."
Opening my laptop, I connected it to the studio’s system and pulled up my digital audio workstation. I started layering a simple chord progression on the piano, experimenting with minor chords to create the moody tone he wanted. Yoongi watched silently for a moment before leaning forward. "No, that’s too soft. It needs more tension."
I adjusted the progression, adding a dissonant note to the second chord. "Better?"
He nodded. "Yeah. Now bring in a low synth pad to fill it out."
I worked quickly, adding the synth and tweaking the sound to give it a subtle pulse. The room filled with the beginnings of a melody, and for a moment, the tension between us eased as we both focused on the music.
"Not bad," Yoongi muttered, almost to himself. "But it still feels... flat."
I bit back a retort, reminding myself that this was his music. "What do you suggest?"
He leaned back, closing his eyes as he listened. "The transition between the first and second chords needs more weight. Maybe a reversed sample or a swell to build anticipation."
I nodded, grabbing a sample from my library and reversing it. After a few adjustments, I played it back. The swell added a subtle but impactful build to the transition.
Yoongi opened his eyes and smiled faintly. "That’s better."
"Glad I could meet your standards," I said dryly.
He chuckled again, the sound low and almost teasing. "Relax. I’m not here to make this harder than it has to be."
"Could’ve fooled me," I muttered under my breath, earning another amused glance from him.
Despite his initial scepticism, Yoongi was a perfectionist, and that part of him was something I could respect. He pushed for the smallest details, catching nuances that most producers might overlook. But he also didn’t hold back his opinions, which made working with him both frustrating and oddly invigorating.
As the hours passed, we fell into a rhythm. He’d point out what wasn’t working, I’d offer a solution, and we’d tweak it until we found something we both liked. By the time we wrapped up for the day, we’d made significant progress on the first track. The rough demo already had a haunting, melancholic energy that complemented his lyrics perfectly. Yoongi leaned back in his chair, stretching his arms above his head. "Not bad for our first day."
"Let’s hope tomorrow’s just as productive," I said, saving the project file.
He smirked, standing up and grabbing his notebook. "We’ll see. You’re not as bad as I thought you’d be."
"Gee, thanks," I said, rolling my eyes. "You’re a real charmer."
"Only when I want to be," he shot back, heading for the door.
As he left, I let out a long breath, leaning back in my chair. Working with him was exhausting, but I couldn’t deny the excitement bubbling under my frustration. For all his arrogance, Yoongi was undeniably talented, and I found myself looking forward to the challenge of working with him.
***
The next morning, Yoongi and I sat in the studio reviewing the progress from the day before. The demo played softly in the background, and while it sounded promising, there were a few sections that felt off.
"We need to rework this transition," Yoongi said, pointing at the waveform on the screen. "It’s too abrupt. It needs more build-up."
I nodded, fingers hovering over the keyboard. "Agreed. Maybe adding a soft vocal sample or layering the synth more would smooth it out."
"Try it," he said, leaning back in his chair with a thoughtful expression.
As I adjusted the track, Yoongi’s phone buzzed on the table. He glanced at the screen, frowned, and stood up. "I need to take this. Keep working. I’ll be back."
He left the room without another word, the door clicking shut behind him. I sighed and refocused on the track, tweaking the layers as the melody slowly started to evolve. But after about twenty minutes, I decided to take a break. My coffee from earlier had caught up with me, and I needed to find the bathroom.
Stepping into the hallway, I started down the corridor when I heard Yoongi’s voice from around the corner. I paused, not wanting to interrupt, but something about his tone made me linger.
"...So yeah, Jihoon, I didn’t know she was a girl," he was saying.
I froze, my pulse quickening.
"I mean, if I’d known that was the case, maybe I would’ve pushed back harder at the beginning. Told them I didn’t need the help. She’s okay and talented, sure, but there are other producers out there who could’ve done this just as well."
My stomach twisted. Was that really what he thought of me? I took a step back, the faint creak of my shoe on the floor startling me. Afraid he might notice, I turned and quickly walked the other way, heading toward the nearest staircase to find another bathroom. I didn’t want to hear anything else.
After finally finding a bathroom and giving myself a moment to cool down, I headed back to the studio. I was determined not to let Yoongi know I’d overheard him, but my annoyance simmered beneath the surface. When I stepped back into the room, he was already there, seated casually at the console like he hadn’t just dismissed my abilities a few minutes ago.
"Done with your break?" he asked, not looking up as he scrolled through the project file.
"Yeah," I replied shortly, taking my seat across from him.
He raised an eyebrow, glancing at me briefly. "You okay? You sound... off."
"Just tired," I said, forcing a neutral tone.
He didn’t seem convinced, but he didn’t press the issue. "Alright. Let’s pick up where we left off."
We dove back into the work, but my responses to his suggestions were clipped.
"That transition is too smooth," he said at one point. "It needs more contrast."
"Fine," I replied curtly, adjusting the settings without looking at him.
A few minutes later, he frowned at another section. "This part feels like it’s missing something. Maybe we should—"
"Add another layer?" I interrupted. "I know. Already on it."
Yoongi blinked at me, surprised by my tone. "What’s with the attitude?"
"Nothing," I said quickly, not meeting his gaze.
"Doesn’t seem like nothing," he said, leaning back in his chair. "If you’ve got something to say, just say it."
I clenched my jaw, my fingers tightening around the mouse. "I don’t have anything to say, Yoongi. Let’s just get this done, okay?"
His eyes narrowed slightly, and for a moment, I thought he might push further. But then he shrugged, turning back to the monitor. "Whatever you say."
The tension in the room was palpable, and it didn’t go unnoticed by him.
"Look," he said after a long silence, his voice softer but still firm, "if something’s bothering you, it’s better to air it out now. We’re supposed to be a team, remember?"
I laughed humourlessly. "Team? Right."
Yoongi sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Okay, what did I do? You were fine this morning, and now you’re acting like I kicked your dog."
I hesitated, torn between calling him out and keeping what I’d heard to myself. In the end, I shook my head. "It’s nothing. Let’s just focus on the music."
He didn’t look convinced, but he let it drop, his focus returning to the track. For the rest of the session, I kept my replies short, my tone professional but distant. If he noticed, he didn’t comment again. But as I left the studio that evening, I couldn’t shake the sting of his words. He might think I was talented, but apparently, that wasn’t enough.
***
Sunday was a rare blessing, my day off, a chance to breathe away from the suffocating confines of the studio and Min Yoongi. The contract was clear: three months to collaborate on three tracks for his upcoming album. That deadline loomed over every interaction, and yet, the past week had felt like a year.
I sat across from Minji at our favourite café, the smell of freshly brewed coffee mingling with the faint hum of chatter around us. She was nursing her caramel latte, her expression a mix of curiosity and concern.
"Okay, spill," she said, leaning forward. "How’s it going with Yoongi? Are you two getting along?"
I scoffed, stirring my drink with unnecessary aggression. "Getting along? Not even close. He’s impossible."
Minji raised an eyebrow. "Impossible how? Isn’t he just... quiet and focused?"
"Quiet? Sure. Focused? Definitely. But it’s like working with a brick wall that also has an opinion on everything. He’s a perfectionist to the point where it’s unbearable. We made progress on a track, a full week’s worth of progress, and on Friday, he decided he didn’t like it and scrapped the whole thing. We’re starting from scratch tomorrow."
Her eyes widened. "He threw it all away? After a week? Was it really that bad?"
I shook my head, frustration bubbling to the surface. "No, it wasn’t bad. It was good, really good, actually. But it wasn’t perfect by his standards. He nit-picks every little thing, and don’t even get me started on his work ethic. The man doesn’t stop. I get it, he’s Yoongi, he’s supposed to be this genius producer or whatever. But does he have to be so infuriating?"
Minji smiled sympathetically, sipping her latte. "Well, you knew this wasn’t going to be easy. He’s got a reputation for a reason. But isn’t it a good challenge? You’re working with one of the best."
I leaned back in my chair, staring at the ceiling. "I thought it would be different, you know? I had this idea of him in my head. This brilliant, creative artist who would respect me as a collaborator. Instead, he’s... cold, demanding, and so stubborn."
Minji chuckled. "Sounds like he’s met his match."
I rolled my eyes but couldn’t help the small smile tugging at my lips. "Oh, please. If he’s met his match, he doesn’t realize it. He probably just sees me as another producer he has to tolerate."
"That’s not true," Minji said, shaking her head. "You’re talented, Y/N. He’ll see it eventually."
I sighed, taking a long sip of my coffee. "I hope so, because right now, it feels like we’re just butting heads. He questions everything I do. And don’t even get me started on his attitude. He’s so... smug sometimes."
"Smug how?"
"Like—ugh!" I gestured vaguely, trying to find the words. "It’s the way he looks at me, like he’s constantly judging whether I’m good enough to be there. He doesn’t say it outright, but I can tell he’s thinking it. And it drives me insane."
Minji laughed, leaning back in her chair. "You’ve got it bad, huh?"
"Bad?" I asked, narrowing my eyes. "Bad as in annoyed? Yes. Bad as in anything else? Absolutely not."
"Sure," she said, her tone teasing.
I groaned, burying my face in my hands. "You’re impossible."
Minji grinned, nudging my arm. "You know, maybe this is good for you. A little friction can spark creativity. And who knows? Maybe he’s just testing you."
"Testing me?" I repeated, giving her a sceptical look.
"Yeah. Like, seeing how far you’re willing to push yourself. Maybe he’s trying to figure you out."
"Or maybe he’s just a workaholic control freak," I muttered.
Minji laughed, raising her hands in mock surrender. "Okay, okay. Point taken. But don’t let him get under your skin too much. You’ve got this, Y/N. And who knows? By the end of three months, maybe you’ll even like him."
I snorted. "Not a chance."
But as much as I hated to admit it, her words stuck with me.
***
The following week was no easier than the first. Yoongi and I worked tirelessly in the studio, bouncing ideas off each other, experimenting with melodies, and layering sounds. For every step forward, there seemed to be two steps back.
"This bassline isn’t strong enough," Yoongi said on Tuesday, frowning at the speakers.
"I think it works," I argued. "It’s subtle, but it adds depth to the track."
"Subtle isn’t what we’re going for," he countered.
"And what are we going for, exactly?" I asked, crossing my arms.
He gave me a look, the corner of his mouth twitching like he was holding back a smirk. "Something better than this."
I wanted to throw my notebook at him.
By Wednesday, we’d managed to salvage some of the earlier work, only for Yoongi to suggest another round of revisions.
"You’re kidding," I said, staring at him.
"Do I look like I’m kidding?" he replied, completely serious.
"Do you ever smile?" I shot back.
He raised an eyebrow. "Do you?"
The tension between us was constant, a tug-of-war where neither of us was willing to back down. And yet, beneath the frustration, there was a strange kind of rhythm to our interactions. As much as I disliked him, I couldn’t deny that he was brilliant. Watching him work was like witnessing a master at his craft, every decision precise, every movement deliberate. But that didn’t mean I liked him. And I certainly wasn’t going to let him know just how much I respected his talent.
***
The afternoon sun filtered through the blinds of the studio, casting soft golden stripes across the equipment. I was at the workstation, tweaking some samples on my laptop while Yoongi stepped out for a meeting, or whatever it was he disappeared to.
The door opened suddenly, and I assumed it was him coming back. "Did you finally decide to—"
I froze mid-sentence as someone entirely different walked in. The man was tall, with a warm smile and an unmistakable energy that lit up the room. His eyes scanned the studio until they landed on me, his confusion immediately evident.
"Uh… hi?" he said, his smile faltering slightly. "I’m looking for Yoongi. Did I walk into the wrong room? I am pretty sure this is the right one though..." he started scratching the top of his head, clearly confused.
"No, this is the right place," I replied, standing awkwardly. "He just stepped out for a bit."
His eyebrows shot up, and he pointed at me with a mix of curiosity and disbelief. "Wait—who are you? Why is there… a girl in here?"
I frowned, crossing my arms. "What’s that supposed to mean? Girls aren’t allowed in studios now?"
His hands shot up defensively, and he chuckled nervously. "No, no! That’s not what I meant! It’s just… Yoongi didn’t mention working with someone new today. And you’re clearly not Jihoon."
"Clearly," I said dryly.
He laughed again, but this time it sounded more genuine. "Okay, let me start over. I’m Hoseok, but you probably know me as J-Hope."
Ah, then it clicked , of course it was J-Hope. His sunny demeanour didn’t match the grumpy energy Yoongi radiated, though, which was a refreshing change.
"Nice to meet you," I said, offering a polite nod. "I’m Y/N."
Hoseok’s expression didn’t change for a moment as if he were trying to process something. Then he grinned, leaning slightly closer like he’d just discovered something exciting.
"Wait a second," he said, his tone playfully suspicious. "I’m not even supposed to be here, you know. I heard Yoongi was working with the producer K who doesn’t even disclose their identity, but I just couldn’t resist. I love the music that K has done, so I had to come meet him. Will sign an NDA and everything."
I felt a twinge of amusement at his enthusiasm but kept my expression neutral. Something told me it was okay for him to know. "Well, congratulations. You just met… him."
Hoseok blinked, and then his jaw dropped dramatically as he pointed at me. "No way!"
"Way," I said, trying not to laugh.
His hand flew to his chest as if he were clutching imaginary pearls. "That’s why Yoongi didn’t even say anything when I begged for details! He just said, ‘There’s an NDA in place’ and refused to elaborate."
"Pretty much," I replied with a shrug.
Hoseok stared at me for a beat longer before a wide grin spread across his face. "You’re good. Like, really good. I’ve been following your work, but I never would’ve guessed you were… Well, you!"
I chuckled, shaking my head. "Is that a compliment or a subtle way of saying I don’t look the part?"
"No, no, definitely a compliment," he said quickly, waving his hands. "It’s just… Yoongi’s been extra secretive about this whole thing. And now I see why."
"Yeah, well," I said, gesturing vaguely around the room, "he’s not exactly a ray of sunshine to work with."
Hoseok laughed loudly, his shoulders shaking. "Trust me, I know. But if you’re still here, that means you’re tougher than most. Or really patient."
"Or both," I muttered under my breath.
Hoseok’s grin widened, and he gave me a mock salute. "Well, K—er, Y/N—it’s an honor to meet you. Seriously. Your work speaks for itself."
He continued, a small smile playing on his lips. "Trust me, when I say this, Yoongi wouldn’t work with you if you weren’t talented. He’s picky about these things. So if he’s giving you a hard time, it’s probably because he knows you’re good enough to keep up with him."
I blinked, caught off guard by the compliment. "That’s… nice of you to say."
"Just calling it like I see it," he said with a shrug.
Before I could respond, the door opened again, and Yoongi walked in. His eyes flicked between me and Hoseok, his expression unreadable.
"What are you doing here?" he asked Hoseok, his tone laced with mild irritation.
Hoseok grinned, completely unfazed. "Came by to check on you, of course. But I see you’re in good hands."
Yoongi’s gaze shifted to me, and for a moment, I thought I saw a flicker of something—annoyance? Curiosity? It was hard to tell.
"Don’t you have your own schedule to worry about?" Yoongi asked, walking over to his desk.
"I’m on a break," Hoseok replied cheerfully. "And besides, I wanted to meet your mystery producer. You could’ve mentioned she’s not a guy, by the way."
Yoongi’s jaw tightened slightly, but he didn’t respond. Instead, he focused on the stack of notes in front of him, clearly dismissing the conversation.
"Well," Hoseok said, standing up and stretching, "I’ll leave you two to it. Nice meeting you, Y/N."
"Nice meeting you too," I said, watching as he strolled out of the room.
The door clicked shut behind him, leaving Yoongi and me alone again.
"You’ve been busy making friends," he said, not looking up from his papers.
"Is that a problem?" I asked, arching an eyebrow.
He glanced at me, his expression unreadable. "Just don’t let him distract you. We’ve got work to do."
"Wouldn’t dream of it," I said, turning back to my laptop with a hint of sarcasm.
Yoongi didn’t push further, but I could feel his gaze linger on me for a moment before he returned to his papers. But as I settled back into the project, I couldn’t help but think about what Hoseok had said. Maybe Yoongi’s high standards weren’t a bad thing. Maybe, just maybe, they were proof that he saw something in me worth pushing for.
***
The next day, I walked into the studio, ready to dive into the work, but there was something off in the air. Yoongi was sitting at his desk, staring at his screen, tapping his pen rhythmically on the surface. It was a subtle change, but it didn’t escape me, he wasn’t his usual, calm and collected self.
I sat down at my workstation, glancing over at him. He was clearly deep in thought, but there was an edge to his silence today that felt... different. More charged. I wondered if it had anything to do with yesterday’s interaction with Hoseok. Yoongi didn’t acknowledge my arrival, which was typical, but today his lack of response felt unusually pointed. After a long, tense silence, he finally spoke without looking up.
“Didn’t you want your identity a secret?” His voice was cold, almost accusatory.
I froze.
“Excuse me?” I asked, trying to hide the annoyance creeping up my neck.
“Talking to Hoseok yesterday," he continued, now looking at me with an unreadable expression. "The whole 'I can’t reveal my identity' thing. So why are you suddenly so comfortable with him knowing?"
I felt a flash of irritation surge through me, but I kept my voice level.
“I never said I was ‘comfortable’ with it,” I replied. “I’m just doing my job. And I don’t owe you an explanation about my personal decisions”.
He narrowed his eyes, as if trying to read between the lines, but said nothing more. The tension hung heavy in the room as he returned to his screen, though his fingers seemed to hesitate over the keys. I couldn’t help but scoff under my breath. What did he think? That I just decided to throw away years of carefully cultivated anonymity for fun? Minji had already alerted me that J-hope had also signed the NDA. I glanced at the clock on the wall.
“Let’s just get to work,” I said, my tone clipped, trying to deflect from the awkwardness of his question. “You said you wanted to tweak the second verse.”
“Yeah," he muttered, still not meeting my gaze, "but now I’m wondering if I even want to keep collaborating with someone who can’t keep things private.”
There it was again. That little jab. He wasn’t even trying to hide it. I gritted my teeth, my patience thinning.
“I’ve been working in this industry for years, Yoongi,” I said, fighting to keep my composure. “Long before this project. I know what’s at stake. Don’t lecture me about privacy.”
He finally glanced up, his eyes meeting mine. There was a flicker of something, was it guilt? But he quickly masked it with his usual indifference.
“Right,” he said, standing up and walking toward the soundboard. “Let’s get this over with.”
The rest of the session passed with both of us avoiding eye contact as much as possible. Despite the friction, we did manage to make some progress. I’d never admit it aloud, but Yoongi was damn good at what he did. Even when he was being insufferable. After a while, he took a deep breath, rubbing his temples like he was trying to stave off a headache.
“You’re not what I thought you’d be,” he muttered, half to himself.
I raised an eyebrow. “Oh? And what did you expect?”
He gave me a sideways glance, not quite meeting my eyes.
“I don’t know,” he said slowly. “Maybe someone more... calculated. Or quieter.”
“Is that so?” I shot back, my voice laced with sarcasm. “Because I thought you liked chaos in your music.”
He smirked at that, but the tension still lingered between us, thick and unresolved.
As the day wore on, we continued to push through, though it was clear neither of us was really in the mood for any small talk or the usual banter. The chemistry that had started to form in previous days was gone, replaced by an almost uncomfortable distance. I finally stood up to stretch, my back aching from sitting for so long. Yoongi glanced at me, his expression unreadable.
“You’re leaving?” he asked, voice cool, as though he didn’t care.
“Yeah. I’m going to grab something to eat,” I replied curtly, gathering my things.
Halfway through gathering my things, for a split second, I thought I saw Yoongi open his mouth as if he was about to say something. Maybe it was the exhaustion on his face or just the weird tension between us, but for a brief second, I thought, just maybe, he was going to offer to grab something to eat with me. Instead, he just turned away, his back to me as he focused on his work. I blinked, swallowing the unexpected disappointment that bubbled up. What was I even expecting? It wasn’t like we were friends. Shaking off the weird feeling, I grabbed my bag and left the studio, the door clicking shut behind me.
***
Once I got to the company’s cafeteria, I was finally able to relax. The soft buzz of voices and clinking silverware was a welcome break from the tension in the studio. I grabbed a tray and found a seat by the window, trying my best to shove aside any thoughts of Yoongi.
He was a talented producer, no doubt, but the way he treated me was... irritating. I shouldn’t have expected anything different. This was business, not friendship, and I had no time to be distracted by someone who probably saw me as just another collaborator, nothing more.
I opened my notebook and jotted down a few ideas for the next two songs we still needed to work on. The first song was nearly done, but we’d been working on it for two weeks, and I wasn’t sure how to feel about it. It was slow progress, and I could already feel the deadline creeping closer.
I was so deep in thought, sketching out some melodies, that I didn’t notice Hoseok standing in front of me until he waved his hand in front of my face.
“Y/N?” He raised an eyebrow, looking amused.
I jumped a little, then glanced up at him. “Oh, hey, Hoseok. Didn’t see you there.”
He slid into the seat across from me, still grinning like he knew something I didn’t. Hoseok leaned back in his chair, his eyes scanning me curiously. “So, how’s it going? He’s not making it too hard for you, is he?”
I almost snorted at the question. “Hard? That’s an understatement. But yeah, I’m surviving. We’re getting somewhere.”
He raised his eyebrows, clearly surprised. “I didn’t think you’d be the type to get along with Yoongi so easily. He’s a bit... stubborn, right?”
I shrugged, taking a bite of my food to avoid answering too directly.
“You’d be surprised what I can tolerate,” I said, feeling defensive for some reason.
Hoseok tilted his head, his gaze sharp. “I guess so. But you know, it’s funny.”
I looked up from my food, confused. “What’s funny?”
Hoseok smirked. “I didn’t think you’d be the type to be such a fan of Yoongi’s music.”
I blinked, unsure if I heard him right. “What do you mean?”
Hoseok just pointed at my phone on the table, where I’d left it open to a playlist of Yoongi’s songs.
I froze, then quickly reached to hide it, but it was too late. Hoseok’s grin widened.
“You know, I really didn’t expect that,” he said, leaning in a little closer, his tone teasing. “I mean, I always knew Yoongi’s music was good, but seeing you listen to it like that... I got to admit, I’m curious what you think of it.”
I felt heat rise to my cheeks. “I’m just... trying to learn more about him, okay? It’s part of the job.”
“Sure, sure,” Hoseok said, still grinning. “I mean, I get it. He’s got a certain... appeal. But hey, don’t let it distract you too much. He’s not the easiest person to get close to.”
“Yeah, I’ve noticed,” I muttered, returning to my food, trying to act like I wasn’t the least bit fazed.
Hoseok studied me for a moment, then leaned back in his chair with a thoughtful expression.
“Well, if you want my advice...” He grinned again, his eyes mischievous. “Try not to fall for the music and the man, yeah?”
I choked slightly on my food, coughing. “What?!”
Hoseok laughed, clearly enjoying my reaction. “I’m just saying, Y/N, don’t get too swept up in it all. Yoongi’s a complicated guy. He’s not someone who’ll make things easy.”
I scowled, but there was a small part of me that couldn’t help but appreciate Hoseok’s frankness. “I’m not falling for anything, Hoseok. I’m just here to do my job.”
Hoseok just winked and stood up. “Whatever you say. But if you do need to talk about him... I’m always around.”
Hoseok paused, about to turn around before he shot me a sly grin over his shoulder. “Actually… I don’t know if you’re comfortable with all this yet, so you don’t have to if you don’t want to. But I’m known for throwing some pretty epic parties around here,” he said, his tone playful. “I’m throwing one at the company soon, gathering the staff, and some of the BTS members will be there too.”
I raised an eyebrow, confused at where this was going. “A party?”
“Yeah, and I can introduce you as the ‘Assistant of Producer K,’ so you won’t have to expose your identity if you’re worried about that. It’ll be low-key, just a way for you to get used to the vibe here. Who knows? You might even get a chance to chat with Yoongi... outside of the studio.” He smirked, his gaze lingering on me as if he could see through the walls I’d built up. “You can bring a plus-one too, if you want.”
It was tempting, especially with the idea of getting out of this studio for a while. Plus, Hoseok seemed genuine, and I didn’t want to just keep hiding away in my little corner of the world.
Still, I was cautious. This wasn’t my scene, and I wasn’t sure I was ready to step into the spotlight, especially if it meant running into Yoongi in a setting like that. The thought of it made my stomach flip.
“I’ll think about it,” I said, trying to sound neutral.
Hoseok grinned, clearly satisfied with my answer. “Take your time. You know where to find me if you decide.”
With that, he left, leaving me alone with my thoughts.
I sat there for a moment, turning the invitation over in my head. A party? An opportunity to get used to the vibes, meet people, and possibly see Yoongi in a completely different light. It could be good for me to step out of my shell, get out of my head for a bit. But... was I ready for that?
I shook my head, pushing those thoughts aside for now. There was no need to make decisions in a rush. I’d think about it later.
I finished eating in silence, trying to push all the thoughts about Hoseok’s offer out of my head. It wasn’t like me to just drop everything for a party, but something about the idea of getting out of the studio, meeting people, and maybe getting a chance to see Yoongi in a less... tense environment intrigued me. But I couldn’t focus on that now.
I stood up, pushing my tray toward the dirty dish bin, and made my way back to the studio. As I walked through the hallway, I couldn’t help but feel a strange sense of déjà vu. It was like I’d just left, but already it felt like I’d been away too long. The faint hum of the studio's equipment reached my ears before I even stepped through the door.
When I entered, the first thing I noticed was Yoongi, still at his spot, but now with a bowl of noodles in front of him. The faint smell of the broth hit me, and I couldn't help but cringe. Didn’t he ever leave this place?
Yoongi looked up from his meal, barely acknowledging me as I entered. "You’re back," he muttered, his voice a little muffled by a mouthful of noodles.
"Yeah," I said, letting the door close behind me. "Still working, I see."
“Of course,” he replied, the tone in his voice sounding almost too casual. "The faster we finish this, the sooner we can move on to the next track."
I dropped my bag onto the table and pulled my chair out. “That’s the problem, isn’t it? You keep rushing through everything, thinking you can just ‘move on’ from one song to the next. But this isn’t a race, Yoongi.”
He looked at me sharply, his brows furrowing. "I'm not rushing anything. We need to get this done before the deadline, and you can’t expect me to just waste time on something that isn’t working."
I stared at him, my patience thinning. “You’re not even open to trying something new. Every idea I suggest gets shot down, but you’re so attached to this ‘perfect’ vision of yours. Well, guess what? Perfect doesn’t exist.”
Yoongi set his bowl down, the chopsticks clinking against the edge. “So what, you think I’m not doing my best?” His eyes narrowed, and the room suddenly felt smaller. “You think I don’t care about the quality?”
I leaned back in my chair, crossing my arms. “It’s not about that, Yoongi. You’re too set in your ways. You think your way is the only way, but this is a collaboration. I can’t just keep following your orders. I’m not your assistant.”
He let out a frustrated sigh and rubbed his forehead, like I was the last thing he needed in his life right now. "I never said you were my assistant."
“Then stop treating me like one,” I snapped, feeling my annoyance rise. "I’m not here just to cater to your ideas. If we’re working together, we need to meet in the middle."
The silence stretched between us for a few long moments. Then Yoongi glanced away, exhaling sharply as if trying to push back his own frustration. "Fine," he muttered. "We’ll figure it out. But don’t expect everything to happen overnight."
“I don’t,” I replied dryly. "But I expect respect, which is something you seem to be lacking in."
He didn’t answer right away, just went back to staring at his noodles. For a moment, I thought it might be best to just call it a day and leave, but something about the lingering tension kept me rooted to the spot.
"By the way," I said, the words leaving my mouth before I could second-guess myself. "Hoseok invited me to a party. At the company. I’m thinking about going."
Yoongi’s head snapped up at the mention of Hoseok’s name, and I caught the flash of something in his eyes—a mix of surprise, confusion. It was hard to tell. But whatever it was, it was there, even if he quickly masked it with a smirk.
“Hoseok?” he repeated, almost like he couldn’t believe it. “What’s he got to do with you going to a party?”
"I don’t know," I said, shrugging. "Maybe I’ll go. I might need a break from the studio. Get out of here for a bit. And who knows? It might be nice to talk to someone who isn’t you."
Yoongi didn’t seem pleased with that, but he said nothing. Instead, he shifted in his chair and looked at the screen in front of him, ignoring me completely.
“You’re really not going to let this go, are you?” he asked, his voice low.
“I don’t know,” I replied, leaning forward on my elbows. “You’ve been pretty hard to work with lately. Maybe a break is exactly what I need.”
Yoongi sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I didn’t ask you not to take a break. I’m just... trying to get this done.”
I tilted my head, studying him for a moment. "Fine. Just let me know when you’re ready to actually collaborate. You can stop being so defensive for two seconds."
There was another tense silence before I stood up to leave the room. But as I reached for the door, something inside me—maybe frustration, maybe curiosity—made me turn back.
“By the way,” I said, walking back to Yoongi’s desk. “Could you give me Hoseok’s number? I might need it for the party.”
Yoongi froze for a second, his fingers stopping mid-air as if I’d just thrown him off balance. His eyes narrowed, and for a second, he didn’t say anything.
"Why would you need that?" he finally asked, voice tight.
"Because I need to respond to him if I am showing up or not," I replied, my tone sharp.
Yoongi glared at me but didn’t say anything else, a muscle in his jaw twitching. After a beat, he reluctantly scribbled something down on a piece of paper and slid it toward me. “Here. But if you think I’m going to chase you to the party... you’re wrong.”
I took the paper, glancing at it before shoving it into my pocket. “Thanks. I’ll make sure not to expect you there.”
Without another word, I turned and left, my mind buzzing with more questions than answers. What was going on with Yoongi? And, most importantly... Why did his attitude bother me more than I cared to admit?
***
I grabbed my phone, fingers hovering over the screen before I hit send. The past few days had been a blur of studio time and late-night meals. I needed something to break the routine. So, Thursday evening I finally decided to take Hoseok up on his offer.
Y/N: Hey Hoseok, it's Y/N! I just wanted to double-check the party details again. You said it’s at the company building, right? What time should I be there?
The response was almost immediate, Hoseok’s usual energy practically jumping out of the screen.
Hoseok: Yep! It’s at the company building. We’ll start around 7 PM, but feel free to come anytime after that. You know how these things go. And don’t worry, I’ll make sure you’re introduced properly as “Prod K’s assistant” so no one will know who you really are. It’ll be low-key, promise!
I let out a relieved sigh. That sounded like exactly what I needed … low-key, no expectations, just a chance to escape the studio for a bit.
Y/N: Thanks, that sounds perfect. I’ll be there. Can I bring my friend Minji? She’d love to come.
Hoseok: Of course! Bring whoever you want. It’s all about having a good time. I’m looking forward to seeing you there!
I grinned at the message, feeling a little lighter. At least for one night, I could just focus on having fun and not worry about my identity or working with Yoongi.
Putting my phone down, I leaned back in my chair, letting out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. The whole idea of going to a party sounded so... normal, so different from the chaos I had been drowning in lately. The studio, Yoongi’s sharp comments, and the constant pressure to produce. Maybe this would be a good chance to just... breathe.
I glanced over at the calendar on my desk, mentally counting the days.
The next day, I texted Minji.
Y/N: Hey, I’m going to that party Hoseok invited me to on Sunday. Want to come with me?
Minji: YES YES YES YES. This is going to be so fun! Who else is going?
Y/N: Apparently, all the BTS members will be there too.
Minji: Wait, like ALL of them? Are you serious? We need to plan our outfits then.
Y/N: Just don’t go overboard, okay? Let’s keep it chill.
Minji: You know I can't do “chill” when it comes to parties!
I couldn’t help but laugh at that. Minji was always up for an adventure. I knew she’d be bouncing off the walls all weekend in preparation. I didn’t mind though. If anyone could pull me out of my head and get me excited for something, it was her.
When Saturday evening arrived, the studio was buzzing with an unexpected energy. After three weeks of near-constant back-and-forth, I finally felt like we’d made some real progress. The first song was done. It wasn’t perfect, but it was as close as we could get in such a short time, and for the first time in a while, I felt the weight lift off my shoulders.
I glanced at Yoongi, who had been hunched over his computer screen for hours, typing away at the final tweaks. His brow was furrowed in concentration, but when the last beat dropped into place, he sat back in his chair and let out a long, satisfied sigh.
"We did it," he said, turning his head to meet my eyes.
It wasn’t much, but there was a slight spark in his gaze. A hint of pride, even if he tried to hide it behind his usual indifference.
“Yeah, we did,” I said, unable to stop the small smile tugging at my lips. "It’s... good."
Yoongi paused, eyes locked on mine for a moment before a smirk tugged at the corners of his mouth. "I guess you don’t completely suck at this after all."
I raised an eyebrow, playing along. "I’m glad to know you’re impressed."
We both laughed softly, the tension that had been hanging between us for weeks finally easing. It was a strange feeling, one I wasn’t used to with him, but I couldn’t deny it. It felt... nice. Like we’d just hit a milestone together.
Yoongi extended his hand, and I hesitated for a split second before I went for it, my palm feeling warmer than usual. Our high-five was awkward, neither of us really knowing how to react. But in that brief moment, I realized how unusual it was for us to share something this... simple.
"Congratulations," I said, nodding toward the screen. "We actually did it."
"Yeah," Yoongi replied, his voice softer than I expected. "I’ll see you on Monday, then. We’ll tackle the next one."
I blinked, taken aback for a second. Monday? Just like that, the professional distance came back. I hadn’t expected him to say that so casually, but I guess it was what we were supposed to do: get the work done, pack up, and move on.
But for some reason, as I sat there in the quiet of the studio, a thought lingered. He’s really not coming to the party, huh?
I glanced over at him, but Yoongi was already packing up his things, seemingly focused on getting out of the studio as quickly as possible. He didn’t even look back at me as he gathered his notes and the leftover snacks we had both been snacking on throughout the day.
I stood up and grabbed my bag, deciding it was better to just let it go. No need to dwell on something that wasn’t going to happen. He was Yoongi, professional, distant Yoongi. He wasn’t someone who would show up to a party for fun.
"Alright," I said, the awkwardness settling back into my chest. "See you Monday, I guess."
Yoongi glanced over at me for a brief moment, nodding. "Yeah. See you."
As I left the studio, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something had shifted, but I couldn’t place what. Maybe it was just the relief of finally finishing the first song. Or maybe it was just the weird dynamic between us, the unexpected moments of quiet camaraderie that had popped up over the last few days.
But as I stepped out of the building, I realized how much I was looking forward to the party on Sunday. It was the break I needed.
***
Sunday evening came faster than I expected. Minji showed up at my apartment just as I was pulling out a few potential outfits from my closet. She threw her bag on the couch and plopped herself down with a dramatic sigh.
“Finally, a party!” she exclaimed, leaning back and stretching like she’d just run a marathon. “We’ve been cooped up with that brooding genius for weeks. We need this.”
I rolled my eyes, laying a sleek black turtleneck dress over the back of the chair. “It’s not ‘we’. I’m the one stuck with him in the studio.”
Minji snorted. “You say that like I’m not the one dealing with your constant texts complaining about how annoying he is. ‘Minji, he’s impossible. Minji, he’s a perfectionist. Minji, he’s so irritatingly—’”
“Okay, okay,” I interrupted, throwing a pillow at her. “I get it.”
She caught the pillow with a grin. “Admit it, though. You’re starting to like working with him, aren’t you?”
“Like is a strong word,” I muttered, holding up a dark green dress and then discarding it. “We finally finished one song yesterday. That’s it.”
“But you’re not denying it.” She smirked, standing up to rummage through the pile of clothes I’d pulled out. “Ooh, this one’s cute.”
She held up a sequined gold dress, and I shook my head immediately. “Too flashy. I’m not trying to stand out. Just look professional and approachable.”
Minji rolled her eyes. “You know this is a party, right? Not a corporate meeting?”
“Still. I want to keep a low profile,” I said, picking up the black turtleneck dress. It was tight enough to show some curves but modest enough to feel professional, with long sleeves and a hemline that hit just above the knees. “What about this?”
Minji tilted her head, considering. “It’s very you. Chic, understated, mysterious. And Yoongi’s probably going to notice you in it.”
I groaned. “Not everything is about Yoongi!“
Minji raised an eyebrow, smirking as she flopped onto the couch. “Oh, really? If it’s not about Yoongi, then why are you quoting him like he’s living rent-free in your head?”
I rolled my eyes, crossing my arms. “Because it’s relevant! When I told him Hoseok invited me, Yoongi literally said, ‘But if you think I’m going to chase you to the party... you’re wrong.’ And yesterday, after we finished the song, he ended with, ‘See you Monday.’” I huffed. “He couldn’t have been clearer about not showing up.”
Minji snorted. “Wow. He really went out of his way to make sure you knew, huh?”
“Exactly.” I tossed the dress onto the bed. “So, can we drop this whole ‘Yoongi might surprise you at the party’ thing? It’s not happening.”
Minji held up her hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. No Yoongi talk. But honestly, he sounds so extra about it. Like, what’s his deal? You’re the one who didn’t even want to be there with him in the first place.”
“Exactly!” I said again, throwing my hands up. “I don’t even care if he shows up or not. This is supposed to be my break. I just want to go, enjoy the night, and pretend I don’t have deadlines hanging over my head for one evening.”
Minji smirked knowingly but didn’t say anything more as she got up to sift through her own options for the party. After a moment, she held up a red dress with a dramatic neckline and sparkling details. “What about this for me? It screams ‘I’m the fun friend.’”
I laughed, shaking my head. “You don’t need a dress to say that. Everyone already knows.”
***
A little while later, we were both ready. Minji had gone with her glittery red dress, while I stuck to my black turtleneck one.
As we grabbed our things, Minji gave me a playful nudge. “Okay, so, final thoughts: what if Yoongi does show up, despite everything he said?”
I shot her a withering look. “Then I’ll eat my words. But that’s not happening.”
Minji grinned as we headed out the door. “We’ll see.”
***
The energy of the party was already palpable as Minji and I entered the venue. The music was loud enough to drown out any awkward thoughts, and the lighting cast a warm, celebratory glow. Before we could get our bearings, a familiar figure spotted us and made his way over with an enthusiastic wave.
“Welcome, welcome!” Hoseok beamed, his smile as bright as the room itself. “You made it! I was starting to think you’d ditch last minute.”
Minji laughed. “Not with you hosting, J-hope. She couldn’t say no.”
I shot her a quick glare but turned to Hoseok with a polite smile. “Thanks for inviting us.”
As we exchanged pleasantries, a small group approached him, each handing over neatly wrapped gifts or gift bags.
“Happy birthday, Hobi!” one of them exclaimed, pulling him into a quick hug before leaving the gift with him.
I blinked, taken aback. “Wait... birthday?” I turned to Hoseok, brows furrowed. “Is this... your birthday party?”
Hoseok gave me a sheepish grin. “Well, yeah. Kind of.”
I stared at him, stunned. “You didn’t tell me it was your birthday!”
“Of course, I didn’t,” he replied, laughing. “If I told you, you wouldn’t have come. Admit it!”
I opened my mouth to protest, then paused, realizing he wasn’t entirely wrong. “…Okay, fair. But now I feel terrible. I didn’t bring you anything.”
He waved it off with a casual flick of his hand. “Don’t even worry about it. Your presence is enough of a gift.”
Minji rolled her eyes playfully. “Wow, smooth.”
I ignored her, offering Hoseok a tentative smile. “Well, if that’s the case, I owe you dinner. My treat. Birthday special.”
Hoseok’s grin widened, and he gave me a mock bow. “I’ll hold you to that.”
As the party carried on, my mind wandered, unbidden, to Yoongi. If it was Hoseok’s birthday, then surely Yoongi would be here, right? They were bandmates, practically brothers. Despite everything he’d said, it felt impossible that he wouldn’t show up to celebrate.
Right?
Hoseok, catching my distracted expression, nudged me lightly. “Come on, let me introduce you to the guys.”
As Hoseok led me through the crowd, I tried to shake off the lingering thoughts about Yoongi. I couldn’t help myself, though; the idea that he wasn’t here, despite everything, gnawed at me. Was he really just going to stay out of sight, like he’d said? Or had something else kept him away?
"Hey, over here," Hoseok called, his voice cutting through my thoughts as he pulled me toward the others. "Everyone, this is Y/N and Minji, the assistant and the manager of Producer K!"
The guys all turned to look, some with grins on their faces, others with more curious expressions. I gave a small wave, trying to maintain the composure I knew I needed for moments like this. Being around people like them—BTS—was something I wasn’t used to, but I was starting to adjust, or at least, I hoped I was.
"Y/N and Minji, huh? Nice to meet you," Jimin said first, flashing me a grin that lit up his whole face. "Hoseok's always talking about Producer K’s work. You must also be a pretty big deal if you’re working with him."
"Yeah, I've heard about his skills," Taehyung added, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "Nice to meet some of the brains behind the scenes." He gave a slight bow, which I returned awkwardly.
"We've been hearing a lot about you guys," Namjoon said, his deep voice steady and reassuring. "It's nice to finally put a face to the names."
"Thanks," I replied, trying to keep the mood light. "We just do our part in the background."
They all nodded, seeming satisfied with my answer. But it was clear that Hoseok’s introduction had piqued their interest, and the attention felt overwhelming. I quickly shifted my gaze to see if Yoongi had come in yet, but the crowd was thick, and I didn’t spot him immediately.
"Minji," I whispered, trying to keep my voice low, "Do you think Yoongi’s coming?"
Minji raised an eyebrow. "Why? Are you hoping he does?"
I shot her a sharp look, but she just laughed, nudging me playfully. "Relax, Y/N. If he’s coming, he’ll show up eventually. For now, just enjoy the party. You’ve earned it."
I sighed and nodded, trying to push the thoughts of Yoongi aside. There was no point in stressing over something I couldn’t control.
As the introductions continued, Hoseok pulled me into a more private corner of the room, away from the group for a moment. "You’re doing great," he said with a genuine smile. "I know this might feel like a lot, but you’re handling it well. The others are just excited to meet you. They’ve heard a lot about producer K."
"Thanks," I replied, a little surprised at his sudden encouragement. "I’m just trying to keep a low profile, honestly."
"Yeah, I get it," Hoseok nodded knowingly. "You know, though, if you want to meet some more people, I can introduce you around. You don’t have to worry about your identity being exposed here. "
I just nodded, grateful for his understanding. But part of me was still wondering, was Yoongi going to show up? Or had I been right all along? Was he truly not interested in stepping outside of the studio for something like this?
At that moment, Jungkook stepped over to join us. "What’s up, guys?" he said with a smile.
Hoseok grinned and gave him a playful nudge. "Hey, you! This is Y/N, Producer K’s assistant. You’ve heard a lot about her, right?"
Jungkook looked at me, his expression slightly puzzled at first before breaking into a smile. "Ah, yeah, I’ve heard a little. Nice to meet you, Y/N." He gave a casual wave, but there was a glimmer of curiosity in his eyes.
"Nice to meet you too," I replied with a slight smile.
Jungkook seemed to sense the tension in the air, glancing between Hoseok and me. "So, Hyung, who else did you invite?"
Hoseok grinned, looking around the room. "A lot more people, but ah, yes, Y/N—the only member you haven’t met yet is Jin. He’s in the military, so it’s just the rest of us holding down the fort tonight."
I nodded, trying to mask my surprise. "Ah, I didn’t realize. That must be tough for you guys."
Hoseok shrugged, but there was a hint of something bittersweet in his eyes. "Yeah, but it is what it is. We’re all proud of him, of course. We just miss him, that’s all."
Jungkook nodded in agreement. "It’s been a while, but we’ll manage. He’ll be back before we know it."
I felt a pang of empathy for them, understanding how difficult it must be to have someone so important absent from events like this. But the conversation quickly shifted as Hoseok directed it back to me.
"So, Y/N, now that you’ve met the guys, are you having fun? No pressure, just curious." He raised an eyebrow, clearly looking for my reaction.
I forced a smile, trying to get out of my own head. "Yeah, it’s been good. Just a little overwhelming."
"Totally understandable," Jungkook said, giving me a reassuring smile. "But don’t worry. It’s just a party. No big deal."
I chuckled softly, grateful for the small bit of comfort. But my thoughts still drifted back to Yoongi. Would he really not show up?
Just then, I spotted Minji on the dance floor, looking like she was having the time of her life. Without a second thought, I nudged Hoseok. "I think I need to join her," I said, already pushing my way through the crowd.
"Go ahead," Hoseok replied with a grin. "I’ll be around if you need anything."
I made my way over to Minji, and we quickly fell into the rhythm of the music, letting the beat carry us away. The drinks were flowing, and before I knew it, the atmosphere shifted into a carefree, almost electric vibe. As more people showed up, the party grew livelier, and from time to time, some of the BTS members would come over and join us on the dance floor. It was fun, it was wild, but... my mind kept drifting back to Yoongi.
Unable to hold it in any longer, I pulled Hoseok aside when I caught him by the bar. "Hey, Hoseok... Where’s Yoongi?"
Hoseok glanced at me with a raised eyebrow, then shrugged. "Oh, he was here earlier, literally before you showed up. Now that you mention it, though, I haven’t seen him since."
I felt a strange mix of disappointment and... relief? I wasn’t sure anymore. Maybe it was better this way, but somehow, a part of me couldn’t shake the feeling that something was missing from the night.
Minji and I were having a blast, drink after drink, dance after dance. The music, the energy, everything was a blur of fun. I couldn’t remember the last time I had let myself enjoy the moment so freely, and for a while, it was exactly what I needed. But after a few more songs, I started to feel a little dizzy, the world spinning just slightly out of focus.
"Minji, I’m going to head somewhere quiet for a bit," I said, my voice a little unsteady. "I just need to lay down, get myself together. I’ll be back in a bit, okay?"
She shot me a playful grin, still bouncing to the beat. "Take care of yourself, girl! I’ll be here if you need me!"
With that, I slipped away from the dance floor, trying to stay steady on my feet. I remembered the studio I’d worked for the past weeks had a cosy sofa tucked away in one of its corners. It was the perfect place to rest for a bit until the dizziness passed.
I made my way to the studio, feeling the coolness of the hallway against my skin. The noise of the party seemed to fade as I pushed open the door, the silence of the room a welcome contrast to the chaos outside. I sank onto the sofa, closing my eyes for a few moments, hoping to just let the room settle.
I was only half-aware of how long I’d been there when I heard the door creak open. My eyes fluttered open, and I instantly tensed. Had someone followed me in?
There, standing in the doorway, was Yoongi. He looked surprised to see me there, his eyebrows knitting together as he glanced around the room before fixing his gaze on me.
"What are you doing here?" he asked, his tone still as clipped as ever.
I raised an eyebrow at him. "What are you doing here?" I shot back. "I thought you weren't even coming to the party."
His eyes narrowed for a moment, but then he seemed to shrug it off. "Well I did. But, I don’t exactly need to announce my presence to everyone." His voice was colder than usual.
I bit my lip, frustration rising in my chest. "Then why are you here, Yoongi? If you're so indifferent about the party, why are you hiding out here?"
His shoulders tensed slightly as he crossed his arms in front of him while standing next to the coach, his eyes not quite meeting mine. "Not hiding. Just... thinking." He sighed. "I could ask the same thing."
I crossed my arms too, feeling the heat of irritation flood my veins. "I’m just getting away from the noise for a bit, okay?"
He didn't seem convinced, his lips forming a faint, sarcastic smile. "Right. Just taking a break. From everything, including the party, in my studio huh?"
Before I could respond, the unease that had been building between us finally snapped thanks to the alcohol. I pushed past him, moving toward the door. "Fine, I’ll leave. You can have your privacy too, Yoongi."
I turned sharply, my frustration boiling over, and reached for the door. The cool metal handle felt solid beneath my fingers, offering a small comfort. But as soon as I used it to crack the door open, I heard a sharp intake of breath behind me. A hand shot out, and in one swift motion, Yoongi’s arm stretched across me, pushing the door shut and blocking my escape.
I froze, my pulse quickening as I felt the warmth of his body close behind me. I couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe for a moment, caught in the tension of his presence. His arm hovered just inches from my face, the muscles in his forearm flexing as he braced himself against the door. I could feel the faint shift of air from his movement, the pressure of his proximity filling the space between us. He was so close, but he didn’t touch me.
His breath was warm against the back of my neck, his presence so tangible that it almost felt suffocating. I couldn’t help but stiffen, the tension in the air thick and heavy. My hand, still gripping the door handle, trembled slightly, and I could feel my heart thudding in my chest.
"Let go," I muttered, my voice low, tight with a mix of anger and something else that I couldn’t quite place.
But Yoongi didn’t budge. He was silent for a long moment, his body pressed just behind mine, not quite touching, but close enough that I could feel his every movement, his breath still brushing over the back of my neck.
"No," he said, his voice soft but firm’’...stay.” There was no hesitation in his tone, as though he had made up his mind about this. About me.
I didn’t turn to face him. I couldn’t. But I could hear the subtle shift in his tone. It wasn’t just the frustration from before—it was something else now. Something quieter.
"Why?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper, though my hands were still shaking, my fingers gripping the door handle as if it might ground me. "Why should I stay?"
Yoongi’s breath seemed to hitch at that, and he shifted slightly, his chest brushing against my back as he leaned in just enough for me to feel the weight of his presence. "Because," he started slowly, his voice almost a murmur, "I didn’t tell you to leave."
His words were unexpected. I hadn’t anticipated this, whatever it was, this softness in his tone, this tension building between us.
I could feel myself bristling and I turned around to face him. "Why should I listen? You didn’t even want to work with me in the first place. Why should I stay here with you now?"
"Who told you that?"
His voice, quieter now when his eye caught mine, but the words still stung. "I overheard you that day, talking to Jihoon on the phone, during the first week. You said you should've argued harder with your company to not work with me... and you said it was because I’m a woman."
I could feel my chest tighten as the words left my lips. The tension in the air thickened, and before I knew it, I felt tears pricking at the corners of my eyes.
Yoongi’s face faltered. His eyes softened.
"I didn’t say that." Yoongi's voice was quieter, almost apologetic now. "If you heard me properly that day... I said I knew you were talented. And I knew how much you value your privacy. I know this whole thing is risky for you. That’s why… if I had known you were a woman, I probably wouldn’t have agreed to work with you. I didn’t want to blow your cover or make you feel uncomfortable around me the whole time".
I blinked, my heart dropping. I felt like I had heard those words, but it was as if I hadn’t truly processed them until now. Not in that context. I could feel my breath catch in my throat. I didn’t know what to say. His words were so different from what I had thought. My mind was swirling, and before I could stop it, a few tears broke free and slid down my cheek.
Without a word, Yoongi stepped closer, his hand brushing my cheek gently, his thumb swiping away the tears while holding my face.
I froze, staring up at him, unsure of what was happening, but the proximity, his nearness, was overwhelming. I could feel the weight of his gaze on me, and his touch was so soft it almost made my heart ache.
His eyes met mine again, searching, lingering. We were so close now. His breath mingled with mine as he looked down at me, and I could feel the heat between us.
"Can I..." He started, his voice low, almost hesitant, but before he could finish, the door suddenly jolted behind me.
I jumped, both of us stepping away instinctively, my heart racing. The air between Yoongi and me shattered in an instant.
It was Hoseok. He stepped inside, a playful grin on his face, but his eyes didn’t seem to notice me. "Yoongi! Where’s Y/N? She was looking out for you earlier, and then she just disappeared on me."
I couldn’t look at either of them. I just stood there, my back to the door, trying to breathe normally.
Hoseok stepped further into the room, a confused expression crossing his face as he noticed me and the way Yoongi was standing. He glanced between us, his gaze flicking back to Yoongi. "Everything good here?" he asked, sounding half-serious, half-playful.
I quickly moved, my cheeks flushed, and hurried out of the room, unable to handle the awkwardness any longer. Hoseok called after me, but I didn’t look back. I just needed to get away, to breathe, to think.
But as I walked away, I couldn’t stop the images of Yoongi’s eyes on me, his breath on my skin. What had just happened? I wasn’t sure, but my heart was pounding in my chest as I moved further from that room, from him.
***
When I finally made it back to the party, I spotted Minji chatting away with Taehyung. She looked up and waved me over, her usual bright energy making her stand out. But I couldn’t shake the feeling from earlier. Yoongi's words, his actions. I knew I needed to leave.
"Minji," I said, cutting through the conversation. "We need to go." She blinked, surprised at the abruptness of my tone, but nodded without questioning me. I turned to Taehyung, who had been listening to Minji ramble on, with a smile on his face.
"Tell Hoseok I’m sorry, but I have to leave. I'll see him again soon," I said, my voice steady. "And remind him that I still owe him that dinner."
Taehyung raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. He just gave me a knowing smile. "Alright, take care. I’ll let him know."
Minji and I made our way out of the venue, the lights of the party fading as we stepped into the cool night air. The moment we were in a taxi, I let out a breath I didn’t realize I had been holding.
Minji glanced at me, her eyes practically sparkling with mischief as she read me like an open book. “Wow. So you did meet him. What happened? Tell me everything. Now."
I rolled my eyes but couldn't help the small smile tugging at my lips. "You’re relentless, you know that?"
Minji threw me a playful look. "You're not getting away with it. I need to know all the details. Was it awkward? Did he talk to you? What did he say? Was it... was it like, a moment?"
I groaned, leaning back against the headrest. "Honestly, it was... complicated." I paused, gathering my thoughts. "We had a bit of an argument, and then, out of nowhere, he blocked the door when I tried to leave. He didn’t want me to go. And then, he... he said some things. I don’t know. Things about me being a woman, about my privacy... It just felt like it was all crashing down in one moment."
Minji’s face shifted from excitement to concern. "Wait, what? He said what about your privacy?"
I sighed deeply, recalling the mix of emotions from that moment. "I told him I overheard him on the phone saying he didn't want to work with me because I was a woman. I was mad. And I think I was hurt, too. He didn’t deny it. He said... he said that he knows I’m talented and that he wouldn’t have worked with me if he knew I was a girl because it could’ve blown my cover. I... I didn’t know what to think."
Minji stared at me, processing everything I’d just said. "Wow. That’s a lot. But it sounds like he really didn’t want to hurt you, Y/N. I mean, he doesn’t want to blow your cover, and he’s not the type to just say stuff for no reason. I think he might’ve been trying to protect you in his own way."
I shook my head, still not fully understanding it all. "Maybe. But it doesn’t make it easier. He’s so confusing, Minji. One minute, he’s mad at me, then we’re... closer than I thought. I don’t even know if I want to deal with it."
Minji placed a hand on mine, her expression softening. "You’re allowed to be confused. I get it. But maybe, just maybe, this could be a good thing. He’s not the only one with walls up, you know? You’ve got yours too."
I sighed, leaning back again. "Yeah, but this... this is different. He’s not supposed to make me feel like this."
Minji didn’t say anything at first, but then she shrugged slightly. "Look, I can’t tell you what to do. But whatever happens, you’ll figure it out. You always do."
Her words were comforting, even though I wasn’t sure if I agreed. I wanted to know what Yoongi wanted from me, if anything. But for now, I had to focus on what came next.
***
The next morning, I woke up feeling like I was moving through a fog. I didn’t know if it was the alcohol from the night before or the confusion swirling around my thoughts, but I had to get up, get ready, and go to work. It was just another day. I was a professional, after all.
As I stared at myself in the mirror, I couldn’t help but think about everything that had happened between Yoongi and I the night before. The words, the tension, the way he blocked the door... It all felt like a surreal dream now. I quickly pushed those thoughts away, forcing myself to focus. I’d told Minji last night that I wouldn’t mention it again. That was the plan. I was going to walk in, act normal, and get through this day like nothing had happened. I had a job to do.
I dressed quickly, choosing something that felt both comfortable and professional, jeans and a simple blouse. Nothing too attention-grabbing. With one last look at myself in the mirror, I headed out.
The drive to the studio was quiet, my mind a little too preoccupied with what I’d left behind. I thought about texting Minji again, but I didn’t want to be that person who overanalysed everything. I’d deal with it.
The moment I stepped into the studio, I immediately spotted Yoongi, already seated at the desk, headphones on, his gaze focused on the screen in front of him. The familiar quiet hum of the place seemed to swallow up any lingering awkwardness between us.
I set my bag down on the sofa and made my way over to the desk, trying to appear as casual as possible. I could feel Yoongi’s eyes flicker briefly in my direction, but he didn’t acknowledge me right away. That was fine. No need for anything weird to happen today. I wasn’t going to let it.
“Morning,” I said, offering a neutral smile, willing myself to act as though last night had never even happened.
Yoongi just nodded, his expression still unreadable. "Morning."
I took my seat and opened my notebook, flipping through the pages as if the routine of it all would help settle the tension that had been gnawing at me since our confrontation the night before. The silence between us felt a little less suffocating, though. It wasn’t that we were talking more, it was just that Yoongi didn’t seem as harsh on his tone today. No biting comments yet, no sharp observations either.
He adjusted the volume on the speakers and clicked around on the computer for a few seconds before speaking again. "You finished that beat you were working on Saturday?"
“Yeah, it’s done,” I replied, finally meeting his gaze. His eyes were focused on the screen, but I noticed there was a slight change in his demeanour. The tension from before, the coldness, seemed to have faded. It wasn’t gone completely, but it was much more subtle now.
He didn’t respond immediately, just tapped a few keys on the keyboard before nodding. “Alright. Let’s hear it.”
I slid the flash drive with the updated track across the table. Yoongi took it, plugged it into the system, and started the track without a word. The room filled with the sound of the beat I had been perfecting, and I waited, watching his reaction closely.
As the beat played, Yoongi’s brow furrowed slightly, but he didn’t make any negative comments this time. He just let the track play all the way through, his eyes scanning the waveform on the screen, listening intently.
When the track ended, he leaned back in his chair, finally looking over at me. “Not bad.”
I couldn’t help but feel a small relief wash over me. "Not bad" from Yoongi was a compliment, even if it didn’t sound like one. At least he hadn’t outright criticized it.
“Thanks,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady, though I could feel my nerves creeping back up again. “Anything you want me to change?”
Yoongi scratched his chin thoughtfully. “It’s a little too clean. Add some grit, something to make it stand out more. We need it to hit harder.”
I nodded, taking mental notes. “Got it. I’ll work on that.”
It felt almost normal, the way we interacted. No lingering animosity, no mention of what had happened the night before.
As the session continued, the vibe between us remained steady, calm and professional, with just a touch of the underlying tension we hadn’t addressed. We worked for hours, tweaking the track here and there, going back and forth on the sound and rhythm until everything was just the way we wanted it.
At some point, Yoongi stood up and stretched, letting out a quiet sigh. “I’m going to grab a coffee. You want anything?”
I blinked, surprised. He’d never offered to get me anything before, not like this. His tone was casual, though, like it was no big deal.
“I’ll take an iced coffee,” I said, half-smiling at the unexpected gesture.
Yoongi didn’t say anything, just nodded and walked out of the studio. The moment the door clicked shut behind him, I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. It wasn’t like everything was magically fixed, but there was something about this new, less tense dynamic that felt... better. More comfortable, even.
As I sat back in my chair, I tried to focus on the track again, but my mind kept drifting. What has changed between us? I knew I wasn’t imagining it, there was definitely something different today. But I wasn’t sure what to make of it.
When Yoongi came back with the coffee, we fell back into the routine of the session, but now, it felt almost easy. We were working smoothly, and I caught him glancing over at me once or twice, his eyes lingering a little longer than before.
Still, neither of us brought up what happened the night before. Not yet. Maybe it wasn’t the right time. Or maybe it was something neither of us wanted to revisit.
***
As the day came to a close, I packed up my things, feeling the weight of the day lifting off my shoulders. I had managed to get through the session with Yoongi without any more awkwardness, which was a small victory in itself. As I grabbed my bag, I looked over at Yoongi, who was already absorbed in his work again.
“See you tomorrow,” I said casually, ready to leave the studio.
Yoongi gave me a small nod, his focus not wavering. “Yeah, see you.”
I left the studio and stepped into the cool evening air, the city lights twinkling in the distance. I needed a distraction. Something to take my mind off everything that had happened with Yoongi.
I pulled out my phone and quickly sent a text to Hoseok.
Y/N: Hey, are you free tonight?
Hoseok: Yeah, I’m free. What’s up?
Y/N: I told you I owe you dinner. Want to grab some barbecue tonight?
Hoseok: Haha, of course I didn’t forget! Even Taehyung reminded me about it last night after you left! So yeah, sure, let’s do it. When and where?
Y/N: How about at 7 at that popular spot in Gangnam?
Hoseok: Perfect! I’ll see you there. I’ll be starving by the time we meet!
Y/N: Same here. I’m ready to eat my weight in meat.
Hoseok: Haha, I’m looking forward to it. See you soon, Y/N!
Y/N: See you soon!
I smiled as I read our conversation. Hoseok had a way of lightening the mood, and the idea of spending the evening with him, laughing and eating good food, felt like the perfect way to unwind.
When I arrived at the restaurant, the smell of grilled meat hit me as soon as I stepped inside. I scanned the room for Hoseok and spotted him right away. He was sitting at a table near the back, looking up at me with a wide smile as always.
"Y/N!" he greeted me, standing up to wave as I approached.
"Helloo!" I said with a grin, taking my seat across from him.
He immediately grabbed the menu, flipping through it. "So, what are you in the mood for? Meat, meat, and more meat?" he asked, wiggling his eyebrows playfully.
"Definitely," I replied, laughing. "I’ve been craving barbecue all day."
We both ordered a few different cuts of meat, and as we waited for the grill to heat up, Hoseok leaned back in his chair, looking at me curiously.
"So, what happened last night?" he asked casually, the question catching me a bit off guard.
I hesitated for a second, my fingers tapping on the table. "What do you mean?" I asked, pretending not to understand what he was getting at.
"You know... I could tell something was a little off when you left the party, after i caught you with Yoongi at the studio.." Hoseok said, his tone soft but inquisitive. "Everything okay between you two?”
I shrugged, forcing a smile. "Yeah, everything’s fine," I said, though the words didn’t feel entirely true. "We finished the first song. Two more to go, and then we’ll be done."
Hoseok didn’t seem convinced. He nodded and took a sip of his drink before continuing. "Well, that’s good. I’m glad to hear you’re making progress. But, uh... are you sure everything’s okay with him? You know... since you’ve been working really closely together."
I looked down at my hands for a moment, gathering my thoughts. "It’s fine, Hoseok. Really. Just... we have our days, you know?"
He raised an eyebrow but didn’t argue. "If you say so."
The food arrived, and the sizzling sounds of meat on the grill distracted us both for a moment. Hoseok was quick to start cooking, flipping the pieces of meat with ease. The smell was intoxicating, and I could already feel my stomach growling in anticipation.
We continued to eat, talk, and laugh, the mood light and easy. Hoseok was a great conversationalist. We talked about music, our favourite songs, and his plans for the future. It felt so natural, like we’d known each other for years instead of just a month.
At one point, he pulled out his phone. "Hey, I’d like you to hear something," he said, tapping away at the screen. A moment later, his phone was playing a new track, a smooth, upbeat melody that instantly grabbed my attention.
"This is one of my newer tracks," Hoseok said, watching me closely as the music played. "I’m really proud of it so far, but I’d love to hear your thoughts on it. What do you think?"
I closed my eyes for a moment, letting the music wash over me. "This is really good, Hoseok," I said, smiling. "It’s got such a great vibe. It’s... it’s got that perfect energy."
He grinned, clearly pleased with the feedback. "Thanks. I’m hoping it’s going to be a hit. But, you know, it’s not finished yet. Still got a bit of work to do."
"Well, I’d be happy to help with anything you need," I said, my tone sincere. "I think you’re on the right track. I can already picture it in a club."
"Yeah? You’re the expert," he said, leaning back in his chair with a proud smile. "Maybe I should bring you on as a collaborator someday."
I raised my eyebrows at the suggestion. "Collaborator? That would be interesting."
Hoseok laughed, shaking his head. "I’m just saying... if you’re up for it…"
"Maybe," I teased, taking a sip of my drink.
As the night went on, we continued to enjoy the barbecue, the conversation flowing easily between us. It was a welcome distraction from the confusion that had been hanging over me lately. It was hard not to feel at ease around Hoseok. He was kind, funny, and genuine in a way that made me feel like I could let my guard down.
Eventually, after we’d eaten our fill and were lounging in our seats, Hoseok pulled out his phone again. "Come on, let’s take a photo," he suggested, grinning. "You know, for the memories."
I nodded with a smile and he grabbed his phone, opening the camera. We both leaned in, the grill between us, holding our drinks up like we were toasting. "Best birthday gift ever," Hoseok said dramatically as the picture snapped, before quickly typing something into his phone.
"Done!" he said proudly. "I posted it to my close friends on Kakao Talk. You know, just in case anyone wants to know how I spent my special days."
I laughed, shaking my head. "You’re crazy."
"I know," he said with a wink, taking another drink from his glass. "But seriously, Y/N, this has been fun. Thanks for asking me to come out tonight. You’re a lot of fun to hang out with."
I smiled, feeling a warmth in my chest. "Of course. I’m glad we did this. It’s been way too long since I’ve had a night like this myself."
"Same here," Hoseok said with a smile. "We should do it again sometime."
As the night wound down to an end, I couldn’t help but feel a sense of contentment. It had been a good night, and it felt like I’d finally had a chance to breathe again. The pressure I’d been carrying, the weight of my thoughts about Yoongi and everything that had happened, seemed to lighten a little as I had sat there across from Hoseok, laughing and eating with no other worries.
When the bill arrived, I was quick to grab it, remembering my promise. "It’s on me tonight," I said, pulling my card out before Hoseok could protest. I shook my head, giving him a playful look. "I owe you dinner, remember?"
He laughed, raising his hands in surrender. "Alright, alright. I’ll let you have your moment." He watched me pay, his expression softening into something more genuine. "But next time, I’m the one picking the place and bill."
"Deal," I said, with a smirk. "But only if it’s something equally as good as tonight."
"Haha, I’ll try," he replied, still laughing.
As we walked out of the restaurant, we decided that the evening had been a success, and that we would definitely plan another time to hang out. It was nice to have a real moment with him, away from all the stress and confusion, it had been exactly what I needed, an evening of laughter, food, and friendship. And for that, I was thankful.
***
The next day, I walked into the studio feeling lighter than I had in weeks. My relationship with Yoongi seemed to had softened after yesterday, and dinner with Hoseok had been a bright spot in an otherwise chaotic schedule. I was ready to tackle the second track with a fresh perspective.
As always, Yoongi was already in the studio when I arrived, sitting at the mixing desk, adjusting levels with his usual quiet focus. He acknowledged me with a small nod as I set up my things. His demeanour seemed normal at first, calm and business like.
We dove into the track, bouncing ideas back and forth. At first, everything felt fine, normal even. But as the hours ticked by, Yoongi’s feedback became sharper, his tone more clipped.
“Can you take this seriously?” he snapped suddenly after I made a suggestion about the arrangement.
I looked up, startled. “I am taking this seriously. What’s going on with you today? You seemed fine yesterday.”
“Nothing’s going on,” he said curtly, not looking at me. His fingers tapped at the keyboard with more force than necessary. “You just need to focus more on the job you’re supposed to do.”
I frowned, confused by his sudden change in attitude. “We’re making progress,” I said cautiously, trying to keep my voice calm. “I’m confident we’ll meet the deadline.”
Yoongi spun his chair to face me, his eyes narrowing. “If you really cared about the deadline, you would focus on the work instead of going out to dinner with Hoseok and wasting your energy there.”
His words hit like a slap. I blinked, completely taken aback. “How do you even know about the dinner?”
He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. “He posted it on Kakao Talk. All the guys were talking about it in the group chat.”
I froze, trying to process what he was saying. Of course Hoseok had shared it, but it was a perfectly innocent dinner, and he’d been excited about it. Still, I felt a strange pang of guilt under Yoongi’s intense gaze.
“I invited him because I felt bad about going to his birthday party without bringing a gift,” I explained, my voice steady but defensive. “I just wanted to make up for it.”
Yoongi’s eyes stayed locked on mine, unreadable. “It’s interesting,” he said coolly, “how close you are with him. I’m the one you work with every day. You don’t see us going to dinner, do you?”
I opened my mouth to respond but hesitated, unsure of what to say. Before I could gather my thoughts, Yoongi waved a hand dismissively. “Never mind. Let’s just get back to work.”
The room fell into an awkward silence. I stared at him for a moment longer, trying to make sense of his reaction, but his posture was closed off, his focus fully on the screen in front of him. With a frustrated sigh, I turned back to my notes and forced myself to concentrate on the task at hand.
The rest of the session felt strained. Yoongi’s usual calm, measured feedback was replaced with sharp, almost impatient remarks. It wasn’t just the work, something else was clearly bothering him, but I couldn’t figure out what.
Then, halfway through a take, his phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen, his expression tightening. Without a word, he stood and began gathering his things.
“What’s going on?” I asked, breaking the tense silence.
“Nothing,” he said shortly, not meeting my eyes. “Let’s cut this short today.”
“Yoongi—” I started, but he was already slinging his bag over his shoulder.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said, his tone final.
And just like that, he was gone, leaving me alone in the studio. I stared at the door for a long moment, my emotions a mix of confusion and frustration. Whatever had just happened felt personal, even though I couldn’t understand why.
As I packed up my things, my mind kept circling back to his words, to the way he’d looked at me. You don’t see us going to dinner, do you? What did that even mean? Why did it sound like he cared, like it bothered him?
Shaking my head, I gathered my bag and left the studio. No matter how much I wanted to make sense of it, I wasn’t going to let Yoongi’s mood derail the progress we were making, or my own peace of mind. I had a job to do, and I wasn’t about to let this strange tension get in the way.
***
The next day, Yoongi and I exchanged only a few words when I arrived at the studio. His mood seemed calmer than yesterday, though still a little distant. I decided not to push it.
We worked steadily through the day, both of us falling into the rhythm of our tasks. It wasn’t awkward, just focused, like two professionals determined to meet their goal. The hours passed in a blur of music, notes, and adjustments. By the time Yoongi looked up from the computer, his face was lit with mild surprise.
“Ah, shit,” he muttered, glancing at the clock. “It’s late,” rubbing the back of his neck. “We should stop here for today. It’s good progress.”
I nodded and stood up, but as soon as I tried to take a step, my legs wobbled beneath me. I reached out to steady myself against the desk, my vision spinning slightly.
Yoongi was already on his feet, stepping toward me with concern etched on his face. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” I said quickly. “I think I’m just a little dizzy. Now that I think about it… I didn’t even eat lunch.”
Without a word, he reached for my wrist and tugged gently. “Let’s go.”
“Wait, what?” I asked, caught off guard. “Go where?”
“To eat,” he said simply, his tone leaving no room for argument.
I tried to protest as he led me out of the studio and toward his car. “You don’t have to do this. I’ll grab something on the way home.”
Yoongi ignored me, opening the passenger door and gesturing for me to get in. Reluctantly, I slid into the seat, and he shut the door before walking around to the driver’s side.
The drive was quiet, the hum of the engine the only sound between us. I glanced at him a few times, wondering why he was going out of his way like this, but his expression was unreadable.
We arrived at a small, cosy restaurant tucked away in a quiet part of the city. Yoongi parked the car and got out without a word, waiting for me to follow.
Inside, the warm lighting and inviting atmosphere made me relax a little. We were seated at a corner table, and soon, the smell of grilled meat and savoury dishes filled the air.
“About yesterday,” he started, his voice softer than I’d ever heard it.
I glanced up, momentarily stunned. He wasn’t looking at me; instead, his gaze was fixed on his plate, as if the words were hard to push out.
“I was out of line,” he admitted, exhaling sharply, almost like the confession itself was a weight lifted.
I blinked, my chopsticks hovering mid-air. Yoongi rarely, if ever, admitted fault. This was unexpected.
“I took a lot of things out on you,” he continued, his tone laced with a hint of self-reproach. His chopsticks moved idly, pushing food around on his plate as if it could somehow distract him from the vulnerability of the moment. “Things that weren’t your fault. And for that, I’m sorry.”
The sincerity in his voice made my breath catch. This wasn’t the stoic, sharp-tongued producer I’d been working with for weeks. This was Yoongi stripped of his usual defences, and it threw me off balance.
“You... You’re apologizing?” I finally said, a mix of disbelief and teasing slipping into my tone.
His lips twitched into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “Yeah. Don’t make a big deal out of it.”
“I mean, how can I not?” I said, leaning back in my chair, folding my arms in mock astonishment. “Min Yoongi admitting he’s wrong? I didn’t think I’d live to see the day.”
He let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head. “Don’t get used to it.”
Despite his attempt at brushing it off, I could tell the apology mattered to him. He wasn’t the type to say things he didn’t mean, and the effort behind his words wasn’t lost on me.
“Look,” he continued after a moment, his voice steadying. “Yesterday... I just have been under a lot of pressure, and I let it get to me. That wasn’t fair to you. You’ve been working hard, and I should’ve recognized that.”
“Thank you,” I said, my voice softer now. “That means a lot.”
I couldn’t help but laugh, the tension between us melting away. As the meal went on, we started to relax, trading small talk about work and life. Yoongi even ordered a bottle of wine, and soon we were sipping glasses of it, the conversation growing lighter.
For the first time, it felt like I was seeing a different side of him, one that wasn’t guarded or buried in his work. And for a moment, it was easy to forget the weight of the studio, the deadlines, and everything else that had been hanging over us.
By the end of the night, my cheeks ached from laughing, a rare, warm contentment spreading through me. Yoongi had surprised me, not just with his apology, but with the way he let his guard down, even if just a little. Maybe he wasn’t as closed off as I’d assumed. Maybe there was more to him than I’d ever expected.
As we stepped outside the restaurant, the crisp night air greeted us.
"Hey, you can’t drive now since you’ve had a drink," I said, glancing at Yoongi. "Should we call a taxi or something? Or maybe Hobi? I saw his stories, he was bored at home, he could probably come pick us up."
Yoongi’s expression shifted, and he immediately shook his head. "No," he said, his voice firm. "I’ll handle it. I’m calling Jihoon."
I raised an eyebrow, confused for a moment but let it slide. The warmth from the alcohol in my system faded quickly, leaving me shivering slightly in the cold. I wrapped my arms around myself, trying to stave off the chill.
Yoongi noticed. “It’s getting cold,” he said, almost to himself. Before I could respond, he shrugged off his jacket and draped it around my shoulders.
The unexpected gesture made me pause. The weight of the jacket and the faint scent of his cologne caught me off guard. I looked up at him, my eyes wide. “Oh, you didn’t have to do that,” I said softly.
He waved it off. “It’s fine. I’m not cold.”
I tilted my head, sceptical. “Really? Your hands must be freezing,” I said, blowing warm air over my own hands and rubbing them together in a futile attempt to warm them.
Yoongi’s eyes flicked to my hands, his expression unreadable. Without a word, he reached out, wrapping his hands gently over mine. The sudden warmth of his touch stopped me in my tracks.
His hands were warm, enveloping mine completely. I glanced up at him, startled. He didn’t say anything, his gaze locked on mine, intense yet unreadable. For a moment, the world seemed to fall away, leaving just the two of us standing there, connected by something unspoken.
My breath hitched, the moment heavy with tension neither of us dared to break. But before it could go any further, the sound of a taxi pulling up snapped us back to reality.
“Jihoon’s here,” Yoongi said, his voice steady as he stepped back, letting my hands go.
I quickly pulled my hands behind my back, hiding the tingling warmth that lingered from his touch. Jihoon stepped out of the car, waving casually as he approached.
“Thanks for coming,” Yoongi said, handing him the keys to his car.
“No problem,” Jihoon replied with a grin. “You guys look like you had a good night.”
Yoongi nodded and gestured for me to get in the backseat. He opened the door for me, waiting until I was seated before climbing in beside me.
The ride was quiet, with Jihoon humming along to the radio in the front seat. I stared out the window, my thoughts swirling as I replayed the events of the night. The warmth of Yoongi’s jacket around my shoulders and the memory of his hands over mine lingered, leaving me more confused than ever.
Unable to resist, I flicked my gaze toward him. His profile was sharp in the dim light, the strong line of his jaw catching my attention. Why does he have to look like that? My eyes drifted downward, landing on his hands resting casually on his lap. Those veiny, capable hands that had so effortlessly wrapped around mine earlier.
My face grew warm as I recalled the moment, a rush of heat spreading through me. Embarrassed by my own thoughts, I quickly snapped my gaze back to the window, determined not to look at him again for the rest of the ride. ‘Focus on something else, anything else,’ I told myself, even as my heart stubbornly refused to settle.
When we pulled up in front of my place, Jihoon parked smoothly, and Yoongi stepped out of the car before I could say anything. He stood there for a moment, looking composed as ever, his hands tucked casually into his pockets.
“Bye,” he said simply, his voice even but low enough to make my stomach flip. “See you tomorrow.”
I managed a small smile. “Okay. Bye.”
He watched me walk to my door, and when I turned back for a second, he was already getting back into the car. Jihoon gave a small wave before driving off, leaving me standing there, suddenly alone.
Once inside, I leaned against the door, the events of the evening replaying in my mind like a whirlwind. Dinner, the jacket, his hands over mine... It was all too much. I sighed, pulling the jacket off to hang it up, only to freeze mid-motion.
“Oh no.” My voice echoed in the quiet space. His jacket. I still had it.
I grabbed my phone, typing quickly.
Me: I just realized I still have your jacket. Did you guys leave already?
His reply came faster than I expected.
Yoongi: It’s fine. You can give it back another day.
I stared at the screen, his words making me bite my lip. For a moment, I debated responding, but what else was there to say? Sighing, I put my phone down and folded the jacket neatly. The faint scent of him lingered, a mix of something warm and clean, distinctly Yoongi.
I groaned softly, shaking my head. “Don’t overthink it.”
But as I walked away, I caught my reflection in the hallway mirror, my flushed cheeks betraying my effort to play it cool.
***
The next day, everything felt smoother. The tension from the past week seemed to have evaporated, leaving behind a productive atmosphere in the studio. Yoongi and I worked through the second track effortlessly, the beats and lyrics falling into place with surprising speed. By lunchtime, we had made significant progress, and the track was nearly perfect. Yoongi gave a brief nod of approval before leaning back in his chair.
"One more to go," he said, his tone casual, but I could tell he was feeling a sense of accomplishment too.
Just then, the door to the studio opened with a loud creak, and Hoseok walked in, a grin spreading across his face as he spotted us.
"Hey, look at you two," he said, his voice light. "I come in, and it’s all quiet. Something going on huh?"
Yoongi and I exchanged a glance. "The second track is done, so we're almost there. One more track, and the album’s done."
Hoseok leaned against the doorframe, his expression softening slightly. "Damn, it’s hard to believe we’re almost there." His eyes flickered toward Yoongi, then back at me. "I’m excited, but... also a little nervous. You know, with everything happening soon."
I raised an eyebrow, curious. "What’s going on? What are you talking about?"
Hoseok sighed dramatically, walking further into the room. "Well, since you two are now so close to wrapping up, I need to tell you something." He sat down on the edge of a nearby desk, his eyes locking on me. "I’m going to the military soon."
For a moment, there was silence as I processed the information. My stomach dropped slightly as the reality of it set in. "Wait, you’re leaving already?" I asked, the words slipping out before I could think.
Hoseok smiled gently, his eyes a little softer than usual. "Yeah. It’s going to happen soon. So..." He leaned forward, his tone turning playful but with an undercurrent of something more serious. "I’m going to use that to guilt-trip you two into hanging out with me tomorrow night. I’m hosting a little get-together at my place. Come along, since you’ve worked hard on this album, you deserve a break. You know you want to. Let’s have one last hurrah before I disappear for a while."
Yoongi, who had been silent until now, looked up with a raised eyebrow. "You really think you can just guilt-trip us into going out?"
Hoseok nodded with a sly grin. "Yup. It’s my last chance to make you guys hang out with me before I go. Please?" He looked at both of us, his expression softening, almost pleading.
Yoongi shot me a glance, and I shrugged. "I mean, we’re done with the second track, so it wouldn’t hurt to let loose for a night."
Yoongi looked hesitant for a moment, but Hoseok wasn’t backing down. "Come on, it’s just one night. You can relax and have some fun. Besides, you two need a break, right?"
I chuckled, the tension in the room starting to melt. "Alright, alright. I’ll come, Hoseok. You don’t need to keep trying to guilt-trip us." Yoongi also nodded.
Hoseok’s face lit up, a wide grin spreading across his face. "Yes! That’s what I’m talking about. You won’t regret it. I’m inviting a few people, and we’ll just hang out, eat, talk, maybe play some games."
Yoongi grunted, but there was no denying the slight curve of a smile on his lips. "Fine. One night. But don’t expect us to get drunk or anything."
Hoseok laughed, shaking his head. "Who said anything about getting drunk? I just want to spend some time together, that’s all. We’re all so busy, and before you know it, I’ll be gone."
He was right. As much as we all had our own things to focus on, this was a moment to come together before everything changed. And honestly, after working so hard on the album, I could use a little time to relax.
"Alright, we’re in. What time should we be there?" I asked, already feeling a little more at ease about it.
"7 PM. Don’t be late," Hoseok said with a wink. "I’m going to make sure there’s food, so just come hungry."
"Okay," I agreed, nodding. "See you tomorrow, then."
As Hoseok left the studio, I glanced over at Yoongi, who was already back to his work. I couldn’t help but feel a sense of relief. Despite everything, the day had been productive, and now we were going to take some time for ourselves. I didn’t know how often I’d get moments like these, where things felt normal, light and easy.
"Guess we’re going to Hoseok’s," I said, trying to keep things casual.
Yoongi gave a small nod, his expression unreadable as always, but there was a faint sense of relaxation in his posture. "Yeah, yeah," he muttered again, almost as if to convince himself.
***
The next day, Yoongi and I had somehow hit a streak, two days in a row of working together without any tension. We finished everything we had planned for the day, and as the evening rolled around, we were both in a surprisingly good mood.
As the last song for the day played out, I looked up from my computer and caught Yoongi’s eye.
"Guess that’s a wrap for today," I said, stretching out my arms. "See you at the party, yeah?"
Yoongi gave me a small nod, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his lips. "Yeah, see you there."
I stood up to grab my things, feeling a sense of calm wash over me. It had been a long time since we’d gotten along this well, and I wasn’t going to overthink it. Tonight was supposed to be fun, a chance to relax.
"Try not to get too drunk," I teased lightly as I started toward the door.
Yoongi rolled his eyes. "Could say the same thing to you.”
"Uh-huh," I shot back, laughing as I left the room. "Sure."
As I walked out, I could feel the lightness in my step. For once, it felt like things were moving in the right direction. The night ahead felt full of possibilities, even if it was just hanging out with the rest of the team.
When I got home, I quickly changed into something casual, not wanting to overdo it for Hoseok’s party. I kept it simple, a pair of jeans and a loose top. Around 7 PM, I made my way to Hoseok’s place, and when I arrived, I found the others already there.
The atmosphere was warm and relaxed, the smell of food filling the air. The place was buzzing with laughter and easy conversation. I caught sight of Yoongi sitting at the corner of the room, his usual calm demeanour in place, but there was something different about him tonight.
His hair was styled, and the black shirt he was wearing seemed to fit him just right, accentuating his broad shoulders. There was an easy confidence in his posture, and as I studied him for a moment, I realized he looked… hot.
I quickly averted my gaze, not wanting to get caught staring. The last thing I needed was to get all flustered over him again. I turned my attention to the rest of the room and spotted Hoseok in the middle of a conversation with a few other guests. He seemed to be doing his usual thing, laughing and talking animatedly, but I wasn’t sure I wanted to interrupt just yet.
Instead, I made my way over to where Jimin, Jungkook, and Taehyung were chatting near the food table. They were all mid-laugh when I approached, and Jungkook waved me over with a grin.
“Y/N! Come join us, we were just talking about the new choreography for a music video,” he said, his eyes lighting up with excitement.
“Oh? What is it about this choreography?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.
Taehyung leaned in with a mischievous grin. “We’re learning this really complicated move that involves, like, spinning and flipping, but it looks ridiculous when we try it,” he said, laughing.
Jimin jumped in. “Taehyung’s over-exaggerating, it’s not that bad. But we’re definitely working on something new for the next video, and it’s going to be fun.”
“Yeah, we’re going to have to rehearse a lot,” Jungkook added with a playful smirk. “Taehyung might need extra practice though,” he teased.
I chuckled. “I’m sure you’ll all manage. You guys are pros, after all.”
Taehyung pouted but then grinned again. “Yeah, but you should see us try. We look like a bunch of drunk chickens. Maybe we’ll film it for behind-the-scenes footage.”
“Please do, I’d love to see that,” I replied, laughing along with them.
As we were talking, I noticed Hoseok making his way over with a big smile on his face. He clapped his hands together and announced, “Alright, everyone, I think it’s time for a drinking game! Who’s in? It’s going to be fun, I promise!”
Jimin immediately jumped up, grinning. “I’m in! Let’s do this!”
“Count me in too,” Taehyung said, raising his hand. “I’m ready to win this game.”
I glanced at Jungkook, who gave a playful nod. “Let’s go. This should be interesting.”
With that, the four of us headed over to the designated table where the drinks were already set up. Hoseok was already grinning, ready to start the game, and I couldn’t help but feel a little excited about just having fun and not overthinking things.
The game started with some light-hearted activities, rapid-fire questions, and silly tasks that made everyone laugh. It was a great way to break the ice, and before long, we were all feeling more relaxed, enjoying the playful atmosphere.
Then, the game shifted into something a bit more daring: Love Shots. The concept was simple: when the bottle spun, it landed on a couple who had to take a shot together. The catch? You had to show the best “couple moment” before drinking.
I glanced around at everyone as the bottle spun, my heart racing a little at the thought of it landing on someone I knew. Of course, it landed on me and Hoseok first. He flashed me a grin that was as mischievous as it was charming.
"Well, looks like we're the first couple for the night, huh?" he said, winking.
I laughed and leaned in slightly. "Guess so. Let’s make this quick, yeah?"
We took our shot in sync, laughing after, and I couldn’t help but notice the way Hoseok’s eyes sparkled when he was having fun. It made me a little giddy.
The game continued, and once again, the bottle spun, this time landing on Hoseok and me again. A few people around the table groaned, teasing us about being the “official couple.” We just grinned at each other, ready for the next round.
I quickly glanced over at Yoongi, who had been quiet all night, sitting at the table but not participating. He wasn’t drinking either. His gaze was locked on Hoseok and me, and there was a strange tension in his expression. He wasn’t judging, but he wasn’t engaging either. It was hard to ignore, and I wondered if he was actually bothered by us being partnered up for the game.
Earlier, I had briefly talked to him when the game first started. I asked why he wasn’t drinking, and he had simply said, “Not feeling like it tonight.” There was something about his tone that made me want to ask more, but I didn’t push it. He wasn’t the type to open up unless he was ready.
"Alright, Y/N, it’s your turn again!" Taehyung called out, snapping me out of my thoughts.
The bottle spun again, and this time, it landed on Hoseok and me again. We both burst into laughter, but this time I noticed Yoongi’s eyes briefly flicker towards us. He didn’t look away, but he didn’t speak either. He just observed, his hands folded in front of him as the game carried on.
Hoseok, being a bit more playful, shot me a grin and said, “Guess we’re really the perfect couple, huh?”
I smirked, playing along. “Yeah, looks like I’m stuck with you, Hobi.”
We drank again, and I could feel the warmth of the alcohol creeping through me, loosening my nerves and making everything feel lighter. But despite the fun, I couldn’t shake the feeling that Yoongi’s quiet presence at the table was adding a certain weight to the game. His lack of participation made the contrast between us even more noticeable.
The game finally came to an end after what felt like hours of spinning bottles and laughing until our sides hurt. But as the night wore on, a lot of people were either passed out, waiting for their turn, or feeling too sleepy to continue. I noticed the energy in the room starting to wind down, and with work to do tomorrow, I figured it was best to leave.
I stood up, scanning the room for Hoseok. I spotted him laughing with a few of the other guests, his eyes bright and full of energy despite the late hour. I made my way over to him, tapping him lightly on the shoulder.
“Hey, Hobi,” I said, offering him a warm smile. “I think I’m going to head out now. I’ve got work tomorrow.”
Hoseok turned to me with a disappointed but understanding expression. “Aww, already? Well, it was really fun having you here. You sure you don’t want me to come with you?”
I shook my head, grateful for the offer but knowing he had a lot of guests to attend to. “Nah, you stay and enjoy. I’ll just grab a taxi. I’ll be fine.”
Before Hoseok could respond, there was a shift in the air. Yoongi, who had been quiet all evening, stood up suddenly from his spot at the table. His voice was calm, but his words caught us both off guard.
“I’m leaving. I’ll take Y/N with me,” he said, tone firm but casual.
The room fell a bit quieter at his declaration. Hoseok blinked in surprise, clearly not expecting Yoongi to step in. There was an unspoken tension as we all stood there for a moment, unsure of how to react.
I quickly turned to Hoseok, offering him one last smile. “I’ll see you soon, okay? Thanks for everything tonight.”
Hoseok smiled back, still a little surprised by Yoongi’s sudden intervention, but he nodded. “Alright, take care. See you soon.”
I didn’t give him a chance to say anything else before I quickly made my way toward the door, following Yoongi. I couldn’t help but feel a little flustered. What just happened? Why did Yoongi suddenly decide to take me home?
“Yoongi, wait up!” I called out, catching up to him as he made his way outside.
Yoongi was already ahead, his long strides purposeful. When I caught up with him, I hesitated for a moment before speaking. “Yoongi… you didn’t have to do this, you know…”
He didn’t look at me as he continued walking, but his voice was calm. “It’s fine. You’re not going to take a taxi alone this late. It’s safer this way.”
I opened my mouth to argue, but I stopped myself. There was something in the way he said it that made me not want to push back. Instead, I just followed him outside, the cool night air brushing against my skin as we made our way to the car.
I had no idea what this meant, or what was running through Yoongi’s mind, but for now, I was just grateful that he had decided to take me home.
The drive back home was quiet but comfortable, with only the hum of the car filling the space between us. It wasn’t awkward, though. There was something peaceful about it, something unspoken that made the silence feel easy.
When we arrived at my apartment block, Yoongi stepped out of the car first, walking around to open the door for me.
“Thanks,” I said softly, already preparing to say my goodbyes as I stepped out.
But before I could, Yoongi spoke up, his tone surprisingly serious. “Actually… Can I have my jacket back?”
I blinked in confusion, not entirely sure I’d heard him right. “Seriously?” I asked, laughing a little at the unexpected request. “You’re really asking for it back now?”
He glanced at me with a small shrug, his eyes hiding whatever thoughts were going through his mind. “It’s cold,” he said simply.
I let out a sigh. “Okay, follow me. I took it from the dry cleaners today, and I was planning on bringing it to you tomorrow.”
I stepped inside my apartment, Yoongi following and standing halfway between the living room and the corridor. I quickly scanned the room, searching for the bag with the jacket in it. The silence stretched on as I fumbled through a few things, but Yoongi broke it, his voice unexpectedly blunt.
“So, you and Hobi, huh?”
I paused for a second, confused by the sudden shift in the conversation. “What about me and Hobi?”
“Well, all the dinners, the flirting today with the love shots… is there anything I should know about?” His gaze was steady, but I could see something flicker in his eyes.
I shook my head, trying to keep my tone light. “No, we’re just friends. He’s actually a nice person who respects me and my work.”
Maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe it was just me overthinking things, but Yoongi’s next words caught me off guard. “But I thought these past few days we were on good terms as well.”
I felt a little defensive at that. “But I’m not working with Hobi. I’m not under a contract with him.”
Yoongi didn’t seem satisfied. “Besides all that, I still felt like we could be more than just coworkers.”
I blinked, not sure if I understood him right. “What? Do you want us to be friends?” I joked, trying to deflect the tension.
Yoongi’s eyes narrowed slightly, but I continued “Do you even hear yourself right now? If I had told Min Yoongi two months ago that he’d be asking me to be friends, he would’ve laughed in my face.”
Yoongi’s expression darkened for a moment. “Hell no, I don’t want to be friends with you.”
I crossed my arms, trying to hide the sudden heat rising to my cheeks. “Pff, then I don’t want to be friends with you either,” I shot back, scoffing. “Besides, you’re the one who brought it up in the first place. You were the one sulking about me being friends with Hobi and not with you.”
Yoongi’s eyes flickered with irritation. “I’m not sulking because you are friends with him, I am because you are close to a guy that’s not me.” His voice was quieter now, but there was an edge to it.
“What?” I asked, genuinely confused.
Yoongi took a step closer, his expression darkening. “Let’s cut the crap. You’re telling me that after everything that’s been happening these past two months, the tension, the lingering touches… you never felt anything?” His eyes were locked onto mine, searching for something in them.
My breath hitched in my throat, but before I could respond, he continued. “And after what happened at Hobi’s birthday party… you didn’t move away from me. Hell, you were practically begging me to kiss you with the way you were looking at me. Don’t tell me you weren’t thinking about it too.”
I froze, my mind racing, trying to process his words. I hadn’t expected him to bring up that night, let alone accuse me of anything. My pulse quickened as I searched his face, unsure of what to say.
Yoongi watched me closely, waiting for my response, but all I could do was stare at him, caught in the web of his words.
“What? I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I stammered, stepping back slightly, trying to play it cool, but my heart was pounding in my chest. Yoongi’s gaze was intense, his expression unreadable, and I couldn’t help but feel exposed under the weight of his words. Was he serious? Was I imagining all of this? I didn’t want to admit it, but everything he said was starting to make sense, whether I liked it or not.
Yoongi didn’t seem satisfied with my denial. He stepped closer, his eyes locked on mine with a new intensity. “Oh really?” he murmured, his voice low and steady, but there was a hint of something sharper in it now. “Then tell me to stop.”
Before I could process the situation, before I could even think about what to say, he was on me. His lips crashed into mine with a sudden force that caught me off guard. The kiss was hard, desperate, as if he was trying to prove something to both of us. His hands gripped my arms firmly, pulling me in closer.
For a few seconds, I froze, not sure how to respond. His lips moved against mine with an urgency that made my mind race, but my body just… didn’t react. I couldn’t. My heart was beating so fast, my thoughts tangled in confusion. Was this real? Was he really kissing me?
Yoongi pulled back suddenly, his hands dropping from my arms. He stepped away, his expression flickering with something I couldn’t quite place. His breathing was heavier now, and he seemed to be searching for something in my eyes, a sign, maybe, of whether or not I felt the same.
“I— maybe I misunderstood,” he muttered, almost to himself, his voice quieter, as if the weight of his actions was suddenly dawning on him.
His words trailed off into a shaky breath, and for a moment, it felt like the room held its breath, everything hanging in the air between us. I stood there, wide-eyed, my lips tingling from the kiss, not knowing how to process what had just happened.
Yoongi’s eyes flicked to the ground for a second, and he muttered a curse under his breath. “Fuck…I’m sorry… I actually thought…” He cut himself off, looking at me like he was trying to gauge my reaction, like he was waiting for me to say something, anything.
The silence between us stretched on, thick and heavy, and I could feel my chest tightening with every passing second. I couldn’t let him walk away thinking he had made a mistake. I couldn’t just stand there and let this moment slip away.
Without even thinking, I stepped forward, my hands shaking slightly, but I reached for him. I grabbed the front of his shirt, tugging him closer to me until there was no space left between us. My heart was still racing, but this time, there was no hesitation. I kissed him back, pressing my lips to his with the same urgency that he had given me.
Yoongi stiffened at first, but after a second, he responded, his hands coming up to cup my face as he kissed me back. This time, there was no hesitation, no second-guessing. His kiss was deep, full of everything he hadn’t said, all the things that had been building up between us. His lips moved against mine, his fingers threading into my hair as he pulled me closer, if that was even possible.
I could feel the heat of his body against mine, the way his heart seemed to be racing just as fast as mine. The world outside of us faded, and for the first time in a long time, all I could think about was him, Yoongi, and this moment we were sharing.
When we finally pulled apart, both of us breathless, I was left reeling. My mind was spinning, but there was something in the way Yoongi looked at me, something that made it all feel right, even if it didn’t quite make sense yet.
I took a step back, trying to catch my breath, still processing everything that had just happened. "What’s happening?" I asked softly, my voice a little unsteady. "Are you sure tomorrow you're not just going to act like none of this happened?"
Yoongi didn’t say anything right away. He seemed to be weighing my words carefully, like he was searching for the right response.
Then, he took a slow step forward, closing the distance between us once more. His eyes were intense, but there was a softness in them now, something that made me feel like I wasn’t just some passing thought. "Nah," Yoongi finally spoke, his voice low and steady. "Let me show you how much I've been stopping myself from anything happening."
Before I could process his words, his hands were on me again, pulling me back toward him with an urgency that caught me off guard. He kissed me again, this time it wasn’t rushed, but full of something more than just desire.
Yoongi’s hands were gentle yet firm as he backed me toward the living room, the heat of his body practically radiating against mine. I could feel my pulse quicken with every step he took. When my backside finally met the armrest of the sofa, a shock of electricity shot through me, my heart hammering in my chest.
He didn’t give me a moment to breathe before his hands were on me again, this time lifting me effortlessly, laying me down onto the sofa. I gasped slightly as I landed, and Yoongi followed, his body pressing over mine, his presence suffocating in the best way.
His eyes never left mine, and the way he hovered above me, his weight just barely touching me, made my stomach twist with anticipation. "Are you gonna tell me to stop, Y/N?" Yoongi's voice was rough, but there was something almost challenging in it. He leaned in slightly, the tip of his nose grazing mine as he waited for my response. "Or are you actually gonna admit how much you want this? That this is actually happening."
I swallowed hard, my mind swirling with conflicting thoughts. I was caught between every instinct screaming at me to push him away, to stop this before it went any further, and another side of me that wanted to give in, to feel everything he was offering without hesitation.
His lips hovered just inches from mine, and I could feel the warmth of his breath on my skin, making my heart race. I opened my mouth to say something, anything, but the words caught in my throat. Instead, I just looked at him, trying to understand what this all meant.
The silence between us was almost suffocating now, the tension thick as I weighed my next move. Yoongi didn’t pull away, didn’t pressure me further. He just waited, giving me space, but still holding me in place with that unyielding gaze of his.
For a moment, I thought I might choke on the words I wanted to say. But the truth was, I already knew. I couldn’t deny it anymore.
"I—" My voice faltered, and I quickly cleared my throat, suddenly feeling exposed. "I want this," I admitted, the words coming out breathlessly, almost as if they were ripped from me. It was scary, letting the truth hang in the air between us, but it felt... necessary.
Yoongi’s eyes softened, just a little. He leaned down, his lips brushing against mine once more, but this time, it wasn’t a question. It was an answer, his answer to everything we had left unsaid.
Despite the clothes still between us, I wrapped my legs around his body, pulling him closer, craving more of the intimacy building between us. Yoongi’s voice was low and dripping with desire as he whispered, “Good, because I’ve been dying to know how you taste…”
Smirking, he lowered himself further, letting his breath ghost over my pants. My heart raced as I gave him a silent nod, granting permission. Slowly, he unzipped them, his movements deliberate and teasing. My breath hitched as he slid my pants down my legs, throwing them on the floor. Just as he hooked a finger under my panties to remove them, I gently stopped his hand.
“Wait…” I whispered, my voice shaky. Gathering what little confidence I had, I added, “It’s only fair you lose a piece of clothing too.”
His eyebrow quirked up in amusement. “Desperate to see me naked already, Y/N?” he teased.
“Huh, you’re the one who just claimed you’ve been dying to know how I—”
Before I could finish, Yoongi silenced me with a kiss, his lips rough and insistent, leaving me breathless. His tongue swept against mine, teeth grazing in just the right way. When he finally pulled back to let us catch our breath, he reached for the hem of his shirt and tugged it over his head. Smirking, he stood before me, his torso now bare, revealing his defined muscles despite the soft lines of his body.
“There. Happy now?” he asked, a teasing glint in his eyes.
This man. Such a tease.
“Much better,” I quipped with a smirk of my own.
“Now, let me finish what I started,” he murmured, his voice a low growl that sent a shiver down my spine. “Let you experience my famous tongue technology...…” His lips quirked into a mischievous smile as he lowered himself between my thighs, his hands trailing down to hook under the waistband of my panties. He slipped them down with tantalizing slowness, his fingers brushing against my skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake.
“Who calls—” I started, but the words dissolved into a gasp as his tongue made its first bold stroke, fast and deliberate, over my folds. My head fell back against the sofa, a moan escaping before I could even think to stop it.
He didn’t give me time to recover. His tongue moved again, sweeping over me with precision, eliciting another sharp cry. Each stroke was firm, purposeful, and maddeningly good. My body arched into him, instinctively chasing the pleasure he so expertly provided.
“Yoongi,” I managed to whisper, my voice shaky and strained, but he didn’t respond, not with words at least. Instead, his lips and tongue continued their relentless exploration, the wet heat of his mouth driving me to the edge of reason.
My hands shot to his hair, my fingers tangling in the soft strands, pulling lightly, not to guide him, but to ground myself. His name fell from my lips in fragmented pleas, each one blending into the next. His low hum of approval vibrated against me, sending an electric shock straight to my core.
He reached for one of my knees, pushing it further aside to open me up to him completely. His grip was firm yet gentle, and the shift only deepened the intensity of his attention. His tongue flicked, swirled, and teased, hitting every spot that made my body tremble.
The room was thick with the sound of my ragged breathing and unrestrained moans. Each cry seemed to fuel him, urging him on as his pace quickened. I gripped his hair tighter, the sensation building with every stroke. A hand reached for his shoulder, my nails grazing the smooth heat of his skin.
“Yoongi…” I whimpered, my voice shaky and raw, a desperate plea in the form of his name.
He pulled back briefly, his lips glistening as he looked up at me with a devilish smirk. “That was to answer your question,” he said, his voice rough with satisfaction. He ran his tongue slowly over his lips, collecting anything he’d missed, and the sight alone sent another wave of heat through me.
I couldn’t let him have the upper hand, not entirely. Tugging at his hair, I directed him back between my thighs. “Less talking,” I breathed, my voice barely above a whisper, “more doing.”
He chuckled low, the sound vibrating against me as he dove back in without hesitation. This time, his movements were even more determined, his tongue working with an intensity that made me cry out. My body writhed against him, my breaths coming in sharp, shallow gasps as I clung to him, overwhelmed by the pleasure coursing through me.
Yoongi’s hands gripped my thighs firmly, keeping me in place as he worked his magic. His tongue alternated between long, teasing strokes and quick, precise flicks, sending me spiraling closer to the edge.
He was relentless, unyielding, and devastatingly good. Too good. If he could do this with just his tongue, the thought of what else he could do made my head spin. The heat pooling low in my belly grew hotter, tighter, until it felt like I might combust.
“Yoongi,” I gasped, my voice breaking as my body tensed beneath his touch. “I think I’m gonna—”
“Cum on my mouth, baby,” he murmured against me, his voice low and commanding, the vibrations sending me over the edge.
I shattered, my release hitting me like a tidal wave. My back arched, my head falling back as his name tore from my lips in a broken cry. My vision blurred, and for a moment, all I could feel was the overwhelming heat of pleasure washing over me.
He didn’t stop, his tongue continuing to lap at me, drawing out every last tremor until I was trembling beneath him. When he finally pulled back, his face was smug, his lips glistening as he swiped his tongue over them again.
“You taste better than I imagined,” he murmured, and my cheeks flushed at his confession. How many times had this man fantasized about this? It wasn’t like I hadn’t entertained some dirty thoughts over the past weeks, but hearing him say it out loud, so unabashedly, felt different.
Before I could reply, Yoongi leaned back up and kissed me passionately, sharing the taste of myself on his lips. The kiss was deep and consuming, his tongue sweeping over mine with deliberate slowness. Then he trailed wet kisses down to my neck, biting softly, not enough to leave a mark, but enough to make a point. It was possessive in the most exciting way.
As he toyed with the hem of my shirt, I decided to turn the tables. My hands moved to the waistband of his pants undoing his zipper. He froze for a moment, his eyes wide, searching mine. “Y/N… you don’t have to. Just because—”
“I want to,” I interrupted, my voice steady despite the nervous flutter in my chest. His breath escaped in a shaky exhale at my words.
“Besides,” I teased, leaning in closer, my lips brushing against his ear, “let me show you what other sounds these hands can produce.”
I bit my bottom lip as I pulled his pants down completely, leaving him in nothing but his boxers. My hand brushed over him, his length already hard and straining against the fabric. My fingers lightly grazed over him, stroking just enough to tease. Yoongi hissed, a mix of pleasure and frustration.
“Y/N… don’t tease me,” he groaned, his voice thick with need.
“Me? Tease you?” I feigned innocence, grinning up at him as my hand continued its slow, deliberate motions. He let out a shaky breath, his hips instinctively bucking toward my touch.
I leaned up to capture his lips again, all while my hand maintained its slow, torturous rhythm. “Y/N…” Yoongi moaned, the sound low and drawn out.
With that, I tugged his boxers down, his cock springing free and slapping against his stomach. My hand wrapped around him, the heat and hardness startling me for a moment. Pre-cum was already dripping from his tip, and I swiped my thumb over it, spreading it along his length as he trembled beneath my touch.
His hips instinctively bucked forward, chasing the friction as a low groan escaped his lips. My fingers moved deliberately, starting with slow, measured strokes that made his thighs tense beneath me.
“Y/N…” His voice was barely above a whisper, a strained mixture of need and restraint.
I leaned forward, brushing a kiss along his jawline before murmuring, “Relax.” My breath was hot against his skin, and I could feel the shudder it sent through his body.
One hand worked up and down his length, my palm twisting slightly with each stroke, while the other cupped and teased his balls, massaging them gently. His body responded to every touch, his muscles taut and trembling as he fought to stay in control.
“Fuck…” he groaned, his brows furrowed, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip as his chest heaved with uneven breaths.
The intimacy of it all had my own heart racing, my body reacting to the sight of him unraveling beneath me. My hand picked up speed, stroking him faster and firmer, my thumb gliding over his sensitive tip with each pass.
“You’re driving me crazy,” he muttered, his voice rough and breathless.
“Good,” I teased, leaning in to kiss his collarbone, my lips trailing over the sharp lines of his neck. “That’s the idea.”
His hips lifted again, chasing the rhythm of my hand. His groans deepened, each one more desperate than the last. The sounds he made were intoxicating, sending heat pooling low in my belly.
“Y/N,” he gasped, his voice cracking slightly. One of his hands reached out, gripping my thigh tightly as though he needed something to anchor himself.
Yoongi eyes fluttered open, locking onto mine with a fiery intensity. “I’m—”
“I know,” I cut him off softly, my hand never slowing.
His half-lidded eyes met mine, his skin glistening with sweat. “Where…?” he managed to ask, his voice barely audible.
I didn’t answer with words. Instead, I went to my knees and opened my mouth, holding his gaze. His expression faltered for a split second, a mix of desperation and awe flashing across his face.
Yoongi adjusted slightly, taking his cock in his own hand, his body hovering over mine, and with a few more strokes, he spilled into my mouth. I took everything, swallowing it down as I maintained eye contact. His breathing was ragged, and I could feel the slight tremble in his legs as I kissed the tip of his cock, making sure nothing was left behind.
When it was over, he sank down, his body pressing against mine. His lips found mine again, kissing me deeply, as if he couldn’t get enough.
When he pulled away, he rested his forehead against my shoulder, his voice soft but filled with satisfaction. “Fuck, you’re incredible.”
Yoongi’s hand trailed lazily across my skin, finding the thin strap of my bra under my shirt. “Next time,” he murmured, his voice low and teasing, “I’ll make sure you’re not wearing anything at all.”
He hooked a finger under the strap, pulling it slightly before letting it snap back against my skin with a soft smack. I gasped, half-laughing, and swatted at his chest, but he just grinned, his eyes gleaming with mischief.
With a satisfied sigh, he stood up, stretching slightly before scanning the room. His pants and boxers lay crumpled on the floor a few steps away. “As much as I love this view,” he teased, casting a lingering look at me sprawled on the sofa now, “we might want to at least partially dress before someone accidentally walks in.”
Rolling my eyes, even though I lived alone, I reached down to grab my panties, slipping them on with a quick movement. “Happy now?” I quipped, arching an eyebrow as he smirked at me.
“Not entirely,” he shot back smoothly, already heading to the smaller sofa across the room. He grabbed the folded blanket and returned to the larger couch where I laid, tossing it over us as he sat back down and pulled me toward him.
“And why is that?” I teased, arching a brow as I snuggled into his chest.
He smirked, his arms wrapping securely around me as he scooped me into a comfortable position against him. His warmth enveloped me, and I felt myself relaxing despite my teasing words.
“Because, I’ve been messing up so far,” he said, his voice soft but firm, “ but I’m not letting you go away this time.”
I blinked, startled by the quiet sincerity in his tone. It wasn’t just a playful remark; it felt like a promise, one that made my heart flutter and my chest tighten all at once.
“You’re stuck with me now, Y/N,” he added, resting his chin on the top of my head. “Hope you can handle that.”
I couldn’t help but smile, burying my face against his chest to hide the blush creeping up my cheeks. “We’ll see,” I replied softly, my voice muffled away.
For the first time in a long while, I felt safe. Wrapped in his arms, I allowed myself to close my eyes, lulled by the steady rhythm of his heartbeat and the warmth of his embrace.
***
The next morning, I woke up to an unsettling emptiness. The warmth of Yoongi’s embrace from last night was gone, replaced by the coolness of the sofa beneath me. Disoriented, I blinked against the soft morning light streaming through the curtains. Everything about last night had felt surreal—like the universe had finally shifted into place. But now, as I sat up and looked around the room, it all felt like a dream.
My gaze darted to the floor, where his shirt had been tossed haphazardly, and the hallway where his shoes had been kicked off. They were gone. Every trace of him had vanished. A sinking feeling settled in my chest.
Did he regret this? Was it a mistake for him?
I couldn’t stop the questions from flooding my mind, each one louder and more insistent than the last. For me, it hadn’t been a mistake. Not even close. Last night had been a moment of pure, unfiltered connection, a night that felt like it had shattered every barrier between us.
But had it meant the same to him?
Frustration began to bubble up, mixed with a touch of anger. If he had regrets, he should’ve said something. Leaving like this? That was low.
Determined not to let him get away with it, I marched to my room, pulling on a fresh pair of jeans and a casual shirt. If he thought he could disappear without a word, he had another thing coming. The moment I was tugging on my shoes, ready to storm out and demand answers, my phone buzzed on the coffee table.
I snatched it up, my frustration spilling over as I saw Minji’s name on the screen. Great, this better not be about work, I thought as I pressed the phone to my ear.
“Hello?” I said curtly.
“Y/N, are you okay?” Minji’s tone was brisk but edged with concern.
“What do you mean?” I asked, more annoyed than curious.
Minji sighed heavily on the other end. “That’s good. You’re fine. I was worried for a second. Didn’t you hear? Someone raided HYBE last night. A crazy fan broke in and they believe they were trying to expose Suga’s album.”
“What?” I froze, my heart skipping a beat as her words sank in.
“Yeah, it’s all over the news this morning. Security’s gone into overdrive,” Minji continued. “Anyway, just wanted to check if you were caught up in any of it.”
“I have to go,” I said abruptly, hanging up before she could respond.
My mind raced. If HYBE had been raided and rumours about Yoongi’s album were true, then that meant he must be there.
I grabbed my car keys and drove as fast as I could, keeping just within the speed limits. My mind buzzed with thoughts about Yoongi and everything Minji had said. Twenty minutes later, I pulled up in front of HYBE.
I stepped inside, my pulse quickening as I made my way through the familiar halls. When I reached the studio, I stopped in my tracks. Yoongi was pacing back and forth, his phone pressed tightly to his ear. He hadn’t noticed me yet, too absorbed in his conversation.
“Please make sure they’re caught and thoroughly questioned about what they saw,” he said, his tone firm but composed. Whoever he was speaking to replied, but I couldn’t make out the words.
Yoongi sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah, I know we had contracts here. Honestly, I don’t care about the album, it’s going to get released soon anyway. What matters is that Producer K’s information stays protected. Make sure no sensitive details leak, okay?” He paused to listen again. “Alright. Call me as soon as you have any updates.”
As he ended the call, his gaze finally landed on me. I was frozen in place, trying to process the past 24 hours, the intimacy, the sudden emptiness when I woke up, and now this chaos.
“Hey,” I said, breaking the silence. “What’s going on?”
Yoongi’s expression softened when he saw me, but the stress in his posture remained. He sighed and motioned for me to sit down, but I stayed standing, waiting for answers.
“Someone broke into HYBE last night,” he began, his voice steady but laced with frustration. “They managed to get into a secure area. Luckily, nothing was taken, at least nothing physical, but there’s still a risk of leaks.”
I blinked, processing his words. “So… this morning—”
He cut me off with a sheepish smile. “Shit, I’m sorry. I should’ve woken you up, but you looked so peaceful, and I didn’t want to disturb you. When I got the call, I panicked. I didn’t even think, I just grabbed my stuff and rushed over here. I had to make sure everything was locked down. The NDAs, your information, everything. But I think we’re okay. Nothing seems to have been compromised.”
My chest loosened at his explanation, relief washing over me. “So… you didn’t leave because you regretted it?” My voice came out quieter than I intended. “It felt like… maybe you didn’t care about anything that happened yesterday.”
Yoongi’s eyes widened, and he stepped closer to me, closing the distance between us in just a few strides. “Ahh, baby,” he said, his tone filled with disbelief. “Are you kidding me? How could I ever regret it?”
He leaned down and brushed his lips against mine, soft and lingering. The kiss was brief, but the warmth of it stayed with me. As he pulled back, he smirked, a playful glint in his eyes. Without another word, he scooped me up effortlessly, his hands firm on my thighs as he lifted me.
“Yoongi!” I squealed, instinctively wrapping my arms around his neck.
“You’re stuck with me now,” he teased, his smirk deepening as he carried me toward the door. My back pressed against it as he gently pushed me, one of his hands leaving my body just long enough to twist the lock. The soft click echoed in the quiet room. His eyes flickered with something darker, more intense, as he leaned in closer.
“And don’t even think about doubting me again,” he murmured, his lips brushing against the shell of my ear, sending shivers down my spine.
Before I could respond, Yoongi moved us again, carrying me to the producer’s table, the one we’d spent countless hours working on together. He placed me on top of it, the cold surface pressing against my thighs. My body shifted slightly, the edge of the keyboard beneath me accidentally activating a few buttons with soft clicks and beeps.
A mischievous smirk spread across his face as he leaned over me, caging me in with his arms on either side. “Looks like we’re making more music, Producer K,” he teased, his voice low and dripping with amusement.
Immediately his lips captured mine, soft and demanding all at once. The kiss deepened almost instantly, his hand threading into my hair to tilt my head for better access. I gasped against his mouth as his other hand slid down, gripping my waist firmly to keep me anchored to him.
The kiss was electric, slow, and yet so full of intensity it left me breathless. His tongue brushed against mine, coaxing me into a rhythm that made my heart race. My hands found their way to his shoulders, then slid up behind his neck, pulling him even closer.
Yoongi let out a low hum of approval, the sound vibrating against my lips. The tension in the room grew thicker with every passing second. His teeth grazed my bottom lip, tugging gently before he soothed it with another kiss.
“You taste soo good,” he whispered against my mouth, his breath warm and tantalizing. He kissed me again, harder this time, as though he was trying to erase any lingering doubts from my mind.
“Are you going to fuck me or not?” I asked, my voice laced with impatience and desire. Enough with the teasing, I wanted him, here and now.
A smirk played on his lips as he looked at me. “Yes, right here on this table,” he murmured, his voice deep and full of promise. “I’m going to make you feel so good, baby.”
Slowly he reached for the hem of my shirt, pulling it up and over my head. His dark eyes lingered on me as he kept his promise from the night before. He leaned down, gently biting one of my bra straps and pulling it down with his teeth, the act equal parts sensual and possessive. Then his hand slid the other strap off my shoulder, his fingers brushing over my skin in a way that sent shivers racing down my spine.
His hands unclasped my bra, letting it fall away completely. The cool air of the room ghosted over my now-bare skin, goosebumps forming in its wake. His gaze was hungry, appreciative, as he took me in.
He didn’t waste a moment, cupping both of my breasts in his warm hands. His thumbs brushed over my nipples, teasing them until they hardened under his touch. Leaning in, he wrapped his lips around one, his tongue swirling and flicking while his other hand kneaded the other.
A soft moan escaped my lips as my hands tangled in his hair, pulling him closer. My legs around his waist instinctively pull his body closer and flush against mine. The hardness of his arousal pressed against my clothed core, teasing me further.
Yoongi groaned softly against my skin, his breath hot as he alternated between kissing and sucking on my sensitive flesh. After a moment, he pulled back slightly, his lips glistening as he grinned down at me.
“Your skin is so soft,” he murmured, his voice low and husky. He stood upright and reached for the hem of his shirt, pulling it off in one smooth motion.
The sight of his toned chest and the way his muscles moved as he tossed the shirt aside made my breath hitch. My hands instinctively trailed over his bare skin, feeling the heat of him beneath my palms.
He proceeded to slide my pants down along with my panties in one smooth motion, leaving me bare beneath him. My cheeks flushed as I turned my head to the side, shying away from his gaze. The reality of the moment hit me, this was happening, in the studio no less. Something I had never done before, especially not with a co-worker. I had always been professional, keeping clear boundaries. But Yoongi? He was different. He was so much more.
Before my thoughts could spiral further, two of his fingers gently grasped my chin, tilting my face back toward him. His dark eyes softened as they met mine, a faint smile curling his lips. “You’re perfect,” he murmured, his voice filled with genuine adoration.
He leaned down and kissed me deeply, his lips moving against mine with a passion that made me forget all my worries. When he pulled away, I was left breathless, my body trembling.
Without breaking eye contact, he stepped back and slid his boxers down, his cock springing free in a way that had my stomach tightening with need. He reached into a nearby drawer, pulling out a condom. The sight of him, so confident and focused, made my mouth water.
I whimpered softly, my body arching toward him. “Please…” I whispered, my voice trembling with desperation.
Yoongi smirked at my plea as he rolled the condom over his length slowly, his eyes never leaving mine. He moved closer, his cock teasing my entrance as he pressed the tip against me, applying just enough pressure to drive me wild.
Then he pulled back, a devilish grin on his lips.
“Yoongi!” I cried out, my hands gripping his shoulders in frustration.
Yoongi chuckled softly at my frustration, his deep voice resonating in the quiet studio. “Patience, baby,” he teased, leaning down to press a kiss to the corner of my mouth. “I want to savour this.”
His words sent a shiver down my spine, but my body was anything but patient. My legs tightened around his hips, trying to draw him closer. He gave in just a little, letting his tip press further against my entrance, his cock teasing me.
“Please…” I whimpered again, my voice trembling.
“God, you’re so needy,” he murmured, but there was no mockery in his tone, only a mixture of desire and affection. He pressed forward slightly, just enough to stretch me, and the sensation made my breath hitch.
He paused, his hand brushing over my cheek. “Are you okay?” he asked softly, his gaze searching mine.
“Yes,” I breathed, nodding. “I need you, Yoongi… all of you.”
That was all the encouragement he needed. Slowly, he pushed into me, his cock filling me inch by inch. The sensation was overwhelming in the best way, an exquisite mix of pleasure and pressure that made me gasp. My nails dug into his shoulders as he slid himself fully inside me, both of us pausing to catch our breaths.
“You feel so good,” he groaned, his head dropping to my shoulder. His lips brushed against my skin, leaving hot, open-mouthed kisses as he began to move.
The first few thrusts were slow and deliberate, his hips rolling against mine in a rhythm that made me lose all sense of time and place. My moans filled the room, blending with the soft sounds of his breathless grunts and the quiet creak of the table beneath us.
“Yoongi…” I gasped, my hands sliding down to his waist to pull him closer. His movements grew more intense, each thrust hitting deeper, sending waves of pleasure coursing through me.
His hand slid down to my thigh, lifting it higher to change the angle, and the new position made me cry out. “That’s it, baby. Let me hear you.”
I clung to him, my body arching into his as the tension built to an unbearable peak. Every movement, every touch, was driving me closer to the edge. His name fell from my lips in a breathless chant, and I could feel his body tensing too, his control slipping with each passing second.
“I’m close,” I managed to gasp, my fingers tangling in his hair as I pressed my forehead against his.
“Not so fast…” he murmured, his lips brushing against my ear. In one swift motion, he pulled out completely, leaving me trembling and desperate for more. He grabbed my hips, pulling me down and guiding me to turn around. His hand on my back guided me to lean forward, making my chest press against the cool surface of the studio desk. I tried to make myself stable, hands roaming over the desk for support when I accidentally hit a button on the keyboard that sounded like the recording audio one.
“Yoongi, I think I—”
“Leave it on,” he growled, his voice dripping with lust. His hands ran down my sides, gripping my hips firmly as he aligned himself behind me. Without another word, he thrust into me again, harder this time, making me cry out in surprise and pleasure.
The new angle was overwhelming, his movements fast and relentless, each thrust sending shockwaves through my body. My hands scrambled for something better to hold on to, finding the edge of the desk as I felt my climax building faster than ever before.
“Yoongi,” I moaned, my voice trembling. “I’m going to—”
“Me too,” he groaned, his pace quickening. His fingers tightened on my hips, pulling me back to meet every thrust.
The tension inside me snapped like a rubber band, and I shattered around him, a cry escaping my lips as waves of pleasure consumed me. His name fell from my lips in broken gasps, my body trembling with the force of my release.
“Fuck,” Yoongi hissed behind me, his movements growing erratic as he followed me over the edge. With a low groan, he stilled, his hands gripping me tightly as he emptied himself into the condom.
We stayed silent for a moment, both of us catching our breaths as the studio filled with the sound of our laboured breathing. Yoongi’s hand slid up my back, his touch gentle now as he leaned down to press a soft kiss between my shoulders.
“You’re perfect,” he whispered, his voice softer than before, filled with a mix of affection and satisfaction.
I turned my head slightly to glance at him, a small smile tugging at my lips despite the lingering haze of pleasure. “You’re pretty perfect yourself,” I replied breathlessly.
His lips quirked into a smirk as he helped me straighten up, his hands still lingering on my waist. “You keep driving me crazy when there’s work to be done,” he said, his voice still low, a hint of amusement in his eyes.
“Work?” I teased, arching an eyebrow.
We both laughed softly, the tension replaced by a comfortable warmth as we started dressing up together. After fixing ourselves up, Yoongi and I sat back at the desk, quietly adjusting to the shift from intimacy to professionalism.
A sudden realization hit me like a bolt of lightning. My eyes widened as I glanced at the screen. The red "REC" light was still blinking, the audio still rolling.
"Wait," I said, trying to keep my voice steady, but my heart was racing. "Yoongi... the recording…"
Yoongi's gaze followed mine to the screen.
I stifled a laugh, trying to process the situation. "We... we didn’t just—"
"We did," he muttered, running a hand through his hair as he reached for the mouse, clicking the stop button on the recording. The sudden silence felt almost louder than the chaos that had just unfolded.
There was a long pause before either of us spoke, and then Yoongi burst into a fit of laughter, the tension completely evaporating. "I can't believe you hit the record by accident," he said between chuckles, shaking his head. "That’s... that's going to be something to remember."
I shook my head, laughing despite the embarrassment that was slowly creeping in. "Oh my god, I didn’t mean to! What if—what if someone listens to that? You have to delete it…"
Yoongi leaned back in his chair, still chuckling. "Relax, I’m pretty sure the only one who’s ever going to hear that is you... and maybe me, when I’m in need of some... inspiration."
I shot him a mock glare. "You’re terrible."
But the laughter between us continued, as if we’d both just acknowledged the absurdity of it all. "Alright, alright," I said, regaining some composure. "So, do we actually erase it... or keep it as a very private memory?"
Yoongi eyed the screen for a moment, a playful glint in his eyes. "I think we keep it," he said with a smirk. "Just in case we ever need to prove who’s really in charge around here."
I raised an eyebrow, a challenge in my smile. "I still have to work with you..."
Yoongi leaned closer, his smirk widening. "We can always record something else to balance it out."
My face flushed again, but this time, it was the shared humour that made the tension feel lighter. The teasing, the jokes, the way we were able to slip back into this comfortable space of banter, it made the moment feel normal again.
***
As time passed, Yoongi and I quietly navigated our secret relationship, keeping things low-key while indulging in countless late-night dates after work. Between stolen moments in the studio, quick getaways to his place, and intimate sessions that blurred the line between work and personal time, we found our rhythm. Every touch, every kiss, every fleeting glance became a quiet promise, a bond that only grew stronger despite the secrecy. The sexual tension between us was undeniable, and we gave into it time and time again, the boundaries between us disappearing with every heated exchange.
April 17 arrived, and Yoongi and I were standing in J-Hope’s living room. It was a quiet evening before the storm of emotions that would come the next day, J-Hope was leaving for the military, and Yoongi was going to see him off tomorrow. As much as I wanted to be there for the farewell, I knew I couldn’t. Not yet. My identity had to still stay hidden, my relationship with Yoongi too, at least for now.
Yoongi caught my eye from across the room, a soft smile playing at his lips as he walked over to where I was standing by the window. "You okay?" he asked quietly, concern flickering in his gaze.
I forced a smile, trying to hide the tension I felt. "Yeah, just thinking about tomorrow," I said, glancing over at J-Hope, who was still chatting with some of the others in the room. "You’re going to see him off right?"
"Of course," Yoongi replied, his voice warm but heavy with the realization that things were changing. "He’s my brother. I’m not going to let him go without saying goodbye properly."
I nodded, feeling a pang of longing. "I wish I could be there, but... you know why I can’t."
"I know," Yoongi murmured, squeezing my hand. He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. "It’s just... it’s tough for both of us, huh?"
I nodded again, my chest tight. "Yeah. It’s not just about J-Hope going. It’s about the secrecy, the not being able to show anyone who we are... it gets exhausting."
Before Yoongi could respond, J-Hope called out from across the room, his voice teasing. "Yoongi, Y/N! You two are awfully quiet over there. What’s going on?"
I looked up and forced a grin, trying to act casual. "Nothing, just—"
J-Hope walked over with a playful glint in his eyes, crossed his arms. "You know, I’ve always seen the tension between you two," he said with a teasing smirk. "That’s why I kept pushing Y/N to hang out with me when Yoongi was around. I had to give him a little nudge."
Yoongi raised an eyebrow, clearly amused by J-Hope’s words. "Really? You were the one pushing her?"
I laughed, feeling the heat rise to my cheeks. "Well, it worked, didn’t it?"
J-Hope chuckled, but his smile softened as he looked between the two of us. "I get it now. You two are like an open secret. But listen," he continued, his tone more serious, "tomorrow, when I’m gone, make sure you both take care of yourselves. Yoongi, I know you’ll look after her. And Y/N, be good to him, alright?"
I nodded, the words heavy in my chest. "I will. You just... you just be safe, okay? Come back to us soon."
Yoongi echoed my sentiment, his voice steady and sincere. "Take care of yourself, man. We’ve got your back. Always."
J-Hope smiled at us both, his eyes a mixture of gratitude and affection. "I know. Thanks, guys. I’ll miss you both."
***
The next day, after Yoongi returned from seeing J-Hope off, we somehow managed to finish the last track just before the deadline. It felt like a weight lifted off our shoulders. The album, which had been months in the making, was finally ready, set to release on April 21st with nine tracks. It was a huge achievement, and that night, we celebrated in typical Yoongi fashion, with whiskey at his place, and, well, sex. The kind of passionate, no-holds-barred kind that made me forget about the stress of the last few months.
The following days leading up to the album release were a whirlwind. We couldn't spend much time together, since Yoongi had a full schedule of promotional activities. Meanwhile, I was at home, taking the rare opportunity to relax and mentally prepare for the next project Minji had set up for me. Life was moving quickly, and I knew the grind would start again soon.
That night, as I was settling into my evening routine, my phone buzzed with a notification. Yoongi's live stream was about to start. He had mentioned earlier that his company would have him livestream his full album for his fans to celebrate the release. I was excited, though admittedly a little nervous to hear how the tracks we worked on together sounded to the public.
I clicked on the stream and watched as Yoongi greeted his fans, his usual cool demeanor giving way to the warmth of being surrounded by people who admired his work. I listened closely as he played the first six songs, the ones he had worked on solo. Each track was a piece of his soul, his sound so distinct and raw. Then came the three songs we collaborated on, and I couldn’t help but smile. Hearing them in front of thousands of fans was surreal, but in a way, it felt like we were still connected. Every note, every lyric felt like a reflection of the quiet moments we shared, the time we spent creating together.
As the ninth track played, I expected the stream to wrap up, but then Yoongi’s voice came through again. It was softer this time, almost like he wasn’t sure if he should say the words that were coming.
“This last song is a very last-minute addition to the album,” he began, his tone low and a little more introspective. “Making this album have a total of 10 tracks. I felt like this album was missing something... and this track summarizes everything that’s been going on with me lately. It’s called SDL.”
I froze, heart pounding in my chest. I hadn’t known about this last-minute addition to the album. I thought everything had been finalized. But here he was, introducing a track that was somehow more personal than any of the others. My stomach tightened as the beat dropped, and the chorus rang out:
"Yeah, somebody does love
But I'm thinking 'bout you."
The lyrics hit me like a wave, each word carrying a weight that I couldn’t ignore. It felt so raw, so vulnerable. Before I could process it all, I grabbed my stuff and rushed out the door. I knew Yoongi would still be at HYBE, where the livestream was taking place. Without thinking twice, I jumped into my car, determined to get there. The song had caught me completely off guard, and I needed to see him. I needed to understand what this song really meant.
It wasn’t just a track—it was a message. A message that had left me reeling, and I wasn’t going to wait to figure it out.
I arrived at HYBE, my heart still racing from the drive. As I stepped out, I caught sight of Jihoon leaving the building, and without thinking, I called out to him.
"Is Yoongi still here?"
"Yeah, last time I saw him, it was just a few minutes ago at the studio," Jihoon replied casually.
I didn't even say goodbye as I ran inside toward the studio, my mind set on finding Yoongi. When I reached the door and pushed it open, I could tell it wasn’t the same as the first time we met, where his eyes had been skeptical and full of surprise. This time, when our eyes met, I saw something completely different, softness, warmth, and love.
I closed the door behind me and moved closer to him, my breath still catching up from the run.
"Y/N, what are you doing here?" Yoongi asked, his voice laced with concern. He came to me, his hands instinctively reaching up to fix my hair, his touch gentle as he noticed my flustered state.
I took a deep breath, trying to steady myself. "That last song, I saw your live... where did that come from? I thought the album had only 9 tracks."
Yoongi paused, his hands lingering in my hair as he gave me a soft smile. "As I said on the live, that song is what’s been going on in my head these past couple of months."
I raised an eyebrow, still trying to piece it together. "So, you mean to tell me... I’m your inspiration?"
He nodded, his eyes never leaving mine. "Yes. You know I’m not great with my feelings, and better than anyone, you understand how hard it is for me to express myself. With everything that’s been going on between us lately… I thought this would be the clearest way to show you how I feel, the way we know best: through music."
“Why didn’t you play it for me before? In private?” I asked, my voice soft but laced with curiosity.
“I wanted it to be a surprise, like a big romantic gesture that only we would recognize,” he admitted, his voice wavering slightly. “I felt like I needed to redeem myself for how I acted at the start. To be honest, we were so good together that I’m sure we could’ve finished those tracks in less than a month. But I kept being a jerk, nit-picking everything just so we’d have to restart. It was selfish, but I wanted to steal every last minute with you. You walked into this studio and captured my heart and soul with everything you are, and I wasn’t ready to let that go so easily.”
His words hit me with full force, my heart pounding in my chest as the weight of his confession settled. I stepped closer, my emotions bubbling to the surface, and before I could think or say anything more, my lips found Yoongi’s. The kiss was soft at first, tentative, as if I were trying to tell him everything I couldn’t put into words. It was a kiss full of everything: love, apology, understanding, and a promise for more. We didn’t need more words, just the closeness, the music, and the quiet understanding between us. The kiss deepened, and in that moment, we both knew: this was just the beginning.
