✎ ˎˊ˗ Pairing: Min Yoongi x female Reader
✎ ˎˊ˗ Summary: You’re horny af one night so you login to your fave hook-up app for a quick fix. You match with Min Yoongi, expecting a cocky rapper with a filthy mouth, but instead, you get a soft-spoken man in a designer shirt and a gummy smile. He keeps asking you out, but there’s no kiss, no sex, nothing. Each date winds you up tighter than the last, your patience (and your lingerie) hanging by a thread, and now you can’t tell what’ll snap first: his restraint or your self-control.
✎ ˎˊ˗ Genre: Fluff, smut, strangers to lovers, non idol
✎ ˎˊ˗ Warnings: 18+ MDNI, eventual smut...
✎ ˎˊ˗ Chapter Warnings: Someone is wearing a Tank Top™️, Someone is a Grade A Meddler, Yoongi ponders committing murder towards this someone several times, real ARMY would know the iconic move in this scene, minor talk about blood, mention of pain kink, overuse of the pet name ‘baby’, kissing, grinding, ass-man Yoongi agenda lives on!
✎ ˎˊ˗ Word count: 4.2k
✎ ˎˊ˗ Betaread by: Tea and Aqua. Thank you, my loves!
✎ ˎˊ˗ Notes: Here it is y’all. This has some tooth-rotting fluff because these two just live rent-free in my head and they’re playing house already. Yoongi’s POV was so fun to write. Now you know MC's not the only one who’s hot & bothered. Enjoy~
Masterlist | Series Masterlist
Date No. 6: The Fuzzy Sweater
Yoongi gets home earlier from his work trip than scheduled and doesn’t tell you. The reason is embarrassingly simple: he wants to see your face without warning, wants to catch you in that soft little smile you always give him when you’re not braced for it, wants to stand on your doorstep and feel you, his baby, fold into him like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
And tonight? Yup, he’s bringing that pack of Trojan gathering dust in his nightstand. It’s about damn time.
Usually he’d opt for a simple t-shirt and jeans, but when he opens his closet, there is a secret weapon staring back at him. He takes the hanger out and sets it atop his bed.
So he showers, gives the patch of trimmed hair down there an extra rinse, and changes into the sweater—the fuzzy stripey one. The one that turns him into a walking, talking plushie. When he slips it on, oh yeah, it feels so fuckin’ nice. It’s super soft. Stupidly inviting. He knows what he’s doing. If you touch it (him), he’s not responsible for what happens next.
Min Yoongi. Master of Seduction!
He drives over with his heart in his throat and his stomach tight, already mentally choreographing how your reunion would go. He imagines you opening the door, your shock melting into happiness, he imagines pulling you by the waist, your arms going around his neck before you even think about it. He imagines kissing you hard then you’ll giggle and say wait, come inside. And he’s gonna take that literally, cumming inside your warm, wet…
Fuck. He needs to get it together.
By the time he’s standing at your doorstep, he’s practically vibrating with anticipation. He shoves a hand inside one of his jean pockets and adjusts the semi sitting at an awkward angle against his boxers.
Tongue pressed to the back of his teeth, palms a little sweaty, he raises his fist, knocks once, twice—and breathes.
When the door opens, everything goes to hell.
It isn't you at the door.
Nope.
It opens to a guy. A tall guy with annoyingly good hair and a face that would be punchable if it weren’t… honestly, pretty.
Yoongi stares at him. The guy stares back.
Who the fuck is this dude?
There is a ringing in his brain that sounds awfully like a hundred cymbals crashing all at once. He feels something unpleasant twist in his chest, sharp and territorial, the kind that makes his pulse spike and his expression flatten. He’s about to lose his shit, actually.
The guy blinks again, slow and unbothered, like he lives there. And the fact that he is wearing a fuckin’ tank top, half-soaked and clinging to his chest…
Yoongi feels his blood pressure rise by ten points.
Seriously.
Who. The. Fuck. Is. This. Dude.
The guy in your doorway looks him up and down, casual as anything, and asks, “Uh… are you Yoongi?”
Oh, hold up. He knows. Yoongi opens his mouth to respond, something neutral and normal lined up on his tongue, until movement behind the stranger hits the corner of his eye.
You appear.
Completely wet.
Hair dripping, cheeks flushed, white T-shirt plastered to your breasts like a second skin… the stuff of his fantasies. He sees the outline of your bra and his mouth dries up so fast he probably needs to lick some of the moisture on your face to hydrate.
Interestingly, despite the suspicious optics, your smile is not a guilty smile. Not a caught-fucking-another-guy smile. Just bright and unbelievably happy to see him.
But Tank Top™ is still there, raising his bicep to lean on the doorway, arm pit hair now pointing menacingly at Yoongi and for one horrible, dizzying second, all Yoongi can think of is: Oh. I’m killing this dude. I’m absolutely killing this dude.
“Yoongi!” you gasp, lit up from the inside, and you cross the space between the two of you immediately, throwing your arms around him. Huh. Just like he imagined.
Your body hits his fuzzy sweater and he feels the cold instantly, but he doesn’t even care because you’re hugging him so tight he forgets how long it’s been. And then you kiss him, firm, warm, in the mouth. So eager he forgets his name. But he’s frozen in place and of course you notice.
“What’s wrong?”
What’s wrong? What’s wrong is he almost nuts at the sight of you in that wet fuckin’ t-shirt.
And also, who the fuck is that guy? That’s what’s wrong.
Yoongi jerks his gaze back to the dude, still standing there, still damp, still too close to you.
The stranger lifts his brows like really?
You blink, finally remembering introductions.
“Oh shit! Sorry. Yoongi, this is Tae, my best friend. He lives across the street. Tae, this is my… umm. Yoongi.”
You’re blushing furiously. It’s not lost on him that you weren’t able to put a label on who he is in your life and Yoongi feels the strongest need to fix that. My Yoongi sounded nice, though, he’s not gonna lie.
Then finally you address the elephant in the room, gesturing to yours and your friend’s drenched bodies. “This is what happens when your shower decides to explode. He came over to help me fix it.”
Yoongi feels like an idiot. A relieved idiot, but an idiot nonetheless. You did tell him you were not interested in anyone else. Hehe.
You slide your arm through his, completely oblivious to the mental gymnastics you’ve put him through in all of five minutes. “Come inside, baby. I didn’t know you were already in town.”
Baby. That word hits him like a warm hand on the chest and his jealousy drops several notches instantly.
You tug him in and he follows without resistance. You help him out of this jacket. And even as he walks past Taehyung, he gives him one last sidelong glance, competitive without meaning to be.
“Is it fixed?” Yoongi asks, standing in the center of your living room. Cause if it is, he can leave, right?
Taehyung grins. “Yeah, it’s done.”
“Tae is great with tools,” your head pops up from behind the fridge door, before you close it shut with your hip. “Very handy.”
Oh he’ll show you handy. He once installed six bidets in one day. Yoongi pulls at the collar of his sweater a bit. Pretends he didn’t hear those damn praises aimed at another man lest he overheats again. Yoongi knows he is phenomenal with tools—he’s gonna have to show you some time. Maybe there’s a loose door hinge somewhere. He will be on the lookout. Trust.
“We’re binge-watching Physical Asia today, Yoongi.” your sweet voice interrupts his thoughts. “You should join us.”
Taehyung scratches the back of his neck. “Nah, I should go.” My guy. At least he has the decency to know when to fuck off.
“It’s fine. Baby, it’s fine, right?” You turn to him, balancing three bags of chips across your chest and a bowl of salsa on top and Yoongi just nods like a bobblehead even though he wants to scream HELL NO.
“I’ve been hanging out with Yoongi’s friends, too. Honestly, you should meet them, Tae. I feel like you’ll get on with them quite well. Especially Kookie and Chim.”
Kookie and Chim! How did those dipshits get a nickname? Oh yeah, they added you on Insta. Guess you’re friends now, which is actually kinda cute. Yoongi gets distracted for a moment before he remembers where he is.
Taehyung takes the salsa bowl from you and places it on the coffee table, while you set the chips beside it.
“I’ve spinach dip also, any takers? No? Okay, I’m heading upstairs to change. Tae set the TV up. I’ll get you a clean shirt.”
One with sleeves, Yoongi hopes.
When the sound of your footsteps fade, Taehyung turns to him. “You okay, man?”
“Mm.” Yoongi sits on the couch. “Good.”
Yeah, this is not how he planned this day to go. But he pretends he’s not embarrassed. Pretends he’s not already plotting how to reclaim every inch of your attention the moment you two are alone again.
Because god, he missed you.
And now that he’s here—fuzzy sweater and jealous heart included—he’s not letting anyone else stand in the way! Not a fuckin’ chance.
Yoongi plucks his phone from his backpocket from getting squished between his buttcheek and the cushions and places it on the coffee table.
The screen lights up and it’s just a notification from the Boy Scouts GC, so he’s ignoring that because it’s probably just Hobi talki—
“That’s a nice photo of Y/N.”
Shit, he forgot to change his lock screen! Idiot!
Yoongi retrieves his device, replies as coolly as he can manage. “Yeah, uh, it’s from when we went hiking,” he mutters as he changes the lock screen back to something far less incriminating: the Samsung Default wallpaper.
Tank Top™ is still grinning at him like the cat that caught the cream. Just to add insult to injury, he quips, “Yeah, I heard you pulled a muscle or something. Was it your leg, or your back?”
“I’m fine now, thanks.”
“We go way back, Y/N and I,” Taehyung says casually, slouching backwards like he owns every piece of furniture in your house. “She used to have the fattest crush on me in college…”
Yoongi’s brain: If I stab your best friend with chopsticks, will you still like me?
“I’m kidding. We’re almost siblings at this point,” Taehyung smiles, raising his brow. “Oh you look like you’re about to swing.”
“Do I?”
“She likes you, you know.” Taehyung says, and Yoongi would be lying if he said that didn’t make his heart soar. “But she’s never had a boyfriend before and I’d hate it if her first one turned out to be a real douchebag.”
Wow. Shots fired. He’s protective. Not hostile. But definitely testy… and still talking.
“Like, if they strung her along for shits… Wasted her time… Y’know what I’m sayin’, dawg?”
Yoongi inhales, keeps his eyes on the TV, because he can already imagine how your best friend is looking at him. The side of his face is burning with the heat from Taehyung’s gaze.
“Look, man,” Yoongi finally responds and makes eye contact against his will. “I’m not here to play games with her.”
Taehyung’s nodding, curious.
Honestly, this is so fuckin’ uncomfortable for Yoongi that he almost wants to yeet himself out of your house. Like being interrogated by not your father was not on the agenda, but he’s not backing down.
“I’m not messing around with her. Just takin’ my time because she matters to me. That’s it.”
Taehyung’s brows rise, not mocking, not teasing this time. He nods once. “Alright.”
Yoongi doesn’t smile, but the tension on his shoulders loosens just enough that if someone were watching closely, they’d see it.
“I won’t snitch about the lock screen….” Taehyung snickers.
That kinda makes Yoongi laugh. Kay. Maybe he isn’t too bad after all.
“Want a beer, hyung?”
Yoongi nods. “Sure.”
Just then, you thunder down the stairs, bright and sunny and carrying a tee, totally unaware you just walked into the tail end of a territorial pissing match cosplaying as polite getting-to-know-you.
Thing is, when you come down, Yoongi’s soul lifts because of your cute little fit.
A stripey cotton long-sleeved sweater (kinda matching his, actually and you know what that means in SK).
But then there’s your piece de resistance.
The tiniest lounge shorts designed to give him the biggest erection.
Yoongi thinks you play dirty–using your fashion expertise as a weapon and he is so damn weak for it.
You drop onto the couch beside him, leg grazing his slacks and he has the most severe need to press any part of his bare skin against your plush thighs that his hands almost start to tingle.
Taehyung hits play and the show is on. Honestly, it’s a very interesting show. He knows Kook has been obsessed with it since Season One. But Yoongi is very much distracted. He occupied himself with nachos to keep him from doing inappropriate things.
Mid-way into the first episode, you pull out a throw from one of your ottomans and shake the blanket out to drape across your lap. You offer him one side and say, “Here, let’s share.”
Yoongi is chuffed as hell, because getting under a blanket with you, he can enjoy your warmth and maybe, just maybe, he can let his fingers wander. Then he sees Taehyung helping himself to the other corner and the plan goes to shit. SMH.
At least he finally has something covering those damn arms.
So now the blanket stretches across all three of you, a compressed row of body heat. Grrreat.
Yoongi tries to be super normal and 110% chill about the fact that your weight is settling so nicely against him, your fingers even start stroking the fine hairs by the sleeves of his sweater like you are meant to.
It feels nice like this. Almost domestic. But because Yoongi is apparently a caveman with zero control over his urges, he feels the tips of his fingers quaking at the thought of stroking the skin on your inner thighs.
You’re none the wiser. Just vibing, happy, watching and talking about the show.
But of course, your bestfriend knows. Taehyung fucking knows the chaos inside Yoongi’s mind.
Taehyung leans back, one arm casually draped over the backrest—behind you. Not touching you (because he doesn’t have a death wish), but close enough that Yoongi’s entire nervous system lights up like an electrical fire. Taehyung tilts his head daring Yoongi to make a move or else.
Yoongi has two choices: This is war or this is war.
Subtle, trying to remain dignified, Yoongi slides his arm behind you on the couch—mirroring Taehyung’s, but is instead claiming the space and setting his palm on your shoulder. Taehyung retracts his arm joyfully and leans the opposite way, even ridding himself of the blanket.
Your pretty eyes flick up at Yoongi, lashes fluttering in that surprised but welcoming way as you snuggle closer to him.
Taehyung is smirking at the TV and Yoongi wants to murder him and thank him in the same breath.
The night wears on. Yoongi has knocked back three bottles on a fairly empty stomach at this point, so he’s feeling a little more subdued.
Yoongi laughs to himself, remembering Kook who loves to say that phrase. Maybe you were right that your friend groups would get along.
“Real quick hyung, let’s try that!”
Yoongi replies, neutral. “Why would I want to?”
Your face lights up instantly. “OH MY GOD PLEASE DO IT.”
“Nah,” Yoongi mutters. “No dice.”
“Come on,” Taehyung grins, eyes gleaming with mischief. “I go low, just lean back on me. So easy.”
“That’s not even what they’re doing,” Yoongi argues, but Taehyung is already standing up, stretching his back, rolling his shoulders like he’s preparing for limbo.
“Absolutely not,” Yoongi says.
“Absolutely yes,” Taehyung counters.
Yoongi shoots him a look, but Taehyung, who apparently has no sense of danger, takes him by the wrist and pulls him upwards.
You clap your hands before you take your phone out, obviously wanting to document this catastrophe waiting to happen.
Dead. Yoongi is actually dead. He sighs, long and suffering. “Fine. ONCE.”
Taehyung brightens like he just won a prize. He squats and bends. “Okay! Hyung, lean your back over me and we lock arms—”
Yoongi stares. “I changed my mind.”
“Baby, don't be a coward,” you say in a sweet, but teasing voice, and that does it.
Yoongi steps into position, butt to butt with your best friend before he leans back tentatively, awkwardly, like a man preparing to die for the woman he lov—wait, who said that?
“C’mon hyung,” Taehyung’s voice shakes him out of his reverie. “Just trust me.”
Yoongi clenches his jaw and shifts his weight backward and suddenly Taehyung locks an arm under his and bends, and Yoongi’s feet are off the ground.
“OH MY GOD,” you squeal, filming everything with your phone. “You’re actually doing it.”
“WHAT THE SHIT!” Yoongi’s voice cracks, sprawled like a starfish as he stares at your ceiling.
Yoongi continues to screech like a water buffalo. “Fuckkk—put me down—my sweater is riding up! TAEHYUNG-AHH!!”
You’re laughing so hard you can’t breathe, tears in your eyes, as Taehyung finally lowers him back onto the carpeted floor. Then, somehow, Yoongi starts laughing too, joining both of you back on the couch.
“Wow, hyung. You’re very bendy.”
You high five Taehyung before you wiggle your brows at Yoongi in a mock-sleazy way, ending it with an exaggerated wink. “You’re not the only one who’s flexible…”
“Ayoooo!” Taehyung hollers and laughs like a hyena.
Yoongi bites his lip to suppress a smile. “Quit it.”
Because this “date” couldn’t have gone any weirder, Yoongi wakes up the next morning with only fragments of memory. Him being spun around by Taehyung while tipsy. Your lovely smile and your supple thighs under the blanket. After weeks of long work hours, exhaustion finally won. He must’ve fallen asleep on the couch at some point—he can feel it in his neck, the dull ache of an unfamiliar pillow.
Then he becomes aware of something else.
You stir against him, lifting your head just enough to look at his face before settling back down, cheek pressed to his chest. “Hi baby,” you murmur, already smiling.
“Hi,” he mumbles, voice rough and heavy with sleep, eyes barely cracking open. “How’d you sleep?”
“So well. I thought I was hugging a cloud.”
That does something to him. Something quiet and deeply satisfying. He exhales, one arm tightening around you without thinking, palm resting flat against your back like it’s always belonged there.
This wasn’t his idea of a sleepover. But why does it feel so right?
He blinks again, more awake now. The room is bathed in early morning light, and finally, no sign of Taehyung. Just you and him and this bliss.
“Guess I make a good pillow,” he says, voice low, still lazy.
“You do,” you hum. “Ten out of ten. Would swipe right again.”
He lets out a tiny huff, fingers brushing absently through your hair. You’re even prettier in the morning, when your cheeks are puffy and your eyes are a little droopy and your tummy is… growling?
That was loud.
“Better feed your pet,” Yoongi jokes.
“Yahhh,” you say, burying your face deep into his chest again like you’re trying to go inside his heart. (News flash: you already might be.)
“C’mon, let’s get you some food…”
“Yeah… M’starving,” you admit, though you make no move to get up.
He tilts his head down, presses a gentle kiss to your hair. “Shall we make breakfast?”
You groan but smile, finally untangling yourself from him. He watches you pad toward the kitchen, still in those shorts, and now the only thing in his brain is: that ass.
“You coming?”
“Mmh, give me a second.” Yoongi frowns at his crotch as his muscles tighten.
When he looks up, you’re observing him, and there’s mischief in the way you mouth, “Perv.”
He narrows his eyes. “It’s morning. I can’t fuckin’ help it.”
A little later, you’re side by side at the counter. He cracks eggs while you rinse fruit. He can’t help but thank his lucky stars that this normal, gentle thing is now part of his life, and he wants more of it, more of you.
“C’mere, baby…”
Your weight sinks against him just right, the couch dipping under the shift as you straddle him. His fuzzy sweater traps your warmth, your thighs bare against his trousers, and his brain latches onto the sensation of your softness, your scent like it’s something to catalogue and revisit later.
His palms travel the smooth expanse of skin from your leg up, higher, higher towards your ass, squeezing with both hands without restraint. Your hips roll forward instinctively as you continue to devour his mouth.
Your lips make their way down his jaw, towards the sensitive skin under his ear. He exhales through his nose, slow, measured, pretending this is normal. Pretending he hasn’t been imagining this exact moment for weeks.
“I need you to ruin me,” you mumble in between sliding your tongue against his neck. Wet. Messy.
“Yeah?”
Fuck! This is it…
Your fingers slide into his hair and he makes a low sound before he can stop himself. You kiss him again, sloppy and decisive. Soft sucks, teasing bites, and slippery swirls. He can tell you were feral, and he loves it so damn much.
Yoongi is about to let you have your way with him when suddenly, you shoot up from his lap.
A trail of curses follows you as you disappear to the bathroom leaving Yoongi baffled. Did he do something wrong? He suffers for a solid 10 minutes before you come back wearing sweatpants instead of those cute shorts.
“Sorry, baby. I’m about to be unbearable, so I might need to kick you out.”
A fly could enter his mouth right now and he wouldn’t notice.
You sit on the opposite chair, crossing your arms over your chest. “TMI, but I just got my period, so…”
“You need me to go to the pharmacy?”
You smile. “It’s okay. I will ask Taehyung to drive me later.”
Yoongi places a fist atop his heart. “You wound me.”
“What?”
“You think some blood and whining will spook me.”
“You have not seen me in the throes of pain, Yoongi. Trust me. It’s better this way.”
Yoongi’s ears perk at that. Partially because you said something about pain and that’s something he likes to dabble on. But that’s a conversation for another time.
“Get dressed, we’re going to Olive Young.”
“No, thank you.”
Wordlessly, Yoongi stands up and goes to your coat closet. He wears his baseball cap and takes his jacket and zips it up while you watch with watery eyes, because you seem to think he is leaving.
When he is all bundled up, he takes yours, the white puffer with brown fur trim and walks over to you. He takes your wrist gingerly and slides your arm on one hole before you get the picture, slipping on the other by yourself.
He stands in front of you, zipping it all the way up to your neck, then pulls your hair free where it bunches at the back, smoothing it down with careful fingers.
Then he decides his cap would look better on you, so he places it on top of your head. Cute.
Keys dangling on his index, he gestures to the door. “Ready?”
Olive Young is a labyrinth so Yoongi tails you like a puppy, because he could seriously get lost in all these hypnotic beauty aisles.
You make your way to the female wellness section and he decides to take his phone out.
A box of something pink catches your eye, and you tuck it under your arm.
Yoongi looks at the shelf strip and types.
“Are you answering emails? You can sit there and wait if you want.” You purse your lips, pointing to that little bench near the elevator where two guys (boyfriends, presumably) are waiting for their girls.
“Ah no,” he shows you his screen where he’s been listing the things you’ve put on your basket. “For future reference.”
Your face twists into something unreadable and then suddenly you’re hugging him, cold-mottled cheeks squishing against his black puffer. Then, he hears the tiniest sniffle.
“Don’t cry.” He says it gently, thumb brushing under your eye. There isn’t much there, just a twinkle in your eye you’re trying to blink away.
You shake your head against his chest. “I’m not. I just—” You exhale, shaky. “That was really sweet.”
“Aish..” His arms come around you properly then. One hand settles at your back, the other resting over your hair, fingers threading through gently. You fit there too easily. Like you’ve done this before. Like you’re supposed to.
Between you pulling on his jacket and crying into his chest over something so small and human, something in him solidified. But he can’t tell you yet.
He rests his chin lightly on the top of your head, eyes unfocused, heart doing something dangerously earnest.
“I’ve got you, baby,” he murmurs, not even sure if you hear it amidst the store chatter and the kpop song blasting in the speakers.
When you pull back, cheeks still flushed, eyes fonder now, you smile at him like you did.
And Yoongi realizes, with a quiet certainty that settles deep in his bones, that he’s not going anywhere.
He just hopes you aren’t either.
Date no. 7 >
A/N: Soooo… who’s gonna tell me these two aren’t the cutest? Starting a list of who wants to fuck H&B!Tae because y’all know he’s a stud.
Anyway, last chapter is in the works and you’ll get a one-way ticket to Hong Kong and that's on me. (I can’t believe this is about to end. I'm already feeling the sepanx.)
If you enjoyed reading, please leave me a note or reblog with your review. It’s the best way you can show your support. Thank you for reading you lovely, beautiful human xo
I hope that this year, 2026, will be a positively transformative one for those seeking transformation, but also a happy year for those who aren't :))))))
❦ Summary:
Yoongi agrees to a casual relationship purely as a way to relax and escape his exhausting routine. What he doesn’t expect is to realize that he is far more simple and traditional than he ever imagined. Between desire, control, and vulnerability, Yoongi discovers that it’s not just about dominating or being dominated — it’s about allowing himself to feel. In the end, he comes to understand that the cliché of eternal love is still exactly what he wants for his life.
❦ Notes:
Hi! This is my first Yoongi fanfiction ❦✧･ﾟ:❥♡
English is not my first language, so please be kind.
I was inspired to write about a sexually and emotionally reserved Yoongi, influenced by another fanfic I read, while fully keeping my own idea and interpretation of the character.
I truly hope you enjoy this story ❦✧･ﾟ:❥♡
The beat of the music echoed through the studio, filling the small production space. You tapped the edge of the equipment-covered table with the lid of your mug, listening closely to the chords and deep bass of the melody. Your ergonomic chair shifted slightly as your feet moved slowly across the floor, right to left, simply absorbing the sound until the track finally came to an end.
At the other end of the table sat Agust D — though here, he was just Yoongi — rolling his sore neck as he waited for the song to finish and for your reaction. He wasn’t in a good mood. He’d spent the entire morning producing, and the tension in his shoulders betrayed the weight of the past few weeks. Insomnia hadn’t spared him any mercy either.
As soon as the track ended, he lifted his eyes to you, waiting.
“So?” he asked.
You tilted your head slightly, considering your words.
“It’s good, but—”
“But?!” He scoffed. “Shit…”
“Relax,” you said, smiling faintly. “You’re exhausted. I can hear it in the decisions you made in the mix.”
He blinked slowly, as if your words had landed exactly where he’d been avoiding all day.
“I am,” he admitted quietly. “I just didn’t want it to get in the way.”
You spun your chair until you were facing him fully.
“It does get in the way because you’re human, Yoongi. Come on… how long has it been since you took even a single week off?”
“I don’t have time,” he replied automatically, defensive.
You scoffed, leaning back and shaking your head.
“A fucking millionaire saying he doesn’t have time… pff.” You rolled your eyes. “You’re not running a music marathon, and from what I saw…”
You pulled your laptop closer, fingers clicking quickly through a few tabs.
“There are thirty-two registered tracks here,” you said, turning the screen toward him. “Thirty-two. You could easily take two weeks for yourself.”
He stared at the screen, then at you. The exhaustion in his eyes seemed heavier — but for the first time that morning, something loosened.
Suddenly, you stood up and grabbed him by the sleeves of his hoodie, catching him off guard.
“Well, since you’re stubborn enough,” you announced, “I’m officially ordering you to leave right now and only come back in fifteen days.”
“Hey, you’re not my boss,” he said, eyes wide, though he barely resisted.
“I’m not,” you replied firmly. “But I have common sense. And I’m your friend.”
You shoved his beanie onto his head, pressed his bag against his chest, and nudged him toward the door.
“Go sleep. Go eat properly. Call someone for casual sex, I don’t know. Just don’t step foot in this studio.”
Yoongi froze.
A blush crept up his cheeks as he looked away.
“What?” you teased, crossing your arms. “Don’t tell me you haven’t even been having sex.”
He stayed silent. His ears were practically burning.
“You’re blushing over that?” you laughed softly. “Don’t be dramatic. You write about sex all the time. You’re a man — you masturbate. Even if you’re not seeing anyone, I seriously doubt you don’t.”
You pointed at him, eyebrows raised.
“How do you talk about that so naturally…” he muttered, pulling the beanie down over his eyes as he headed for the door.
“My God!” you exclaimed, stopping him by the arm. “You don’t masturbate. That’s why you’re so stressed!”
You looked at him seriously.
“You need to have sex. And sleep.”
Silence stretched between you.
Yoongi lifted his gaze, torn between irritation and something far less controlled.
“You say that like it’s simple.”
You stepped closer, closing the distance until it became dangerous.
“For you, it is,” you said softly. “The problem isn’t lack of options. It’s you pretending you don’t need it.”
He swallowed hard.
“You’re crossing a line.”
“Am I?” you asked calmly. “Because your body says otherwise.”
His eyes dropped — just for a second. You noticed.
“You get like this,” you continued casually. “Tense. Irritable. Controlling. Completely predictable.”
“Stop,” he said, but he didn’t move.
You reached up, lifting the edge of his beanie so he had no choice but to look at you.
“Relaxing isn’t weakness, Yoongi,” you whispered. “And wanting someone won’t take your talent away.”
He closed his eyes briefly, gathering himself.
“You’re impossible.”
“I know,” you smiled. “And yet… you’re leaving.”
He sighed.
“Fifteen days.”
“Fifteen,” you confirmed, opening the door. “And if I find out you came back early…”
You leaned close to his ear.
“…we’ll have another conversation.”
Yoongi left without looking back — though the blush creeping up his neck said everything.
Yoongi woke up feeling slightly disoriented that morning. It was his first day off in a long time, and that alone made him restless, as if rest were something unfamiliar to a body that had grown used to exhaustion.
He sat on the bed, still half-asleep, before heading to the bathroom. A shower seemed like the only way to organize his scattered thoughts. Warm water ran over his tense shoulders, washing away part of the accumulated weight — but not enough.
After the shower and a breakfast eaten on autopilot, Yoongi found himself standing in the middle of the living room, unsure of what to do next. Out of habit, he opened his laptop, his fingers already prepared to work… until he realized what he was doing. With a frustrated sigh, he closed it and set it aside before dropping onto the couch.
What can I do to relax? he wondered, letting his head fall back against the cushions.
The answer came without asking permission.
The conversation with S/N surfaced in his mind with unsettling clarity. Her tone of voice. The teasing look in her eyes. The calculated closeness. His body reacted before he could stop it — a shiver ran down his spine, heat pooling low in his stomach. His eyes closed instinctively.
“Fuck…” he muttered, irritated with himself.
He tried to push the image away, but it was useless. Fragmented memories followed: her scent, her lips, her fingers tangled in her hair. That was all it took for his hand to slide inside his shorts, the movements slow at first, almost hesitant, as if he could still stop himself.
He exhaled at the sensation of his own touch. A low, needy sound slipped from his lips, and Yoongi bit down hard, trying to suppress the moan that threatened to escape. His free hand moved up beneath his shirt, pulling the fabric aside as he lowered his shorts, exposing a body that was reacting after being ignored for far too long.
His mind drifted to everything he had been repressing: desire, longing, need. And inevitably, it circled back to her. S/N above him. Or beneath him. Her voice breaking into soft, breathless sounds. The forbidden closeness.
His movements grew faster, firmer. His chest rose and fell unevenly as he gave in to the pleasure, his body finally yielding. The sensitivity was almost overwhelming, a clear sign of how much he had been neglecting himself.
It only took a few more moments before he came undone, his body tensing as rough, uncontrolled sounds escaped him. His lips parted, his breathing uneven, as warmth spread over his hand and stomach, slowly trailing downward.
Yoongi stayed there for a few seconds, breathless, eyes still closed, trying to steady himself — until awareness fully returned.
He opened his eyes.
“Shit…” he cursed softly.
He ran a hand over his face, discomfort now tangled with guilt as the realization finally settled in.
He had just masturbated… thinking about his own friend.
Thank you for making it this far ❦✧･ﾟ:❥♡
This story was written with a lot of care and curiosity about a more reserved, human, and vulnerable Yoongi.
It’s my first fanfiction featuring him, written with respect and affection, so knowing you read until the end truly means a lot to me.
If this chapter touched you in any way, please leave a comment.
I’d love to know how you felt while reading.
I hate when I go read a fanfic and it feels like I’ve already read every single version of that story. Nothing ever feels new anymore, it’s so frustrating 😔
❦ Summary: Yoongi agrees to a casual relationship purely as a way to relax and escape his exhausting routine. What he doesn’t expect is to realize that he is far more simple and traditional than he ever imagined. Between desire, control, and vulnerability, Yoongi discovers that it’s not just about dominating or being dominated — it’s about allowing himself to feel. In the end, he comes to understand that the cliché of eternal love is still exactly what he wants for his life.
Hi everyone! Thank you so much for reading, liking, and sharing this chapter! 💕 Your support means the world to me. I hope you enjoyed the beginning of the chaotic but sweet journey.
CAP1: MORE PART. 1
Your feet moved almost automatically, keeping time with the beat that echoed through the studio as the voice of one of BigHit's trainees filled the recording booth. It wasn't exactly your job to be there at that hour, adjusting tunings and suggesting vocal nuances, but, like so many other times, you had taken on the role without complaint.
You leaned forward in your chair, resting your elbow on the table filled with equipment, and pressed the button that activated communication with the booth.
"Try the second verse with a higher A. I think it will fit better with the backing track."
"Got it!" — the voice replied excitedly, before the music restarted.
You were listening intently when two soft knocks sounded on the studio door. Your body reacted before your mind. You stood up, walked to the door, and opened it just enough to see who was there.
First, the eyes. Dark, attentive, too familiar.
"My God… you are impossible."
There was feigned irritation in your voice, but the corner of your mouth betrayed the opposite. Yoongi was standing in the hallway, wearing a disposable mask and a backwards baseball cap. He held up his hands in surrender and took a step back, indicating he didn't intend to enter.
You sighed, nodded, and turned back toward the booth.
"Be right back, Hyunie. You can record from the beginning, okay?"
You pressed the button again and stepped out of the room, closing the door behind you.
"It hasn't even been seventy-two hours since you left here, Min Yoongi." You crossed your arms, leaning your body back.
"Calm down. I have a meeting." — his voice came out muffled by the mask. — "It was already scheduled. I deserve a break."
You narrowed your eyes, giving him a clearly suspicious look.
"It better be just that. But what do you want? You came to the wrong side of the building. You know that, right?"
Yoongi rolled his eyes and shoved his hands into his coat pockets. A slight smile was hidden beneath the mask.
"You're so annoying…" — he sighed dramatically. — "And I still bothered to come here to ask you out for dinner after work."
He took a step back, theatrical, as if he were leaving.
"Shut up." — you responded quickly. — "It's not every day my millionaire friend decides to spend money on me."
You sealed your mouth with the gesture of an imaginary zipper.
"But I have to finish some things today. The deadline is midnight." — you added. — "Can you meet me at my studio later?"
"Okay." — he nodded, adjusting his cap. — "I'll show up after the meeting. I'll sleep on your couch."
"Alright. See you later."
Você mostrou a língua antes de voltar para a sala de gravação, sem perceber como Yoongi a observava da cabeça aos pés antes de você desaparecer pelo corredor.
When you unlocked the studio door with the code, your heart skipped a beat. Yoongi was sprawled on the couch, looking at his phone, completely at ease, as if that space belonged to him too.
"For crying out loud…" — you put your hand on your chest and closed your eyes. — "You're like a goddamn ghost."
"Is that what scares you?" — he provoked. — "Not murderers? Stalkers?"
"Them too." — you chuckled weakly. — "But I forgot you still had the code for this place."
You dropped your backpack on the floor and flopped down next to him, still holding a bag.
"Since we're going to be here for a while, I brought kimbap and juice."
You placed everything on the coffee table and settled onto the couch. Yoongi made space — but didn't completely move away. His arm remained too close to yours.
It was the first time that day you really looked at him. No cap. No mask. No jacket. His hair slightly messy, his face relaxed. Different from the exhausted man in the studio.
"Hmm…"
"What?" — he asked, without taking his eyes off his phone.
"You look good." You lifted your finger and poked his cheek.
"What do you mean, good?"
"Not health-wise." — you rested your head on your hand. — "You look like you slept well. You're eating properly… that post-sex glow, you know?"
The phone froze in his hand. Yoongi threw his head back, his face immediately coloring.
"You're on this topic again…"
"Come on." — you laughed. — "I'm your friend. I know you're not asexual. You're a man. I don't believe you haven't been wanting to… you know, heat things up."
He turned to you with wide eyes.
"My God! How can so much filth come out of your mouth?"
— "Stop the drama." — you adjusted yourself on the couch. — "Go on, talk to me. What's your type? Is there anyone at work you find attractive?"
"No." — he answered too quickly. — "I don't notice anyone."
"And your exes?" — you insisted. — "Isn't there anyone you could have something casual with?"
Yoongi grumbled, covering his eyes with his forearm.
"You're impossible."
You observed him in silence for a few seconds.
"Because I think this isn't just about sex."
He stayed quiet. Then he sighed.
"It's not." — he admitted, his voice muffled. — "I hate that casual thing. It's empty. Forced."
Your face first showed surprise. Then, understanding.
"Ah…" — you murmured. — "Now it all makes sense. You're handsome, famous… I imagine people are throwing themselves at you all the time."
Yoongi didn't answer. A heavy silence settled.
"Why did you get so quiet?" — he asked, moving his arm away from his face.
"Nothing." — you averted your gaze. — "I'm not thinking anything."
He raised an eyebrow.
"Tell me."
"No." — you denied. — "You'll hate me."
"I won't."
"I'd rather take this to the grave."
You got up and walked to the mixing desk, fiddling with knobs without any real purpose.
"Hey." — he insisted. — "Spit it out. I won't hate you."
"What if…" — you swallowed hard, feeling your throat tighten. — "What if I helped you with that?"
The studio seemed to shrink. Yoongi didn't answer immediately. The silence that followed wasn't awkward — it was dense, heavy, almost palpable. You felt his weight behind you, his presence too firm to ignore.
"You're not talking about what I think you're talking about… are you?" — he asked, his voice low, cautious.
You remained motionless for a few seconds, your heart racing too fast to pretend normality. Then you nodded, almost imperceptibly.
Yoongi let out a long sigh, running his hand over his face.
"Y/N… that is a terrible idea."
"I know." — you answered quickly, as if you had already rehearsed this response. — "But think about it before you decide."
He crossed his arms, clearly trying to protect himself from something he didn't want to name.
"You hate casualness."
"I know."
"You hate empty conversation."
"I know that too."
"And you hate feeling used."
You finally turned to face him.
"And that's exactly why this wouldn't be that." — your voice was firm, even with the nervousness burning inside. — "There are no games. No false expectations. No performance."
Yoongi kept his gaze fixed on yours, attentive.
"We know each other." — you continued. — "We trust each other. You don't have to pretend anything. You don't have to impress."
He looked away for a moment, his jaw clenching.
"It's not as simple as you make it sound."
"It's simple, not easy." — you corrected. — "You need to relax. Your body needs to. And you don't want to throw yourself into something empty just to… survive another week."
Silence settled again.
"And you?" — he asked suddenly. — "What do you get out of it?"
You hesitated.
"Nothing I'm not willing to handle." — you answered honestly. — "I trust you too."
Yoongi took a deep breath, walking a few steps across the studio. His hands went to his pockets, came out, went back. A clear conflict was evident in every movement.
"This could mess everything up."
"Or it could mess up nothing." — you countered. — "It could just be… an agreement."
He let out a low, humorless laugh.
"You talk as if it's easy to turn off feelings."
"I'm not talking about feelings." — you replied, keeping your gaze steady. — "I'm talking about need. About care. About not abandoning yourself."
Yoongi stopped walking. He stood in front of you.
"What if I regret it?"
"Then we talk."
"What if you regret it?"
"Same."
He stared at you for a long time. His eyes analyzed, weighed, calculated — as if trying to find a logical flaw that justified saying no.
"This is still a bad idea." — he murmured.
You shrugged, a slight smile appearing on your lips.
"The worst ideas are usually the most honest ones."
Yoongi closed his eyes for a second, taking a deep breath, as if accepting a silent defeat.
"That doesn't mean I think it's right."
"I know."
"Nor that I'm comfortable."
"I know."
He opened his eyes again.
"But…" — he paused briefly. — "It makes sense."
Your heart sped up.
"Is that all?" — you provoked, trying to hide your nervousness.
"That's all." — he replied, too dryly. — "Don't complicate things."
You nodded.
"So… are we in agreement?"
You bit the corner of your lower lip before moving a little closer. The gesture was small, almost imperceptible, but it betrayed the nervousness you were trying to hide. Carefully, you brought one of your hands to Yoongi's shoulder and squeezed gently, as if asking for permission without using words.
"Let's do this…" — you said softly. — "We'll test it out first."
Yoongi slightly furrowed his brow.
"Test it?" — he swallowed hard. — "You mean… sleep with you?"
You slowly shook your head.
"Not necessarily." — you replied calmly. — "I'm talking about touching. Maybe kissing."
Silence settled between the two. Yoongi felt his throat go dry.
"Do you want to schedule this?" — he asked, trying to sound rational.
You let out a half-smile, shaking your head no.
"No." — you took a step closer. — "Let's do it now. Is that okay?"
He looked at you, surprised by the naturalness of the proposal. He hesitated for a second, then nodded cautiously.
You held his hand and pulled him to the couch. You sat next to him, too close to be just casual. With a slow movement, you drew your legs up, settling to face him. One of your arms went around Yoongi's shoulders, and your fingers began to gently caress the area, almost distractedly.
"Relax…" — you murmured. — "It's just me. If you don't like it, we stop. And we never talk about it again."
Yoongi agreed in silence. His eyes followed the movements of your hand, attentive, curious. Before he realized it, he was returning the affection, his fingers carefully gliding over the knuckles of your hand, as if learning the path.
The hand that was on his shoulder slowly moved up to his neck. Your nails caused a slight shiver, almost a tickle, and you felt his body relax little by little under your touch.
"Hey…" — you called, softly. — "Look at me."
Yoongi lifted his eyes.
"Want to try kissing me?"
He took a deep breath, his chest visibly rising and falling. He didn't answer immediately. You didn't rush him. You just brought your hand to his waist, stroking slowly, without pressure. Yoongi seemed divided — lost between reason and that restrained desire that insisted on surfacing.
You moistened your lips, your eyes quickly dropping to his mouth. It was only a matter of seconds. Yoongi leaned in and captured your lips carefully, as if testing the waters.
The kiss started slow, hesitant… and soon became firmer, warmer. You were surprised by the softness, by the confident way he was when he finally allowed himself. It was a slow, wet kiss, the way you liked it. He slid his tongue over your lips, asking for entry. You sighed as you yielded, feeling the warmth, the rhythm that began to form between the two. Your hand went up from his neck to the nape of his neck, your fingers getting lost in his hair, lightly scratching.
Yoongi pulled back in a reflex, shivering at the sensation. You stared at him with heavy eyes, your lips still slightly parted, wet from the kiss.
"Is everything okay?" — you asked, your voice low.
"That was… very good."
Yoongi ran his tongue over his own lips, still tasting yours. His heart was beating too fast to pretend normality.
"It was."
"Yoongi… we can stop, if you want." This time, your voice was firmer. More serious. You moved away just enough to look him in the eye, as if you wanted to be sure he was there of his own free will.
"It's not that…" — he replied quickly, almost defensively. — "It's just that I don't want to be disrespectful to you."
You slightly furrowed your brow.
"How would you be disrespectful?" — you asked. — "You're barely touching me."
Yoongi let out a short breath, running his hand over his own face.
"I know. It's just that…" — he hesitated. — "I don't want to… I don't want to get an erection just because you kissed me."
You blinked, surprised. Your eyes instinctively dropped, following the line of his pants before you could stop yourself. The silence that formed was dense.
"Well…" — you finally said, lifting your gaze back to his, a half-smile appearing on your lips. — "I wouldn't be offended. In fact, it's flattering."
You moved closer again, your voice lower.
"And I'm not much different either…" — you confessed. — "I liked the kiss. You know what kissing does to girls, don't you?"
There was teasing there, but it wasn't cruel. It was gentle, almost complicit. Your fingers returned to the nape of Yoongi's neck, caressing with more intention this time, the touch slow, secure. He closed his eyes for a second, feeling his body react despite his mind insisting on resistance.
"Let me take care of you…" — you murmured, so low it sounded like a secret.
Your hand slid from his neck to his arm, slowly moving up, your fingers exploring the skin over the sweatshirt. The touch was simple, but loaded with meaning. Yoongi opened his eyes, his jaw tense.
"You make this too easy…" — he said, almost in a whisper.
You smiled slightly.
"It's not supposed to be hard."
He laughed humorlessly, looking away again.
"That's exactly what scares me."
Your hand slid from his neck to his arm, your fingers exploring the skin over the fabric, slowly moving up, causing shiver after shiver. Yoongi swallowed hard.
"You have no idea what you're asking for…" — he said, almost to himself.
You moved closer, your forehead almost touching his.
"I do."
And this time, when you kissed him, it wasn't a request. It was a decision. The kiss started slow, but loaded with something heavier, more urgent. Yoongi tried to keep his hands in place, tried to convince himself that he could still stop. But when you sighed against his mouth, when your fingers tightened on the nape of his neck, something in him gave way. Against all logic, against all the warnings in his own head.
He held your waist — first carefully, then more firmly, as if he needed that contact to keep himself anchored. His body reacted before he could think, before he could regret.
This is wrong. This is going to complicate everything.
Even so, when you pulled away just enough to breathe, Yoongi followed, his lips searching for yours again, unable to accept the emptiness the distance caused.
You took advantage of the kiss to caress his shoulders, your curious fingers following the firm line before slowly descending to his chest. Even through the fabric, you could feel the muscles — both soft and rigid — shaped by years of practice, discipline, and control.
When your hand moved down to his stomach, Yoongi felt his body react with an involuntary shiver. It was as if your every touch dismantled a bit of the wall he insisted on keeping up. You pulled away just enough to leave small, lingering, provocative pecks on his lips, as if you were in no hurry at all.
"Can I touch you?"
The question came low, almost a whisper, but loaded with intent. Your fingers gently scratched the fabric over his ribs, a silent invitation. Yoongi took a deep breath. His head was screaming to stop. His body, however, had already made its choice.
"You're already touching me…" — he replied, his voice a little too rough for someone who claimed to be in control.
You smiled slightly, not in triumph, but with care. Your hand moved up again, this time with more assurance, spreading warmth wherever it went.
"I just wanted to make sure."
He slowly nodded. That was all you needed. Your fingers explored calmly, without rushing, respecting his every reaction. Yoongi closed his eyes for an instant, as if it was too much to face directly. Every touch seemed to carry a greater emotional weight than he was willing to admit.
It's not just physical. It's never just physical with me.
When he opened his eyes, he met your gaze fixed on his. There was no rush, no exaggerated expectation. Just presence.
"You look handsome like this…" — you murmured. — "When you stop fighting."
The phrase struck deeper than any touch. You took advantage of how relaxed he seemed and slid your hands under his shirt, feeling the warm skin under your fingers. You pulled him into a new, deeper kiss, while gently caressing him, as if you wanted him to feel every second.
His response was simple, honest. Unarmed. Your fingers drew slow patterns in circles across his skin, moving up and down unhurriedly, memorizing his every reaction. Yoongi sighed softly, his body yielding easily now. He brought one hand to your wrist, holding it carefully — not to stop you, but as if silently asking you not to stop. It was more intimate than either of you had planned. And yet, it felt… right.
You moved your hand down his stomach, feeling the muscles relax under your touch, until you stopped just above his pelvis. The simple contact made Yoongi hold his breath, his body responding before his mind could formulate any doubt. You pulled back a little, enough to look him in the eyes. The touching ceased, but the proximity remained. Your face was serious, not out of insecurity, but out of respect.
"May I?" — you asked again, your voice low. — "Do you want this?"
It took Yoongi a few seconds to respond. His eyes were softer now, less defensive. There was no rush in them, no conflict — just need.
He slowly nodded.
"Okay…" — he said, his voice low, almost a whisper. — "I just don't know if I'll last long."
It wasn't teasing. Nor a joke. It was a simple, almost embarrassed statement. You slightly arched your eyebrow, surprised, but didn't laugh. Quite the opposite. Your expression softened even more. Your hand slowly moved up his abdomen, not to provoke, but to anchor him there.
"You don't need to last," — you replied, calm. — "It's not a performance."
Your hand then entered that forbidden territory until a few hours ago. You caressed the light hair there and then found what you wanted. He was already excited, obviously, it seemed good enough for you. You slowly pumped him.
Yoongi let out a moan into your lips as he spread his legs wider for you.
"Is this good?" You questioned against his lips, and he just nodded slowly, lost in the sensation.
You continued like this for a few minutes until Yoongi interrupted.
"Did I do something wrong?" You said, withdrawing your hand.
"No… I just think it's better without..." — he said, pulling his pants down, freeing his erection from his underwear. It was hard and reddish, as if that were the image of necessity.
You blinked a few times before settling closer to him. Your hand returned to caressing his body.
"Gods… poor thing, you were being neglected, weren't you?" You spoke, but not as if it were for Yoongi.
Carefully, you took his erection and massaged it again, now more firmly. Yoongi sighed again. You looked at him and kissed his cheek affectionately.
"You were being mean to your own body." You provoked him before biting his ear. — "Poor guy. You just needed me, right?"
Yoongi closed his eyes for an instant, his forehead lightly resting on your shoulder, as if that were the safest place he had right now. His breathing was still irregular, but there was no tension anymore — just tired surrender.
You continued the movement while they exchanged light kisses and compliments were whispered against his ear. You felt him heavy and he was clearly aroused. Fluid was leaking from his glans and you felt proud to be helping him. You gently bit his jaw and Yoongi squeezed your waist.
"I'm going faster, alright?"
He just nodded, biting his lips while throwing his head back. You accelerated the movements.
"So beautiful, you are so hot." You said, kissing his exposed throat.
You continued moving your hands. You saw how much he needed to be set free.
"I-I'm going...."
"Shhh... it's okay. I'll clean up later..." You spoke against the skin of his cheek, which you touched with your nose. — "Just relax, come for me."
Yoongi opened his eyes, which were dark with pleasure, and pulled you into a wet kiss as he surrendered to the feeling. He pulled away from you, groaning, as that euphoria began to embrace him.
They both looked at your hand working and his heavy member, until he came. Thick drops were expelled, falling onto your hand, which was moving gently, onto his trimmed hair and stomach.
"Shit..." — he said softly as his abdomen contracted and his chest rose heavily, searching for oxygen.
"So good for me." You said, kissing his cheek and temple again while still looking at the scene.
Yoongi seemed to go limp in your embrace and let his head rest on the back of the couch. It had been a while since he'd had an orgasm that drained him of that energy.
You let go of his member and calmly stood up.
"Stay there, I'll get something to clean you up." You said, quickly leaving for the attached bathroom.
You brought two fingers to your mouth, tasting his flavor before washing your dirty hands, you did it without thinking. Then you grabbed a towel and wet wipes. You came back and did it, cleaned him, dried him, and dressed him.
For a moment you disappeared and Yoongi opened his heavy eyes.
"Y/N?"
You appeared with the blanket you kept there and a pillow, along with a bottle of water.
"Hey, I went to get a blanket. I usually use it to sleep on the couch, you said you wanted to sleep. Here, drink a little." You offered it to him.
He took it, taking big gulps while you arranged the pillow. It didn't seem like you had just given him pleasure. You actually looked calm and affectionate.
"Now... I'm going to eat a little and work, alright?" You said while gently running your fingers through his sweaty hair.
You didn't even give him a chance to respond and just picked up the food you mentioned earlier and took it to the work desk.
"Eat a little and sleep, okay? I'll call you as soon as I finish."
You gave a slight smile and sat down in your work chair, putting on your headphones right away. Yoongi watched for a few minutes before doing everything automatically, and as soon as he rested his head on the pillow, he passed out. He didn't say anything. He didn't need to. The way his body relaxed under your touch said it all. You slowed the pace, not out of hesitation, but out of attention. You watched every reaction, every deeper sigh, every muscle that gave way. There was no rush. There was no pressure. Just care.
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