#4 The Entire Picture, Part 2
It's the dream project until you find out that your favourite idol doesn't want you there.
Pairing: Yoongi x female reader
Genre: IdolAU / Angst / Smut
Warnings: Nothing much here.
Word count: 5K+
I stare at the blank white of his bedroom door like it might open if I apologize hard enough in my head. It stays shut. I wait one minute, then two, then I realize how pathetic I look standing in the middle of his living room holding nothing but regret and my phone. I leave.
The hallway feels colder on the way down. I do not cry in elevators, especially not in hotels where the carpets cost more than my flight. I press my thumb into the corner of my eye anyway and sniff once, then fix my mouth like nothing happened.
Si-Hyeon is asleep with one arm thrown over his face and a towel turban that is losing its last fight. I sit on the edge of the bed. I sit until the mattress stops swaying, then I reach for my phone.
I type, delete, type again. I land on something small.
I am sorry. I did not know. Thank you for thinking of us.
I stare at the screen. It reads like a corporate email. I send it anyway because a bad text is better than silence. The delivery tag turns blue. No reply.
I plug my charger in, turn the brightness down, and lie on my back. My heart goes loud. The ceiling does not care.
When I finally sleep, it is the kind that drops you into dark water and does not let you come up.
Morning is a slap. Wake up calls, messages, a knock at the door. I get dressed on autopilot and pull my hair up. The bruise on my neck is a dull galaxied mauve under concealer. I cover it again and pretend I do not see it.
We roll suitcases into the lobby with everyone else. I keep my movements tidy. I avoid looking toward the corner where Yoongi is talking to Sejin. I fail once. He looks up at the exact same time. Nothing dramatic happens. Our eyes meet. His go back to the schedule sheet in his hand. Mine go to the marble floor.
On the bus to the airport he takes the front seat. I sit in the second row on the other side next to a window. We pass water on our right and I focus on nothing. The crew is half asleep. The sky is too clean.
Check-in, security, the stupid thrill of duty free. All of it feels like moving through someone else’s day. I end up in line at a coffee shop and realize too late that Sejin is behind me and Yoongi is behind him. Great. The universe loves a meet-cute. The universe can mind its business.
Sejin orders for both of them. I move away to the cutlery stand and pretend to consider wooden stirrers like they are rare artifacts. A shadow comes up next to mine.
“Your text was an apology,” he says.
I do not look at him. “Yes.”
“Maybe I am better at memos.”
He takes a breath. “I do not like ending days like that.”
“Then fix it,” he says, quiet, and walks away with his coffee before I can manage a single sentence that does not sound like me swallowing gravel.
The gate is full of people who look like they are used to getting on planes for work and not because they want to see anything. We board. I end up with a window and an empty middle seat. He appears and fills the aisle seat. Of course he does. The universe is a comedian.
I buckle up. He buckles up. The flight attendant does her demonstration. The plane drifts, lines up, roars. I stare out at the runway until it blurs. I can feel heat along my left side where his arm is near mine. We are not touching. It feels like we are.
“I do not like misunderstandings,” he says when the plane is climbing.
“I know,” I say. “I do not either.”
“You looked at me last night like I was a problem you could solve with an exit,” he says, still looking forward.
“I am not used to wanting things from clients,” I say. “I am not used to wanting things I cannot control.”
He says, “I did not plan for it to be only one day.”
My throat works around something thick. “I know that now.”
He nods. Silence again. Clouds below us look like someone frosted the sea. His hand is on his knee. He is calm, or good at pretending.
“I noticed,” he says again, softer this time.
I turn my face toward him. He looks at me. No performance. Just his eyes steady on mine. I feel myself go warm from my chest out.
“Do you still want to talk to me when we land,” I ask, “or do you want me out of your way until the album meeting?”
“I want to talk to you when we land,” he says. “I will text you the room.”
We do not speak for the next hour. He sleeps with his head tipped back. I watch a bad movie with the sound off. When the plane drops through clouds, my stomach drops with it. I do not know if I am nervous or excited. Both feel like the same color right now.
We land. The crew peels off to baggage. He disappears into VIP corridors with Sejin and two airport staff. My phone buzzes when I am standing by carousel four.
Penthouse. Give me twenty. Please do not run away again.
The hotel is the same, but different in daylight. I take the private elevator up. My reflection looks annoyingly composed. I ring. The door opens halfway and then all the way. He is in a black tee and sweatpants and no socks. His hair is a little messy like he did not bother with a mirror. He looks like someone I have already kissed. My stomach does that drop again.
He steps back. I go in. The door shuts. We stand there like idiots in the soft hum of air conditioning.
“I was too harsh last night,” he says. “I did not want to shut you out.”
“I was too quick to assume the worst,” I say. “I felt stupid and I did not want to feel stupid in front of you.”
He watches me for a second. “You think I am dangerous to your pride.”
“I think you are dangerous to a lot of things,” I say, and then I hate how honest that comes out.
His mouth twitches. He gestures to the couch. We sit. There is half a bottle of water on the table and an untouched fruit plate. He folds his hands and unfolds them.
“I told Sejin I would take an hour and then meet him,” he says. “So we do not have long.”
“Then we should be clear,” I say. “I want to work with you. I want the album. I also want you.”
The words hit air and hang there. He does not let them fall.
“I want you,” he says back, like he has been waiting for permission to say it in that order. “The work is separate, but I know it will still make lines messy. I do not want to hide. I also do not want it to ruin what we built the last two months.”
Something loosens in my chest. I nod. “We can set rules. We already run a company. We know how to act in rooms. We know how not to be stupid in front of teams. We can be stupid in private.”
That gets a short laugh out of him, quiet and real. “I can do private,” he says. He reaches for my hand and stops. He waits.
I thread my fingers through his. Heat climbs up my neck.
“Ask me something honest,” I say. “So this stops feeling like a scene and starts feeling like us.”
He takes a breath. “Were you jealous,” he asks, and I know he is not talking about work anymore. He is talking about the idea that anyone else might have this soft version of him I got to see last night, the one under the work, the one that asked if I had anyone in my life, the one who told me he did not.
“Yes,” I say. “Every time someone else had your attention. It was stupid.”
“It was not stupid,” he says. “I was jealous too.”
“Of who,” I ask, a little incredulous.
“Your job. Your confidence. Your friend who gets your first text. The sea. The cave,” he says like it is obvious, then looks a little embarrassed, which is unfair because men like him should not get to be embarrassed and still look that good.
I lean in. He meets me halfway.
The kiss starts slow, like last night, like he wants to check the temperature before he dives. My mouth opens under his and I taste mint from the hotel toothpaste. His thumb strokes the side of my neck where the bruise is, careful and claiming at the same time. My body goes pliant and tight in turns. I make a sound in my throat that is not for public consumption. He swallows it.
I end up on his lap without remembering how. His hands are on my waist, then my back, then under the hem of my shirt. He is warm. I feel like a live wire. There is no rush in his movements, but there is nothing patient either. He kisses like he has nothing to prove and something to lose.
“Bedroom,” he says against my mouth.
“Please,” I say, which surprises me because I do not like saying please. He stands with me still wrapped around him, then sets me down. We walk, not fast, but not slow.
His bedroom is dimmer. The curtains are only halfway open. It smells like his soap. I kick my sneakers off and reach for the hem of my shirt. He stops my hands.
“I want to do it,” he says, and I let him.
He peels my shirt up and off. The air touches my skin. He steps back like he has to blink. I stand there and try not to fidget.
“You are beautiful,” he says. His voice is even, but there is something like reverence in it. I do not know what to do with that, so I kiss him again so I can forget all the ways my chest feels too bright.
We find a rhythm that is both careful and hungry. His mouth on my collarbone is almost polite, then he finds the spot he left last night and his politeness burns off. His teeth scrape lightly. His tongue soothes. I arch into it before I can stop myself. His hand slides down my stomach and under the waist of my skirt.
“Tell me if you want me to stop,” he says.
“I will,” I say, and I mean it.
He watches my face while he touches me over my underwear first, and the focus in him is its own heat. I rock into his hand and find his mouth and lose it for a second when he slips fingers under the edge and strokes where I am already embarrassingly wet. He smiles against my jaw like he can feel the way my pulse jumps.
“Here,” he says, and presses just right. My breath catches. He tests, learns, files the information away. His fingers slide slow and then faster. I clutch his shoulder and make a noise I do not recognize as mine.
“Bed,” he says again, less like a suggestion this time. I pull him with me and fall back.
He goes down my body like he is letting himself have something he has waited to taste. His hair brushes my stomach. I look down and nearly lose my mind at the sight of him between my thighs. He hooks his fingers into the sides of my underwear and looks up. I lift my hips. He slides them down and off. Cool air hits me. His hands are on the inside of my knees and then the outside, easing me open. He kisses the bruise on my inner thigh like it is a secret, then he licks a clean slow line that empties my lungs.
“Yoongi,” I say, because anything else is unreasonable.
He hums against me and the vibration makes my eyes shut. He is not shy about the way he eats me. He is not messy either. He is focused and greedy and patient in the exact dangerous combination that makes me claw at the sheets. He uses his mouth and then he adds a finger and then two, slow, checking, filling. He curls them just right. I break a little on a gasp.
I am not a woman who begs. I hear myself beg. He pulls back only to say, “I have you,” and then goes back in and proves it.
The orgasm hits hard enough that I choke on it. I arch. My legs shake. He works me through it like he knows the language already. I ride his hand until the world comes back.
He kisses his way up, slow. My body is a low buzz. His mouth finds mine and I taste myself. He settles over me and I feel him hard against my thigh. I hook a leg around his hip. He groans, quiet, into my hair like he is trying not to make any noise at all. It is hot and unfair.
“Do you have,” he starts, and I reach to my bag in a blind frantic stretch that probably looks ridiculous. I find my wallet, the side pocket, the small silver packet. I hold it up like a prize. He grins, a quick flash, and takes it. He tears it, rolls it on, and the sight of his hands doing something that practical with that much control does something to my brain I am not prepared for.
“Tell me if it is too much,” he says when his body lines up with mine. I nod, then realize I need words. “I will,” I say again, breathless.
He pushes in slow, then holds. I grip his forearm and inhale. It is a stretch that borders on too much, then slides firmly into perfect. He lets me adjust, eyes on mine. It is the eye contact that undoes me. I pull on his shoulder and he sinks the rest of the way. We both swear.
He moves like he is learning me and showing me at the same time. He does not rush. He sets an unhurried thrust that finds a pressure I can push back against. My hands go everywhere. His back, his waist, the side of his neck. He pins my wrists above my head for a second, just to see if I like it. I do. He lets go so I can touch him again. He bends to kiss me and I kiss back like I have been saving it.
It builds. He changes angle and hits something that makes my vision go white at the edges. I gasp. He does it again. He curses softly and keeps going. I am loud now. I am sure the floor below knows my name. He does not look away. He keeps his eyes on mine, and it feels merciless and tender.
“I am close,” he says, tight, like a warning and a promise.
“Me too,” I say, and it is true. The second one rushes up faster than I expect. He slips a hand between us without breaking rhythm and presses where he already knows it will finish me. The sound I make is not safe for work. I come hard and everything folds sweet and sharp. I clutch him. He follows a breath after with a low sound that ends against my neck.
We stay like that for a minute, catching air. He kisses my shoulder, my jaw, the corner of my mouth like he cannot stop. My fingers are still curled in his hair. My body hums like a wire that finally grounded.
He pulls out carefully and ties off the condom. He stands to toss it and then does this polite thing where he brings me a damp towel and I love him for being a decent human in a world full of men who are not.
I lie on my side and watch him while he cleans up. The room is quiet except for our breathing. The curtains throw soft stripes on the bed.
He slides back in beside me and pulls me in until my nose is in his shirt and my thigh is over his. It is not elegant. It is warm.
“I am late,” he says into my hair but does not move.
“Tell Sejin I kidnapped you,” I say.
“He will believe it,” he says, amused.
“Good,” I say. “Let him.”
He kisses the top of my head. The place where my skull meets my neck goes warm.
“We need to talk about rules,” he says after a second, practical again because of course he is. “No touching at work unless necessary. No looks that make people whisper. No texting during meetings. If we argue, we do it after the day is done. If one of us says we need space, we respect it. If it interferes with the album, we stop and reset.”
I nod. My mouth twists. “I hate that last one.”
“I hate it too,” he says. “But it keeps us safe.”
“Okay,” I say. “And one more.”
“No disappearing into your room and locking the door if I say something stupid,” I say, half serious, half teasing, but not really joking. “Tell me I am being an idiot to my face. I can take it.”
He smiles, small and real. “Deal. And you do not run away after kissing me in a cave.”
“Deal,” I say, then I poke his chest. “And you do not vote me out of jobs without telling me why first.”
He gives me a look. “I did tell you. You did not let me finish.”
“Semantics,” I say and burrow closer.
His phone buzzes on the nightstand. He groans. He reaches, reads, kisses my cheek, then sits up.
“I have to go,” he says. “Dinner tonight. My place. No crew. Just us.”
“I can order,” he says, deadpan, and I laugh into the pillow.
He dresses. I watch him put himself back together and feel smug and soft in a way that is new. He comes back to the bed and kisses me once, gentle, then one more time, less gentle. I hold his shirt and almost ask him to stay, then let him go because I am not a teenager and adults finish their jobs before they roll around again.
The door clicks behind him. I stare at the ceiling for a second, then I get up and find my bra where it fell like a dead star under the chair. I fix my face in the mirror and laugh at my own mouth because it looks swollen and happy.
Sejin just asked me why I look like I got everything I wanted. You have thirty minutes to act normal before he figures it out. Dinner at eight. Do not be late.
I grin. Then I text back the only thing that makes sense.
I am not running anymore.
Finishing a few stories! Tell me what you think?
Thank you for reading you lovely person! :*
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