In honor of Hoseok’s birthday, I want to share my ultimate favorite Hobi stories, that I’ve read this past year (2023-2024) 💜 I want to thank each and every writer on this list for creating such wonderful stories and art - you are truly amazing ✨ All the fics on this list hold a dear place in my heart 🥹
❗Most of these fics are smutty as hell or contains dark themes, so minors dni.❗
If you read anything on this list and you like it, please leave a comment to the writer or reblog the fic, it might seem like a tiny gesture, but it really means a lot for writers and I can guarantee it will put a smile on their faces💜 Let’s share and give lots of love!
Looking for more to read? Check ‘The Library’ or last years recs 🙂
[index] → jan | feb (💜) | mar (myg) | apr | may | jun | jul | aug | sep (jjk)(knj) | oct (pjm) | nov | dec (kth)(ksj) |
Emoji meaning → angst = 🌩️, smut = 🥵, fluff = 🥰, comedy = 😂, yandere = 😈, thriller/dark = 👻, fantasy = 🪄.
⭐Helping Hands by @m-yg93 [6k]
// jhs x f.reader // f2l // 🥵
📝 Between your boyfriend getting into bed with another girl and finals taking all your time a cold rift has emerged between the usually warm movie nights with your best friend. Thankfully exams are over and Hoseok is back on your couch where he belongs. When some shit talking gets a little too close to home and Hoseok finds out you’ve never even had an orgasm he decides to take things into his own hands, and yours.
🗨️ This was so hot, like what 😳🥵 also a bit funny, but mostly smutty 🤭
⭐Flight 18 by @noona-la-la-la [9.5K]
// jhs x f. reader // flight!au, idol!au // 🥵😂
📝 Korean Air Flight 18 leaves daily from Los Angeles traveling to Seoul. You’ve taken this flight before, but this time you’ve got an irritating passenger in the neighboring seat. Little did you know that he would end up giving you the ride of your life.
🗨️ This was just really really amazing; utterly funny (like I was laughing at certain points), so much sexual tension that evolves into satisfying smut 😗
⭐Ho Ho Horrible @ugh-yoongi [5.6K]
// jhs x f.reader // e2l, neighbor!au, holiday!au // 🥵🥰😂
📝 (or, the one where your neighbor is a relentless christmas caroler and refuses to take a hint, but at least he's really hot.)
🗨️ No– this was just so freaking cute! 😭 Like fluffy cute and also extremely funny, just what I love. I loved this so much 💜 OC’s friendship with Tae, their banter was 💯 and then with Hobi, just so so good! It was so cute and OC’s internal dialogue is just funny 😂A really cute holiday themed Hoseok fic that I can’t recommend enough!!!! Everything was just great. Had me smiling and giggling a few times – please go read it 🥹💜
⭐Started with a Sparkle, now we’re on Fire @the-boy-meets-evil [6.5K]
// jhs x f.reader // f2l // 🥵
📝 You're feeling self conscious about your recent break-up and hoseok is more than happy to teach you a thing or two.
🗨️ Really really good! I really liked it 💜 I really loved how both sweet and demanding Hoseok was, guiding oc through everything.
⭐Watch Yourself by @boymeetsweevil [7.7k]
// jhs x f.reader // non idol au, pwp // 🥵
📝 It starts with an invitation from your ex. It ends with Hoseok’s hands down your pants in said ex’s kitchen.
🗨️ Oh this was hot alright 🥵
⭐In the Car @floralseokjin [14.7K]
// jhs x f.reader // mechanic!hoseok, street racer!au // 🥵🥰🌩️
📝 all you had was a dead car battery, you weren’t looking for romance, regardless if the charming mechanic had other ideas. You’ve heard stories that could put you off… Can he change your misconceptions, or will they prove correct after all…?
🗨️ oh my- really really good 💖 something about mechanic AND street racer Hoseok has me question my sanity 🥵
⭐Two in one @here2bbtstrash [12K]
// jhs x f.reader x pjm // best friends!au, threesome // 🥵🥵🥵
📝 you finally have a much-needed smoke session with your best friends, just like old times. you’re also pretty sure they’re gay… right?
🗨️ the chemistry between them, how they have been friends for so long, oc’s assumptions lol, and their humor too! Priceless 👏💖 Gosh! It was pure filth, in the best way possible, so sinful and dirty— and, and—, PLEASE GO READ IT IF YOU HAVEN’T ALREADY 😭💖
⭐Floored @lavienjin [5.2K]
// jhs x f.reader x pjm x jjk // idol!au, established relationship with Hobi, foursome // 🥵🥵🥵
📝 in the midst of your reunion with your boyfriend after not seeing each other for some time, you’re interrupted by two sets of eyes. not wanting to waste the opportunity, hoseok proposes a foursome and hey, “the more, the merrier”, right?
🗨️ what did I even read? 🥵 (it was good!)
⭐Good Morning @ppersonna [2.1K]
// jhs x f.reader // established relationship // 🥵🥰
📝 hoseok’s methods of waking you up are … unconventional, but effective.
🗨️ omg I loved it 💖💯
⭐To the Beat of my Heart @jeonggukingdom [7.2K]
// jhs x f.reader // dancer!au, sort of e2l // 🥵
📝 when you walk into the studio that Sunday afternoon, all you expect is a lonely and chill practice session but, a few hours later, your programs are shattered in thousand pieces by the unexpected presence of Jung Hoseok. And nothing could have prepared you for what he had in store for you.
🗨️ wow, this was incredibly good! Well written and it was just so freaking hot, I loved it! 💯✨
⭐Holiday Inn @bangtanintotheroom [36.6K]
// jhs x f.reader // non-idol!au, rap group!au, s2e2l // 🥵😂
📝 if it’s not the loud music, it’s the constant rapping. If it’s not the constant rapping, it’s the hysterical laughter. And if it’s not the hysterical laughter, it’s the moaning and screaming women. How the hell hasn’t your neighbor been kicked out yet? Oh right; he’s a beloved rapper.
🗨️ I’m just— WOW 🤯💯 This must be one of the best Hoseok fics I’ve ever read. Damn it was fucking amazing 👏 I loved the assertiveness of reader, and how that tension just build so fucking perfectly! Everything was so freaking good. A masterpiece!! 💜✨
⭐Make Me @violetsiren90 [16k]
// jhs x f.reader // idol!au, f2fwb, BDSM lifestyle // 🥵🥵🥵
📝 You’ve been friends with Hobi for years, and he’s your comfort zone - but when he gets wind of a dark secret you drunkenly let slip, things between you take a sudden extreme change.
🗨️ Oh. My.Goodness. My soul left my body multiple times when I read this!!! It is incredible!!! Really love this one, and if you like BDSM this is definitely for you, but even if you don’t (like me, this was out of my ‘comfort zone’) you will still enjoy it ✨👏💯
And as a something a little extra, here’s a few fics that I haven’t had the time to read yet, but damn I’m buzzing to get to read them:
summary: in which you and hoseok are enemy captains but kinda make out behind closed doors.
genre: pirate!hoseok, pirate!reader, enemies to lovers (kinda?? they’re both lol), fluff
words: 3k
a/n: i should be writing other things but here’s a drabble of pirate hoseok who’s def whipped lol
The underbelly of the ship is dark and cold, the flickering lanterns just bright enough to help distinguish where you are. Two pirates standing guard just outside are seemingly looming, stiff and still and motionless, standing as if you could somehow break free and escape without their being there. You only know you’re on a ship by the famliar rocking of the floor beneath your feet, up down and up again.
You kick at the metal cells caging you in. “Hello?” you yell, the guards not even offering you a glance. You’re alone in unfamiliar territory, and whoever is in charge of that was right to do so — had you been put together with one of your crew mates, you’d likely strangle them before the enemy could do anything to them at all.
“Hello?” you shriek again, hands moving to pull fruitlessly at the cold, metal bars. “Can someone at least come to fucking negotiate or something?”
When a few minutes pass and it seems no one is intent on coming, you take a breath and reach through the bars to pull at the back of the shirt of the nearest guard, pulling so quick the bars rattle and the man breathes out a low groan. “Who the hell is your captain?” you whisper into the shell of his ear.
The others standing guard pull the man back with a ruckus before he stands up straight, embarrassment painting his cheeks red. He yanks your arm through the bars, hard enough that your temple is pressed to the metal painfully.
“Sit in your little cell and rot.” He hisses, pushing you back so that you fall to the ground. Your hands clench at your sides, grabbing a fistful of dirt and grime. Your temple aches.
“Hey, hey, captain said we had to get this one through unharmed.” A different pirate says, panicked, almost, pulling the man back. Maybe you’d picked the wrong pirate to pick a fight with, you think offhandedly.
“Fuck the captain,” he scoffs, looking down at you — patronizingly, almost. You feel your insides being set aflame, brow twitching, jaw clenching. “He’s been giving us small portions of his loot for fucking months. I bet he has a stash of the rest all to himself, the bastard.”
The others narrow his eyes at him but don’t say anything else. The silence drags on, and you scooch backwards until your back is pressed to the wall, hands digging into the dirt as it sticks to your nail beds uncomfortably. You could say more, yell more. But you’re tired and you’re angry and that one guy is an ass, so you don’t.
No one comes for one, two more hours. You’re beginning to think you’d really been left here to rot until there’s footsteps and then noise and then—
And then someone steps in.
He’s – different, than how you remember. Just slightly though. His hair is longer, tied into a small and flimsy ponytail. There’s a new scar, a tiny one, right on the apple of his cheek, white like it’d been there for a while. Even from where you sit, he smells faintly of rum and sea salt and just a little bit like home.
You scowl. “Why, if it isn’t captain Jung Hoseok.” You spit his name like it’s poison, moving so the back of your head presses to the wall, watching him from beneath your lashes.
“Captain Y/n L/n,” he says simply, grinning unabashedly, like he’s in on some sort of game. “Oh, how I missed your sour complexion.”
“As did I,” you cock your head, silently addressing his lousy looking form, as if he’d rushed over, gotten ready just last minute.
“So you’re still alive, hm?” Hoseok hums, taking slow, deliberate steps towards you. “How’re you liking your cell?”
“Oh, it’s just peachy. How’re you liking the numbers over your head?” You grin humorlessly, even as he says nothing. “The new piracy act. I don’t suppose you’ve heard of it?”
It’s a taunt. He knows, and goes along with it. “It allows the military to execute pirates. Without trial, without hesitation.”
“Indeed it does.” You hum, “And I don’t suppose you know of the number of people who want you beheaded?”
“They want me beheaded for more reasons than just the piracy act, sweetheart.” He tuts. “I thought you’d know this by now.”
“Oh, I know alright,” you scoff out a laugh, “what I, too, wouldn’t give to have your head on a silver platter.”
“And yet here you are,” he grins something devilish, leaning against the metal bars, “all caged up. You’ve given me good reason to simply hand you over to the military, haven’t you? Imagine how easy it would be. How easy, too, to have you walk the plank, to catch wind of your body having washed up ashore.”
“So why don’t you?” you’re vulnerable. You’re vulnerable and trapped in a cage and surrounded by the enemy and his comrades, and challenging him is definitely not ideal but–
But he only smiles, relaxing just the smallest bit. Tension so small you didn’t even notice it until it wasn’t there, that’s what melts away. Says, “Why don’t I, indeed.” And that’s that.
The silence feels slow and deliberate, like a lip being dragged through teeth. You speak up when it becomes too much. “I’m hoping you have a good reason for not only capturing me and my crew, but also for leaving me waiting for hours on end and being threatened by one of your crew mates?”
You see the waver in his expression and your lips curl upward at one corner.
Jung Hoseok, your rival for years at sea, your mortal enemy, the man you’d sworn to kill on sight; that Jung Hoseok takes one step, two. Squints his eyes at you. Double takes. Takes one look at your bruising temple and swerves, looking like the ruler of the very sea he sails on and –
You hate this man. You’re as sure about that as you’re sure he hates you. You hold onto that thought as tight as a hangman’s noose around a neck. And yet– and yet –
And yet you watch as Hoseok takes one look at one of his men, watch as his other crew mate points to the very man who’d bruised your temple, watch as Hoseok pushes the man onto the wall by the neck.
Hoseok whispers something in his ear but you can’t make out what was said at all. You can only watch as Hoseok steps away from him, watch as the man scrambles out the room.
You can only watch, still, as Hoseok’s taut shoulders slowly relax, his hands unclenching at his sides. His hair fell out of the ponytail sometime during the commotion, his hair framing the sides of his face messily, and when he turns to you his expressions softens into this thing that melts you down to your bones and he’s just–
Just.
“Goodnight, captain L/n.” He grins and walks away with a flourish, boots padding through the worn wood and echoing down the hallway almost hauntingly. You grin at his retreating back.
Summary: Yoongi only agreed to one last night out before comeback season swallowed Bangtan’s freedom whole. He wasn’t expecting a private club in Seoul to turn into the start of a problem with a pretty face, a dangerous pull, and feelings that got complicated far too fast. So what happens when one reckless night leaves Yoongi wanting something he can’t stop thinking about?
Genre: Idol au, Arirang comeback, smut with some plot, I guess.
Warnings: Hard Dom Hoseok and Soft Dom Yoongi, proceed with care! This is in Yoongi’s POV because we all love his thoughts and feelings okay! This is very much sope indulgence because cmon, look at them. If Oh, Angel! Hoseok and Illicit Favors Yoongi were in the same AU, it would be this.
WC: 17k
If Yoongi could pick one decision he made in the recent months to regret, it would be this one.
Not the high-pitched yelp that he allowed his members to keep hidden in one of the Arirang tracks, not even the bet that he could outdrink Park Jimin, which he unsurprisingly lost and was fucked up for several days while they were in Los Angeles. Revealing that he had a black cat and sharing one of the parts of his life that still remained his and his alone came close, but it still didn’t compare to this.
Because this led him to a club in the expensive part of Seoul.
The nightclub sat behind a black stone facade in Cheongdam, the kind of place that didn’t need a sign because the people who belonged there already knew how to get in. Inside, the air carried the layered smell of expensive liquor, cold citrus twisted over crystal rims, perfume that clung to the back of the throat, and the faint burn of cigarette smoke sneaking in every time someone slipped through the terrace doors.
The bass stayed low enough not to rattle the made-to-order furniture, but it still moved through the floor under Yoongi’s shoes, steady and deep, threading through the room with the sharp snap of a snare and the soft wash of a woman laughing too loud somewhere near the bar. The lighting stayed dim on purpose, all amber glow and shadows, flattering skin, blurring edges, making every face look a little softer and every mistake easier to hide.
Velvet booths curved along the walls, black marble caught the light beneath bottles lined up like display pieces, and the servers moved through the room with the kind of practiced silence that came from being paid well enough not to hear anything they shouldn’t.
This was one of the few places in Seoul where famous people like Yoongi got to act like they had no one watching.
An actor with a household name had a girl half in his lap in the corner booth and didn’t bother moving his hand when staff walked past. Two idols Yoongi met at award shows were bent over a table near the back, laughing with their heads too close together while one of them tapped a white pill from a silver case into his palm like it was nothing. A chaebol heir was already drunk enough to be rude, waving a glass around while his friends ignored him and kept ordering.
No phones were visible unless someone wanted a number, no one took photos, and no one stared for long because that was the whole point of the place. Money bought the room, the music, the locked doors, and most of all the silence after.
Yoongi could see the appeal of it, the perfect picture of a good time sold to him in the back of a dressing room earlier today. Hoseok could be very convincing when he wanted to, telling Yoongi that he liked this place because nobody asked questions, nobody pretended to be clean, and everyone in the room was honest about wanting one thing for a few hours: to do whatever they wanted and leave it there by morning.
What made Yoongi agree wasn’t the promise of expensive liquor, he had plenty of it at home, but a change in scenery and a taste of the type of freedom they were about to give up now that their comeback was just around the corner.
Going around the world for the biggest world tour of their career meant secrets were harder to hide, free time impossible to come by. So Yoongi was easily agreeing to join his best friend tonight, even if the both of them still had practice in the morning.
Because everyday was practice day now, even on weekends like this.
Then one might ask themselves, what could possibly have made Yoongi regret saying yes to his insisting younger friend?
Well. The very reason was dressed like sin, making her way to Yoongi’s spot in the empty corner of the bar.
You wore black like you had chosen the room to match you; the top hugged your body in sharp, structured lines, sheer in the places that made a man look twice and fitted enough to leave very little to the imagination once he did. It pushed your chest up beneath a soft lace edge, the boning drawing his attention down the center of your torso to the narrow pull of your waist, and from there to the short black skirt sitting high on your thighs.
Silver chains draped across one side of it, catching the low amber light whenever you moved, just enough shine to drag his eyes lower to the long line of your legs and the thin black straps circling your ankles.
Yoongi should have looked once and then looked away, but instead his gaze moved over you slowly like it always did, taking in each detail with the same quiet focus he reserved for the important things in his life.
By the time you reached him, your perfume had made it to him first, floral but expensive, not sweet enough to be innocent, softened by the smell of liquor and smoke hanging in the room. You did not hesitate when you stopped beside him. You did not glance around like you were impressed to be there, did not shift awkwardly under the weight of the room or the kind of people it held. You moved like this place was familiar, like you had walked through these locked doors a dozen times before and never once second-guessed where to stand once inside.
That ease was almost worse than the outfit, if Yoongi was being honest with himself. It settled over you naturally, in the lift of your chin, the calm set of your mouth, the way you leaned one hip lightly against the bar as if you belonged in places men spent entire careers trying to earn access to, and now his full attention was yours before you had even said a word.
“We didn’t drag you out tonight so you’d be alone at the bar, you know?” you naturally leaned closer to Yoongi so you could speak to him without having to shout, making him regrettably smell the cherry from your lips. “Come dance with us.”
Your dark nails circled Yoongi’s bicep as you gave his arm a squeeze, light enough to be polite, yet lingering enough to be familiar.
Because of course you were familiar with each other, you shared a home with his best friend. And even before you and Hoseok became official roommates, you had been friends with the younger man for a few too many years at this point; having met in one of the dance classes Hoseok taught on the weekend to make some extra money when they were only trainees trying to make it big in the music world.
“I did enough dancing for a day,” Yoongi said, the answer coming quicker than it should have, like he needed to get it out before your hand on his arm made him forget what words were for. Still, instead of leaving it there, he kept going, words slipping out easier than they usually did with him: “We had practice earlier. My whole body’s been complaining since the second hour, and I’m having a harder time than I thought I would getting back into it after the break.”
Your hand moved slowly up his arm, dark nails tracing over the fabric of his sleeve before your palm settled on his shoulder, warm and light, as if touching him like this was the most natural thing in the world.
“Your body seems just fine to me.” the way you said it was almost too innocent, too easy, but Yoongi still heard something else in it.
Maybe it was because your eyes did not stay politely on his face after. They dipped lower, taking in the way his shirt stretched a little tighter across his chest than it used to a few months ago, then stopped at the chain resting against his collarbone before lifting back to him. It was subtle enough that somebody else might have missed it. Yoongi didn’t.
“If you’re not going to dance,” you said, fingers still resting on his shoulder, “At least do a shot with me?”
That, he could agree to.
Because it meant he did not have to move from the nest he made for himself at the bar, and maybe more importantly, it gave him a reason to keep you right where you were for a little longer.
Yoongi lifted a hand and caught the bartender’s attention with a short wave, holding up two fingers. A minute later, two small glasses were set down in front of you, the clear liquid inside catching the club light.
The bartender had barely stepped back before Yoongi caught his glass and watched you do the same with yours. You paused, eyes flicking from the clear liquid to Yoongi’s face.
“Just like that?” you asked, voice dipped low enough that it stayed between the two of you even with the music pressing through the room. Then your red painted mouth curved, playful and warm. “No love shot?”
Yoongi let out a quiet breath through his nose, somewhere between a scoff and a laugh, already knowing he should say no; if only for his own quickly slipping sanity. Instead, he found himself looking at you again, at the way you were standing close enough now that your knee nearly brushed his, your perfume sitting soft beneath the sharper smell of alcohol and citrus.
“You do this with everybody?” he asked, licking between his lips out of habit.
“Only when they need help loosening up.” there was something easy in the way you said it, like you had already decided he would agree and were just waiting for him to catch up.
Before Yoongi could come up with an answer worth saying out loud, you stepped in closer and looped your arm through his. The movement was smooth, practiced, your body fitting against his side without hesitation, the bare skin of your arm warm against him. Yoongi felt it immediately, that simple point of contact settling into his body harder than the drink in his hand ever could.
He should have been used to pretty women, to closeness, to flirtation that did not mean anything by the end of the night. But this was you, and that made it different in a way he did not want to examine too closely.
“Come on.” you murmured, lifting your glass with that same unwavering smile. “You can handle one shot.”
Yoongi looked at your face and meant to keep looking there. He really did. But then you held his eyes as you tipped the glass back, and the line of your throat moved when you swallowed, and his gaze betrayed him at the last second, dropping to your mouth where your lips had parted against the rim. He caught the shine left there after, the quick press of your tongue as you pulled the glass away, and by then his own shot was suddenly harder to ignore. He drank it a second too late, the liquor going down hot and clean, but he barely tasted it over the rush already working its way through him.
You did not pull away once it was done. If anything, you stayed there another beat, arm still looped with his, shoulder brushing his. Then your face scrunched a little when the burn hit properly, nose wrinkling, eyes narrowing for half a second before you exhaled a soft laugh. It was a small reaction, unguarded and honest, and so unexpectedly cute that it pulled a smile out of Yoongi before he could stop it.
“If Jimin asks, tell him I didn’t even flinch.” you said with another smile and Yoongi felt himself mirroring it.
“I promise.”
Yoongi barely had time to set his empty glass back on the bar before a familiar voice cut through the music behind you, followed by the sudden warmth of a body crowding into your space.
Hoseok came up flushed and damp from the dance floor, shirt clinging a little at the collar, hair sticking to his forehead from sweat. His arm slipped around your waist with the kind of easy claim that came from habit, casual enough to look thoughtless, and it still made something in Yoongi’s mood pull tighter.
You let out a small yelp when he caught you off guard, your body tipping just enough to nearly lose balance in those heels before a giggle left you and you turned in his hold, one hand coming up to push Hoseok’s hair back from his forehead.
“What’s taking you so long?” Hoseok asked, the words softened by a slight slur that told Yoongi he’d already had enough to stop counting.
“I couldn’t convince him to come dance.” you told Hoseok, and now your smile was aimed at the other man even when your eyes found Yoongi over your shoulder.
“I told you he wouldn’t.”
Hoseok did not mean anything by it. Yoongi knew that. There was no edge in his voice, no challenge, no smugness, just the loose confidence of someone who had known him long enough to guess right.
Still, it annoyed him a little more than it should have, the way Hoseok gathered you up so easily and turned with you toward the crush of people moving under the lights. Like it was nothing. Like you had always fit there at his side. Yoongi watched the two of you disappear back into the bodies on the dance floor, Hoseok’s hand still at your waist, your laugh swallowed by the music a second later, and for some reason he hated how natural it looked.
Yoongi stayed where he was for a while after you disappeared, one hand resting against the edge of the bar, the noise of the club carrying on around him without asking whether he wanted to be part of it or not. He could still taste the shot on his tongue, still catch traces of your perfume every time somebody passed close enough with the wrong floral note, and it made the whole thing worse.
He knew exactly how he looked, standing there alone with his jaw set too tight, nursing a mood nobody else seemed to share. It felt pathetic the longer he let himself sit in it, like he was throwing himself a private pity party in the middle of a room full of people too drunk and too distracted to care.
And the most annoying part was that his body was not even aching that badly anymore. Not enough to justify hiding at the bar like he had some noble reason for staying put. So with a quiet curse to nobody but himself, Yoongi pushed away from the counter and followed the path Hoseok had taken, slipping between bodies, shoulder brushing strangers, the bass growing heavier the closer he got to the center of the floor.
He found the two of you quicker than he wanted to. Maybe because some part of him had known exactly where to look. Maybe because the sight of you with Hoseok cut through everything else in the room too easily. Yoongi stopped short, wishing immediately that he had stayed at the bar.
Hoseok had you pulled in close, one hand low on your hip, fingers spread in a way that made Yoongi’s stomach turn over unpleasantly, and he was kissing you like there was nobody else around to see it. Not the crowd pressing in on every side, not the lights cutting across the room, not the music low and slow enough to make everything feel intimate whether it should or not.
Your hands had slipped into Hoseok’s hair, holding him there, and the two of you moved together to the beat without breaking apart, mouths still locked, then dragging over each other in the kind of kiss that had gone well past playful. It was messy in the way real want often was, unselfconscious and warm and far too easy to watch for longer than Yoongi should have.
And this, right now, was another reminder of his regrettable decision.
As if this night hadn’t been enough torture, now Yoongi couldn’t sleep.
Maybe it was the fact that he was on a couch in Hoseok’s penthouse, and not in his comfortable king size at his own home. Maybe he missed Tang coming in for a late night cuddle session before falling asleep on the pillow next to him. Maybe it was even because this damn fridge never stopped humming.
Actually, it was probably because while Yoongi was alone in the living room, he knew exactly what Hoseok and you were doing in the master bedroom at the end of the hallway.
Yoongi should have left the club on his own when he saw the two of you making out on the dance floor, but his own pride was too big for him to run away from a problem like that. And this wasn’t even a real problem… You were both single, as far as Yoongi knew, both consenting adults who happened to live together in separate rooms.
Maybe saying no to the ‘just crash at my place and we can go to the company building together in the morning, since it’s closer’ should have been easier. But even that would have been out of character for Yoongi, who crashed more at Hoseok’s place than his own for the first six months after they stopped living together at the dorm.
And this felt too much like nostalgia to pass up, tonight was the first time Yoongi was sleeping over after their military service ended. Besides, Yoongi thought whatever happened at the club would have ended there, he didn’t think Hoseok’s grabby hands would have followed you in the backseat of a shared car, up the elevator, then dragging you into his bedroom telling Yoongi a simple ‘the couch is all yours, see you tomorrow, hyung!’ like it was the most mundane thing in the world.
Much to your and his friend’s credit, you were keeping quiet for the most part. So quiet that if Yoongi hadn’t heard a small moan on his way to the guest bathroom a couple hours ago, he could have lied to himself that you’d just gone to sleep.
The annoyingly bright digital clock on the TV rack was showing 04:27 when Yoongi heard a door opening and small footsteps coming down the hall. He closed his eyes immediately, pretending to be asleep. But then a second later curiosity was getting the best of him, making him raise his upper body on his elbows and peek over the back rest of the couch.
Since the penthouse’s main room was one long open space, Yoongi had a clear view straight into the kitchen from the couch where he was laying. The living room bled into it without walls, only the back of the sofa breaking up the floor before the marble island began. No lights were on, but the city still spilled in through the tall windows, enough to catch the pale counter tops, the shine of the faucet over the sink, and the outline of the stools tucked beneath the island. It left everything in that soft blue-gray darkness that made the apartment feel even quieter at this hour, which is why he was able to hear you in the first place.
You were trying to be quiet as a mouse, walking on the balls of your feet, even hunched a little like characters did in cartoons when trying to be sneaky. Yoongi had to hold down a chuckle as your every movement was measured as you reached for one of the plastic cups left to dry close by the sink.
“Can't sleep?” Yoongi’s voice sounded raspy even to his own ears, low in the quiet living room.
“Oh, shit–”
The sound of his voice hit you so suddenly that your whole body jerked. The plastic cup slipped right out of your fingers, bounced once against the edge of the sink, then skittered across the marble with a loud, hollow rattle that scared even him.
You lunged after it with both hands, catching it at the last second just before it tipped off the counter and clattered onto the floor, then froze there for a beat, bent over the island with one hand pressed to your chest as if you could calm your heart back down by force.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you–” Yoongi rushed with a grimace, sitting up all the way so you could see him and remember there wasn’t an intruder in your house.
“Did I wake you?” was your worry as you held the plastic cup to your chest. “I was trying to keep it down, but this damn fridge hums.”
“It really does.” Yoongi chuckled softly, running a hand through his hair that was just finishing drying after the shower he took before settling on the couch for the night.
“I keep telling Seok we need a new one.” even in the dark, Yoongi could see you roll your eyes. “For someone so rich, he's really a cheapskate.”
“Do you tell him that?” Yoongi arched an eyebrow, knowing if anyone –besides Jungkook– would be brave enough to say that to Hoseok, it would be you.
“Mhm, to his face. Do you think he's attached?” you waited for Yoongi to shrug before continuing your task of taking the plastic cup to the fridge water dispenser. “Well, too bad if he is, I'm saving to get a new one as soon as you guys go on tour.”
“I'm sure you'll have no trouble.”
Laying down and trying to sleep didn’t seem important anymore, so Yoongi got up from the couch and walked the few steps to reach the marble island. Now that he was closer, he could see you better thanks to the city lights coming in from the floor to ceiling glass windows.
You were wearing an oversized shirt that Yoongi knew for a fact belonged to Namjoon at some point, but must’ve somehow gotten mixed up with Hoseok’s things, which you now probably wore to sleep, none the wiser.
“What's keeping you awake?” you asked him when the plastic cup was full and the loud fridge quietened enough.
“Too noisy in my head.” Yoongi replied with a small shrug, palms resting on top of the marble in front of him.
“Ah. You're the heavy thinking type.” you mused between long sips of the cold water, stating it more than asking.
“I guess you could say.” Yoongi watched you watching him, no motion to leave the kitchen yet, so he asked: “You?”
“Too much adrenaline to be laying down. Seok always passes out after–” you trailed off when you caught yourself, eyes widening as if just hearing your own words back. “Oh, that was awkward. I'm sorry, you probably don't want to hear about your friend's bedside manners.”
“We lived together for ten years, I already heard a lot more than I'd like.” Yoongi shook his head. “You're fine.”
Yoongi might never be fine again after tonight, but there was no reason to make you feel out of sorts in your own house. You had no way of guessing about his interest in you, neither did his friend.
“I didn’t know you two were dating.” Yoongi said in what he hoped came out as casual. “Hoseok didn’t say anything to us.”
“Oh, god, we're not.” you shook your head with a laugh, throwing the water you didn’t finish into the sink before rinsing the cup to clean it again. “We're just friends who have sex sometimes.”
“Are you sure? He's always talking about you.” Yoongi didn’t mean to pry, but he’d lie if he said hearing that didn’t mend something annoying in his chest. So call him selfish, but he wanted to hear more about how you weren’t exactly a thing.
“We're best friends, why wouldn't he talk about me?” you said as you shook the cup as if trying to take the excess water off before placing it back where you’d gotten it. “Seok doesn't want a relationship right now, and as much as I love him, we wouldn't work out like that.”
You drifted closer after drying your hands on a dish towel, coming around the side of the island until you stood directly across from Yoongi. Then you leaned forward, resting your elbows on the cool marble, easy and unguarded now that the first surprise had worn off.
In the dim light creeping in through the windows, your face looked softer like this, hair falling over one shoulder, voice low enough that it kept the quiet of the apartment intact.
“Sex is great, we match, and it's easy.” you explained, nibbling on the inside of your bottom lip. “But that's all that is.”
“Okay.” Yoongi nodded because he understood, tapping a finger lightly over the marble.
“I wouldn’t want you to think we're really dating or anything…” you mentioned like an after thought, but this time it was you who couldn’t look him in the eyes.
“Why?”
“So he doesn't get in trouble for not telling the members about it.” you said, a small and barely there sigh leaving your lips before you added, quieter than before: “And another more selfish reason.”
“Which is?” the question came out softer than the others had, but it still landed hard in the quiet room.
He stayed very still on the other side of the island, but his whole body had gone alert, attention narrowing down to your face, to the way you still would not look straight at him.
“I think you know, Yoongi.” when you finally looked up, it only made it worse. Your expression had gone softer, your mouth parted just enough to betray your nerves, and the weight of your gaze on him felt nothing like something he had imagined on his own. “Don't make me say it, if it's just in my head. Spare me the embarrassment.”
“No embarrassment there.”
Yoongi rounded the marble island slowly, not because he was unsure anymore, but because the quiet between you had grown so thin it felt like one wrong move might break it.
The floor stayed cool under his bare feet as he came to a stop right in front of you, close enough now that the floral perfume he had been catching in passing all night finally settled around him properly, soft and expensive and far too easy to breathe in. For a second neither of you said anything.
You stayed where you were, elbows near the edge of the counter, but your body had changed. Your shoulders were not as loose as before, your breath a little less even, your fingers curling lightly against the marble like you needed something solid beneath your hands.
Yoongi looked at you and saw it then, not in anything you said, but in all the little things you could not quite hide; the way you held still instead of stepping away, the way your eyes searched his face as if trying to read how much he really understood.
And then they dropped, brief, but not subtle enough. Your gaze slipped to his mouth and lingered there for one beat, maybe two, before lifting again, and the sight of it hit him low and hard.
Yoongi knew that look because he had been fighting the same impulse since the bar at the club. Suddenly there was nothing left for you to explain, he could read the answer in your body as clearly as he felt it on his own.
And since you reassured him a few too many times that there was nothing serious or official going on between you and Hoseok, a weight was lifted off his shoulders.
“So I won't be in trouble if I do this?” Yoongi murmured as he raised a hand to touch your cheek, tracing your cheekbone with his thumb.
“I can't promise you no trouble.” you smiled softly, but Yoongi could almost feel your erratic heartbeat even from a few inches away. “But he won't care.”
“And you?” his gaze dropped to your lips, which parted and still smelled of cherry.
“I don't mind getting in trouble from time to time.”
Yoongi didn’t wait for another word. He leaned in slowly, giving you every second to turn your head, to step back, to stop him. The space between your mouths shrank until the warmth of your breath brushed his lips first, cherry-sweet and nothing else that could remind him of his friend.
Then he pressed in.
Soft, just the lightest seal of his mouth over yours, testing, offering what he’d been craving all damn night. Your lips were plush and warm, yielding under the gentle pressure, and Yoongi held there, unmoving for one heartbeat, then two, letting you feel the full shape of him.
You didn’t pull away, instead your hands rose and curled into the front of his shirt, fists bunching the thin cotton right over his chest, anchoring him in place. The tug was small but certain, and it pulled a low smile from him that curved against your mouth.
Yoongi tilted his head and parted his lips, coaxing yours open with the same unhurried pressure. The moment you gave in, his tongue slid inside, hot and slick, rolling slow and heavy against yours in one long stroke. The wet glide dragged along the full length of your tongue, curling underneath it before pressing flat again.
A soft, breathy sigh slipped straight out of you at the contact, vibrating right into his mouth. Yoongi felt your fists tighten harder in his shirt, knuckles pressing into his chest like you needed something to keep yourself afloat when all Yoongi wanted was for you to drown in him.
Yoongi didn’t speed up as he rolled his tongue against yours again, slower this time, thick and sensual, stroking in lazy circles that made the kiss wetter, like you had all the time in the world. His front pressed into yours, caging you against the marble island, one hand at the back of your neck and the other at your waist.
The soft, obscene sound of your tongues rubbing together filled the quiet kitchen, slick and rhythmic, each slow roll coaxing one more sigh from your throat, each one a little needier than the last.
Yoongi felt the exact second you pulled back just a fraction, enough for your lips to break from his with a soft, wet sound.
“Yoongi–” the word came out almost like a whisper, like you were reluctant to say it at all, which was not how he wanted to hear his name coming from you.
He was already breathing hard, chest rising and falling under your fists, the air between you hot and shared. He rested his forehead against yours, eyes still closed for one more heartbeat, savoring the damp heat of your breath on his mouth.
“Yeah?” his voice came out low and rough, thicker than he meant.
You stayed right there, bodies still pressed close enough that he could feel the warmth of your thighs against his, but your tone shifted, shy again even after the way your tongue had just rolled so openly against his.
“There’s something you should know… before we get into anything.”
The words landed like a small weight in his stomach. Yoongi straightened his neck slowly, pulling back just far enough to search your face, eyes scanning every flicker, your parted lips still shiny from his mouth, the way your lashes lowered like you were bracing. For a fraction of a second worry tightened in his chest; he looked for regret, for any sign you were about to pull away for good.
“Tell me.” he mumbled, the nerves roughening his voice even as his hands stayed steady, one still cupping the side of your neck, thumb brushing slowly over your jaw.
Your fists loosened in his shirt, fingers uncurling until your palms lay flat against his chest instead, warm and light but still touching, still grounding.
“The reason why Seok and I keep going back to each other is not just because we’re friends and available.” you started, voice quieter. “It’s because we’re into the same thing.”
“Mhmm.”
Yoongi kept his tone even, thumb still stroking your jaw in that same slow rhythm, giving you space even while every inch of him stayed tuned to the heat of your body against his.
You swallowed once, eyes sliding away from his, like the words were something you’d had to hide before, something you were afraid would be judged. He didn’t like that, didn’t like the way your gaze dropped, the small hesitation that made your shoulders tighten just a little under his hand.
“We have a Dom/sub arrangement.” you explained, the confession soft and careful, almost guarded. “It’s something we haven’t found with anyone else… And it’s what works for us.”
Yoongi felt the tight band of worry that had been sitting in his chest loosen completely, asking: “So that’s what you like?”
You nodded once. “But if you're not into that, it's not a deal breaker. I just thought–”
“You just wanted to be a good girl and tell me how you like it, huh?” his thumb traced one slow line along your jaw. Yoongi’s posture shifted, shoulders rolling back as he stood taller. When he spoke again he lowered his voice on purpose, letting it come out deeper and smoother right between you. “I appreciate that, baby.”
“I–” your breath caught and you stuttered, eyes fluttering like wings of a hummingbird.
“What’s that?” he asked, the edge of his mouth lifting in clear teasing as he kept his eyes on yours. “Can you use your words or do I need to force them out?”
“Yoongi…”
The way you said his name sounded just right this time, like a soft plea, as your body started to soften, shoulders loosening while you slipped into that sweet spot he could see taking over.
And Yoongi was very much into this, too. He didn’t need the constant power dynamic the way Hoseok did, but watching you look so sweet and pliant right in front of him pulled at something strong he had no desire to hold back. And if this is what you wanted from him, he’d do his damn best to provide it.
“You really are the perfect little sub, huh?” he cooed softly, eyes fixed on the way your teeth sank into your bottom lip and your head gave a small nod. “I barely touched you and you're already melting.”
“I'm not–”
You tried to push back, attempting to straighten your posture, but he moved one thigh between your legs in one smooth motion, pressing the solid muscle firmly up against your center.
The gasp that left you was immediate and shaky. Your body melted down onto him exactly like he had predicted, thighs clamping around his leg as your weight settled heavily against the pressure.
He clicked his tongue quietly. “Such a liar.”
Yoongi didn’t give you any room to finish the weak protest, leaning back in and taking full control of the kiss this time, now that he knew you liked the assertiveness. His mouth pressed heavier as his tongue pushed past your lips in one steady stroke. He tilted his head to the right, then slowly to the left, shifting the angle every few seconds so you could never quite catch up, always one step behind his rhythm. His tongue moved deep and demanding against yours while his teeth caught your bottom lip in a light bite before soothing the spot again.
Your moan came out low and needy as your thighs squeezed tight around the solid muscle he still had pressed between your legs at the same time your arms slid up and wrapped around his neck. Your back bowed sharply as you arched into him, chest pushing flush against his while you tried to pull him even closer. Yoongi kept the kiss going, hot and relentless, tongue stroking heavy and wet against yours while his hand moved up into your hair at the back of your head, fingers threading through the strands near your scalp. He gave one firm tug at the roots, testing, and felt the way your body reacted instantly, pressing harder down onto his thigh.
The kiss stayed heated and hungry, and he never let up until your lungs started to burn from how long you stayed locked together, neither one willing to break away first.
When you finally pulled back your chest rose and fell fast against his, breath shaky.
“I should go now–” you said, voice unsteady and a little hoarse. “Or I won’t let you sleep…”
“I wouldn’t mind that.” Yoongi answered right away, the words low as he leaned in to press a slow kiss to the corner of your jaw, lips brushing warm against your skin.
“I know,” you replied, still sounding reluctant even as you gave his chest a small push with both palms. “But Seok will be an ass if you’re tired at practice.”
“I’m his hyung.” he pointed out, but he took a slow step back anyway, creating space between your bodies.
“Did that ever stop him?” you asked, eyes meeting his with that knowing look that pulled a quiet chuckle from his chest. “Gimme your phone.”
Yoongi turned without hesitation and walked over to the couch where his phone sat charging on the spare cable Hoseok kept for guests. After unlocking it with his thumb he handed the device to you.
Yoongi watched as you smiled softly when you saw the picture of his cat on the background, then opened his contacts and added your name with a cherry emoji next to it before typing in your number. Once you finished you held the phone out to him again.
“Text me. Or call, whatever you’re into.” you said, that sweet smile still holding up.
“Okay.”
“Goodnight, Yoongi.” you leaned in one last time and kissed the corner of his lips, the touch light and quick, before turning and walking down the hall toward your room.
“Good morning, sleepy head.”
Yoongi groaned before he even opened his eyes, the sound dragged out of him by the bright wash of light pressing against his closed eyelids. It felt too sharp, Hoseok’s voice too chirpy, needling straight through his skull and settling behind his eyes until his head gave a dull, warning throb.
The pain was not bad enough to call it a hangover yet, but close enough that he knew one wrong move, one more hour without water and medicine, and it would turn into one.
His mouth tasted dry, his neck ached from sleeping on the couch, and every bit of sleep he had managed to get felt too thin to be worth much. With a quiet curse stuck in his throat, he lifted a hand to shield his face and squinted up through the glare, still more half asleep than awake.
“The fuck–” he complained. “It's too early, turn the light off.”
“It is early, but that's the sun and we have practice.” Hoseok spoke matter of factly, bumping on appliances and dragging things with a scrape as if Yoongi had personally wronged him. “So unless you want to throw up mid-choreo, I say wake up and get your shit together.”
Yoongi blinked slowly, willing his irises to adjust, praying his corneas wouldn’t burn.
Hoseok moved through the kitchen with the graceless confidence of somebody too awake for this goddamn hour, yanking the fridge open and pulling out one of those thick fruit smoothies he kept buying as if Yoongi had not spent years making it clear he hated drinking his breakfast.
The liquid came out in a slow, spotty purple pour, too dense to look refreshing, filling two glasses almost to the top before Hoseok set the bottle down with a dull thud. Then he reached for a bottle of painkillers from the counter, grabbed a cold water bottle beside it, and somehow managed to stack the whole miserable cure in his hands without dropping anything.
By the time he made his way over, he looked like a one-man intervention, balancing the glasses, the pills, and the water before lowering himself onto the couch next to Yoongi with a heavy dip of the cushions.
“You were out late last night too, how are you so human while I feel like death?” Yoongi asked, but gladly accepted the pills and the water bottle.
“I'm younger than you.” Hoseok deadpanned with a teasing smile, bringing the purple monstrosity to his lips.
“By barely a year.”
“I also had a good hangover cure.” Hoseok spread his legs in front of him as he marked his territory in his own penthouse, cracking his neck as if this was already part of a warm up. “She's still sleeping, so keep it down.”
“Right.” Yoongi made a face when the medicine went down sideways, trying not to think of why his friend was this glowing and happy.
“You had a bit of it last night too, didn't you?” Hoseok bumped his elbow into Yoongi’s arm, face too bright for someone pointing out they had the same woman.
But you weren’t just a woman they both hooked up with, you were Hoseok’s roommate and friends with benefits, and the girl of Yoongi’s dreams.
And Yoongi would be lying if he said that thinking of you, of your kisses and how you melted for him didn’t bring some sort of brightness into his morning.
But then the words Hoseok just uttered finished making sense and Yoongi’s face morphed as if he was just caught doing something he shouldn’t.
“Did you see us?” Yoongi asked, because nothing good would come from lying.
“Nah, she told me.” Hoseok grinned, pushing the second smoothie glass into Yoongi’s hands in a silent command. “She's my best friend, there are no secrets between us.”
“You have a weird relationship with your friends.” Yoongi grumbled, trying a sip of the thick breakfast and adding it to his short list of regrets.
“Jealous?” his friend laughed in that way that was exceptionally his.
“A little, yes.”
“So you’re into her?” Hoseok leaned forward then, elbows on bony knees as he watched Yoongi over his shoulders.
“She's very attractive. Funny, too. Smart.” Yoongi admitted while the punding behind his right eye made his lips a little looser. “And she knows our limitations as idols and I don't think she would need to sign an NDA to keep it private–”
“A simple yes or no would do.” Hoseok’s grin was back, knowing Yoongi’s face said more than his words. “She's into you, too.”
“And you’re chill about that?” Yoongi had heard it from you, but he needed to get Hoseok’s side of it, too. If only to avoid breaking up the band. “Because I don't want to get into something messy with you right before the biggest comeback of our lives.”
“If you don't like it messy, you won't like it with her.”
Hoseok said it like he knew exactly what he was talking about, cracking his neck again and taking a hungry sip of his wanna-be-juice. The double meaning was crass and right in his face, and it made Yoongi envious that his friend seemed to know just how messy you could really get.
It also made him curious.”
“Too damn early.” Yoongi groaned, willing his thoughts to behave.
“Didn't you ask her about me and her?” Hoseok eyed him curiously. “Before you tried to swallow her face–”
“I did.” Yoongi cut him short. “She said you're her best friend, too. That you sleep together because it's easy.”
“Ouch?”
Yoongi rolled his eyes. “She also said you have a thing in common.”
“We do.” Hoseok nodded, finishing his smoothie in one more go at it. “Did she tell you what that is?”
“Mhmm.”
“How do you feel about that?” the other man placed his empty glass on the center table in front of them.
“You're both adults–”
“Not what I'm asking.” Hoseok turned to Yoongi fully then, no teasing in sight, just a friend talking to another friend. “How do you feel about what she's into? Think you can keep up?”
“Again, just eleven months older than you.” Yoongi pointed out, but the medicine and the water he’d been nursing seemed to be working its magic, finally, and his mood was starting to improve. “But yeah, I– I'm into the same thing. I might not be exactly like you–”
“I can be a little on the rough side, but there are nuances in a Dom/sub arrangement.” Hoseok spoke like a professional Dom, which made Yoongi want to snort. He didn’t need the presentation. “Besides, if you were exactly like me, what difference would it make for her? No offense.”
“I get your point.” he sighed, risking another sip of the drink and deciding it was the last. “Are you really okay with this?”
“Like you said, we're all adults here.” Hoseok shrugged, starting to roll his shoulders to wake his body up. “I love her, but not like that. We hook up because it's nice, and it is easy. But with us, that's it.”
“So if I were to shoot my shot?”
“As long as you're not an asshole to her, you're good.” Hoseok gave his permission and a threat all in the same breath. “And let me know if you think it might get serious, so I can step back.”
“Right.”
“I think she'd be good for you, you know?” Hoseok wondered out loud, coming back to rest against the couch cushion. “She's… something else, fuck.”
Yoongi couldn’t help but laugh at Hoseok’s marvels. “That good?”
“Oh, yeah. Skilled. Talented, I'd say.” Hoseok nodded, eyes lost somewhere ahead of him as if he was focusing on a pleasant memory. “Her mouth does things that–”
“Yah, hajima–” Yoongi didn’t want to hear his friend give so many details that he was still to find out, and more than that, he didn’t want to go to practice with an erection. The one he had to ignore last night was daunting enough. “Again, too fucking early.”
“I'm just saying.” Hoseok’s grin was back as he patted Yoongi in the shoulder. “Let's get ready. I still have a reputation to keep.”
Hoseok [18:26]: You in the studio?
Yoongi [18:26]: Yeah. Why?
Hoseok [18:27]: Yn is coming over. Thought you might like to know.
Yoongi [18:28]: I'm busy with work.
It’s been three minutes since his last reply to Hoseok and he was still staring at his phone as if expecting his friend to insist, to tell him to stop being an idiot and come over.
Because Yoongi really was an idiot, and for the two weeks he’d had your phone number, he hadn’t called or texted you. It’s not like Yoongi hadn’t thought about it… Not like he hadn’t opened a chat thread and typed out small truths that he deleted right away.
Yoongi hadn’t contacted you for the stupidest reason he could find. Fear.
Fear of starting something he couldn’t finish so close to the tour, for not knowing if he could be as unattached as Hoseok. Because, fuck, if he thought of you for days after a couple of kisses in a darkened penthouse kitchen, what would happen to him when he had more of you? When he had all of you?
Was that even fair to you? To give you everything he had to offer only to leave the country for months on end?
“Oh, fuck it–”
Yoongi pushed off his rolling chair, pressing a button on his keyboard to save his work in progress, and turned around to leave his studio.
Two doors down later, he was knocking on the bright red door of Hope-World. Not long after, Hoseok was opening it a crack before grinning like an asshole and pushing it wider.
“Thought you were busy.” Hoseok cackled, letting Yoongi walk into his work space after leaving his slippers at the door.
“Shut up.” Yoongi grumbled a response, going straight to the couch.
“Smooth.”
Hoseok would get a medal one of these days, for handling Yoongi in his worst moods. He wasn’t always like this, and Hoseok knew it, too, acting like a bright beacon in Yoongi’s life. The truth was that Yoongi was a quiet man with random bursts of energy, but he wasn’t regularly annoyed at the world.
Only when the pressure of stepping into his own larger than life shoes got to him; which seemed to be the norm lately.
Hoseok’s private studio was a stark contrast to Yoongi’s. It felt warmer, all dark wood paneling and glossy floors that caught the low light and threw it back in soft amber streaks.
The room was built for long hours, with a wide leather chair in front of the desk, a black couch pushed against the wall for when nights ran too late, and shelves lit from above with little objects and figures arranged between speakers and equipment like the place had taken years to be decorated fully.
A massive red sign leaned near the back wall like part of the room’s personality, bold and a little loud in the middle of all that rich brown and black, while the rest of the space stayed comfortably cluttered in the way only a real home-base could.
And try as he might, Yoongi couldn’t help but relax every time he came here. Either from the bright decor, or from his friend’s positive disposition.
Yoongi didn’t call Hoseok his personal vitamin for nothing.
“Why is she coming over?” Yoongi asked as he tried to seem casual, sitting back against the dark gray couch that threatened to swallow anyone who sat on it.
“Because I called her.” Hoseok answered like it was obvious, going back to his desk chair and turning it to face Yoongi. “That's what people do when they want someone’s company, you know?”
“You don't need to give me a hard time, I'm already there.” Yoongi sighed, biting the corner of his nailbed out of habit.
Hoseok sounded softer when he asked: “Then why didn't you call her, hyung?”
“I don't know.” he lied, which Hoseok clocked right away, because why wouldn’t he?
“The two of you can't lie for shit.” Hoseok laughed like he had an internal joke with himself. “If you're just gonna sulk or be weird, you can go back to being busy, alright?”
“I want to see her.” Yoongi didn’t have the strength to be combative, not today.
“Now we're getting somewhere.”
A soft knock sounded at the door, quick but clear, cutting neatly through whatever Yoongi had been about to say and pulling both their attention across the room.
“Speak of the pretty devil.” Hoseok mused, already pushing back from his desk chair.
The words hit Yoongi a second after the knock fully settled, and suddenly he had no idea what to do with his own body. He shifted where he sat on the couch, then stopped because that felt too obvious.
If he reached for his phone now, it would look forced. If he slouched back and acted relaxed, it might look even worse, like he had been trying too hard to seem unaffected. For one ridiculous second he actually wondered if he should have moved to the far end of the couch before you came in.
Across the room, Hoseok caught all of it in one glance. A laugh slipped out of him, low and amused, and he shook his head like Yoongi was being painfully transparent before crossing to the door. When he opened it, he lifted the dangling bead curtain with one hand, the SUPREME strands clicking softly together as he held them aside to let you in.
“I'm not your errands girl.” Yoongi heard your voice before he even saw you, feisty as ever.
“And yet, here you are with my stuff.” Hoseok grinned like he’d been doing all day, like everything that happened around him went according to plan.
Yoongi wondered if it annoyed you as much as it annoyed him sometimes.
“Couldn't you have one of the staff bring you this?” you were still standing outside, just out of reach, but Yoongi could see part of your arm as you offered your common friend an orange object, which Yoongi recognized right away as an external hard drive that probably held a decade of their work.
“You know you’re the only one I trust with my shit.” Hoseok insisted, taking the hard drive like it was something precious. “And we really needed this, it's detrimental to the new album.”
Yoongi frowned at those words, because in the hell was his friend talking about? The new album had been ready for months now, they were in the final stages of tour prep and everything.
“You really saved us a lot of trouble.” Hoseok sounded so heartfelt that you allowed him to pull you inside the studio at last.
When Yoongi finally saw all of you, Yoongi forgot every stupid plan he had made in the last ten seconds about looking normal. You had already left your shoes outside, so your bare feet made no sound against the wood floor as you came through the doorway, but everything else about you pulled focus too easily.
Your dress was black again, fitted close to your body before loosening into a short pleated hem that moved lightly around your thighs when you walked. The neckline sat low and clean, the straps framing your shoulders, with one bold band and silver buckle cutting across the top in a way that made the whole thing feel sharper, more intentional, like even something simple on you had to come with an edge.
A delicate necklace rested at your throat, which sparkled with the studio warm lights.
So much for cool and collected.
Yoongi felt his jaw go slack and did absolutely nothing to fix it. There was no point pretending indifference when you looked like that, standing in Hoseok’s studio like you belonged there too, easy and familiar and somehow even more dangerous for it.
“Oh, Yoongi,” you looked surprised to see him right there, and your smile was more awkward than it had ever been around him. “Hi.”
“Hey–” Yoongi replied, but it died there, because what else could he say?
Sorry for not calling you, but I thought about you everyday since? You would laugh in his face.
“We're working on some things.” Hoseok swallowed his own grimace at the stiff exchange, saving the day by intervening. “Wanna stay and listen?”
You looked from Hoseok, to Yoongi, to Hoseok again. “I don't want to intrude if it’s important business.”
“Not a problem for me.” Hoseok waved you off easily. “Hyung?”
“Yeah, no, it's fine.” Yoongi went along with it, even if they weren’t working on anything at all. “Stay.”
“Okay.” you agreed reluctantly, but at least you didn’t look like you were ready to run away.
“Great, I'll just find the file we need.” Hoseok lied, and he looked honest while doing it.
Hoseok crossed back to his desk with an external hard drive in hand, flipping it once in his fingers before dropping into his chair and plugging it into the computer like he had not just staged the whole moment for the two of you.
You moved toward the couch after a beat of hesitation and sat down with careful space left between you and Yoongi, one whole cushion too far for his liking. The first thing you did once seated was smooth both hands over your skirt, tugging the hem down over your thighs in a small, automatic effort to make yourself look a little more put together, even though the gesture only made him notice the bare stretch of skin you were trying to hide.
Yoongi dragged his eyes away before he could get caught staring and looked up at Hoseok instead, only to find his friend already watching him from the reflection of the monitor with a sharp glare. Then, with all the subtlety he never actually had when he thought he was being subtle, Hoseok mouthed ‘say something, for fuck’s sake’.
That was enough to force Yoongi to get it together, saying the first thing that came to mind:
“Did you listen to the album?” he asked you, correcting himself, if he wanted to keep Hoseok’s facade still standing: “What we have of it, that is.”
“I did. Most times against my will.” you laughed softly, shaking your head. “Your name shows up on the tracks a lot.”
“I mean, I just–”
“Hyung wrote most of the songs.” Hoseok interrupted Yoongi’s attempt at humbleness.
“I hear a lot about your producing skills.” you continued, hand resting on the cushion between the two of you. “Been told you're something of a genius.”
“I just have a passion.”
Hoseok looked at him with another glare, but he must have said something right since you followed up with another compliment:
“I can tell.” you smiled at Yoongi, not able to see Hoseok’s meddling from the angle in which you were sat. “All my favorite Bangtan songs are yours.”
“Damn, am I chopped liver?” Hoseok snorted from his spot. “I wrote a whole ass song about you.”
“You're a big boy, don't be jealous.” you looked at Hoseok then, in that playful banter that came easily between you.
“I regret asking you to bring me this flash drive.” the other man grumbled.
“Then play the new song and I'll leave you guys to it.” you decided you were sitting down for too long, standing up and walking to Hoseok’s desk, leaning against it as you tried to see this fake song they were apparently working on.
“Do you have plans tonight?” Hoseok asked you as a concerned friend who was used to knowing your schedules.
Your hand rested on the desk beside you as you rested your backside against it. You immediately looked like you didn’t want to answer, but you knew better than anyone that Hoseok wouldn’t just let it go.
“If you must know,” you started with a sigh, and Yoongi wished you hadn’t answered. “I have a date.”
“What?” Hoseok took the fire as Yoongi wished the couch could swallow him for real. “A date with who?!”
“I'm not sure.” you replied with a tiny frown. “It’s a blind date a friend from work set up for me.”
That had to be good news, Yoongi decided. If this was just a blind date you weren’t in love with someone, nor did you get in a relationship in the two weeks since you kissed. Still didn’t make him happy to think about you dressing up like this for someone else that wasn’t him.
“So you don't know this guy?” Hoseok had forgotten all about his computer browsing to turn his rolling chair to face you with the wrath of a concerned friend-with-benefits.
“That’s the concept of a blind date, yeah–”
“I don't like this.” Hoseok looked offended, crossing his arms. “He could be a murderer for all we know.”
“He's not a murderer–”
“How do you know?” Hoseok’s tone raised in pitch, turning to Yoongi for backup. “Hyung, tell her.”
All eyes landed on Yoongi at once. Hoseok looked at him like the answer was obvious, like any sane person would back him up and save you from whatever stranger was waiting on the other end of that blind date.
But it was you that Yoongi noticed first. The way your face had gone still, the way your eyes found his and held there just long enough to make his chest tighten. There was something in them for half a second, round and open and almost pleading for something Yoongi was not even sure you realized you were asking for. ‘Fight for me’, they seemed to say. ‘Pick me. Give me a reason to stay.’
Then it was gone just as quickly, shuttered over by that same quiet resolve people wore when they had already decided not to expect too much.
“This guy might not be a murderer, but I still bet we can give you a better time than him.” Hoseok said before Yoongi could get a word out, his tone easy, confident enough to make it sound less like pressure and more like an offer you would be smart to take. “Stay and let us prove it.”
“Us?” you repeated, unconvinced, and this time when you looked over, it was not really at Hoseok. It was Yoongi you were looking for, eyes steady on him now like you were daring him to either step up or disappoint you again.
This time, Yoongi did not run from it. He pushed up from the couch, tongue pressing into the inside of his cheek as he looked at you across the room.
“Unless you don’t think you can handle us.”
Yoongi watched the way you stayed relaxed against the desk instead of pulling back, the small tilt of your chin that told him everything he needed to know. You weren’t running, just like he hadn’t this time. You weren’t even pretending to think it over and that quiet acceptance hung in the air between the three of you, thick enough to be felt on his skin.
Hoseok stood then, the rolling chair scraping backward across the floor as the back of his legs pushed it away. He crossed the short distance in two easy steps and stopped right in front of you, close enough that the hem of your dress brushed his thigh. Yoongi moved at the same time, walking away from the couch until he reached you, too, shoulder almost touching Hoseok’s as they both boxed you in against the edge. The studio lights caught on the silver buckle across your chest and the faint shine of your necklace, but neither of them looked anywhere else except at your face.
“What is it gonna be, sweet girl?” Hoseok asked, voice dropping into that low, steady register Yoongi had only heard him use a handful of times before.
The pet name landed hard. Yoongi caught the exact second it hit you, your lashes fluttered once, slow and heavy. He filed that reaction away instantly; clearly it was a switch for you, one Hoseok knew exactly how to flip.
Your lips parted on a shaky little breath.
“Okay…” the word came out soft, not unsure, just overwhelmed by the way both of them were staring down at you like they already owned every inch of the space you were standing in.
Yoongi kept his tone even when he turned his head slightly toward Hoseok: “Does she have a safe word?”
He made a point to ask Hoseok directly, and not you. A subtle reminder that you weren’t in charge here, they were.
Your body reacted to it immediately, thighs pressing together under the short hem of your dress, fingers curling tighter against the edge of the desk, a quick inhale that lifted your chest between them.
Hoseok’s posture changed too, shoulders squared, the easy smile he usually wore completely gone. His voice came out harder now, nothing like the bright tone Yoongi was used to hearing every day.
“She does, even if she doesn’t like to use it.” he tipped his chin toward you once, telling on you. “Tell Yoongi what it is.”
The name landed without the usual honorific, no ‘hyung’, just Yoongi. The hierarchy line between them had dissolved in the same breath, because right now they were equal.
Your cheeks warmed visibly, but you still answered, voice quiet and obedient as you said: “Hangsang.”
Yoongi caught the safeword and had to press his lips together to keep the small laugh from slipping out. He let the smile show instead, slow and quiet, while his eyes stayed on you against the desk. The word itself didn’t matter; what mattered was how easily it had come from your mouth once Hoseok told you to say it.
Hoseok moved first, no hesitation, just the smooth confidence that came from months of knowing exactly how your body fit against his. He stepped in until his hips met yours, hands sliding straight to your waist and squeezing once, firm enough that the fabric of your dress bunched under his palms.
The motion pressed your backside harder into the edge of the desk, the wood creaking faintly under the shift of weight. Yoongi stayed right where he was on the opposite side of the desk, close enough to see every detail but not crowding yet. He felt no sting of jealousy this time, only a sharp twist of curiosity and a low throb in his cock as he watched your eyes lock onto Hoseok’s instead of his. The sight of you giving that focus to his best friend sent heat straight through him that was surprising to say the least.
“You’ll be good for us, won’t you, sweet girl?” Hoseok asked, voice low and steady.
Your head gave a small nod right away, like the words had emptied your thoughts. Your lips stayed parted, breath coming faster against the warm studio air.
Hoseok raised one eyebrow, the gesture small but clear.
“Yes, sir.” you answered immediately, voice soft but certain.
The title hit Yoongi square in the chest as he watched the easy sync between the two of you, the way Hoseok’s mouth curved with pride when you said it, the way your shoulders dropped a fraction lower in the same breath. It was practiced, familiar in a way Yoongi wished he’d become, too.
Hoseok closed the last inch between you, his pointer finger slipping under your chin and tilting your face up, forcing your neck to stretch until your throat showed the faint line of your necklace. You followed the touch without resistance, eyes fluttering half-closed. Then Hoseok leaned down and covered your mouth with his.
Yoongi saw the kiss from the side, clear and close, watching as your lips met and moved together in slow, heavy presses, opening wider. Hoseok’s tongue slid out for a moment between your parted mouths, wet and deliberate, before it disappeared again inside yours.
Your hands rose straight to the back of his head, fingers pushing into Hoseok’s hair and pulling hard enough that Hoseok’s shoulders tensed. The groan he let out vibrated against your lips, loud enough for Yoongi to hear from the sideline. Hoseok’s free hand stayed on your waist while the other roamed lower, palm sliding over the curve of your hip and then down to the short hem of your dress, fingers brushing the bare skin of your thigh like he already knew exactly where you liked to be touched.
Your back arched into the contact, one heel lifting slightly off the floor as you pressed closer, and another soft sound left your throat when Hoseok’s tongue flashed between your lips again.
Hoseok pulled back first, slow enough that Yoongi saw the shine of spit coating your lips, glossy and wet. Your eyes opened right away and searched straight past Hoseok until they locked onto his, wide and pleading in a way that made his pulse kick harder. Hoseok read it instantly and shifted to the side, giving Yoongi room while staying close enough that his shoulder still brushed Yoongi’s arm.
Yoongi stepped in without hesitation, one hand sliding to the back of your neck, fingers threading into the hair at your nape as he brought his mouth down on yours. He didn’t care that your lips were still slick from Hoseok; if anything the wet slide only made him press harder, tongue pushing deep to leave his own mark over everything Hoseok had just done.
Your hand came up fast and flattened against his chest, palm right over the flex of his pec muscle as it tightened under the pressure. You answered him just as urgently, tongue meeting his stroke for stroke while your body pushed forward. He crowded you tighter against the desk, hips pinning you in place, and caught the small moan that vibrated straight into his mouth through every heavy roll of his tongue. Somewhere on the desk behind you something small toppled over and clattered against the wood, but neither of you stopped.
Hoseok’s voice cut in low and amused right beside you both: “That’s it, sweet girl. Already so fucking greedy you can’t even wait for both of us to fill you up.”
The words hit you hard. Your hips rolled against Yoongi on their own, pressing your center firmly against the painful line of Yoongi’s cock straining inside his pants. He felt every inch of the friction through the thin fabric and had to bite back a groan.
When you finally broke the kiss your eyes were blown wide, pupils dark and glassy. A thin string of spit still connected your bottom lip to his until it stretched and snapped. Hoseok chuckled softly and reached over, thumb swiping the mess of Yoongi’s spit from your lower lip in one slow pass.
“What did I tell you about messy?” Hoseok teased and Yoongi groaned, watching.
You opened your mouth without being told, taking Hoseok’s thumb straight inside and sucking, cheeks hollowing around the digit while your tongue worked against it. Your gaze moved from Hoseok to Yoongi and back again, that tiny flicker of innocence still sitting in your eyes even as you sucked like pure sin. It made something dark and hot twist low in Yoongi’s stomach; he wanted to ruin you right then and there.
“I believe you mentioned something about her mouth skills, too.” Yoongi said, voice rough as he watched your lips stretch around Hoseok’s thumb.
Hoseok pulled his thumb free with a wet pop, the sound loud in the quiet studio.
“She’s quite the proud little thing about it, too.” Hoseok mused as they looked down at you. “Will you suck us off and show Yoongi how much you enjoy having a cock in your mouth, sweet girl?”
You nodded fast, tongue darting out to lick your lips. “Yes, please.”
“Which one do you want first?” Yoongi asked, head tilting slightly as he kept his hand on the back of your neck, ready to accept whatever answer that came from your lips.
“Both at the same time.” you answered, voice shameless and edged with something wicked that made both men still for half a second.
A silent agreement passed between them in one shared glance. Both men took one measured step back at the same time, giving you enough room to push away from the desk and stand straight between their bodies. The studio felt heavier now, the soundproofed walls swallowing every small shift of fabric and breath.
“On your knees, then.” Hoseok ordered.
You dropped down without hesitation, knees meeting the floor between them and the edge of the desk behind you. Once settled, you looked up through your lashes, blinking slow and patient while your hands moved behind your back, wrists crossed neatly like you already knew exactly how they wanted you to wait.
Hoseok reached for his belt first, the metal buckle clinking as he opened it, followed by the quiet slide of leather and the rasp of his zipper. Yoongi followed right after, the sounds of a belt and an elastic waistband filling the quiet space as both men pushed their pants and underwear down their thighs.
Hoseok kicked his bottoms behind him and wrapped one hand around his cock, stroking once from base to tip. Yoongi took in the sight without shame; Hoseok was neatly trimmed just like himself, cock slightly curved upward at the end, and longer than he had expected.
You parted your lips right away and stretched your tongue out flat, offering it to Hoseok while your eyes stayed locked on Yoongi’s face. The sight made Yoongi’s fingers fumble for a second before he shoved his own slacks and underwear the rest of the way down. His cock sprang free, heavy and already leaking at the tip.
Hoseok glanced over at Yoongi too, a slow once-over that Yoongi felt in his chest. Yoongi knew he lost in length by maybe an inch or so, but made up for it with noticeably more girth. The small moment of comparison passed without comment.
Hoseok turned his full attention back to you as his long fingers slid under your chin, tilting your head to the perfect angle before he pushed more of his cock past your lips and deeper into your mouth.
“That’s my good girl.” Hoseok praised, voice thick and rough. “Take it nice and slow. Don’t you dare make Yoongi feel left out while you’re sucking me off.”
The moment your lips closed tight around the head of Hoseok’s cock, your right hand reached for Yoongi. Your fingers wrapped warm and firm around his sensitive tip, thumb spreading the bead of pre-cum in slow circles over the swollen head.
Your lips sealed tight around the flushed head of Hoseok’s cock and you took every slow inch he fed you, cheeks hollowing as your tongue pressed flat along the underside. Hoseok’s hips rolled forward in careful thrusts, pushing deeper until the thick length filled your mouth completely.
At the same time your hand worked Yoongi in long, steady strokes, fingers sliding from base to tip, twisting gently at the head every time you reached the top. The wet heat of your palm and the way your thumb kept circling the leaking slit had Yoongi’s breath coming rougher already.
Hoseok groaned low in his throat, and he pulled out after a moment, generous and selfless, a thick string of spit connecting your bottom lip to his glistening tip before it broke.
You didn’t even pause, your hand instantly wrapped around Hoseok’s cock, stroking him in the same rhythm you had just used on Yoongi, while your head turned and your mouth opened wide for Yoongi instead.
The second your lips closed around Yoongi’s cock the warmth hit him like a punch, wet, soft, and so fucking perfect he had to lock his knees to stay upright. Your tongue swirled around the head, then slid down the shaft as you took him deep, throat relaxing to swallow more until your nose nearly brushed his trimmed hair. Drool slipped from the corners of your mouth and ran down your chin in shiny trails while your other hand sped up on Hoseok, pumping him fast and slick.
Both men were fighting to stay in control now. Hoseok’s hips jerked forward into your fist with a rough groan.
“Fuck, just like that– keep that pretty mouth moving between us.” Yoongi’s hand tightened at his side, a low moan tearing out of him when your tongue flicked right under the head of his cock before you sucked hard again.
You never let either of them feel forgotten, now switching every few strokes, mouth sliding off one cock with a wet pop only to swallow the other while your hand kept the first one dripping and throbbing.
Spit and pre-cum coated both cocks completely now, shiny and slick, strings of it stretching between your lips and their heads every time you pulled back. You rose a little higher on your knees, back straightening as you brought both cocks together in front of your face.
Your tongue stretched out wide and you licked slow, hungry stripes from one tip to the other, pressing them side by side so the heads rubbed together against the flat of your tongue. The feeling of Hoseok’s cock sliding warm and wet against Yoongi’s own sent a sharp jolt through Yoongi, different from anything he ever experienced, but so fucking good he didn’t pull away. Neither did Hoseok.
Hoseok reached down and gathered your hair in one fist, twisting it tight around his hand to hold your head perfectly still. “Open wider, sweet girl.”
They started moving together once you followed the order, one cock sinking deep into your mouth while the other pulled back, then switching in perfect rhythm. Your eyes watered instantly, tears gathering at the corners and spilling down your flushed cheeks as they took turns hitting the back of your throat. The wet, messy sounds of your gagging and the slick slide of their cocks filled the studio.
“Fuck, she’s gorgeous like this.” Yoongi breathed, voice rough as he watched your lips stretch around him again.
“Looking like an angel right now, sweet girl.” Hoseok added, the praise low and filthy while he pushed in deep enough to make your throat flutter.
They kept the steady rhythm, one thrusting in while the other slid out, until you were gagging openly around whichever cock filled your mouth, tears streaming freely and drool running in thick lines down your chin and onto your dress.
Yoongi pulled out of your mouth with a wet pop, his cock glistening and still throbbing as a delirious little chuckle slipped from him: “How mad will you be if I bend her over your desk right now?”
Hoseok didn’t push back into your mouth, but he kept his fist wrapped around his own cock for one slow pump, then let go completely.
“Surprisingly, not that mad.” he answered Yoongi, voice steady and easy like the question was nothing. “What’s on your mind?”
“Been dying to taste her.” Yoongi admitted without hesitation, eyes dropping to where you still knelt between them, lips swollen and shiny, cheeks streaked with tears. Yoongi looked at you like you were the only thing left in the room he wanted to devour.
Hoseok let go of your hair and reached down, one hand sliding under your arm to help you stand. The second you were on your feet he leaned in and kissed your mouth quick and firm, tongue brushing yours for half a second.
Yoongi watched the whole thing, half expecting Hoseok to pull away from the taste of his own cock still on your tongue, but Hoseok didn’t flinch. Your legs wobbled instantly, so you braced both palms flat on the desk behind you to keep from sinking back down.
“Let us see you.” Hoseok ordered, stepping back just enough to run his eyes over your body. “Let Yoongi see what he’s been missing by being an idiot.”
Yoongi sent his friend a quick deadpan glare that made you giggle softly, and then your hands were already moving.
You reached behind your back, the zipper rasping all the way down its track. The black fabric loosened at once, straps sliding off your shoulders and the dress slipping down your body until it puddled around your bare feet.
Yoongi cursed low and rough the moment your tits spilled free, full, heavy, nipples already tight, no bra to hide them at all. Both men stared openly, eyes tracking from your chest down over the soft curve of your stomach to your hips where the thin black lace panties sat low, barely covering your pussy, the material so sheer it clung to every outline of your folds.
Hoseok tensed right beside Yoongi then, shoulders locking tight as a short, angry-sounding huff left his chest. “That’s what you were wearing for your little date tonight?”
The words slammed into Yoongi like a slap, dragging every bit of that ugly jealousy he had pushed down all night straight back up. His jaw tightened hard.
Yoongi scoffed. “Were you planning to get fucked tonight, baby? That’s why you dressed so pretty?”
You looked caught between them, mouth opening then closing because nothing you could say would fix it, and running from it also wasn’t an option.
“You know I hate it when you don’t answer when you’re asked something.” Hoseok said, tone dropping into that hard, pure-dom register.
“Yes.” you answered Yoongi then, hands moving behind your back again as you pushed your chest out deliberately, tits lifting and shifting with the motion like a distraction you knew was worth a try. “But I’m glad I didn’t go on the date. I didn’t even want it in the first place.”
“Why did you say yes to it, then?” Hoseok pressed.
“Because you were busy, Seok.” your voice softened and then your gaze slid back to Yoongi. “And you never called, Yoon.”
Maybe it was the way you said their names, or how honest your eyes looked, a little messy with the mascara that melted a little with your tears, or even how swollen your lips were after what you just did to them, but both men released choppy breaths at their own speeds and the subject wouldn’t be held against you any longer.
“Let me make it up to you, baby.” Yoongi said, his voice softening as he stepped closer again. His hands settled on your hips and he gently turned you around until your back faced both of them.
You leaned forward over the desk carefully, palms pushing a few scattered items out of the way. Hoseok hummed low in approval behind you as he moved in, placing one warm hand between your shoulder blades and pressing you down further until your chest rested against the cool wood and your ass lifted higher for them.
Yoongi dropped to his knees right behind you, eye level with your ass. His hands slid up the backs of your thighs, palms moving slow and firm over your skin until goosebumps broke out across every inch he touched. Hoseok stayed close to your upper body, one hand resting on the desk near your head so he could watch everything while still staying within reach.
Yoongi stared openly at the curve of your ass, then gripped both cheeks hard with both hands, squeezing the soft flesh until you let out a sharp yelp. He couldn’t wait any longer.
His fingers hooked into the thin elastic of your panties and dragged them down your legs, letting them fall to your ankles. The sight that greeted him made his mouth water instantly; your cunt completely exposed, folds swollen and shiny, slick dripping slowly down the inside of your thighs.
“Fuck,” he breathed, voice thick. “Hoseok, you should see how pretty her cunt is right now. She’s dripping all the way down her thighs already.”
Without another word Yoongi leaned in and pressed his mouth against your pussy. His tongue came out flat and dragged a long, slow lick from your entrance all the way down to your clit, tasting you properly for the first time. The flavor hit him hard, hot, sweet, and addictive.
He did it again, then again, before sealing his lips around your clit and sucking gently while his tongue flicked fast over the sensitive bud.
Your moans started coming louder right away, shaky and needy. Every time his tongue circled your clit or his lips sucked harder, your hips pushed back against his face. Hoseok leaned down then and kissed you hard, swallowing most of your sounds while his hand slid underneath your body to find your tits. His fingers found one nipple and pinched it firmly, rolling the stiff peak between his fingers as you moaned into his mouth.
“We’re gonna need to stretch this tight little pussy if you’re going to take both our fat cocks tonight.” Hoseok mumbled filthy against your lips, voice low and rough. “You hear me, sweet girl?”
Hoseok's hand moved down your back in a clear signal. Yoongi understood immediately and he shifted his focus and latched his mouth onto your clit, sucking steadily while flicking his tongue against it without mercy. At the same time Hoseok pushed two long fingers into your soaked hole, sliding in easily from how wet you were. The wet squelching sound of his fingers pumping in and out mixed with the obscene noises Yoongi was making with his mouth.
The combination was devastating in the best way. Hoseok’s fingers curled inside you, stroking that perfect spot over and over while Yoongi sucked and licked at your clit without pause. Your moans turned into broken cries against Hoseok’s mouth, your thighs starting to shake hard against Yoongi’s hands.
It only took a few more seconds of their coordinated rhythm before your entire body tensed, back arching sharply as you came hard on Yoongi’s tongue, flooding his mouth with fresh wetness while your walls clenched tight around Hoseok’s fingers.
Yoongi stood up slowly from his knees, his cock still heavy and mouth slick from your release as he stepped right behind you again. His body was suddenly too hot, so he pulled his shirt over his head, throwing it anywhere on the studio floor.
Your body stayed bent over the desk exactly as he had left it, chest pressed flat to the cool wood, ass lifted high and thighs still trembling lightly from how hard you had cum on his tongue.
He wrapped both hands around your hips, thumbs pressing into the soft give of your skin, and lined the thick head of his cock against your soaked entrance. Then he pushed in, inch by slow, torturous inch, letting the stretch drag out so you felt every single ridge and vein opening you up while your walls fluttered and clenched around him in the aftershocks.
He bottomed out and held completely still, buried to the hilt, hips flush against your ass while he gave you time to adjust.
“Fuck, baby,” Yoongi murmured, voice low and warm with that soft edge of praise. “So tight and dripping for me already. That’s my good girl, taking every inch so perfectly right after you came all over my tongue. Feel how deep I am? This pussy was made for me tonight.”
At the same time, Hoseok moved more to the side of his desk, positioning himself right next to your head where there was clear space. His fingers slid into your hair, twisting tight at the roots as he turned your face toward him:
“Open that pretty mouth wide, sweet girl. You’re gonna keep sucking me while Yoongi fucks you slow and deep like the greedy little slut you are.”
Hoseok pushed his cock past your lips in one unhurried glide as soon as you opened up for him, feeding you the full length until the head nudged the back of your throat and your nose brushed the trimmed hair at his base. Your moan came out muffled and needy around him, vibrating straight down his shaft while your hands gripped the edge of the desk tighter for balance.
Yoongi started moving first, long rolls of his hips that dragged his cock almost all the way out before sliding back in deep and steady, letting you feel every second of the slow drag against your walls. His palm came down on your ass in a light smack, the sound crisp in the quiet studio, then again a little firmer when your hips pushed back for more.
The sting bloomed warm across your skin as he kept the rhythm torturously unhurried, each thrust paired with another controlled spank that made your ass jiggle softly under his hand.
Hoseok kept your head held firm by the hair, guiding you to take him deeper with every slow rock of his own hips.
“That’s it– suck my cock nice and slow just like Yoongi’s fucking you. Don’t you dare stop moaning around me. Let him hear how much you love being stuffed full from both ends, you filthy little thing.” Hoseok’s dirty words surprised Yoongi, but he could feel how card you were clenching around his cock, loving every syllable of it.
The pace stayed purposefully slow for long minutes, Yoongi’s hips rolling deep and steady behind you while his hand continued landing those measured spanks, each one a little sharper than the last, turning your skin warm and swollen under his palm. He could feel how much wetter you were getting with every thrust, your pussy squeezing around him like it was trying to suck him deeper.
“Look at you clenching so hard already.” he praised softly, voice rough but still gentle around the edges, a contrast to Hoseok’s harsher ones. “Such a perfect little slut for us, baby. You love when I spank this ass while I fuck you slow, don’t you?”
Hoseok matched the unhurried rhythm, yanking your hair just enough to make your scalp tingle as he fucked your mouth in the same long, deep strokes. Spit started to run down your chin in shiny trails while your throat fluttered around him.
“Keep that tongue working, sweet girl. You’re doing so good taking both our cocks like the obedient little slut you were born to be.” Hoseok carried on with grunts of his own.
Only after the slow torture had stretched on long enough, did the pace finally shift.
Yoongi’s thrusts grew harder because he just couldn’t handle it anymore, snapping forward with real force now as his hand came down sharper on your ass, stinging smacks that echoed louder and left your skin burning. His hips slammed against you faster, the wet slap of skin on skin filling the studio while he growled low:
“Fuck, you feel so fucking good squeezing me like this… gonna make me lose control if you keep getting this wet for me, baby.”
Hoseok instantly matched the new speed, twisting your hair tighter in his fist as he started fucking your mouth in short, deep thrusts that hit the back of your throat every time. The messy sounds of your gagging and the slick glide of both cocks using you filled the air while he snarled:
“Take it harder, both of us at once. That’s my greedy little slut, dripping down your thighs while you choke on my cock and get your pussy ruined.”
The desk creaked steadily under the building force, your body rocking between them as both men used you harder and faster, moans turning broken and desperate around Hoseok’s cock while your thighs shook and your pussy clenched tight around every punishing thrust Yoongi gave you.
Your body started shaking harder between them, thighs trembling violently as Yoongi kept slamming into you from behind and Hoseok fucked your mouth in the same relentless rhythm. The wet slap of his hips against your ass mixed with the messy gagging sounds coming from your throat, and your pussy clenched tighter and tighter around his cock with every thrust.
Then it hit you without any warning.
One second you were rocking between them, the next your entire body locked up. Your walls squeezed down around Yoongi’s cock in hard, pulsing waves, flooding him with fresh heat as you came suddenly and violently.
A broken, muffled cry tore out around Hoseok’s cock while your back arched sharply and your legs nearly gave out. Yoongi felt every ripple of it, the way your pussy milked him like it was trying to pull him deeper, and he had to grit his teeth to keep from following you right there.
“Fuck–good girl, that’s it.” he groaned low, slowing his thrusts immediately to long, gentle rolls while his hands rubbed soothing circles over your stinging ass. “Came so hard for me, baby… so fucking perfect.”
Hoseok eased out of your mouth slowly, still holding your hair but loosening his grip as he stroked the strands away from your damp forehead. “Easy, sweet girl. Breathe. You did so good for us.”
They both stilled completely, giving you time to come down. Yoongi stayed buried inside you for a few more seconds, feeling the last flutters of your orgasm, then carefully pulled out with a wet sound. Hoseok helped you straighten up, both men moving gently and steady now. Yoongi slid one arm under your knees and the other around your back, lifting you easily against his chest while Hoseok stayed right beside him, one hand resting on your thigh to keep you steady.
The short walk to the couch felt quiet after the intensity.
Yoongi lowered you onto the cool leather surface, letting you stretch out on your back while the fabric chilled your overheated skin. Your chest still rose and fell fast, eyes glassy, but you blinked up at them and gave a small, reassuring smile.
“I’m okay.” you whispered, voice hoarse but clear. “Really. Just… needed a second.”
Hoseok pulled his shirt off over his head in one smooth motion, the fabric soft and warm from his body. He used it to gently wipe the sweat from your forehead, then down your neck and across your chest, careful around your sensitive nipples.
“Good. We’ve got you.” Hoseok whispered with a concerned frown between his brows.
Yoongi walked over to the mini fridge in the corner and grabbed a cold water bottle. He came back, unscrewed the cap, and held it to your lips, tilting it slowly so you could take small sips. His free hand brushed damp strands of hair off your face while you drank.
After a quiet minute you looked between them, still catching your breath, and asked with a soft laugh in your voice:
“Have you two ever shared someone like this before?” you grinned, cute and mischievous. “You’re so… in sync. It feels like you’ve done it a hundred times.”
“Never.” Hoseok shook his head, still gently wiping your skin with his shirt.
“Guess being in sync comes with the job.” Yoongi smiled down at you, still holding the water bottle close by in case you wanted more.
“Years of knowing exactly how the other thinks must help.” Hoseok chuckled softly, folding the shirt and setting it aside. “But no one else has ever been between us like this.”
Yoongi felt something shift in his chest while he watched you catch your breath on Hoseok’s couch; something heavier than the heat still buzzing under his skin. This wasn’t just sex anymore, maybe it never was in the first place.
Not with the way you looked up at both of them, soft and trusting after you came so hard you nearly collapsed. He knew, deep down, that after tonight he would never be able to look Hoseok in the face again without remembering exactly how your pussy had clenched around him, how your moans had vibrated around Hoseok’s cock, how perfectly the three of you had moved together.
The thought should have felt strange, maybe even wrong, but right now it only made his cock throb harder.
You set the water bottle on the floor and reached for Hoseok without warning, fingers curling into the back of his neck as you pulled him down into a long, slow kiss. Your mouths moved together deep and unhurried, tongues sliding visibly between your parted lips. The sight alone made Yoongi’s cock twitch painfully against his stomach, impossibly hard just from watching you taste his best friend like you couldn’t get enough.
Yoongi chuckled low, the sound warm despite the worry still sitting in his chest. “Easy, baby. We’ve got all night.”
You smiled against Hoseok’s mouth, the curve of your lips clear even while you kissed him, then pulled back just enough to look at Yoongi with pure mirth sparkling in your eyes.
“I haven’t said my safe word yet.” you shrugged lightly, one shoulder lifting like it was the simplest thing in the world. When Yoongi still didn’t look fully convinced, you turned your head toward Hoseok. “Tell him, Seok.”
“Told you this girl was something else.” Hoseok answered with a simple shrug that mirrored yours, already moving to sit properly on the couch. He wrapped one hand around his cock and gave it a slow stroke, eyes locked on you. “She can take it. I’ll let you know when she can’t.”
That was all the permission you needed, apparently.
You moved before either of them could guide you, climbing onto Hoseok’s lap in reverse so your back faced his chest and your ass settled against his thighs. Your hand reached back between your legs, fingers wrapping around his long cock to line him up with your entrance. Then you sank down on him slowly, taking every inch at your own pace, hips rolling in a deliberate circle once he was buried deep. The wet heat of your pussy swallowing him made Hoseok groan behind you, but he kept his hands on your waist and let you set the rhythm, trusting you to show them you were really ready.
Yoongi stayed standing right in front of the couch, cock level with your face. You reached for him immediately, greedy little thing, one hand closing around his girth while your mouth opened and took the head between your lips, sucking gently as you started moving your hips faster on Hoseok.
Your tongue swirled around Yoongi’s tip in lazy strokes while you rode his best friend, dictating the pace with confident rolls of your hips that had Hoseok’s breath coming shorter.
Hoseok’s hand slid up your back and around to your throat, fingers resting lightly at first, then applying gentle pressure, just enough to make your pulse jump under his palm without cutting off your air.
“That’s it, sweet girl. Ride my cock just like that.” Hoseok sounded fucked out again, head tipping back against the couch. “Use me while you suck Yoongi off. Such a greedy little slut, taking control and still looking so fucking perfect.”
You moaned around Yoongi’s cock, the sound vibrating down his shaft as you took him deeper, hand stroking what your mouth couldn’t reach. Yoongi couldn’t stop himself, pulled off your mouth and leaned down to kiss you hard. Kissing you was becoming one of his favorite things in the world, even when he could taste the mix of spit and pre-cum on your lips.
“You’re doing so good, baby,” Yoongi murmured between kisses, voice soft and steady as he fucked into your hands. “Look at you riding him so pretty. Keep going exactly like that. I love watching you take what you want.”
Hoseok’s grip on your throat tightened just a fraction more, thumb stroking the side of your neck while his other hand stayed on your hip, guiding you now that you had proven you could handle it. Your hips moved faster, the wet slap of your ass meeting his thighs filling the studio as you bounced on his cock and jerked Yoongi off in perfect rhythm, body caught between their heat and their hands while both men watched you lose yourself in it again.
Yoongi leaned in closer, his tongue sliding deep into your mouth as you kept pumping his cock with those expert hands; long, firm strokes that twisted at the head and squeezed just right at the base, pulling low groans from his chest every time. Your grip was perfect, slick from spit and pre-cum, and when your fingers slipped lower to cup his balls, rolling them gently then squeezing with just enough pressure, he felt the heat coil tight in his gut. The way you played with him there, massaging and tugging lightly, had his thighs tensing under the touch.
“Fuck, baby– you’re driving me crazy,” he warned, voice coming out raspy and rough, breath hot against your lips. “Keep that up and I’m gonna cum right here.”
You bit down on his bottom lip hard enough to sting, the sharp pain shooting straight to his cock and making it twitch in your fist. Then you pulled back just enough to look up at him, eyes dark and wicked, before lowering your head and taking him fully into your mouth again.
Your lips stretched tight around him, tongue pressing flat along the underside as you sucked hard and bobbed deeper, swallowing around the head until he hit the back of your throat. The wet heat and the way your cheeks hollowed drove him right over the edge. Yoongi’s hips jerked forward on their own, and he came with a low, broken groan, spilling thick and hot down your throat while you swallowed every last drop without missing a beat.
Hoseok’s fingers flexed lightly on your throat, feeling the muscles work under his palm. “Shit, I can feel you swallowing every bit of his cum, sweet girl,” he murmured, voice thick and approving. “Such a good little slut, taking it all like that while you ride my cock.”
Yoongi pulled back slowly, cock slipping free from your mouth with a wet pop, his chest heaving and skin flushed hot and sweaty from head to toe. He felt completely spent, legs shaky, but he couldn’t tear his eyes off you, lips shiny and swollen, a small trail of spit at the corner of your mouth, body still moving on Hoseok like you were made for this. You looked so fucking perfect, caught between them and still wanting more.
“Help me finish her off, hyung,” Hoseok said then, the honorific slipping out raw and unfiltered, proof his own control was cracking under the pressure. His hips were already bucking up into you harder, hands gripping your waist tight.
Yoongi didn’t hesitate. He reached down between your bodies, fingers sliding through the slick mess at your center until he found your swollen clit. He rolled it under his fingertips in tight little circles, pressing firm and steady while Hoseok thrust up into you over and over, the couch creaking under the force.
“Come on, baby,” Yoongi murmured close to your ear, voice a soft but still commanding. “Cum for us again. Let me feel you soak my fingers while he fills you up.”
The combined pressure hit you fast, your body tensed, back arching against Hoseok’s chest as your pussy clenched hard around his cock. You came with a sharp cry, creaming all over him in hot, pulsing waves that coated Yoongi’s fingers and dripped down Hoseok’s thighs. Hoseok followed right behind, hips slamming up one last time as he groaned deep and spilled inside you, cock twitching with every thick rope of cum that filled you completely.
Yoongi felt the haze of his orgasm still humming through his body, every muscle loose and warm as he watched you slump back against Hoseok's chest, your skin flushed and slick with sweat.
There was a tenderness blooming in his chest now, something soft and protective that made him want to wrap you up and keep you exactly like this; happy, satiated, eyes half-lidded with that quiet glow of satisfaction.
Hoseok's hand loosened on your throat, sliding down to rub slow circles over your stomach instead, his usual bubbly energy starting to peek through in the way his mouth curved into a lazy grin.
“Damn, sweet girl.” Hoseok said, voice light and teasing again, the hard edge from before completely gone. “You wrecked us both.”
You laughed softly, the sound breathless and content, head tipping back against his shoulder while your hand reached out to trace lazy patterns on Yoongi's thigh. Yoongi couldn't help but smile at the sight of you like that, sandwiched between them and looking so perfectly at ease.
Hoseok glanced up at him then, that familiar spark back in his eyes. "Wet wipes are in the bottom drawer of the desk, hyung.”
Yoongi grumbled under his breath as he turned toward the desk, pulling the drawer open and rummaging until he found the pack.
“This won't be enough to clean everything up,” Yoongi muttered, shaking his head at the sticky evidence still coating all three of you. But he grabbed them anyway and walked back, the cool air of the studio brushing his bare skin.
Hoseok shifted carefully, helping you lift your hips while Yoongi moved in close. As you slid off Hoseok's cock with a wet sound, Yoongi was right there, pressing a wad of wipes between your thighs to catch the thick drip of cum that started leaking from your fluttering pussy. His nose scrunched up at the mess, the warm stickiness soaking through the thin material onto his fingers.
You burst out laughing harder at the face he made, body shaking with it while you braced one hand on his shoulder. “This is what makes you squirmish? After everything that just happened?”
Yoongi shrugged, the corner of his mouth lifting despite himself.
“Shut up,” he said with the most gentleness he could gather, then leaned in and kissed you to make sure you did, slow and deep, lips moving gentle against yours until your laughter melted into a soft hum.
Yoongi pulled you fully into his arms after, turning so you both half-lay, half-sat on the couch, your back against his chest with his arms wrapped tight around your waist. The wipes landed with a soft smack on Hoseok's sweaty chest, and Yoongi grumbled: “Clean yourself up.”
Hoseok caught them with a chuckle, wiping down his thighs and cock without complaint, his movements quick and casual now that the intensity had faded. Yoongi held you closer, feeling your breaths slow and settle against him, your head resting back on his shoulder while his fingers traced light lines up and down your arm. The quiet wrapped around the three of you like a blanket, your body warm and pliant in his hold, every small shift of your weight reminding him how right this felt.
Once Hoseok finished cleaning up, he tossed the used wipes aside and scooted closer, laying his head gently against your thigh. Hoseok’s hand rested light on your knee, just enough to stay connected, eyes closing as he let out a content sigh.
You reached down and ran your fingers through his hair, the three of you tangled together in the afterglow, no words needed for the moment to feel complete.
Well, as it turns out, Yoongi had one thing to cross from his list of regrets.
title: ELIXIR
pairings: mafia hoseok x female reader
genre: dark romance, smut, porn with plot, 90s, sort of arranged marriage, childhood friends to lovers
word count: app. 22K
beta read by one and only @chaoticpuff17
prompt 1: "And I won't be satisfied till we're taking those vows"
prompt 2: you were apparently promised to the heir of Jung's criminal empire since birth, not that you ever took that ongoing inside joke seriously. You grew up alongside the said man, yet your mind is conflicted about upholding your part and saying I do until one drunken night reveals a lot more than you'd like.
warnings: minors dni 18+ | explicit language, hurt men's ego, arranged marriage, yandere behaviour, hoseok is complicated to understand tbh, but same for the reader, implied murder, graphic violence, alcohol usage, heavy drinking, abuse of prescribed medication, anti-depressants, oral sex (both f and m receiving), face riding, penetration, unprotected sex, sideways sex, creampie, shame walk, misogyny, old traditional norms forced upon, guns, illegal activities, emotional distress, hoseok is sometimes kind of a dick, manipulative behaviour, and so on (if i forgot something I'm sorry)
author's note: Good morning America, Good afternoon Europe, Good night Korea. Happy Birthday to Hobi! This one has been simmering in my brain for the longest time, and I can’t believe it’s finally out in the world! This is where the heart of the story really began for me when I first dreamt about the tales that happened around 1996 in NYC. Champagne Confetti and Anubis may have made their debut first (and trust me, I’m still cooking up more for those), but this piece is a stand-alone one-shot, though hey, I’m not against adding some filler if inspiration strikes. Princess and Hoseok’s story is woven through all my works, past, present, and future, especially with the Anubis chapters, so you’ll definitely see more of them.
I’m a bundle of nerves and excitement sharing this with you, just like every time I hit that publish button. If you didn't read the preview and my note there, to emphasise - I’m knee-deep in my MA thesis (yes, the chaos is real), so if I go ghost for a bit, know I’m just wrestling with academic deadlines. Thus, that's why there is still no new chapter on Anubis or Lacrimosa.
But I adore you all endlessly for sticking around and reading my stuff, my lovely little fairies! ✨
"Well thank fuck we are making a ton of those,—" he laughs at you and how you're gulping down nearly a tenth glass of whiskey that has his family name on the crystal clear bottle, poisoning your mind with the elixir more and more each time the liquid meets your lips.
"and that's why you're ordering me another one now," you say, resting your head on your right hand and squinting, eyeing him. The man sitting next to you at the bar loves you, and all he wants is for you to love him back. When it was decided that you were to be wed, he was thrilled to hear the news, as if he would not want it without the blessing. But your disappointment and rebellion against the elder's decision made him calculate how to get you to obey and be the good girl he knows you are.
"You ready to talk, Princess?" The pet names were the usual consensus in your friendship. Though this one turned a shade darker. Everybody called you that and you never minded it, but now this remind you of your "duty" that you are not ready to fulfil.
You have no idea what you just agreed to. The young man nods to the bartender, who begins to prepare the eleventh glass while he only sits by his second.
The bartender places the crystal clear glass with ice and liquid inside in front of you. You inhale the air sharply and press a finger on your eyelid to smooth down your eyeshadow, only for your hand to drop to balance your head on the back of it. The other runs through a sleek, shoulder-length bob with a soft inward curl at the ends, giving it a voluminous and playful bounce that you sport now. Your hair is parted down the middle, with delicate face-framing tendrils that you push out of your eyesight turning to face him.
"What do you want to know, pretty boy?" you play with the words on your tongue. Hoseok momentarily thinks about all the ways he could show you he is the man and not the boy you just called him. But he knows it’s just banter. He takes a sip from his glass while raising an eyebrow at your remark.
"What bothers your mind? You wouldn't be drowning like this otherwise."
You give your so-called wannabe fiancé one drunken look and reply. "They killed off the man I dated and now everything is going to shit. Am I supposed to be happy?" You wave your glass in his face and take a sip. You were too drunk to not be honest with him.
"Look, honey, I've always been honest with you, and I'm not about to change that. I ain't gonna lie to you that I'm sorry that boy is dead because I'm not. You know I didn't like him—"
"Why?" You interrupt him. Deep down you knew why, it was rather obvious, but that didn’t stop you from demanding he voices his thoughts. Hoseok lifts his head and stares into your caramel-brown eyes.
"Because I love you, and you know that." Yeah.
Sadness flickers across his face. He wishes you would say yes when he proposed to you just a few months ago when the elders' approved. They were very angry with you when you decided to chase the already dead boy instead of planning the wedding with the clan's golden heir. But that did not matter. It is decided and they'll drag you down the aisle whether you'll cooperate or not.
Jung Hoseok is the heir to his family’s s empire, your family, and when the heads of other clan families sat down in a meeting about the future of the syndicate, it was already decided that the heir needed his bride. The decision was made for you before you had something to say about it, and going against it, means risking everything. That's why he was more than surprised by how easily you answered when he was on one knee holding the emerald ring in a velvet black box staring at you with happiness in his eyes.
The subtle hum of conversation and the clinking of cutlery provided a comforting background melody. It was a few weeks since the last time you saw Hoseok, hence there was no reason for you to not go to dinner with your best friend to catch up. That's what you considered him to be for you. He had your outermost love and respect and for years you thought that's how he saw you too.
You often laughed at the remarks the other syndicate members threw your way, how you are such a lovely couple. Match made in heaven. Hoseok laughed too, but, in a different manner than you. And now when you look back, you could have seen this coming. His father always spoke about you two should get married one day and you thought that's just a fantasy because you used to be inseparable. You never fought the idea, to confess. Until you met him.
Mark Tuan had you at hello, there's no need to sugar-coat it.
He always had a way of taking up space, not physically—he was lean and unassuming—but in how he commanded a room without trying.
He wasn't like the others. He didn't wear wealth-like armour, nor did he wield power with a showy arrogance. Because he had none.
He was a stark contrast to Hoseok. But that's not why you felt so hard on your knees for him. For that reason, you want to selfishly hide as it is nothing extraordinary.
He understood your desire to be, well, you. Wild and free, being your own person, despite how the family raised you. Mark saw you for who you were beneath the titles, the wealth, and the legacy. He didn't try to contain you, didn't try to mould you into someone you weren't. With Mark, there were no expectations, no carefully laid plans. There was just you and him, two people finding solace in each other's chaos.
And that, more than anything, was why you fell.
To him, you were just some bar owner at the border of Manhattan and the Bronx. But behind the word, some was more.
You weren't serving drinks—no, that's Peaches expertise— you were listening, observing, connecting, and occasionally pulling the strings that kept the undercurrent of your world from swallowing everything whole.
Mark saw through the haze of cigarette smoke and dim neon lights to the person standing behind the scenes. He didn't need you to explain the why of it all, nor did he ask for a justification for the choices you made. He simply accepted you, and that acceptance felt like a gift.
Truth be told, you never questioned yourself why you did not cut yourself from the family. Anubis was in your name, after all.
But it wasn't just a name; it was an identity, a burden, a purpose. It tied you to something larger, something darker, and no amount of neon lights or spilt Jung whiskey could ever wash it away. Ironic that you drink Elixir out of all the liquor in the world. And maybe, just maybe, you didn't want to wash it away.
Why?
Because despite everything you just said, you loved the person you grew up with. The bond was there. A strange feeling of loyalty. When there's a seed, you nurture it until it blooms. You had grown up together in the shadow of your family's empire, running through its grand halls as children, oblivious to the weight of the world you were destined to inherit. He was your partner in crime before you even knew what that truly meant.
That's what they did. They raised you, gave you education, and love, scolded you when you misbehaved and later on gave a role in the family. You were the eyes and ears. But you were not foolish. Even that was temporary.
So, you stayed.
Not like they would let you go.
This wishful thinking by Hoseok’s old man reminiscing about the good old days. You never thought Hoseok took it seriously. Not until that tonight.
"Y/N," Hoseok's voice broke through your thoughts, pulling you back to the present.
He reached across the table, his hand warm against yours and you looked from your intertwined hands to his shiny smile and warm eyes.
"I missed you—" a voice carried a softness that disarmed you, momentarily unravelling the protective walls you'd spent years building. He made you go soft each time he decided he had enough of not being around you. You two were busy, always, but he also always found the little loophole where he could steal you away and parade with you wherever he wanted. And you never thought anything big about it. Just two best friends, living their lives together. But this time, that night, it was different.
"I missed you too," you murmured, unsure if it was a lie or a reluctant truth. His smile widened upon hearing your words and he brought your hands to his lips, laying a warm kiss against your tender skin. Another gesture you never thought twice about before.
The restaurant was dimly lit, its ambience a blend of candlelight and murmured conversations. It was the kind of place Hoseok liked—elegant, understated, and private. Tonight, however, the intimacy of the setting felt like a noose tightening around your neck.
You had a bad feeling since the moment his driver pulled in front of Anubis and you had to drop everything to accommodate Hoseok's need of having an outing with you. Why wouldn't you, right?
He studied you for a moment, his gaze both tender and searching.
"You've been avoiding me," he said, though there was no accusation in his tone, only an unspoken plea for honesty.
"I've been busy, Hobi. You know how it is." You let out a small laugh, shaking your head.
He tilted his head, a slight smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.
"I know you, love. Tell me the truth."
There was no point denying it, not to him. Hoseok had always been able to see through you, even when you wished he wouldn't. The one who had dared you to climb trees too high, who laughed until his sides hurt when you both got caught sneaking into places you shouldn't have been. You sighed, leaning back in your chair, suddenly feeling exposed.
Should you confide in him?
"I'm just tired,—" you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.
Hoseok's smirk softened into something closer to concern, his eyes narrowing slightly as he leaned forward.
"Tired of what?" he asked, his tone careful, coaxing.
"Everything?—" you huffed out, a bitter laugh escaping your lips.
"I love Anubis, I do—" you began, but your voice wavered, the weight of your admission pressing down on your chest.
"It's just—" you struggled to find the right words for a moment, "too much to handle now."
It's been a lot to handle. Especially, when the source of your happiness and outermost help with the operations Anubis ran behind the scenes while it posed as an ordinary bar, was nowhere to be found for weeks.
He was missing, and you told yourself he was probably just busy with some shady dealings, something that would blow over in time. He had a way of disappearing when things got too hot, and you never questioned it—at least, not out loud. He was not as protected as you were. A princess.
But never this long. No calls, no messages, no nothing. The usual channels you both relied on for communication were silent. It was as though he had vanished from the world, leaving behind nothing but an eerie void.
And that's when you started to question your place in this world. All over again. As the only source of hushing those thoughts, was gone—
The teasing glint in his eyes was gone now, replaced by something deeper, something that made your chest ache.
"I don't think the place can be what the family wants it to be anymore, Hobi."
Hoseok's brow furrowed at your words, his usual calm demeanour cracking ever so slightly. He sat back in his chair, his fingers gripping the edge of the table instead of your hands now.
He seemed…..nervous.
You looked away, staring at the faint scratches on the wooden table, tracing them with your eyes as if they could lead you to an escape.
"God's timing is always right, I guess," for a moment you wondered whether you heard the same exact words he just uttered.
You swallowed, the lump in your throat growing.
"You've been handling it all this time," he said softly. "You've been holding it together when most people would've folded—"
"I just want to escape it for a little bit," you interrupted him, to not tune him on the wrong octave but by the looks of it, it's too late for that.
"And what would you do?" he asked, his voice a careful balance of curiosity and concern. "If you could walk away from all of it—Anubis, the expectations, the weight of it all—what would you do?"
You blinked at him, startled by the question, not sure what answer he wanted to get from you. The only person who ever asked you that is Mark.
“I… I never considered leaving it fully–” you started, sighed and said the truth.
"--I don't know," you admitted, a touch of bitterness creeping into your tone. "It's not like I've ever been given the choice."
He nodded slowly as if he'd expected that answer. Then, without a word, he reached across the table and took your hand in his.
"But you know that everyone has a choice in this family—" he said, his thumb brushing over your knuckles.
"And it's up to you if you choose right or wrong."
That's the family mantra. At least one of many you go by. But what did that even mean to you anymore?
You had always chosen right—or at least, that's what you'd convinced yourself. You had played the game, followed the rules, kept your head down, and stuck to the script the family had written for you.
You wanted to argue, wanted to say that the control had never really been yours to begin with, but you didn't.
"You don't have to be alone you know?—" his voice quieter now, almost hesitant, as if testing the waters, unsure how far to push. But that night he pushed far.
"I'm here for you."
Before you could conjure a response, he leaned forward, his voice lowering to a near whisper.
"Do you remember when we were kids, sitting under the maple tree in the garden behind my house? You used to say you wanted to be free, to see the world. And I told you I'd take you anywhere you wanted to go. Do you remember?"
You nodded, the memory as vivid as if it had happened yesterday. Those days felt like a different lifetime—a simpler one, untouched by the complications of duty and obligation.
But Hoseok's interpretation of freedom never matched yours.
Hoseok's grip on your hand tightened, grounding you in the present.
"I still mean it. I'd give you the world if I could—"
"Hoseok…" you started, unsure of what to say.
"You don't need to worry about anything or about what anyone thinks. I'll take care of everything, I'll make it right."
You wanted to pull away, to find some way to untangle yourself from the web he was spinning around you, but his presence, his certainty, was paralysing.
You could feel the walls closing in, and a part of you wanted to fight, to tear free from the grip he was starting to have on you. But the other part—the part that had been with him since childhood, the part that knew him too well—began to crack under the pressure.
"Hoseok…" Your voice trembled, the uncertainty and the fear finally making its way to the surface. "You're not hearing me. I don't—"
His thumb ran over your lower lip and he gently pressed against the soft flesh, silencing you with a tenderness that only made it worse.
"You don't have to say anything. I know what you need, what you want. I'll give it to you. You don't have to choose anymore—
"I'll choose for you."
You blinked once, twice, thrice but you could not shake his words off. What is he alluding to?
He got the wrong impression. Or did he?
"Why are you saying all this, Hobi?" you asked, your voice barely audible. His touch was warm, and grounding, as his other thumb brushed over your knuckles, again and again.
"I've loved you for as long as I can remember, Princess," his eyes rose to yours, searching for anything. Any emotion, a hint that you're sharing his love, that you're ready for it to bloom like it was always meant to.
When he could not recognise what he was seeing in your reaction to his words, he slowly rose from his chair to move to the side of the table, closer to you.
Before you could give him any response, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small black box while he descended to one knee before you.
Your eyes were never wider and even when you connected all the years of your shared youth, you still couldn't believe what was happening before you right now.
"And I won't be satisfied till we're taking those vows–"
He knew about Mark and you. He fucking knows you have a man you love. This was an ownership, a claim. He had enough of your avoidance that you blamed the bar for. He knew that avoiding him meant only one thing.
"Will you make me the happiest man in Manhattan and marry me?"
This wasn't just any love. Any proposal. This was Hoseok's way of drawing a line in the sand, demanding your loyalty, your love, your future—all of it. And in that moment, you realised the truth you had been avoiding.
A quick, shallow breath escaped your lips as his hand hovered over the open box. The family ring you used to see on Hoseok's mother's finger when you were children.
You swallowed hard, your voice trembling as you tried to find the right words. Fuck right words, ANY words.
The emerald settled in a delicate halo of precious diamonds spoke to you. More than once you imagined that ring on your finger, but whether you imagined Hoseok putting it on was hazy and distant, as if you were never sure.
Hoseok's gaze softened slightly, a glimmer of hope dancing in his eyes as if he already knew the answer you were about to give him.
But you didn't answer immediately. Instead, your gaze flickered to the small black box again, then back to Hoseok. You could see it in his eyes now—the certainty, the devotion, the unwavering belief that he was the only one who could make you happy.
The thought of rejecting him, of crushing everything he had built in his mind, gnawed at you. But at the same time, a part of you felt suffocated by his expectations, by his love that felt more like a chain than a choice.
You opened your mouth, but the words still refused to form. Your mind was a battlefield, caught between two worlds, two people, and an obligation that you could never shake.
Your heart twisted, the weight of his words settling into your chest like a stone. You wanted to tell him that you did remember. That you still cherished those memories. But things weren't that simple anymore.
"No."
He'd like nothing more than for you to understand; that you belong to each other.
"It's your fault." You mutter to yourself.
"What?" Hoseok sets a defensive tone, hoping you are not implying what he thinks you are. "What do you mean?" he asks.
"If you'd come with this forward a little bit earlier—" you point at the barren ring finger. By earlier you mean before you fell in love with Mark. You could not wear the ring so proudly when he forced it upon your finger and a second later in the heat of the moment, you threw the ring back at him, storming out of the restaurant.
"—I'd have happily said yes, do you know why, pretty boy?" You laugh drunkenly. The brunette man shakes his head, but when he sees you not continuing, he voices out his answer.
"No," now he waits impatiently for yours.
"I l-loved you—" His breath hitches when he hears your words; this is what he waited for. He does not care, it is the whiskey speaking for you, fogging your mind and critical thinking.
“I do love you, just my own way–”
He-does-not-care. He waited long enough to hear those words from you, and now his heart is becoming whole again.
"You've always been here, and you don't look like you're going to leave me that easily. Appa Jung always used to tell me how we are meant to be, and you know what I did?" You do not wait for him to answer the rhetorical question before you do so yourself.
"I threw it all selfishly away—" You wave your hand sideways until you nearly fall off the barstool. That's what your drunken brain thinks. You could have had it all. Pussy and power. Instead, you chose the wild whirlwind of emotions you felt for Mark.
They took Anubis from you. Not literally, but you knew that the moment you'd step your foot there, Namjoon or any other brother would gladly drag you to Hoseok. So you mentally parted from the bar that embodied your youthful years for the time being. The time you needed to think. And you wish you could slap yourself for selfishly still wanting that life. Your life.
"Because I fell in love with a dead man—" he knew that. Hoseok knew you loved that young biker boy and how head over heels you were for him. In all the years of your life, he never saw you that happy and it pained his heart that it isn't him you so openly adore.
He loathed that boy and all his being. Of course, he was not sad his brain got blasted off.
"You love me?" Hoseok voices out finally. If he'd known that all it would take is for the love of his life to get a little tipsy, he would have invited you to the uphill parties with him a long time ago. He did not hope you’d show up. But this morning, you woke up vomiting last nights tour de bar and decided you are done feeling crappy about man who stole your heart (and money as you got to know later) from you and died with it. Life has to go on.
"I want you under me, Princess,—"
—right-fucking-now," he takes the glass out of your hand, saying the words through his teeth. You would never allow it if it weren't for your lust and the boost the alcohol provided. Or at least you would tease him longer than just agree right away.
You were grieving, drinking whilst on anti-depressants that were causing your body to swell and cloud your mind enough to give up and let the man have you. It’s not like you never wondered what that filthy mouth of his can do to you. Hoseok was an extremely attractive man to say the least.
"Then take me, hon–" You say seductively, biting your bottom lip. Hoseok doesn't flinch and tosses a few bills on the bar with some tips for the bartender. He grabs you by the wrist and pulls you out of the club the party was held at. You obediently put one foot in front of the other, trying not to fall when you trail behind him.
The walk to the elevator feels like never-ending to Hoseok. Once in, he reaches for you, pushing you into the furthest corner of the elevator, pinning you tightly. He pulls your face to his and presses his lips to yours. He traps you there, his hands in your short hair. As he subdues you with his tongue, you taste his relief, his desire, his passion for you and your mind is clouded enough to realise that this is your first kiss together.
Suddenly he stops, leaning into you with his gaze and the full weight of his body too, so you can't move nor attempt to run if you would have wanted to. You have nowhere to go but he's still cautious. It feels like an eternity before the elevator stops at the ground level, and an even greater eternity is the actual journey home. Agony. Hoseok is in agony to bed you and show you how much he longed for your body and soul.
In the sanctuary of his bedroom, you shed your inhibitions along with your clothes, your hunger for each other insatiable. You could feel his masculine body all over you, his hands exploring every piece of your skin and leaving hot wet kisses on your body.
His lips seared a trail of fire along your skin, leaving you breathless and wanting more. You arch into his touch, your nails grazing his back as you pull him closer, desperate for the heat of his body against yours.
In the heat of the moment, there are no words, only the primal language of desire that speaks volumes in the silence. You gasp as Hoseok's lips find yours once more, his kiss a promise of ecstasy beyond imagination.
"Ride my face—" He growled whilst he snatched the panties that covered your pulsating wet pussy.
You feel a surge of heat at his words, your pulse quickening as you meet his gaze with a hunger of your own. You feel his hands grasp your hips, guiding you towards his waiting mouth. Without hesitation, you comply, straddling his eager face as he hungrily devours you. His tongue traces maddening circles around your throbbing core, sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body. You moan his name, your fingers tangling in his hair as you ride the waves of ecstasy that crashes over you.
The gentle suction, the soft caress of his tongue, and the subtle scrape of his teeth all combine to create a maelstrom of feeling that leaves you gasping and trembling.
Each flick of his tongue, each nibble of his lips, sends you spiralling closer to the edge, teetering on the brink of oblivion. Your hands instinctively reach out, grasping for something to anchor yourself to as the world spins around you. You glimpse at how your fingers are tangled in the soft strands of his hair as you pull him closer, deeper, hips rocking back and forth as you ride the waves of pleasure.
His moans vibrate through every cell in your body, resonating deep within your cunt. Fingers dig deep into your skin, holding you in place as he devours you with an unbridled hunger. And when you finally shatter into a million pieces, it's with his name on your lips, a prayer of gratitude for the bliss he's given you.
Hoseok was painfully hard, his slacks were too tight at the moment. You feel his arousal pressing against you, the hardness of his desire evident even through the fabric of his slacks. With trembling hands, you reach for the button of his slacks, eager to free him from the confines that only serve to intensify his longing. As the soft fabric falls away, you're greeted by the sight of him, thick and throbbing with need.
Without hesitation, you take him in your hand, relishing the feeling of his hardness against your skin. You stroke him slowly at first, savouring the feeling of having him in your grasp for once. He hissed, the sensation travelling his body. The knowledge that you have this effect on him sends a thrill through your veins.
With each movement, you push him closer to the edge, teasing and tantalizing him until he's on the brink of oblivion. And when you finally take him in your mouth, it's with a hunger that borders on desperation, eager to taste the sweet release that awaits.
You take him deeper, you feel him throb and pulse against your tongue, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He grips your hair tightly, guiding your head on his cock while your eyes water when he hits the back of your throat. With each bob of your head, you feel him grow even harder, his breath hitching in his chest each time.
You move faster, your own arousal building to a fever pitch, and you feel him tensing beneath your touch. But he is not ready just yet. Forcefully pushing your head away, you let his cock go with a loud pop, a string of saliva connecting your lips to his throbbing member.
He looks down at you with a hungry intensity, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he catches his breath.
"Gon' fuck you silly, princess."
You meet his hungry gaze with a look of anticipation, eager to feel him deep inside you.
With a hungry growl, he takes you in his arms, his lips crashing against yours in a frenzy of need and longing. You respond in kind, your hands roaming over his body, eager to feel every inch of him against your skin.
He flips you on your side and presses himself against your back, the anticipation builds to a fever pitch, the air crackling with the electricity of your shared desire. When he finally enters you, it's with a force that takes your breath away, filling you completely with his hardness and heat.
"Fuck, Hobi," You moan his name as he moves inside you, each thrust driving you higher and higher towards the pinnacle of ecstasy. Your nails dig into the sheets as you cling to him, lost in a haze of bliss that consumes you both.
As he whispers words of longing and desire against your skin, you feel a surge of heat coursing through you, igniting a fire that burns brighter with each passing moment. His hips are rutting against your ass, the skin slapping too, having a contest of what is louder, your united moans or the latter.
"Tell me you fucking love me again." He demanded while his cock was abusing your cunt with all the pleasure. Each thrust passes and you feel yourself edging closer and closer to the edge, your body humming with need and longing.
Your heart races in your chest as you meet his gaze, your eyes locked together in a passionate embrace. He lifts your leg to thrust even deeper than before sending your moans an octave higher.
"I fucking love you, Hobi," you gasp, the words spilling from your lips like a prayer as you surrender yourself fully to the pleasure of his touch.
A hungry growl escapes Hoseok's lips, reacting to your words. He twists your upper body so he can reach to kiss your lips, not stopping to fuck his cock into you. Hoseok's hands roam over your body, tracing every curve and contour with a reverence that sends shivers of pleasure racing down your spine.
You arch into his touch, your nails digging into his hair as you cling to him desperately, unwilling to let go of the intoxicating sensation of his touch.
"I'm gonna cum inside of your pretty cunt."
His lips crash against yours in a passionate kiss, his tongue exploring every inch of your mouth with a hunger that leaves you breathless. Even as he kisses you, his hips never cease their relentless rhythm, driving you closer and closer to the edge with each hard thrust.
You feel yourself inching closer and closer to the edge as you squeeze your eyes shut, a loud whimper coming out of you from the overstimulation that he's forcing upon you.
"Please make me cum again, Hobi. I can't-" Your plea hangs in the air between you. Hoseok's lips curve into a wicked grin as he continues to thrust into you with increasing fervour. He tightens his grip on your hips, his movements becoming even more urgent as he drives you closer and closer to the edge.
Your body trembling with anticipation. And then, with a cry of release that echoes through the room, you finally let go, surrendering yourself fully to the pleasure that consumes you. His throaty moan is muffled as your head is too dizzy to concentrate. He spills his hot cum inside of you just seconds after you release it.
And as you lay tangled together in the tangled sheets, you know that he won't let you slip away tonight. So you drift off to sleep in each other's arms after he takes you again and again and again until you cannot hold your eyes open anymore.
A sharp pain throbs in your head. You gasp when your eyes register the bright light of the morning sun. You rub your hand over them and pick yourself up, leaning with your elbows. You sigh and close your eyes for a moment. Your head spins, and you have a very strong urge to empty the contents of your stomach, which actually has nothing in it. You freeze in place when you hear a murmur from the other side of the bed, and the subsequent rustling of the duvet startles you even more.
Slowly turning your head to the source of the sound, you're scared. On your right side, the man is lying peacefully, snuffling contentedly away. His raven hair is plastered to his forehead, and his eyelids are tightly closed.
Your mouth opens into a big 'O', and you hold yourself from screaming out; the whole house would hear the words that don't belong in a lady's mouth. Your head swivels back into place again, and this time you look down under the duvet just like in all the romance movies you watched alone.
Upon discovering that your clothes are somehow missing, your eyes widen completely, and now you are absolutely awake. The maid must have taken them to laundry earlier. You put your feet on the cold floor of Hoseok's room and grab his shirt from the walk-in closet. Putting it on quietly, you begin to sneak out of his room. At the door, you turn to look at him. The realisation hits you like a truck on the highway — Hoseok won't let this slide.
Your footsteps lead you to your old room where you grew up. You hope to find some of your old clothes there so you won't have to leave the Jung mansion in only a shirt that barely reaches below your ass.
In your mind, you rejoice once finding what you're looking for and begin the smooth flee out of the mansion. You pray that you will not meet Kkangpae Jung or Halabeoji Jung on your way. You know if you do, you'll never leave this house. It wouldn’t be nice talk.
Sighing happily, you get into one of the cars and try to drive away through the open gate just for the guards to surround the car immediately.
Your body tensed and your eyes held the reflection of the armed men prohibiting you from leaving the premise of the Jung's mansion. You switched the car off, the engine's purr fading into silence as the gravity of the situation sunk in. It was clear that escaping unnoticed was no longer an option.
A tall, stern-faced man approached your car, his gaze unwavering as he rapped on your window. Reluctantly, you rolled it down, the crisp early morning air replacing the warmth of the vehicle.
"Miss Kim," the man said, his voice authoritative. "I'm afraid you can't leave. The Kkangpae requests your presence."
Fuck. You were fucked. Your heart raced as you processed the severity of the situation. The Kkangpae, Hoseok's father and the head of the whole syndicate had summoned you. It wasn't a request you could decline without consequence when you were right in his den, and you knew this was the end. They trapped you in.
The Kkangpae's study, adorned with dark wood and leather, exuded an air of authority that matched the man himself. He sat behind a large mahogany desk, studying some documents. Without looking up, he motioned for you to take a seat.
As you sat down, your eyes couldn't help but wander to the framed family photos on the walls. Hoseok's smiling face stared back at you from childhood to adulthood. The Kkangapae was a family man to his core or misogynistic anti-feminist, you choose.
"Y/N,—" he began, his tone measured. You braced yourself for what storm is to come.
"I thought you finally came to your senses when I saw you arrive with Hoseok last night—" his voice was calm, but there was an undercurrent of disappointment. You shifted uncomfortably in your seat, knowing that the events of last night were fuelled by the large amount of alcohol you devoured.
Only now you realise that he aimed to doom you all along by bringing you to the epicentre of the whole syndicate instead of his brownstown in the downtown. You mentally cursed at Hoseok and the brilliance of his manipulative nature. You should have known better than to try to negotiate your freedom with Hoseok and drink like that in his presence. Stupid girl, aren't ya?
When he finally looked up, his steely gaze penetrating your soul, you could feel goosebumps on the back of your neck.
"—but I did not expect you to attempt to flee the mansion like you're some whore and not my son's fiancée!" His fist met the surface of the carefully crafted table and you jumped in your seat.
The impact reverberated through the room, the sudden noise echoing in the silence that followed. The framed photos on the wall seemed to witness the confrontation, capturing the Kkangpae's stern expression and your startled reaction.
"We all have been patient with you, dear, thinking you just need to compose yourself—" a tear escaped your eye. No matter what, you won't change the outcome of this.
"But you found solace in drowning yourself in alcohol and whoring yourself around the city!" He shouted your way. "I knew I should have brought you home far earlier than this."
You could not argue with his words, no matter how shameful they are. In a span of four months, you managed to get drunk until you blacked out numerous times all for that one boy you loved and lost. The one that loved but betrayed you back. When you drank you did not think of him and how much you miss that smile of his and how much you should hate him. His tattooed masculine arms that held you at nights and soft pierced lips that kissed yours —only fragments of memories now.
"I did not raise you to ruin yourself. Have I not given you enough?" The Kkangpae's voice, though stern, held a tinge of desperation, as if searching for a semblance of reason in the chaos of your actions. You were sure that if your father would be among the living now, he would have never let this happen. But he is not and by raising you, the Kkangpae means, taking you in after he decapitated your father for betraying his leader. Remorse, he called it.
You are disappointed in yourself. But for a solely different reason. You should have run away from the continent when Mark said he had a way. Perhaps, now, he would be alive and you would not have to write foolish love letters to heaven anymore. Perhaps, you would fall asleep without the extensive drinking and all the anti-depressants you probably did not even need, but with them, you do not hate him for leaving you here to deal with this mess alone.
The truth hit you like a tidal wave, and the weight of your actions settled in the pit of your stomach. The Kkangpae's words, though harsh, were a reflection of the reality you had tried to escape.
"You lost your way, child." The Kkangpae leaned back in his chair, a heavy sigh escaping his lips. The room, once charged with tension, now felt heavy with the weight of unspoken regret. You did lose your way in the name of love. Founding him, already long gone, in the jeep just at the outskirts of Bronx, a hole in the side of his head, dried blood sprawled on the white leather seats, broke you.
There was not a second you did not regret saying no to Hoseok. It haunts you how that selfish decision might have led to the strongest gale in your sea. Perhaps, they would let him live if you would cooperate. The Jungs always found a way to persuade people to do what they wanted. But you did not expect them to go as far.
Suicide. The police ruled it as suicide. Of course, they did, with the right amount of bribery — everyone bent to their will. The day after Hoseok swore that he had nothing to do with it, that it’s an unfortunate coincidence, lying straight to your face broke you even more and that's why you ran. Hoesok knew everything that happened around, but he refused to tell you. You ran around the city as fast as you could so he would not catch up to you.
You loved Hoseok in your own way and when you said that if he'd come with the proposal sooner you'd say yes — that was not a lie. You always had a hunch feeling that those words about you two and your future together were to some degree true. So it was not such big surprise for you when he bent the knee and popped the question, a little too late. But you could not marry him then and you don't think you are willing now. You would be willing to do so, when you are ready. The difference is, now, there's no other choice. He won't let you leave this house alone, he won't let you run away again.
And there's nowhere nor no one to run to anymore.
"I never intended to bring disgrace to the family," you whispered, your voice betraying a mixture of regret and sadness.
"You'll redeem yourself, child, don't worry—" he said
"I need you to understand that you are not just Hoseok's partner; you are the future matriarch of this family. Your actions reflect not only on you but on the entire Jung legacy—"
"I know, I just never thought of this as seriously. I'm scared, I panicked when he popped the question." You blurt out. Your confession hung in the air, raw and unguarded. Or more like a lie so he will let you go, at least from this suffocating office.
You had spent years perfecting the art of composure, of presenting a façade that betrayed nothing only for it fail now.
The Kkangpae regarded you for a moment, his sharp eyes softening just enough to betray a hint of humanity beneath the ruthless exterior. He wasn't used to hearing you admit fear—it was almost as if he didn't quite know how to respond.
"Fear is natural," he said finally, his voice low but firm. "But you have nothing to fear if you choose right."
Choosing right in this family never meant following your heart—it meant aligning yourself with their expectations, their rules, their version of right.
You nodded, not trusting your voice to stay steady under the pressure. Your heart raced as you avoided his piercing gaze, hoping he'd accept your half-truth as sincerity. All you needed was a way out of this office, a moment to breathe, to think.
"You've always been stronger than you give yourself credit for," he continued, his tone measured but unyielding. "This family needs that strength now. Hoseok needs it."
The memory of his hands cradling yours, his eyes boring into you with a fervour that felt more like ownership than love, played on a loop in your mind.
"Okay," you managed to say, forcing the words past the lump in your throat.
The Kkangpae nodded, satisfied with your answer. "Good. Now off you go, Hoseok's waiting."
You stiffened, your pulse quickening.
"He's awake?" Your voice came out quieter than you intended, barely above a whisper. The Kkangpae raised a brow at your reaction but chose not to comment on it.
"Your breakfast is going to get cold if you stall this even more."
The Kkangpae's words cut through the air, dismissing any further hesitation. His sharp gaze lingered on you for a moment longer before he returned to the stack of documents on his desk, signalling that your audience with him was over.
You spotted Hoseok seated at the table, a serene picture of composure, his fingers curled around a steaming cup of coffee he enjoys in the mornings.
He looked up at your approach, his eyes locking onto yours. There was no trace of anger on his face, no sharp edge to his expression. If anything, he seemed calm, almost disarming.
"Hobi—" you started before he quickly interrupted you.
"Sit down," he said a bit more firmer than he'd want to, gesturing to the seat across from him.
You hesitated for a moment before lowering yourself into the chair, acutely aware of the weight of the moment. A plate of food sat before you, untouched. Your stomach churned, but the thought of eating felt impossible.
"Are you?—"
"I'm not mad, no," he cut you off gently, surprising you, as if he knew what you were suggesting before you even managed to let those words roll on your tongue.
"So?—" you echoed hesitantly, your voice barely above a whisper. You didn't know what to expect now. Maybe it would be better if he'd be mad and you knew that you have to make it better just like it used to be, instead he is not showing any kind of position in this situation and that was making you uneasy beyond comparison.
Hoseok leaned back in his chair, exhaling deeply.
"You're still here. That's what matters to me for now." He began, his tone measured. For now. Hoseok was always skilled at this—at saying something that sounded kind but felt like a command.
"I panicked," you admitted softly, the honesty slipping out before you could stop it.
"I know, baby, you chose wrong—" he replied, his gaze unwavering.
"—twice," he added fuel to the fire, salt to the wound. But you knew why. He wanted you to submit to him, and he needed to work overtime to do so.
"You need to show me you're willing to make this right, love," you swallowed hard, the tightness in your throat making it nearly impossible to respond. His aura and magnitude of how he could move you however he liked now was overwhelming. You cannot run away, not when he dragged you back to this place instead of his brownstone at 57th street. You're not only under his surveillance here, but the Kkangpae and the rest of the family.
“What’s it gonna be? Cuz’ I can’t fucking pretend anymore–”
His gaze dropped to the table for a moment before he reached into his pocket. You stiffened instinctively, already guessing what he was about to do. Sure enough, his hand emerged clutching the familiar black velvet box. The sight of it made your chest tighten.
"Hoseok," you said softly, your voice trembling with unease. "Please—"
"I don't think I will be so forgiving if you'll choose wrong for a third time, Princess." He ignored your plea, opening the box to reveal the ring again. The one you'd angrily thrown at him that fateful night when he tried to force it down your finger after you explicitly said no to him.
The one that symbolised everything you were not ready to accept, but you had to. It glimmered in the soft light of the room, deceptively beautiful.
"I'm done asking," he said firmly, his eyes locking onto yours. Your breath hitched, but before you could speak, Hoseok reached across the table and took your hand in his. His touch was warm, grounding, yet the weight of his action was suffocating.
You tried to pull your hand back, but his grip tightened—not painfully, but enough to make it clear you weren't going anywhere. With deliberate precision, he slid the emerald ring onto your finger.
"There," he said, his voice softening just enough to send a shiver down your spine. "That wasn't so hard, was it?"
You stared at the emerald ring, your mind racing. It looked almost serene on your finger, as if it had always belonged there. Hoseok sat back, satisfied, his lips curling into a faint smile.
Before you could respond, the soft thuds of certain leather shoes announced another arrival.
"Joon-ah!" Hoseok greeted, leaning back in his chair. "I assume there's news?"
Namjoon glanced at you briefly, then back to Hoseok. "Yes. We've made progress with the Anubis situation. The distilleries have been secured, but the reports of interference need attention."
"Anubis situation?" You echoed Namjoon's words. Hoseok's smile didn't falter, but there was a subtle shift in his demeanour. His gaze flicked to you, and for a moment, you thought he might dismiss your question. Instead, he leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table, his fingers interlacing.
"Nothing for you to worry about," he said smoothly, his voice laced with a quiet finality that suggested the topic was closed.
Namjoon, however, wasn't as careful with his expression. His brow furrowed ever so slightly, a crack in the façade of calm efficiency he usually wore. It was gone as quickly as it came, but you caught it, and it only fuelled your curiosity.
"Anubis is my responsibility, Hoseok, you cannot—" you pressed, your tone sharper now. You'd learned long ago that brushing things under the rug only meant tripping over them later.
"Not anymore."
Hoseok's words cut through the room with an authority that left no room for argument. He leaned back in his chair, exuding an air of complete control, his eyes locked on yours with a quiet intensity.
"What?!" You breathed out rather loudly now.
"Not anymore," he repeated, slower this time as if daring you to challenge him. And challenge him you did.
"Hoseok," you tried again, your voice quieter this time, laced with both frustration and fear. "This isn't—"
"I gotta punish you somehow, Princess," his one was calm, almost casual, but the weight behind his words was anything but. Your stomach churned as his lips curved into a faint, disarming smile—a predator's smile hidden beneath a veil of warmth.
"Punish me?" you repeated, your voice trembling despite your best efforts to steady it. "Exactly for what you gotta punish me, Hoseok?
"For running," he said, the amusement in his voice doing little to soften the hurt he felt inside. "For throwing the ring. For abandoning me this morning after we made love last night—"
You opened your mouth to argue, but he cut you off with a raised hand. "Don't misunderstand me, Princess. I'm not angry. But actions have consequences."
Your heart pounded against your ribs, the rhythm chaotic and uneven. His calm demeanour made it worse. It took one wide-eyed glance for Namjoon to excuse himself and quickly retreat to Kkangpae's office to leave you two alone.
The sound of the door clicking shut behind Namjoon seemed louder in the heavy silence that followed. Your eyes darted to it, half-hoping for an interruption, but it was futile. Hoseok's gaze was fixed on you, unrelenting and unreadable, trapping you in this moment.
"Hoseok," you began, your voice trembling. "This isn't fair. You can't just—"
"I can," he interrupted his tone steady but brooking no argument. "And I will. You know I don't take betrayal lightly."
"Betrayal?" you repeated, the word stinging as it left your lips. "Is that what you think this is? Hoseok, I—"
"You ran," he said simply, leaning forward, his elbows resting on the table. His fingers interlocked, creating a casual posture that only heightened your unease. "You left me, you threw the ring at me, you abandoned what we're building. Call it whatever you want, Princess, but to me? That's betrayal."
Your breath caught, the weight of his words pressing down on your chest. "I needed time," you whispered. "Time to think, to—"
No, you needed Mark. But you also needed your best friend.
"Think?" Hoseok's laughter was soft, almost amused, but it didn't reach his eyes. "What is there to think about? You're mine. You've always been mine. And this?" He gestured to the ring now firmly on your finger. "This makes it only official."
"You can't force me to—" you said, the defiance in your voice surprising even you. This was never a discourse you or Hobi ever had. Everything was thought to be just platonic. Not for him.
"To what?" he asked, cutting you off again. His tone was low, dangerously calm. "To wear a ring? To stay by my side? To stop running every time things don't go the way you want?"
You flinched, the truth in his words hitting too close to home. Hoseok sighed, his expression softening just enough to make your heart ache. You were running each time you did not feel like the family was doing you justice. And each time it was Hoseok who came to talk sense into you. But this is different. You are not kids anymore, or teenagers. This is serious. Hoseok is serious this time.
"You know what Anubis means to me—"
"And you still thought it was something you could just walk away from?"
You clenched your fists, your nails biting into your palms as the urge to argue warred with the fear.
"I didn't walk away from Anubis," you said, your voice barely above a whisper. "I just... I needed space, Hoseok."
"You said you were tired, love."
"You misunderstood—" Hoseok shook his head slowly, cutting you off once again, his gaze hardening.
"I never wanted it to come to this," Hoseok said, his voice softening as he reached across the table, his hand brushing against yours. "But you forced my hand, Princess. And now, you don't get to run anymore. Not from me. Not from us."
"But Anubis—"
"It's still yours. But until you learn your place, Namjoon will suffice."
You bit your lip, caught between the suffocating desire to fight back but all you could do is shut your mouth and obey, telling yourself that this is only temporary.
He was, indeed, not mad.
The sterile scent of antiseptic filled the room as you sat on the edge of a plush velvet chair, your posture tense, fingers gripping the fabric of your dress, as if the soft material of your slip dress that you wore on top of a while turtle neck could shield you from Yoongi's steady gaze.
You couldn't quite remember when the combination of alcohol and antidepressants had become a regular part of your routine, but it had. One to dull the ache, the other to keep the panic at bay. It felt like you were walking a tightrope between relief and disaster. The pills had been prescribed with a promise of healing, but they didn't fix anything, did they? They didn't ease the guilt, the shame, or the sense of being utterly out of control.
And that's precisely why you are sitting in Yoongi's clinic.
Again.
The door opened softly behind you, and your head whipped around, your stomach clenching in a mix of panic and irritation. Hoseok came in after he finished his call, eyes narrowed, lips pressed together in that familiar line of disapproval when Yoongi interrogated you and your well-being this past months.
Not pleasant for both of their ears.
His eyes flicked over to Yoongi, a silent communication passing between the two. You could feel the heat of embarrassment creep up your neck, the shame of being caught in this cycle again pulling at the edges of your pride.
"You've been drinking, and you've been taking your medication," Yoongi said, pretty much summarising what was happening, his voice low but commanding, as he folded his arms across his chest. His usual calm was undercut with a note of frustration. "This combination is dangerous, and you know it. You are being fucking reckless–"
"Well this family makes living that way, so—"
You trailed off, the words hanging in the air, sharp and bitter. You didn't have to look at Yoongi to feel the tension rise, the way his jaw tightened slightly, the subtle flicker of frustration in his gaze. And you didn't have to look at Hoseok, to know he rolled his eyes.
"But we don't use ourselves, not to such extent, Y/N, and you fucking know it."
You winced at Hoseok's words, the sharpness in his voice cutting through you more than you'd like to admit. You had always known that their disapproval wasn't just about the way you led your life these past months, but about how far you had drifted from the person they believed you could be. You were.
"I'm not—" you began, but Yoongi cut you off, his tone flat and unwavering.
"—the choices you're making—this self-destructive pattern—it's not the family's fault. It's not even about the family. This is about you, Princess. About your choices."
You couldn't meet his eyes, couldn't face the depth of his concern, the quiet disappointment in his voice. The truth was, you knew what you were doing wasn't right. The pills, the alcohol, the numbness—it all came with consequences, but they were easier to deal with than the constant whirlpool of guilt and pressure that churned inside your chest every day.
"You don't get it," you muttered, your voice wavering, trying to steady it but failing. "It's hard to breathe sometimes. Everything feels... too much."
"Do you want your liver to fail, sweetheart, or your heart?"
Yoongi's gaze softened, the sharp edge to his features dulling just slightly. "You don't need to numb the pain to survive. You need to face it. And you need to let us take care of you."
"Okay." The word slipped out before you could think about it, the weight of it settling between you all. You couldn't quite believe it, the relief that came from simply acknowledging the truth. It didn't feel like a solution, but it was the first step toward something.
"No more drinking, no more pills—"
The quiet of the room enveloped you for a long moment. The sound of your breathing felt too loud, but somehow, it was a reminder that you were still here. Still breathing.
"And you gotta get you off your birth control too, we do not need additional hormones in your body."
The words hit you like a cold shock, the air in the room suddenly feeling thicker. You blinked, trying to process what Yoongi had just said. His words were muffled by the sounds of Hoseok's Motorola. Excusing himself briefly to pick up yet another call, you stared at Yoongi.
"What?" you breathed, your voice barely a whisper. The thought of changing anything about your routine, especially something so personal, felt like a violation of your fragile sense of control. "Yoongi, I—"
"You heard me," he cut you off, his voice firm but not unkind. "You need a clean slate, and that includes everything. The alcohol, the pills, the hormones. It's all adding to the mess inside you. We need to strip it all down," he spoke, overlooking some of your results that came in this morning.
You opened your mouth, but nothing came out at first. Then, the words escaped before you could stop them. "But... you were the one who prescribed it."
"I know," Yoongi replied, his voice calm but firm, his posture never faltering. "And at the time, it made sense. But now? With everything that's going on in your body—"
"Was it his idea?" you cut him off rather bluntly a bit angry with his dishonesty.
Yoongi's gaze sharpened, his eyes narrowing as he met yours. There was a moment of silence between you two, the air thick with tension. The weight of your question seemed to hang in the room, the vulnerability of it pressing on your chest. Yoongi took a slow breath before answering, his voice steady but with an edge of something—something you couldn't quite place.
"No," he said simply, his eyes softening just a fraction. "This wasn't Hoseok's call. It was mine."
You felt a knot form in your throat as you processed his words. A part of you wanted to argue, to resist, but another part, the part that had been drowning in self-doubt for months, simply wanted to listen, to let go of the control you had clung to for so long.
"Don't lie to me, Yoongi."
The accusation hung between you, thick with tension. Yoongi's expression flickered, a brief flash of something—guilt, maybe?
"Was it your decision, or not?"
Yoongi stood still for a long moment, his gaze flicking briefly to the side, avoiding your eyes. His fingers clenched around the papers in his hands, and for a brief second, the weight of everything between you seemed to press down on him, too.
"Princess…" he finally breathed out, his voice low but steady.
"It was my decision, but he encouraged it." The flicker of guilt in his eyes, something raw and unguarded, made your chest tighten. You knew what that meant for you but you could not put your five cents on the table right now.
This choice is yours to make. Not Hoseok's.
The Jung Whiskey Distillery stood in the heart of Brooklyn, a looming relic of a bygone era where industrial ambition met old-money elegance. And you found it fucking ironic to be commanded to stop drinking extensively and simultaneously being called to a place that reeks of alcohol.
The building itself was a labyrinth of exposed brick, dark oak barrels stacked high like sentinels. The faint hum of machinery echoed through the cavernous space, blending with the rhythmic drip of amber liquid into hand-labelled bottles, each stamped with the clan's insignia that did not change even after the Kkangpae-ship changed several times over the decades. A dove.
You stepped inside, the heavy scent of whiskey and charred wood assaulting your senses immediately. You blinked against the dim lighting, the golden glow of antique chandeliers barely cutting through the thick shadows. Your Louboutin heels clicked against the worn concrete floor, the sound swallowed by the quiet hum of workers moving methodically through their tasks. Some cast quick, assessing glances your way, but no one said a word. You weren't an unfamiliar face here, after all.
Hoseok was already waiting, leaning against a towering stack of barrels, his arms crossed, his expression unreadable under the soft glow of an overhead lamp. He was dressed in his usual understated elegance—a charcoal suit, crisp white shirt, and a gold signet ring glinting on his finger, a subtle reminder of his place in the family hierarchy.
"If I knew that you'd take time that equals the three meetings I managed to go through, to actually get here, I'd wake you up in the morning and take you with me," he remarked, his voice carrying easily in the quiet space.
"Traffic," you replied coolly, stepping closer. "And I wasn't exactly given much of a choice nonetheless, was I?"
Hoseok smirked, a glint of something dangerous dancing in his eyes. "No, you weren't."
"I need you to sign some documents—" he started.
You stared at the papers in his upstairs' office, anger and frustration bubbling inside you, but you knew the truth. Hoseok wasn't giving you a choice—he'd planned this all along. You'd taken the risk, now you had to pay the price. Your stomach twisted as you read the details—transferring the market representation of Anubis to Namjoon, at least temporarily.
He didn't say anything at first, letting the silence stretch between you. He pulled out the pack of cigarettes after long deliberation and lighted one.
"You want me to sign this?" you asked, your voice carefully neutral.
"I'd hoped you would've learned the consequences of your actions by now—" finally, he spoke, his voice a quiet challenge, "you thought I was bluffing, am I right?"
Hoseok could read you like an open book, and that only pissed you off more.
"Namjoon is going to represent Anubis while you're away, so the market doesn't wait for anyone—"
"What about Peaches?" you had to ask. The girl who always looked up to you and listened when you needed to yap. She had, among others, a precious place in your heart. You knew she was only working for you as a barmaid until she paid off her college, but you were sure the friendship will remain.
Hoseok's lips twitched into a smirk, but there was no humor in it. His gaze lingered on you for a beat too long before he spoke again, his words deliberate.
"You know…—" he began before you cut him off. You know what he's going to say. Namjoon was rather blunt, and the girl was young and naive to ignore it for so long.
"I know—"
"She's not your concern anymore. Not with the way things are going. Namjoon's got his eyes set on her, and trust me, it won't take long before she's out of there, taken care of...in more ways than one."
"But—" you had plans to move he to work for the distilleries instead of the bar. A safer place.
"You've already dug your own grave, love, hers is not yours to lay in." You clenched your jaw. But it is, you thought.
"She'll hate him for it," she might hate you for it. You muttered, but you knew it was futile.
"That's least of your worries now, you know Namjoon's intentions are good, Princess—"
"Now, unless you want to keep playing the martyr, sign the fucking papers." He had you by the throat, and signing was the only way to keep breathing.
You hesitated, fingers tightening around the paper. "And if I don't?"
Hoseok leaned in, his lips curving into something far too amused for your liking. "Then I can take you to City Hall right fucking now and have us sign a marriage license instead. Husband and wife—your signature won't be needed anymore."
Your heart stuttered in your chest, but you schooled your features into indifference.
"You wouldn't."
His smirk widened, eyes glittering with that maddening confidence.
"Keep fucking trying me, love, a little longer." He said through gritted teeth.
Your eyes flicked back to the contract, and with a resigned sigh, you reached for the pen tucked inside.
"That's my Princess."
You hated how much he enjoyed this. He stood up, retrieving the papers and closing the folder in one swift movement. You were getting inside your head when his shiny shoes came into your vision. You raised your eyes to see him standing in the small gap between the table and your chair, looking at you hungrily from above.
"You're tense," he observed, his voice dropping into something softer, something more dangerous. His thumb brushed against your wrist, tracing slow, maddening circles.
"You just made me give it up—" You swallowed hard, willing yourself not to react, but the heat of his touch seeped into your skin.
"As I said, it's still yours, love, you just won't be its main character for a while." He tilted his head, eyes darkening as he leaned in, his breath ghosting over your ear. Your pulse hammered in your throat as his fingers slid up your arm, slow and deliberate. You hated how easily he got under your skin, how much you wanted to push him away and pull him closer all at once. Why were you so messed up in the head?
You took out the pills. He insisted. Yoongi insisted. You don't drink. At least you're trying not to. You have therapy once a week. Everything but that one thing you kept hidden from him. Your suspicions were quite rightly placed when just this morning he cream pied so deep into your cunt, it made you recount your life-span. No condom on.
The scent of whiskey and expensive cologne clouded your senses, making it impossible to think clearly. You momentarily glanced through the window to see the twin building in the distance where Kim's bourbon was made. You wonder if Namjoon's there or in Anubis now. He's got a lot work to do if he now covers both positions.
Before you could retort, he bent down and his mouth claimed yours in a searing kiss, one that left no room for hesitation. Hoseok's fingers wrapped around your wrist to pull you out of your seat and press you into his hard torso. You felt him. Every single inch.
Your hand shot up to his breasts where you laid your palm straight, trying to push yourself from him and ease the pressure he laid on the small of your back from where he was pressing you into the warmth of his body.
You yelped into his mouth when he stood and lifted you effortlessly onto the cold and hard surface of the desk, his hands roaming possessively over your hips.
"You drive me fucking insane, can't keep my hands to myself" he breathed against your lips. His curious fingers trailed down its way to the black slacks you wore today and slipped past the soft material.
You couldn't help but moan into his mouth.
"All I could think about the whole noon was you—under me."
At least, with the miraculous protection of birth control, you can enjoy sex with him. It was not bad. You wish it could be bad lousy sex but he knew damn well what buttons to push to let you see stars and scream his name. This was your new dose of drugs. Him and his gorgeous body. He knew that the line between him being your best friend was cut into small fragile pieces the moment you sat on his face that night he did not only trick you into his bed but kept you in his life. Forever. And Ever.
It felt oddly right.
Every kiss, every brush of his hand, felt like a promise—one that wasn't going to be broken.
Unlike this table.
It was several weeks later when the little peace you made with this arrangement was shattered as quickly as you built the walls around you.
The twisted branches of bare trees stretch upward like desperate hands, clawing at the sky, trying to touch something they can never reach. The heavens above seem to hum with a strange mystery, an almost suffocating weight in the air.
Beneath your feet, the fallen leaves crackle and crunch, a brittle reminder of the cold that's creeping in, claiming everything it touches. The frost is starting to settle in again, coating the world with a layer of death, a silent witness to the dying season. The peak of winter is coming, relentless and unforgiving, a season full of hidden traps and painful truths.
From a distance, you hear the haunting echo of a raven's call. It cuts through the stillness, adding to the quiet beauty of this desolation. The air feels heavy, thick with something unspoken, something unsettling. You inhale deeply, trying to push away the unease, but it lingers, like a shadow that refuses to leave.
Your eyes flutter shut, trying to hold on to the fragile calm of the moment, but the silence is broken. The crinkle of newspaper reaches your ears, followed by the faint scent of coffee. You open your eyes, slowly, and see Hoseok sitting at the table, his face absorbed in the pages, the kind of concentration that could swallow him whole. His lips are pursed, his brow furrowed, the weight of the world hidden behind those simple movements. He trimmed his hair a little. They were becoming a bother. He said to you when you asked. Nothing major though, just a little change. Not everyone could sport a mullet like Jung Hoseok could. It was such a trivial thing to do but you kept thinking about how your fingers instinctively ran through his soft locks. You liked them long. Is what you said to him and he gave you his shiny smile that you were soft for, in response.
You sigh, your gaze drifting from him to the empty garden around you. The air feels colder now, the frost creeping deeper into your bones. You tug the fur blanket tighter around you. You need fresh air. Yeah well, not in fucking cold January, you don’t. He insisted. For you, for your health. Hoseok, oblivious to your internal storm, shifts the newspaper in his hands. His fingers grasp and release it as he turns the page, his eyes never leaving the print. He's lost in the world of politics, and you're stuck here, in your own head, unable to break free.
"What is it?" he asks, his voice not quite reaching you. The question feels distant, like it's meant for someone else. You take a sip from your coffee mug, the New York City skyline etched in its design, trying to ground yourself in something, anything.
"Nothing," you murmur, but the words feel like a lie even to you.
You still did not know how to feel. You, of course, were still playing with the narrative you created in your head, that you do not want to get married. Hoseok’s not the problem. He never was. Only the cursed piece of paper that will bind you to him for eternity, as this family still worships and protect marriages, is what you’re afraid of. Why? You’re pushing thirty. You are expected to settle. But how can someone like you settle? You still dream of a boy who is no longer walking among living, a man who fucked you over, now that no pills are clouding your mind. And that’s another thing.
How can you have kids after you poisoned your body with so many things? Yoongi recited the report to you and Hoseok, his lips in thin line after he finished, the verdict was clear. Cleanse. In private. They believed in the strength of your young body to recover swiftly and splurt out heirs, just like that. Don’t be mistaken, you were never addicted enough or now you’d be in asylum if you were. You just needed a reality check. But that did not include your boyfriend with a hole in his head and gun in his hand.
Then there was this tiny feeling of betrayal. You felt like you were betraying Mark each time you spread your legs for Hoseok to bury himself deep inside of you. What’s worse. You enjoyed it like this is how it was always supposed to be–
–the sound of paper crunch tears you from your stream of consciousness. Hoseok makes a ball from the newspaper with a deliberate slowness, the sound harsh against the stillness of the room. There must have been something he did not fancy to see. Your rough guess, it’s the pretty journalist that questions every step of Kim Seokjin. Your family consigliere.
He meets your gaze, eyes softening with an unspoken question.
"Are you sure?" His voice is more insistent now, a slight edge to it as his hand reaches out, crossing the distance between you. You want to pull away, but you don't, he would never harm you. Not you.
"I don't want to get married,... yet," you say it with a finality, and rather bluntly, a decision made in the quiet chaos of your heart. You did not know why that thought came out loud. "I don't think I'm ready—"
"We talked about that already, baby" he says, his voice cold, as he releases your hand and strides toward the house, his back turned to you. The distance between you feels unbearable now, the space between your hearts widening with every step he takes.
"No! You talked about it!" you shout after him, your voice cracking as the frustration rises within you. The words feel like a plea, a desperate attempt to make him hear the truth, but it seems to vanish into the bitter wind that bites at your skin.
He doesn't turn around. He doesn't need to. The weight of the silence is enough, and you're left alone in the garden, with only the sound of your own pulse hammering in your ears.
You prop your elbow on the table and rest your chin in your hand, staring into the weak morning sun, trying to chase away the thoughts swirling in your mind. After a moment, you reach for the other copy of newspaper, flipping to the art section where the golden maknae's face is pictured. He's allowed to stay a bachelor, why not you? A bachelorette leaves a bad taste in your mouth though. Sounds cringey.
A quiet voice from the door interrupts your focus.
"You'd better look at the wedding dress catalogue instead," your cousin's voice cuts through the air, light with a teasing lilt. You two were never as close as one would say. But that's because you spent the majority of your childhood with Hoseok. Sometimes Namjoon and Yoongi.
You glance up at him, meeting his dark eyes. That man seriously needs to find his own woman. He needs to do it soon, as he is just as annoying when he doesn't get laid. She could put up with it, instead of you.
"I'm all hot!" you retort, a smirk pulling at your lips as you add the bite of irony to your words, hoping he'll catch the sarcasm.
He grins, unbothered. "Can I see for myself?" His playful challenge hangs in the air, and you can't help but roll your eyes.
"Fucking gross, Taehyung!" You splurt out, grimacing.
"Just kidding, Princess," he says, raising his hands in mock surrender. He glances at you with a wry smile. "You should start looking for them though, unless you want to get married in your pajamas." His gaze lingers on your nightwear, and you fight the urge to blush.
"Hoseok already asked Jimin to have one of his designers on it." You murmur, wishing to not acknowledge how beautiful the designs were.
"Dior… fancy," he whistled.
You shake your head and turn your attention back to the newspaper, but then a loud slam comes from the second floor. Your eyes dart to the open glass door, half-expecting Hoseok to walk back in. A few moments later, he does, but this time, he's holding a white box, throwing it onto the table with a sharp gesture.
"What's this?" he asks, his brow furrowed.
You glance at the box and read the label out loud. "Birth control."
Hoseok's expression hardens instantly, and he steps forward, hands on his hips. "I fucking know what it is," he snaps, his voice low and tense. "But why the fuck are you taking it?"
You swallow, trying to keep your composure and play dumb. That it just might have slipped from your mind to put it out.
"Well, usually, birth control is taken to—"
He cuts you off, his frustration clear. "I fucking know why it's taken, but why the fuck are you still taking it, Y/N?"
You hesitate, unsure of how to answer, but you find the courage to speak. Hoseok would get it out of you nonetheless. Why lie.
"Because I noticed that when you were fucking me—"
"You mean making love," he interrupts, his voice softer now, but still laced with tension.
"Making love,—" you repeat, your lips tight, trying to hide the amusement and disregard the severity of this situation. Him dicking you down until you are nothing but whimpering mess was hardly tender loving. He nods in agreement, and you try not to feel self-conscious.
"—You keep ditching the condom," you add, voice trembling slightly. You're nervous, but you don't back down. “So I just wanted to be careful–”
"Does that matter?" he asks, an eyebrow quirked in disbelief as he takes a step closer to you.
"Well, considering I don't wanna get pregnant, and I doubt you do—"
He cuts you off again, his words sharp. "What if I want you to get pregnant?"
The shock hits you like a cold wave. You blink, your heart racing, your mind spinning. You want to respond, but the words freeze in your throat.
"It's not only up to you," you finally manage, folding your arms across your chest, trying to steady yourself. But Hoseok isn't backing down.
"No?" he asks, tilting his head slightly, a challenge in his gaze.
Before you can say another word, he grabs your elbow, pulling you toward him with surprising force, his chest pressing against yours. The heat of his body is overwhelming, and you feel your breath catch in your throat. The distance between you is gone, and all you can do is stare at him, unsure of what to do next.
The words feel like they hang in the air, suffocating, as he inspects every inch of your body. His gaze is heavy and possessive, and it crawls under your skin, making you feel exposed in ways you can't quite put into words.
"I think the fuck yeah," he says, a slow smirk pulling at his lips.
"Since the fuck when?" you force the words out, the sigh caught between your teeth, as you try to mask the unease creeping through you.
"Since we made it official," he whispers, his voice dark, lips hovering just above yours, as though he's claiming you in ways that go beyond the physical.
"Hoseok, honey, I don't belong to you, I'm not a bitch that you can breed," you grind out, trying to push back, to assert yourself, but your body betrays you, reacting to his touch.
"Aren't you?" His laugh sends a shiver down your spine, and before you can pull away, his hand moves to your ass, squeezing hard, sending a shock of pain that morphs into something else—something dangerously close to pleasure.
You cock your head, trying to make sense of the rush of conflicting emotions, but Hoseok doesn't wait. He presses his lips to your neck, soft butterfly kisses that leave a trail of heat in their wake.
"You sound different when I'm buried deep down in your pretty cunt."
"Hobi—," you moan his name involuntarily, rather surprised by his blunt behaviour than actual excitement, and your hand instinctively reaching for his chest, as if you could push him away, but instead, you draw him even closer. He likes to test where your boundaries lay. And he likes to do it each time he gets you alone and all to himself.
"Now, that's my name you're moaning, isn't it?" he asks, his voice teasing, fingers now shifting to your breast, kneading it with a possessive grip. You gasp, feeling the tension coil tighter inside you as his lips continue their slow, deliberate journey from your neck to your lips. When his kiss meets yours, it's tender—almost too tender—but it pulls away too soon, leaving you breathless, hungry for more.
His hand still rests on your bottom, and your pulse races as he reaches for the white box on the table. You know what it is, and your heart drops into your stomach.
"You know what we're going to do with this?" he asks, his eyes dark, unreadable.
"Hobi, no, please," you beg, your voice weak, desperate, trying to hold onto the last shred of control you have.
"Not this time, Princess," he replies, as though he's trying to convince himself more than you.
"Please Hobi, we have time for that" you clutch his hand, the one holding the box, your grip tight as if you could keep it from happening.
"We ain't little kids anymore," he mutters, his voice cold as he pulls you toward the door, but you resist, shaking your head as he drags you toward the living room.
“Just because we skipped the whole girlfriend-boyfriend phase, it doesn’t mean that–” you trailed behind him, trying to plead with him, but when you see the fireplace you panic.
"NO, DON'T DO THIS, PLEASE!" you shout, panic rising in your chest, but the sounds of Yoongi's and Taehyung's voices drift from the dining room, too far away to help, but close enough to hear.
Hoseok doesn't listen, doesn't stop. He moves as if this is inevitable. He opens the fireplace door, adding wood and paper into the flames with mechanical precision. The white box sits on the hearth, waiting for its fate. You know what's coming, but you can't stop it.
Before he can pick up the box, you do, clutching it to your chest, your pulse pounding in your ears.
Hoseok stops, eyes narrowing, his voice low and controlled. "Y/N, give me the box," he says, his hand extended toward you, his patience wearing thin. You hide the box behind your back, shaking your head, the desperation pooling in your chest.
"Don't do it," you plead, but your voice shakes, and you know it won't be enough to change his mind. It never is. Your heart pounds and the sound fills your ears as you fight to breathe through the rising panic.
“No need for dramatics, I can fucking buy new one, Hobi–”
You hear Yoongi and Taehyung murmur in the background, they're talking, oblivious to the tension in the room, distracted by the box, by its contents. They must have missed the giant label that clearly states so, but the realization hits you too late. In the corner of your eye you can see Yoongi bring his hand to the bridge of his nose and sigh very loudly before he readies himself to speak on your behalf. It's already too late.
"You always know how to piss me off like that!" Hoseok snaps, frustration boiling over. "You're such a brat! Why can't you just do what I ask for once?" For once? He throws his hands up, fury in his eyes.
“Well you didn’t really bother to discuss it with me, why should I?” You snap and Hoseok’s face momentary shows guilt.
"Hoseok—" Yoongi begins to step over to his younger brother, trying to intervene, but Hoseok's swift hand movement stops him in his tracks, his frustration too raw for anyone to touch.
"Don't, fucking, don't!—" he screams his way. Hoseok is fuming.
"How dare you take this from me!" His hands fly up in the air, his chest heaving with the intensity of his words. The heat of his anger crashes over you, and you feel yourself shrinking under the force of it, knowing that nothing will calm him down now. When did he become such a lunatic? Over this?
"You fucking prescribed that shit to her!" He throws his hands up, fury in his eyes. As if Yoongi had any jurisdiction over you.
"You did that!" His eyes are wide, furious, and filled with an undeniable betrayal. And with that accusation, the room feels like it's closing in on you, the weight of everything sinking in deeper.
"Hoseok, I was taking that, years prior, it's not that easy to just stop—" Your voice trembles as you try to find the words, but they're heavy as if the room itself is pressing against your chest. You know it won't make a difference. You know that nothing you say will ever be enough to calm the storm he's become. Hoseok's eyes widen with disbelief, the fury in them turning almost desperate. He steps closer, his breath coming in quick, ragged gasps.
"She was supposed to be off the pill, Hyung! You said she is!" Hoseok's voice cracks as he turns to Yoongi, his anger now laced with something else—desperation, hurt. His words are jagged, the tension in the air so thick you can feel it pressing against your skin.
Yoongi freezes, his eyes flicking between the two of you, the reality of the situation settling in. His hand stays on the bridge of his nose, massaging it as though he can physically take the tension away. But there's no escaping it now, no way to undo what's been said.
"Yoongi-hyung," Hoseok snaps, his voice raw, pleading for an explanation he knows isn't coming. "What the fuck is going on? Why is she still on it?"
You can feel the weight of Hoseok's gaze on you, the accusation in his eyes piercing through the space between you. The betrayal is there, raw and unrelenting, and it stings, more than you ever thought it would. You want to scream, to lash out, but the words don't come. Instead, you're frozen, caught in the quiet storm of their confrontation.
"I didn't know," Yoongi's voice is quieter now, regret creeping in. He looks at you, his expression softening, but it doesn't help. The damage is done. "I withdrew that prescription. I thought she stopped."
Now he turned back to your petite form and the box in question that was the last resort of your independence here. It's just a symbol now, a trigger, a reminder of how everything has shattered in the blink of an eye.
"And why exactly did her highness not listen to her doctor?!"
You try to step back, but you can't. There's nowhere to go. "I didn't think it mattered," you whisper, your hands trembling at your sides. A lie and the weight of the lie you've been carrying sits on your shoulders like a thousand tons.
"I never thought it was something you'd need to know or cared for, at least not for a while."
Hoseok stares at you, his gaze burning through you like a hot brand. "It fucking matters," he spits, his voice sharp and cruel "and I fucking care." Yoongi threw an apologetic look your way when he sensed that this was only going to get uglier, and it would be more humiliating for you if they remained in the room.
"You think I don't care? You think I don't have a right to know? Clean slate from everything, remember?" His voice rises again, and the room seems to shrink around you.
“Hobi–” you attempted to speak to him.
"Each time we made love, I hoped you'd eventually come to tell me I'm going to be a daddy,"
Hoseok's voice trembles with raw emotion, and you feel the weight of his hopes crashing down on you. The air in the room feels thick, suffocating, as his gaze pierces you, demanding an answer you don't know how to give.
"But you were hiding this from me. You were keeping it from me, Y/N. How could you?" His voice breaks on the last words, and for a brief moment, he looks like he might collapse under the weight of his own feelings.
"I thought… I thought it wasn't important now. That we had time."
Hoseok's eyes narrow, his lips curling into a bitter smile. "Time? Time for what, Y/N? Time to keep me in the dark while you do whatever the hell you want? To fucking run again?" His voice rises, thick with frustration. So this is it, he wanted you tied to him beyond marriage.
"I trusted you. I trusted us. It's just you and me for eternity, Y/N."
“It’s not even about that fucking birth control, it’s about you keeping things from me.”
You swallow hard, your throat tight. You never imagined things would escalate like this. The silence in the room is unbearable, and the weight of Hoseok's words crushes any attempt at defence.
“You are supposed to confide in me. I’m your person.”
"I wanted this, Y/N," he continues, his voice a raw whisper, filled with a kind of hurt you never thought he was capable of showing. "I want to build a future with you."
His words feel like daggers, piercing straight through your chest, and you feel the walls around you closing in.
"You should have talk to me about that." You want to scream, to fight back, but all that comes out is a weak, strangled sob.
"Do you even know what you've done?" he whispers, almost to himself, as if the weight of it all is just now sinking in. "Do you even know what this means?"
You want to explain, but you can't find the words. The room is too small, the air too thick with the unspoken truths hanging between you all. And in that moment, you realize that nothing you say will ever undo what's been done.
"I was not feeling ready, Hobi–"
Hoseok's eyes burn with a mixture of frustration and desperation as he steps closer, his hand still extended toward you, demanding the box. You know what he's going to do, but that knowledge does nothing to ease the dread that grips you.
“We could have discuss this–” but he was not listening anymore.
"Give it to me," he commands, his voice low, filled with an edge that makes your heart race. The space between you two is closing, and there's nowhere left to retreat.
You grip the box tighter, pressing it against your chest as if it's the only thing keeping you anchored. "No, Hoseok," you breathe, but your voice is weak, trembling under the weight of the moment. "You don't understand."
His gaze sharpens, and in an instant, he's on you, his hands grasping at yours, trying to pry the box from your fingers. You stumble back, but he's faster and stronger, and you feel the heat of his body as he presses you against the wall. You gasp for breath, your heart pounding in your throat.
"No!" you cry out, but your words are drowned by his relentless grip, pulling at your hands, forcing you to let go. The box is slipping, and before you can stop it, Hoseok has it in his hands, clutching it like it's the last thing that matters.
You try to push him away, your palms meeting his chest with a desperate shove, but he's unfazed. With a low growl of frustration, he jerks his head toward the fireplace, his expression wild.
Without a second thought, Hoseok strides over to the fire, the box gripped tightly in his hands. You lunge forward, but it's too late. He reaches the hearth, throws the box into the flames, and it disappears with a soft crackle.
"No!" you scream, your voice raw, the loss of control hitting you like a punch to the gut. You're too late to stop him.
Hoseok stands there for a moment, his back to you, his shoulders rigid with anger. The firelight flickers in his eyes as he watches the box burn. "You wanted to hide this from me," he says, his voice harsh, filled with finality. "Well, now, it's hidden better."
You're frozen, watching the box slowly disintegrate into ash. Your breath comes in ragged gasps, the realization settling heavily in your chest. It's done. There's no taking it back now. Everything you tried to keep from him, it's all out in the open.
You open your mouth, but no words come. There's nothing to say. You didn't expect this—didn't expect him to take the box and throw it into the flames like it meant nothing to him. But it does. It means everything to him.
"If you think you can go and get another one, think again—" Hoseok turns to face you, his expression unreadable, his jaw clenched tight.
"Because you ain't leaving this fucking house anymore."
A tear escapes down your cheek before you can stop it, and you wipe it away hastily, still trapped in the suffocating silence of the room. Everything feels wrong, everything feels too much, and you don't know how to make it right. You want to scream, to tell him how unfair this is, but you can't find your voice anymore.
Hoseok's gaze softens just slightly, but it doesn't bring comfort. If anything, it only makes the storm raging within you feel even more intense.
What a good start of 1996.
It was quite a few silent weeks, and although the poetics of “never go to bed angry” was quite overrated, Hoseok seemed to cling to it. You wish you could speak again. It was enough that you were apparently and are under house arrest. The moment you tried to step out of the front door, you were turned on your heel immediately. So you got the memo rather quickly.
Now yes, you are exaggerating a little. Rightfully so, you almost went to fucking knit a sweater being cooped up in here. Even the enormous sunroom full of flowers of every kind felt small after you spent the majority of the days there.
Hoseok’s father keeps himself at his side of the lovely and vast Jung manor and you find yourself not wanting to be in his company for majority of the time. But after weeks of silent breakfasts, lunches and dinners, you found yourself in his quarters to plead to give Hoseok some wisdom. He cannot be mad at you for keeping something to yourself. You were being responsible, and this is what you got in return. It was okay until there wasn’t a ring on your finger and the one fucking you, Hoseok.
Yet, as you stood in the dimly lit hallway of the east wing, the heavy scent of cigar smoke clinging to the air, responsibility felt like a frail excuse. Especially in this family. You neared the slightly open mahogany door of his office when you heard their voices. You halted. Listening.
“The boy’s still angry,” came the rasp of Hoseok’s grandfather.
You hadn’t realized he was in the estate today, now nestled in one of the armchairs, a relic of another era draped in a thick wool blanket. His voice was softer, but the words carried weight.
“Wouldn’t blame him. He did what was necessary, and she went and questioned him for it.”
You frowned. Hoseok cannot be seriously this angry over something so… so fixable, right?
You should have stepped inside. You should have asked what they meant. Instead, your mind spun in circles, grasping at the words and the meaning hidden between them.
“That runaway little gangster decided to fuck his way into this world, so he paid the price.”
Your breath hitched.
Paid the price?
Your grip tightened on the doorframe, pulse hammering against your ribs. The words settled uneasily in your chest, a slow-burning fuse winding its way toward something you weren’t sure you wanted to understand.
“Tuan made his choice when stole from her.”
Mark.
Your stomach twisted. The name struck like the lash of a whip, sharp and stinging because it had been weeks since you’d allowed yourself to even think about him. You can’t reopen the wound. You forced yourself to stay rooted in place, to not stumble backwards as the realization clawed at your skin.
Your hands trembled at your sides, nails digging into your palms, your body urging you to move—to burst into that room and demand the truth. But something held you back. A small, fragile piece of you that was terrified of the confirmation.
Hoseok swore to you he has nothing to do with it nor he knows who it might be. So you opted to believe that perhaps it was one of the family heads, or maybe someone from outside who wanted to make an example that you are not untouchable. Maybe it was someone who you openly declined to purchase their booze and serve it in Anubis. Maybe, just maybe, he did kill himself.
But that’s not the Mark you knew, and after years of seeing this family stage murders, you knew better than to think it was a suicide. Nor did you want believe that, as the recounting of books showed, he or someone was stealing from you. But the only person that would manage to steal from you without your immediate knowing, was him. So you tried to hate him instead of grieving his death for a while. It did not work out. But it did sure opened doors for Hoseok.
Hoseok and his family, your family, had a motive but you refused to let yourself think he is dead because of you. Why did you not urge the police to investigate further? It would put you on the radar. You would have to hand out those incredibly illegal books over at some point. You were not a saint. Obviously you were not as far down as Hoseok or Namjoon and certainly not Taehyung. Your role was a bit cleaner, but not holy at all.
If all those demons that you’ve sent to their death while carefully watching and listening in over the years did not come to hunt you, why now, why Mark? Why’d they speak about him now.
“It was the right decision to eliminate him.”
Your body felt cold, your fingers numb as you forced yourself to step away, away from the door, away from the truth you had just heard spill so carelessly from their lips. Your mind raced. If he lied about this, what else had he lied about?
You needed to leave.
“For her own good.”
Even just for a moment.
You needed to get out, away from this house. You could figure out the rest later, but right now, the walls were closing in, and you couldn’t breathe. You had never wanted to leave, leave before. Not really. Not permanently. But that didn’t mean you didn’t know how.
The question is, though, do you want to?
When you were younger, you had your ways—slipping through unnoticed places, sneaking past locked doors, bending rules until they cracked just enough to let you through. You hadn’t used those skills in years, but desperation was an excellent teacher.
So you ran.
Slipping through the estate grounds, through a route you remembered from your teenage years, your heart pounded louder than your footsteps against the pavement.
A taxi to the downtown. A subway later to get to 59 Street Columbus Circle.
Central Park was quiet at this hour, the city humming in the distance. You walked, your breath fogging in the cool air, your mind spinning in endless circles. You weren’t stupid—Hoseok would know soon enough that you were gone. And when he did, you knew exactly what would happen.
You could almost picture it. The calls. The orders. The silent, well-oiled machine of his influence clicking into place, mobilizing to track you down. It wasn’t fear that kept you moving. It was inevitable. Because you knew one truth above all else: Hoseok never let anything that belonged to him get away. But you wanted to make a point. That you can be gone if you want to.
Right now, you weren’t sure if you were running from him… or to him.
You sat down on a cold bench, eyeing the Plaza that you realised you never stayed in, your whole life. Why would you, right? No, that’s where he would track you down when you had your tour de bar short lived era, counting in Anubis.
You did not want to abandon Anubis, nor did you want to give Namjoon to boss it around. You pleaded hard enough to have something in this family other than pussy between your legs that would throw up heirs. Women in this family do not work. Not usually. But you, growing up with the mighty seven, knew a bit more about how this world functions, thus when you proposed to be the eyes and ears, they considered it. When you proposed you wanted a bar, a place where lips could go loose with the right booze, they considered a bit more.
And that’s how you got to be the owner of Anubis on the borders of Manhattan and the Bronx.
Everyone who entered was watched, catalogued, and, when necessary, reported and the threat eliminated. It had always been a place of control. Yours. But now, standing outside in the cold, you realized how little of it you truly had anymore.
A god of the afterlife, guardian of lost souls.
Poetic, you always were.
But it was your place, and you wanted it back. You made it what it is now and it made you. You did not want to be a housewife or an arm candy for Hoseok. Nor your desire was to leave the syndicate.
No.
You grew up here. This was who you were. And you would not abandon it again because Jung Hoseok decided to step into different shoes in your life or that Mark was now dead. He wasn't with you from the start, you handled it just well without him.
No.
If you have to go through this fucking marriage, you’ll do it your way.
You returned before sunset, slipping back onto the estate grounds just as the first hints of dusk kissed the horizon. But the moment you stepped inside, the air was different. Tense. Hushed conversations snapped into silence the second they saw you. Guards were stationed at the exits. Hoseok’s men were in motion immediately.
“Namjoon?-” He echoed to the flip phone when his eyes met yours on the edge of the living room. “Abort the mission, she’s home.”
He shut the flip phone down and motioned with his free hand to send the soldiers to their original posts. Only then hew threw it on the plush of the white sofa.
“Where the hell have you been, Princess.” He gritted through his teeth, still standing by the conference table, keeping his distance even though he wanted to close it, and cradle your face and kiss your full lips. To reward you for your comeback.
Your pulse pounded, your breath shallow, but your voice—your voice was steady.
“Tell me, Hoseok.”
You took a step forward, the distance between you closing like the pages of a book snapping shut.
“Say it to my face and swear that you did not kill him, and-” he pulled his tall built body slightly back at your straightforwardness and his eyes reflected a little wave of shock that was quickly exchanged with understanding.
Hoseok understood why you ran from this house now. You could have done it before, as it did not take you long to slip out. But he also was glad that after all, you did not want to.
“And?” He urged you to continue. To finish what you started.
“-and I’ll fucking marry you.”
And you needed him to tell you that you were wrong.
And you needed him to lie, just this once, so you could keep pretending.
And you needed him to be the man you had loved before all of this. Before Mark.
His eyes flickered, something dark passing through them before his expression smoothed over. His lips parted slightly, but no words came. This is what he wanted? You on a silver platter. You accepting this union.
Your chest tightened, the air punched from your lungs as you searched his face, desperate for something—anything—to grasp onto. A lie. A denial. Even anger would have been better than this.
You have to bury Mark for good to be with Hoseok.
Hoseok stared at you, his jaw tight, his lips slightly parted as if he was weighing something—choosing something. You could see the war in his eyes, a storm threatening to break, but then…
Then he exhaled, slow and steady, before stepping closer.
His hand lifted to your face, fingers ghosting over your jaw, his touch light but grounding.
“I didn’t kill him,” he said, the words deliberate, carefully measured. “I swear it.”
Your breath caught.
There it was. The answer you needed. The answer you had demanded.
And yet…
It was too perfect. Too clean. The kind of lie that had been rehearsed in the mirror, the kind that fit too well in a mouth that had learned to bend the truth into something beautiful.
But you wanted to believe him. Believe that he did not push the trigger. You’d rather live without the knowledge of who exactly had done it and under whose command.
It does not matter anymore. It’s in the past and Hoseok is your present and future.
You needed to believe him as Mark is never coming to save you from this horseshit you got yourself into right now and whatever reason he had to steal from you doesn’t matter anymore. He is not coming back and it is Hoseok’s arms you’re in this time.
His lips brushed against yours, hesitant at first—like he was giving you a chance to change your mind, to turn away before the lie settled between you. But you didn’t. You couldn’t.
You kissed him back, hard and fast, your fingers twisting into his shirt as if anchoring yourself to him would somehow make it real. That if you kissed him deep enough, long enough, it would drown out the whisper in the back of your mind that said this isn’t the truth.
Hoseok groaned against your mouth, his grip tightening, his body pressing into yours like he could make you forget. Like he could mould the lie into something tangible, something that felt like love instead of deception.
You let him.
Because believing was easier than knowing.
"I love you."
You sway to the beat of Material Girl as you make coffee in the kitchen, the rhythm of the music pulling you deeper into your thoughts. Suddenly, you feel his arms wrap around your waist, his head resting on your shoulder. His lips brush your neck lightly, sending a shiver down your spine.
"There is a charity gala tonight," he murmurs, his voice low, warm against your skin. You frown, your movements slowing as confusion clouds your mind. You were allowed to leave occasionally under his strong supervision, which meant that your hand was sweaty in his when he held you for dear life, whenever, wherever. Especially after you went for the little walk in Central Park and did not show up until the sunset.
"What does that have to do with me?" you ask, turning slightly to face him. You were back to being you, at least a little. Step by step. His touch tightens around your waist, a subtle reassurance that he's still there. Even though your little emotional exchange, a few months ago, you were still determined to play this game your way. He wants something? You want something too.
"Well, as my lovely bride, you're going with me," he says, a playful glint in his eyes. He presses a soft kiss to your neck, but you don't feel it this time—not in the way you usually do. Keeping you here like mother hen turned you and your cheeks waiting to be clapped each time Hoseok finished his work day. And if not, your hands wandered around your body while you read a book that had some spice inside. Out of boredom yes. You were just a girl after all.
"Terminate the house arrest, first." You smiled sweetly. Step one, have free reign where and when you leave this house.
"No–" you did not even let him start when you interrupted him.
"Would you like some too?" you ask, ignoring him, You continue making the coffee, your hands suddenly trembling.
"Aren't you listening to me?" His voice is sharp now, a mix of frustration and confusion. He pulls away, the distance between you suddenly feeling cold.
"I'm listening, you were talking about an event," you respond, your eyes not meeting his as you pour hot water into the cup.
"I bought you the Versace dress you liked," he adds, trying again, his tone softening. You let out a breath, the bitterness of it mixing with the heat of the coffee.
"But I cannot go out myself, can I?" you ask, your voice quieter now. The smell of fresh coffee fills the air, but it does nothing to calm the tension between you.
"Are you not listening to me at all?" His voice rises again, this time you can feel the anger building. You don't respond right away, the silence thickening.
"Are you listening?" You retort, smiling wickedly.
You walk to the living room, coffee in hand, the distant hum of the television buzzing in the background. The controller feels cold in your hand as you press the red button to turn on the TV, trying to drown out the noise inside your head.
"I'm sorry your highness, I forgot you love to negotiate," he says, his voice laced with irritation.
You glance at him. His hands shake as he gestures vaguely in the air, trying to explain himself. You roll your eyes, frustration bubbling in your chest.
"You’ve put me under house arrest," you mutter, shaking your head, and taking a sip of the coffee. But before you can savour it, he raises his voice again, and the hot liquid splashes over your denim jeans, soaking into the fabric. You wince, the sting of the coffee mixing with the burn of his words.
"You!-" He started but rather opted to bite his inner cheek than to admit that indeed he could've lifted the house arrest, the moment you said you will marry him. He only lets you go out when it benefits him. But you trusted the process.
"Me?" your hand shot to your heart, acting surprised.
"You're going to put that dress on and come with me at six," he demands, his tone sharp, commanding. He turns on his heel, the sound of his footsteps echoing in the room. You want to smash something, anything, just to get the frustration out.
"Oh so now I can go outside of this house?!"
The tension from the earlier fight still lingers between you. Hoseok's hand rests on your thigh, his touch possessive, but it doesn't bring comfort.
"Did I tell you you're stunning?" Hoseok's voice is soft, low, as he leans closer, his breath warm against your ear. You did put on the dress he bought for you, they were too pretty to leave on the hanger. The sleek, satin slip dress in a light lavender shade. Parade in front of him and threatened to not leave if he does not lift the house arrest first. And you maybe played him dirty when you declared you won’t let him get this dress off you tonight. I have to punish you somehow. You told him. Of course he obliged. Men.
The dress is form-fitting, featuring thin spaghetti straps and a deep, elegant neckline. It drapes smoothly over your figure, exuding an air of sophistication and effortless glamour. As fitted for today’s spring charity gala. Scratch that. Old money rich shitty man gala. Nothing to do with charity, they just needed a reason to throw a party every year.
"Today or since you decided you want to play husband and wife with me instead of being my best friend?" you dare to tease him, even though you already settled that matter, at least partially, your voice edged with sarcasm, knowing he doesn't care about your answer as much as he cares about drawing you in with his touch. The atipique black dress shirt he’s wearing under the suit jacket reveal the his torso to your wondering eyes.
“I’m still your best friend, baby.”
You feel him smile against your skin as he nuzzles your neck, his hand slipping up to rest on your waist. His touch is gentle at first, but it soon deepens into something more—something possessive.
“Sure you are, especially when you bend me over tables.” You whispered, trying to tease him. His tongue slides into your mouth, tasting you, claiming you in a way that makes your heart race.
“Do I really need to listen to that–”
"--Can't you save that drama for when you get home? It's giving old news already—" a voice interrupts, cutting through the moment. The dark-haired handsome man across from you, Kim Seokjin, looks at the two of you with a raised brow.
"Don't be jealous, Jin-hyung," Hoseok cuts him off, but it's clear he's irritated. "You'll find someone one day to match your narcissistic ass. How's that wannabe Nancy Drew doing?"
You shift slightly, pulling away from Hoseok, but his hand remains firm on your thigh.
"Still working on it," Seokjin mutters, giving Hoseok a dirty look. You knew who they were talking about, but Hoseok said he won't intertwine with the media unless it will be a direct threat. That's why above mentioned she was roaming around trying to dig and dig but nowhere near to find the bottom of the pit.
The car stops suddenly, jolting you from your thoughts, and you blink as if waking up from a dream. The flash of cameras outside the car window hits you like a wave, sharp and blinding, and you feel Hoseok's grip tighten around you as he pulls you closer, as though trying to shield you from it all.
The car stopped and we started to make our way out. The first thing that hit you was the flashes of the cameras. Hoseok pulled you close to him and together with Seokjin and the security guard you walked inside.
You step out of the car, the air thick with flashes and the pressure of eyes on you. His hand doesn't leave your back as the two of you walk inside, and though you want to resist, you can't help but feel the pull of his presence, like gravity, like you're being drawn into his orbit.
He's in his element here, greeting people with a smile, his charm effortlessly lighting up the room. He makes you smile, too, almost involuntarily, as he introduces you to yet another guest.
"This is my significant other, Y/N," he says, his voice carrying the weight of ownership, and something in your chest tightens, a mix of emotions—anger, confusion, and something else, something darker you don't want to name. You lost a trace of Seokjin some time ago and a part of you wishes for him to be here, you would not feel as thrown to the wolves as you do now. You don't blame him though, you used to do exactly the same thing when you were not what you are now. Take a bottle and vanish for an hour or two.
“What is it?” Hoseok asked you after few rounds of dances to some forties jazz music after he could not get a word out of you. He leaned in, close enough for you to feel his breath against your skin, a whisper in the midst of the music. Hoseok noticed the way your gaze kept flickering around the room, the way your smile was distant, almost mechanical.
After the rounds of dancing and mingling, he couldn't take it anymore. Your silence, your unspoken thoughts gnawing at the edges of the night, it made him uneasy. This wasn’t how you were supposed to be. You were supposed to be laughing, teasing, maybe even teasing him, not retreating into yourself like you were doing now. Again.
He was used to the strong, confident woman who had a sharp tongue and a sharper mind, but now… this? This wasn’t you. And he did not want to lose you again.
“You know what it is,” you breathed out, a soft exhale, but it felt like a sigh of surrender. His hand, warm against your back, seemed to hold you in place as you turned your face slightly towards him.
He raised an eyebrow, leaning closer, his grip tightening, but not in a way that felt possessive—more like an invitation. He wanted to know.
"I don’t," he replied, his voice as calm as ever, but with an edge of urgency now. "I can’t help if you don’t let me in, Y/N."
You swallowed hard, pulling away just a fraction, as if the distance between you and him could somehow ease the tightness in your chest. Now it was time to ask. Step two.
“I want Anubis back,” you said quietly, the words hanging in the air, heavy with meaning. Hoseok's eyes flickered for a moment, but his composure didn’t waver.
“Alright.” Hoseok’s lips quivered at the edges, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes. His response—so simple, so nonchalant—sent a strange shiver down your spine.
“What?” You blinked.
“Alright,” he repeated, as though you’d asked for something as trivial as a cup of coffee. You blinked again, caught in the dissonance of the moment.
That was it? Alright? It felt like the words didn’t align with the gravity of what you had just confessed.
You leaned back slightly, studying him as though searching for any hint of a hidden agenda, but all you found was the same carefully crafted calm. The calm of a man who was too used to getting what he wanted without asking for it.
"That's it?" you finally whispered, voice sharp despite the confusion swirling in your gut. "You just... agree?"
“If Anubis is what will make you my extravagantly beautiful Princess happy again, I’ll give it back–”
You looked up at him, the confusion, the anger, and the uncertainty swirling in your chest, but underneath it all… there was something else. Something you didn’t want to acknowledge.
The night drags on, each introduction another reminder of what you've become. The people you meet seem to glide around you, asking about your upcoming wedding, about your plans, your future. You almost laugh at the irony of it all hanging in the air like a thick fog. You're a trophy in a glass case, and everyone's looking at you, poking and prodding, but no one seems to care to really see you. But him.
Then, an older woman turns to you, and you surely met her once or twice at these sorts of events but you never paid attention to those old snobs enough to know her name. Her gaze sharp as she asks,
"Are you with child my dear?" You freeze, almost choking on the juice, the question slicing through the air. Before you can even respond, Hoseok cuts in, his voice smooth but diplomatic.
"We have just recently started to try, Misses Kang." She was a fucking busybody. Too curious. You can feel the weight of the room shift, all eyes on you now, judging, whispering. You want to run, to scream, but you hold it in, even as your fingers tighten around your drink, your knuckles white. The grey-haired gentleman beside the woman snorts under his breath, a comment you don't hear, but you don't need to.
"Men like us Mister Jung, we need strong lineage—" It doesn't matter. You've already checked out, retreating into your mind again, thinking about how Hoseok just handed Anubis to you without thinking twice. Your brain screamed that this is not just because he had some sort of epiphany but a part of something bigger. Does he perhaps know…? Know that you cannot leave him anymore. You were ready to wield that to have your way. But he just gave it back.
"I need some air," you mutter, standing up abruptly, and leaving the table behind. You don't look back as you walk out of the room, the hallway stretching out before you. You take the stairs two at a time, the sound of your heels echoing in the otherwise silent space.
You find a door, and a balcony, and step outside, your breath catching in the cold night air. Your dress flares around you as you lean against the railing, the weight of the night pressing down on you. You stare out into the distance, the tears you've been holding back finally spilling over, rolling down your cheeks.
A voice interrupts your thoughts, rough and grating against the wind, "Are you going to jump?"
You turn sharply, startled by the sudden presence. The man before you is in his twenties, with longer brown hair and a stubbled jaw. His Australian accent is as clear as the night sky above you.
"What?" you stammer, confusion swirling with all the confused emotions in your chest.
"I asked if you were going to jump," he says, his hands shoved casually into his black slacks. He lifts his head slightly, waiting for an answer, as though he's seen this all before.
You scoff, bitterness creeping into your voice. "What's it to you?"
"I'd jump after you," he says casually, his eyes never leaving you. You give him a look, incredulous.
"This isn't some fucking rom-com," you snap, your voice sharp, trying to push him away with words.
He raises an eyebrow, unbothered. "No, but the situation is very similar," he argues. "I'm not saying you're about to jump off a boat, but there's a pool down there. You'd survive."
Your gaze drifts back to the darkness below, the tears still falling. You don't want to talk to this stranger. You just want to be alone, but his words, his strange calmness, begin to settle into your mind.
And then, like a physical force, strong arms wrap around you, pulling you back from the railing you were almost ready to mount. You gasp in shock, struggling at first, but the man's grip is firm.
"What are you doing?" you ask, panic rising in your chest. You try to push his hands away, but he doesn't let go.
"I'm saving you, and your very very expensive Versace dress," he murmurs calmly, his voice soft but insistent.
You stop fighting then, your body slumping against him, exhaustion settling into your bones. He holds you for a moment longer, then whispers in your ear, "How about you tell me why you wanted to do it?"
There's something about the way he says it that makes your body go still, something in his voice that makes you want to open up, to speak the words you've been choking on for so long.
“I wasn’t, it just went through my mind for a moment.”
You sit down on the cold tiles, your tears finally slowing as you tell him everything—the fear, the suffocation, the way Hoseok's love feels different now. That you’re scared to admit your feelings like you could before.
When you're finished, you feel raw and exposed, but somehow lighter. You don't expect him to understand, but his quiet sympathy soothes something in you.
"Please, just don't tell anyone," you beg, the weight of your vulnerability heavy on your chest.
He nods, his eyes soft as he glances at the balcony door.
He doesn't seem to share your fear. Instead, he looks at you with understanding. "He's a friend," He says, "and he talked about a woman he wanted to marry...a lot. But I can't say I'd agree with everything he's ever done to achieve it."
You look at him, eyes wide with confusion. "What do you mean?"
"I'm can’t help you escape this feelings," he adds gently, his tone softening, "but I can be a friend when he no longer can be one." You don’t want to escape do you?
"You did not tell me your name—"
His eyes scanned your face with something that almost resembled concern. But the fleeting moment of solace shattered like glass the moment the door swung open.
Hoseok stood there, framed in the balcony doorway. The soft light from the hallway illuminated him in a way that made him look almost angelic, but the glint of steel in his hand told a different story.
You froze. What is going on?
"Step away from her," Hoseok's voice was quiet, deadly, his grip steady on the gun pointed directly at the other male.
He leaned back at the railing, his hands raising slowly in a display of mock surrender.
"Easy there, mate," he said, his voice unnervingly calm. "Didn't mean to step on anyone's toes. Just having a little chat."
Hoseok motioned for you to stand up and run to him, his eyes pleading for you to understand through his firm gaze on you two. What is going on?
Hoseok ignored him, his eyes locked onto yours. "Are you alright?"
You nodded slowly, your throat too tight to speak. The tension in the air was palpable and you did not know what to think. Where is the danger in here if he's griping the gun, not letting it down?
"I should put a bullet in your head right the fuck now," Hoseok seethed. What for? You were utterly confused and when Hoseok motioned for you to get the fuck up, you hesitated but did in the end. If anything, you trusted his gut more than you did yours over the years.
His smirk didn't waver when he gripped your hand and pulled you back. Your eyes widening with shock. His touch lacked the warmth you felt before and his next words sounded utterly different than before.
"See, that's the thing, Jung. You're all about control, but I don't think you have as much of it as you think." He flicked his gaze toward you, his eyes gleaming with something dangerous. "She looks tired. Must be exhausting being your pretty little bird in a cage."
Hoseok took a step forward, his gun aimed directly at his head now, his lips curling into something dark.
"You think I don't know what you're doing? Trying to get close to her, take what's mine, use her as leverage?" He didn't flinch or let you go. And you stood frozen. Without any explanation.
"Wasn't too hard. Seems like she's already looking for a way out." He provoked, knowing what it will make Hoseok to think. Inflitrate his thoughts. Homewrecker.
Your breath hitched, and Hoseok's gaze snapped to you for a split second—long enough for him to make his move. In a flash, he grabbed your other wrist, yanking you toward him, using your body as a shield between him and the gun. You gasped, your heartbeat pounding in your ears.
"Put the gun down," he said, his tone dangerously low, his grip firm but not painful. "We both know you're not going to risk her."
Hoseok's face darkened, his finger twitching over the trigger. "You're making a grave mistake right now, Luen."
Luen.
Your blood ran cold. The Luen family. You'd heard whispers of them—new money with old grudges, climbing the ranks with ruthless efficiency. But you never encountered one. They avoided press, they avoided public outings. They operated from shadows. No wonder you did not know him, if he’d ever show his face in your circles, you’d know.
While your clan rebuilt their empire on this continent through generations of calculated business moves and deeply rooted alliances, the Luens were a wildfire—spreading fast, consuming everything in their path with ruthless efficiency. Your families used to be closer in the past. The times before World Wars and you yourself did not know exactly when their connection severed.
As you later got to know, this particular Luen man was a ghost from the past, one Hoseok had thought buried overseas while he studied abroad for some time. But now he was here, standing in front of you with his cocky smirk and calculating eyes. It was no coincidence. The Luens were patient and hidden hunters, and it was clear that he had been sent for a reason—to sink his claws into Hoseok's most vulnerable spot.
You.
"Am I?" his lips brushed against your ear, and you shivered involuntarily. "I just wanted to talk, but now... now I think I might just take her with me. Seems like she'd like that rather than being with you."
No. No. No.
He felt so wrong suddenly. Everything felt wrong.
Hoseok's knuckles turned white around the gun, his eyes burning with fury.
"Let. Her. Go."
"Give me what I want, Jung. A slice of your market and territory, and she walks free. Easy trade, yeah?"
Hoseok's lips curled into a humourless smile, his eyes narrowing. "You must be dumber than I thought. You think I'd ever let you walk away with anything?"
Before he could respond, Hoseok moved—fast. In one fluid motion, he slammed the butt of his gun into his side, forcing him to loosen the grip he had on you. You stumbled forward, gasping for air as Hoseok yanked you away and shoved you behind him, his body a solid wall between you and him.
Well that was strangely easy.
He groaned, clutching his ribs, but that infuriating smirk was still there. "Right… your choice."
"Get the fuck out," Hoseok growled, his voice low and menacing. "Before I change my mind and wash the floor with your brain."
He held up his hands in surrender, circling you to get to the balcony door.
"This was fun. We should do it again sometime." He glanced at you one last time, a knowing glint in his eyes before disappearing out the door.
"Goodbye, Princess." He winked at you and you felt the disgust bubbling inside of you.
Hoseok turned to you, his expression dark, stormy but worried. Too worried. He might have lost you right here and right now if he didn't decide to check on you.
You swallowed hard, your voice barely above a whisper. "I... I didn't know who he was. I just needed to breathe."
"Did he hurt you? Did he threaten you?" He blurted those questions fast while he scanned your smaller physique for any signs of injuries.
"No, we just talked, I didn't—"
Hoseok stared at you for a long moment before sighing and dragging a hand through his hair.
"You're not leaving my sight again."
You wanted to argue, but the words died on your tongue. The look in his eyes told you there would be no room for negotiation this time. You were not even sure whether you wanted to argue with him. Not after this.
"How come I don't know that Luen's revisited their feud with us?" You ask Hoseok the moment you step into his room. Or yours now. Can't seem to get used to saying that.
Hoseok shut the door behind him with a quiet click, his jaw tightening as he shed down his suit jacket and went to get rid of his dress shirt too.
"You weren't supposed to know," he said finally, his voice quieter now, but no less firm. "Because I handled it." Shirt down, point taken.
You scoffed, crossing your arms as you turned to face him. "Handled it? Right. And that's why that Luen—which disgusting brother was he again— had his hands on me"
His gaze darkened. "Jinsoo—"
Hoseok exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. "The Luens made their first move a few months ago. Small things. Disrupting shipments, trying to flip some of our lower-level guys. I let them play their little games because I didn't think they had the balls to escalate." His eyes flicked to you, sharp and assessing.
"Clearly, I was wrong."
You swallowed, trying to ignore the way his words sent a shiver down your spine.
"Now we have to kill him, Hoseok—" Hoseok's eyes flickered, something unreadable flashing through them before he let out a low, humourless chuckle. You held your ground, ignoring the way your pulse spiked at the weight of his gaze.
"Why? What could you possibly tell him?" He knew you were not a rookie, and that whatever you revealed from now and then to anyone who's not in your inside circle, was an oblique and vague angle of events. This was non-negotiable. This clan did not even allow its members to have a doctor, therapist, lawyer, even fucking plumber outside of the ties this syndicate had.
And suddenly, the room felt smaller, the air tighter, the weight in your chest no longer just from adrenaline.
"Baby?" His sharp eyes flicked back to yours, his fingers still curled loosely under your chin.
"I'm sure it cannot be that bad, you've been taught well—"
Your breath hitched, your fingers tightening around the fabric of your sleeve.
"He might have figured it out—"
Hoseok's entire body went rigid. The silence that followed was deafening.
"Figure out what, love?" You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to meet his gaze. Your pulse pounded, but you refused to look away.
You hesitated for a moment. You should have told him before.
You glanced at your engagement ring that was set under your new addition to your vast jewellery collection thanks to Hoseok— a wedding band. A matching gold one wrapped around his ring finger mocking you now. It was barely a month and half since you tied the knot.
You should have told him that day. Maybe that way he would now fall down to his knees and hug your below and murmur every single word that expressed gratefulness and admiration. This is what he wanted. But you were not sure if this is what you wanted, that’s why you gave yourself time to think how you want to do this. It takes people years to have this but God has chosen you. Or listened to Hoseok’s prayers. You can't seem to undo it now. It would not fly in this family. This was even more permanent than marriage in this clan.
And now, because of this little detail, Luen Jinsoo was as good as dead.
And now, the smile Hoseok flashed you with, told you everything you needed.
Of course he knew.
"I'm pregnant."
I N T E R L O G U E
The ceremony itself was something out of a dream, a carefully curated illusion of romance to mask the reality beneath.
Beneath the glinting chandeliers, the whispered toasts, and the weight of Hoseok's gaze as he slid the ring onto your finger, there was something else. And you were not sure what.
But once you were sitting on the closed lid of toilet in the bridal suite, wedding dress bunched around your thighs, clutching the piece of plastic in your french manicured nails, the room around you was suffocatingly silent, save for the faint echo of music filtering through the heavy doors.
The test in your hand made everything spin, the two pink lines staring back at you with finality. People were trying for months or even years and here God decided to bless you. Or Hoseok.
Too soon, it happened oddly soon. You should have bought another box. You should not get distracted but other things to forget about this. You thought you counted your ovulation correctly, you could have taken ovulation tests to ensure it won't happen. You could have done so many things to avoid this, but here you are with a new life under your heart.
A knock on the door made you jump.
"Baby?" Hoseok's voice was low, muffled through the wood but unmistakably laced with something—concern? Possessiveness? You couldn't tell.
"You okay?"
You swallowed, staring at your reflection in the mirror across from you. What interior designer would bask in your dismay when placing a wall-tall mirror right across the toilet? Your veil was still clipped into your hair, and your makeup was still perfect. But your eyes—your eyes—looked different now. Wiser. More terrified than they had ever been.
Another knock. More insistent this time.
"Y/N." His voice was sharper. "Open the door."
He was scared. Of course he was. Even though there is no way you could vanish, he was scared that you would change your mind, that you would flee the first chance you got. He was not stupid, he knew that you staying by his side was his choice but also yours. He would not underestimate what you can do. After all, you were you.
You exhaled shakily and forced yourself to move, tucking the test under the tissues in the bin like a terrible, wonderful secret, and you straightened the folds of your dress. Your hands trembled as you reached for the door handle and turned it.
Hoseok stood there, still in his wedding suit, tie loosened just enough to reveal the column of his throat. His dark eyes flickered over you, assessing, reading you the way he always did. His fingers twitched at his side like he wanted to reach for you but wasn't sure why you looked so shaken.
"What's wrong?" he asked, stepping closer, his warmth seeping into you. "Talk to me."
You opened your mouth. Hesitated.
"I think the shrimp cocktail was not a good appetizer."
“You spend Yoongi’s birthday week at your beach house, hidden away from the rest of the world and in blissful togetherness. On the morning of his birthday, you wake him with chocolate cake and a promise: The best birthday blowjob he will ever receive.”
Pairing: Yoongi x f.Reader | story can be read as a stand-alone piece
Genre: established relationship!AU, Slice of Life, Smut
Warnings: they’re so cute and in love, bickering is their love language, they’re both weirdos <3, subby brat!Yoongi, service Dom!Reader, lingerie, bondage with a tie, wax play, some sensory play, a little bit of food play with the cake, painplay, cock & ball torture, happiest masochist!Yoongi, body worship, nipple play, biting & marking, oral sex (m.receiving), blowjob, ball stuff, rimjob, anal fingering feat. prostate milking, cum eating, he definitely gets treated well, post orgasm torture, multiple orgasms (m.receiving), female orgasms as well, did i already say biting?, minimal dirty talk, cuddly aftercare
Wordcount: 6.9k | Minors DNI you will be reported & blocked
a/n: Happy Min March to anyone who celebrates 🐱💜 i just love yoongi so much, you besties don't get it he is my boongi :( i hope you can feel the love i have for him through this story <3 have fun my fellow yoonginators and happy birthday to our kitty 🥺🎉 please give this story attention by reblogging & commenting thank you <3
Yoongi shoots up in bed upon being woken up by the sound of a party horn.
You are sitting on his lap with a cake in your hands and a party hat on your head. The committer of the crime, aka the party horn, is stuck between your teeth as you grin at him.
“What the actual fuck is going on?” Yoongi groans and drops back into the pillow, pressing his hands against his eyes.
You spit the party horn to the side.
“Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday to you.”
You sing while Yoongi wishes to go up in flames. He lays completely still, letting the moment wash over him. He knows that it is fruitless to stop you. Once you have your mind set on something, it is almost impossible to change it. Yoongi simply has to accept that you are singing a song in his honour.
“Happy birthday to youuuuu”, you finish, waiting for his reaction expectantly.
“Mhm, beautiful. Totally worth getting woken up for”, he says sarcastically, dropping his hands from his eyes. His gaze is adoring.
“It’s your birthday today.”
“Really? I didn’t figure this out yet.”
“So I woke up really early today and baked you a cake. Blow out the candles before the wax drips.”
“Do I have to?”
“Yes. You old grumpy pants. Blow them out.”
Yoongi sits up with a defeated sigh, placing his hands on your waist. His touch is gentle and loving.
He blows on the candles, lifting his eyes once it’s done.
“Did you make a wish?”
“No.”
“Then do it again.” You re-light them. “Make a wish and then blow them out.”
“You’re so demanding, fucking hell.” Yoongi closes his eyes and thinks of what he could wish for.
What he has with you should last forever, that he can wake up each day knowing he will face it with you, that he will always feel your weight on his lap and that you will never lose your smile.
Yoongi opens his eyes, meeting your gaze.
“I wish that you and I will never stop loving each other”, he says and blows out the candles.
“Yoongi…oh my god, you’re so sweet…”
Yoongi answers you by taking a bite out of the cake.
“You! Hey, what are you doing?” You squeak, moving it away quickly but too late. A chunk the size of his mouth is missing from the cake. Parts of the chocolate covers his lips. He chews proudly, eyes gleaming.
“You are so annoying.”
“Mhm, this is a good cake. More.”
Yoongi chases the cake with an open mouth.
“No. You are totally ruining the cake”, you are laughing, fleeing him as best as possible.
“I can do what I want as the birthday boy.”
“Not this. You are being gross. Eek, Yoongi stop! You’re ruining the cake!”
You roll out of bed, running through the bedroom while Yoongi chases you. Laughter is everlasting. He catches up with you, chomping his teeth as he holds you hostage by your waist.
“Wait! Wait don’t! I’ll drop it! I worked really hard on it!”
Yoongi stops, rubbing your waist. The cake gets put down on the desk.
“You-”
Yoongi twirls you and pushes you against said desk, claiming your lips in a kiss before you can whine. He tastes of chocolate cake, his touch is possessive. No chance to scold him, no more talking. Just kisses. Deep, passionate kisses. The kind only Yoongi can give because once he kisses you, it’s never just half-hearted.
Resisting him is fruitless, giving up is the only way. Somehow you still forget that this man is into you. Really, really into you. And when he shows you, it always ends up surprising you.
His deep purr tickle your lips, his tongue traces them. He feels up your waist and hips, crotch pressed against yours.
If you do not stop this, he might eat you instead of the cake.
“Yoongi.”
He chases you, eyes half-lidded and gaze obsessed. You stop him with a finger on his lips. Yoongi solves the issue by nibbling on said finger, like a dog getting a bone. It is gentle and cute.
“You ruined the cake.”
“I took a small bite out of it. It’s still fine”, he says and bites your hand.
“Did you wake up a biter today? My hand is not consumable.”
“You’re very consumable, actually.”
You scoff in amusement, “really?”
He smiles and nods his head, making you roll your eyes at him which only increases his smile. He lifts you up under your ass, carrying you back to bed.
“You know that you light up my life, don’t you?” he says.
“Oh Yoongi.”
The sun kisses his face, his hair shimmers in shades of dark brown and gold. Like a black cat that seems to glow in the sunlight. He buries you under him, knees on each side of your hips and elbows by your head.
He is not wearing a shirt, skin feeling like heaven under your fingertips. Tracing is body might be one of your favourite things to do. Especially in the morning when he is still toasty from the blanket.
“So you baked a cake this morning”, he talks in a soft voice, resembling a purr. How you love to listen to him.
“Yeah, I got up before sunrise. I was paranoid that you would wake up from the noise the entire time.”
“I didn’t. I slept like a baby.”
“You did. You didn’t notice that I decorated the room?”
“You did?”
Yoongi straightens up, looking around the bedroom while you take the moment to memorise every inch of him. His arms, his chest, his soft tummy and the faint happy trail leading into his briefs. His thighs, his pink knees and his feet tangled in the sheets. His weight on you is familiar, his warmth is raised because of you.
“You decorated”, Yoongi comments, eyes sparkling.
Blue balloons kiss the ceiling and paper garlands decorate the window frames. He looks back at you. Your gaze has softened and yet seems hungrier.
“You didn’t have to.”
“Yes, I did. I love your birthday.”
“I can see that.”
“Do you like it at least a little?”
Yoongi lowers himself and kisses you.
“I love it, my princess. Thank you for everything.”
“But that’s not all. I have more planned.”
“Do you now?”
You put your hands on his butt. Yoongi has to smile because of it, but does nothing to stop you.
“Yeah. You should see the rest of the house and I’ve got presents in the living room.”
He smiles against your cheek, kissing it repeatedly.
“Do you?”
“Yeah. And I thought we could spend the day listening to music and cooking together. I found a few recipes we’ve never tried, we can try them together.”
His favourite activities. Yoongi feels so good.
“I’d love that.”
“And before you leave bed, I wanna give you a birthday blowjob.”
“Huh?” He shoots up, eyes widened. You seem confident. “What?”
“Birthday blowie. You know, you relax and I go like this on your dick”, you say, making very explicit slurping noises.
“Okay, okay stop. I know what a blowjob is”, he stops you, pressing his hand to your mouth.
You wrestle his hand away, holding it instead. You make more noises.
“Stop”, Yoongi whines, covering your mouth with his other hand. Which you obviously tug away again.
“Just in case you didn’t know”, you state.
“Funny.”
“You deserve it, my love.”
“If you think so”, he murmurs, suddenly flustered and totally shy.
You sit up, touching his waist.
“What do you think of my plans?”
“They’re alright.”
“Really? Only alright?”
He rubs his neck shyly. “They sound good.”
“Yeah? Everything?”
He blushes, looking to the side. “I guess.”
“So you’d let me blow you?”
He nods his head.
“Perfect. Then get off me.”
“Wait. We’re doing it now?”
“Yes. No time wasted, baby. Let’s get this cock sucked and those balls gargled”, you say in a fake accent, rubbing your hands together.
“You are not making me excited for it when you talk like this”, he murmurs, climbing off your lap with a pout. He lies down.
You snicker, “I know you want it cowboy. Let me be your throat goat.”
Yoongi sits up again, “actually I changed my mind. Why are you talking like this?”
“Okay, okay I’m stopping. Sorry”, you laugh, climbing his lap.
“Tch, you suck at dirty talk.”
“This wasn’t dirty talk. I tried to relax you by being a weirdo.”
“You weirdo did the opposite, I’m tense.”
One must know that you and Yoongi share a kind of humour some people might consider as rude. It is because you know each other so well that you can walk the fine line between rude and funny. The current conversation is light-hearted, even if some people would not see it as such.
You take off your birthday hat and put it on him instead. He lets you, thinking to himself that you are beautiful in the sunlight.
“My birthday boy should wear the proper attire.”
“It’s pinching my chin.”
You fix the rubber strap, letting it snap him when you let go.
“Hey”, he whines.
“Does it still pinch?” you snicker.
“You’re in a jokester mood today, aren’t you?”
“Maybe. I love your birthday.”
“I’m starting to see that.”
You climb off his lap and the bed. Yoongi rolls to his side, propping his elbow up and resting his head against his hand. This is nice to him, being so intimate and comfortable with you is nice.
You open the black morning rope you are wearing and let the it fall to the floor, holding your breath in anticipation.
The sunlight illuminates you from behind, warming your skin but nothing makes you burn up more than the way Yoongi looks at you. You are wearing one of his favourite sets of lingerie. Black hand-woven lace with a real ruby on the front of your bra. Real silver frames it and matching stocking halters with black stockings complete the look. Yoongi gave it to you as a present “because he felt like it” and he refuses to tell you how much he paid for it.
“I bought this for you”, he says, gaze hungry.
“You did.”
“You wore this before. Milan, then Paris again. One time in summer as well, it was sunny that day.”
“You remember?”
“I remember everything, my love. Come here, let me hold your hand.” He reaches out to you.
You take it, heart racing when he kisses your knuckles. His lips are incredibly soft.
“You’re so fucking beautiful. I don’t deserve you.”
“Yes, you do. Don’t make me say talking like this.”
He hums, “mhm, sorry. You’re right. Mhm, princess”, he kisses your wrist then looks up at you, “let me look at you closer, come here.”
You climb his lap again. Yoongi keeps you from sitting down with his hands on your hips, using the position to litter your stomach and chest with kisses. He outlines the edges of your lingerie with his fingers, eliciting goosebumps on your skin. It feels so good to be touched by him.
“I love this set on you. Fuck, you’re making it look amazing.”
He travels his hands along your sides, following the movements of your body as you sit down on him. They stop on your upper back, fingertips drawing mindless circles. His eyes spill over with adoration.
“You’re so beautiful, my beloved”, he whispers.
“This is your first present.”
“I love it”, he says, smiling at you.
You giggle, stubbing his nose with yours. Yoongi purrs, kissing it. This is going down as his favourite birthday. It cannot get any better than this.
You suddenly put your hands on his chest and push. Yoongi falls with a chuckle, eyes gleaming hungrily when you pin his wrists into the pillow. Perhaps this day is getting even better.
“Now it’s time for your second present.”
“What’s my second present?”
“The blowjob.”
“Oh, so that’s a present too?”
“Obviously.”
“Then do your worst. Let’s see if you can get me hard.”
“You’re joking right?”
He smirks.
“Oh I see. You’re being a brat.”
“Never.”
You laugh and tug the birthday hat down over his eyes. Yoongi laughs, wriggling his wrists free to fix it but you push them back down.
“Leave it.”
“I can’t see.”
“I know. You already saw me.”
“It wasn’t enough.”
“Yeah, it was.”
He laughs, writhing under you. This kind of bickering makes his stomach flutter.
“Now stay.”
“Mhm.”
You leave his lap and roll out of bed. Yoongi enjoys the moment, listening to your steps and your busy shuffling. You return soon, climbing his lap and kissing his chest. Yoongi arches into it, purring in contentment. He likes being touched by you.
“I’m back.”
“You are.”
“I think you’re wearing too much.”
“Take it off then”, he allows you, having his eyes closed even with the hat darkening his vision. It just feels better like this.
With his consent, you wrestle his briefs off and throw them on the floor. Your hands feel up his legs, eyes focused on his dick. So tempting and sexy. You cannot wait to taste him.
“You already have a semi, just saying”, you say, kneading his thighs.
“Your eyes aren’t working right.”
You snicker, “you’re such a bad liar.”
“Mhhm.”
“This is gonna be easier than I thought.”
“You wish.”
Yoongi has to be the most adorable brat ever. He loves to pretend as if he wasn’t easy to turn on when in reality he gets hard so easily, and he knows that he does. It still doesn’t stop him from lying. It’s adorable because even with the most raging hard-on, he will still insist that he is not hard.
You kiss his neck. Right on his favourite spot, listening to the blissed sigh he lets out against his will. One kiss. Two. Three. You tug on his earlobe and whisper sweet words against his ear.
“You’re an adorable brat.”
“If you say so.”
“Mhm, I do.” You kiss his cheek, then straighten up. “Can I tell you what I have planned for you?”
“Not today. Just surprise me. I trust you.”
Hearing something like this from Yoongi is a huge deal. He loves discussing the sex before it happens, so having him give up control to such an extent – blindfolded on top of it – just shows how safe he feels with you.
“Alright, then I’ll surprise you. Your safeword is snowdrop. Like always.”
“I won’t need it.”
“You are a sweet talker and a sweet talker should get some cake”, you say, stubbing his nose.
“Okay”, Yoongi says and opens his mouth, ready and willing. Again, he is so adorable.
You use a fork to feed him, eating a bite yourself afterwards. He chews, humming in contentment. With his vision denied and his other senses heightened, the cake tastes even sweeter. He can really taste how much effort and love you put into it, cherishing every single second.
“More?”
“Yeah.”
The second bite is just as delicious. You adore his sense of touch right with it as you dance your fingertips along his chest. Goosebumps cover his skin, his nipples flush and harden. You don’t touch them just yet, working up anticipation.
“Another?”
“Yeah.”
You set the fork on the bedside table next to the cake after feeding him and pick up two of the candles. You light them, letting them melt over his chest while he is still busy with chewing.
The first droplet of hot wax drips on his skin, forcing him to flinch and grunt. The second candle follows, eliciting another flinch from him. He gulps the cake down, gasping for air.
“What was that?”
“Candles.”
“It’s-” Two droplets hit his skin, sending shivers through his body. “Fuck, it’s hot.”
“Too hot?”
“No, keep going.”
“I will.”
The candles aren’t the biggest and the wax is probably not the hottest, but the sensation is still intense. Because you are using two candles, they melt at different times and therefore drip on him differently as well. He cannot figure out a pattern, anticipating each new sting with a fluttering tummy.
You concentrate your attention on his chest for now, painting circles around his nipples. You can count four droplets by now, the fifth hits his skin right this instant. Yoongi purrs, fingers twitching on the pillow.
Pink and blue. You did not choose these candles specifically but it looks pretty now that you are thinking about it. Blue because it is his favourite colour, it covers his right pec. Pink because everything feels pink and pretty when you are together, it covers his left pec. You let the candles meet in the middle, covering his sternum with a bigger spot of wax.
“Ahm…”
Having Yoongi make sounds is a big deal. He is very silent when he receives, so getting him to be vocal means he is genuinely enjoying this a lot. Of course he does, he is a masochist at heart.
Perhaps it is time for his nipples. First his right, then his left.
“Fuck, a-ah”, Yoongi tenses his thighs, hands closing to fists.
“Intense?”
“Yeah. Fuck, you’re amazing.”
“You’ve got the prettiest nipples”, you say, placing the candles aside for now so you can massage them while the wax is still warm. The pain should turn from stinging to pleasurable.
The touch goes straight to his cock, leaving warmth in his tummy and tingles in his legs. Yoongi has to touch you, purring your name as he does. His hands run along your arms, rubbing them up and down. Every now and then, they stop and squeeze.
Yoongi communicates through touch and right now he is telling you that you feel like fucking heaven. Your stomach tingles like crazy, knowing you can make him feel good.
You kiss his collarbones, then his neck, fingers still working his nipples. A bite seals the deal. Yoongi loves getting bitten. It might very well be his kryptonite.
He curses, hugging you so he can pull himself closer. You dig your teeth deeper, increasing the pain and therefore his bliss.
“Princess”, he sighs, sucking on your shoulder. It’s wet and needy. You release his neck, the relief of it is warm and tingly. Yoongi cradles the back of your head, trailing sloppy kisses from your shoulder to your lips.
Denying him feels cruel but necessary. The party hat is on his forehead. Funny, but not where it is supposed to be. You take it off, kissing him afterwards now that you have space. Yoongi purrs, sinking back into the pillow. His neck pulsates and hurts where you bit him, his nipples are burning and his chest is still sensitive.
It cannot get any better than this and still, you make it even better by dragging your nails down his skin. Dull pain joins the mix. Yoongi thrusts against nothing.
“More”, he begs, breaking the kiss just to mouth at your chin and jaw.
“So about you not getting hard easily?”
“I never said that.”
“You are such a liar, oh my god”, you laugh, smooching him once before you sit up, trailing your gaze down his body. He is blushing all over, tummy heaving up and down quickly and flushed cock standing ready against his dark pubes. How pretty.
You search for his eyes, meeting them. His gaze is confident and anticipating. He is feeling himself. It turns you on so much.
“I wanna make you feel so good. Fuck, Yoongi”, you get out and bury your face in his thighs. You leave open-mouthed kisses on his skin, following them up with hickeys and rough bites.
Yoongi is gasping for air, legs parting on their own as you mark them. He swears that they are currently rubber. His thighs are so sensitive and you are biting them. This is insane.
“___”, he croaks, reaching down to touch his cock. It hurts too much not to.
“Ah!” You slap his hand away. “What are you doing?”
“Is not cool, let me touch”, he mumbles, pouting. He reaches for himself again only to be stopped by you gripping his wrists and pinning them by his head. You are towering over him, taking up his entire vision and his heart in the process. He hates that you are just hovering over his cock, wishing for nothing more than your weight on it.
“No touching”, you scold him.
He wiggles, chest tingling when you apply more strength to keep him down. His bratty heart is so happy with you.
“Do I have to tie you up? Mhm?”
“You don’t have it in you.”
You scoff, eyes widening in shock. “I see.” You tongue your cheek, gaze darkening. Yoongi feels butterflies in his tummy because of it.
You let go of his wrists and climb out of bed, scurrying to the dresser for one of his ties.
You and Yoongi keep some clothes at the beach house. Formal attire is part of said emergency wardrobe and Yoongi’s black tie has definitely come in handy many times. Mostly during sex though.
You climb his lap with the tie between your teeth so you have both hands for grabbing his wrists. Yoongi is mesmerised, letting you work his arms into position while he stares at your breasts. He feels no remorse for his gawking, thinking about all the ways he will make you feel good later. He will definitely fuck you against the kitchen counter. This lingerie set is doing it to him so bad.
You fold his hands so they are interlocked then take the tie out of your mouth to use it. Three wrap-arounds and a tight knot. Yoongi hisses, squeezing his own hands. You are definitely making him feel it. The pressure around his wrists is intense.
“Stop whining.”
“You’re being rough.”
“Obviously. You like it.”
He has nothing witty to say to that so he simply purrs and eye fucks you passionately.
“So. This should prevent you from acting up” you say and tug his tied up hands into his vision. Yoongi opens his folded hands, wiggling his fingers.
“You’re mean.”
“I know. It gets your dick hard.”
He chuckles, following it up with a groan when you drop his hands on his chest. Not too high but the impact still lingers for a second before you replace it with new sensations. Licks and bites down his tummy, closer and closer to his aching cock.
Almost there. He can practically feel your lips on him. Almost. Yes. Now.
You swerve past his cock, sucking on his right thigh instead. Yoongi hurts. The last time he got head was two months ago. It wasn’t your doing, but simply Yoongi’s own fault. He never asks for it and when you insinuated, he mostly stirred the scene into him giving pleasure instead.
It’s been so long and being denied right now, shows him how fucking needy this can actually get a person. He wants to reach down there and touch himself.
“Is somebody impatient?” you ask in a fond chuckle and Yoongi has to realise that he did indeed reach down there, fingers buried in your hair.
“It’s been two months.”
“And whose fault was that?”
Yoongi pouts. You laugh and kiss his thigh, before parting his legs. Yoongi lets you, just as he lets you put them over your shoulders and hold them tight. The path you kiss down his left thighs feels endless to him and soon takes on a turn he did not expect. Past his cock, just brushing his balls and settling on his rim. You lift his hips a little, forcing him to lose his footing with the mattress. His toes curl as his feet fling into the air, a throaty moan slips past his lips.
You purr, nose buried in his balls and tongue outlining his hole. He smells so good. Clean, masculine and with a hint of sandalwood. If it was possible, you would bottle his scent and use it as your own personal drug. Combined with his taste, this is heaven.
“I don’t- I- ahmmmm”, Yoongi puts his tied-up hands against his forehead, eyes squeezing shut. His stomach is tensing, warmth spreads from his hole. You are grinding the flat of your tongue against it, nose stimulating his balls. Two of his most sensitive spots are getting attention. And, fuck, it feels good.
His legs are restless. It’s cute because it’s only really been a minute. Greedy, you drag your tongue from his hole over his rim until you land on his balls. They are soft and tense under your licks. You massage the spot next to them with your thumbs, increasing the pleasure and his restlessness.
“So perfect. Every inch of you is perfect”, you praise, sucking the incredibly tender area between your lips. You suck and suck and suck until Yoongi cannot help but mewl. Only then, do you release him, repeating the gentle torture on the other side.
“Please”, he croaks, hands falling to your head again.
“Do you want to stop?” You are taunting him.
“No. Suck my cock, please.”
“Mhhmm my love”, you purr, nuzzling your nose against his balls and kissing them hungrily, “hearing something like this from you feels like ecstasy. Mhhhm.”
Entirely blissed out and droopy, you kiss your way up to his tip, loving and adoring every inch of his shaft. You hold him in your right hand, using your left to massage his balls.
“I missed your cock.” You kiss his frenulum. “Missed him so much.” You kiss his tip. “Next time, don’t wait two months”, you finally sink him between your lips.
Yoongi releases all of the built-up tension in a shudder and throaty moan, hands slipping from your head to lie on his stomach, twitching and tensing. So warm. So fucking warm. He forgot how warm your mouth is. It’s like he has never been inside your mouth before and experiences actual heaven for the very first time.
Your tongue is soft and wet, your lips are applying gentle pressure, your teeth grace him every now and then which Yoongi absolutely loves. Everything about this is perfect. Why did he deny himself for two months? Why did he do that?
You slip off him, against his wish, littering his wet tip with kisses and kitten licks. The stimulation like this is precise and more intense. It’s like you are tracing him with your fingertips, pleasuring his most sensitive spots. Yoongi squeezes your head with his legs, exhaling shakily when you part them again.
Your chuckle tickles him, your lips touch him when you speak.
“You taste so good. Fuck, my love”, you purr, lapping up his pleasure which he just cannot stop leaking. You squeeze him right under his tip, which only makes him leak more.
This is so amazing. Yoongi throws his hands over his eyes only to remember they are tied up. So he lets his right arm plop over his eyes, which doesn’t really work and he ends up with only one eye covered and his hands hitting the headboard.
“You okay?”
“Hit my hands. It’s fine.”
“Do you want to be free?”
“No. Please suck my cock, please.”
“I fucking love this side of you, my prince”, you growl, fulfilling his wish gladly. You take his cock back inside and relax your jaw so you can bop your head up and down safely.
“Fuck. ___, ah aha a-ah”, Yoongi moans and gasps sharply, gripping the edge of the headboard.
The view is sex in itself. Yoongi’s dark hair is messy covering his eyes, his cheeks are flushed and whenever he takes a deep breath his abs come out and tense. Fuck, his arms are flexing so much in this position and to make it even better, every now and then he nuzzles his face against his right arm to suck on his own skin.
You swear that you tear up at the view. Or maybe it’s because his dick keeps hitting the back of your throat. It’s intense but once you get cock-hungry, you can’t think of anything other than eating cock as sloppily as possible. You want it deep, moaning around him as you push it just a little deeper each time.
You jerk off what you can’t fit, squeezing his balls. Your throat won’t last long in this rhythm, but this isn’t the point anyway. A mixture of gentle and rough, of slow and fast is what makes this as good as it does. You want him aching for more, only to beg for less once he realises how overwhelming More actually is.
Spit runs down his veiny shaft and makes jerking him off easy. Your lips hit your fingers every now and then, his taste coats the inside of your mouth. Yoongi’s legs slip from your shoulders but stay open, toes bunching up the sheets underneath them. He bucks his hips against his will, voice pitching as he gets just a little sloppy with it.
You push his hips down, dominating over him even with your differences in strengths. He mewls and purrs, writhing on the sheets and biting his own arm. His brows are furrowed, his nose is scrunched. Not getting to fuck your face is edging him. He wouldn’t verbalise it, but his body is talking to you.
You make it up for him by slipping your right thumb to his rim to massage it. You slow down with your mouth, now focusing on sucking rather than throat-fucking.
It elicits all new kinds of noises from him like whined mewls and sharp inhales through his teeth, followed by shaky exhales. Yoongi rolls his head to the other side, sucking and licking his own arm just to make it easier to bear.
Not receiving for two months and then getting sucked off like this is unbearably pleasurable.
It’s rhythmic. It’s intense. Your lips move and grind along his shaft. Your tongue is stiff and stimulates his frenulum constantly. And you suck which forms a bubble of warm pressure around his tip, making him want to fucking burst.
Yoongi acts before he can think. In his blissed out, soul-getting-sucked-out-of-his-dick-state, he reaches for your hair and rips the tie in the process.
His accidental crime is loud, stopping the scene for a moment when you shoot up in shock. Your fingers are frozen on his cock, thumb against his hole unmoving. Yoongi is frozen as well, foggy eyes glued to the tattered remnants of his tie.
“Did you just rip it?”
“I didn’t mean to.”
He is honest. His surprise is genuine. You lessen the tension with a chuckle, sitting up to take his hands and peel off the ruined fabric. You kiss his wrists.
“Did you hurt yourself?”
“No. I didn’t feel it rip. I’m sorry.”
“It’s alright. That’s hot. Guess you just have to behave on your own from now on.” You meet his eyes. “I wanna put my fingers inside you, so you have to be good.”
He exhales shakily, sinking into a cozy and warm yet incredibly needy state. He feels himself nod his head, excitement growing in his stomach.
“Perfect. Now remember: behave or else.”
“Okay.”
“How long has it been? Two months again?” you ask, preparing your fingers for him with a healthy, perhaps even a little excessive, amount of lube. You don’t want it to hurt.
“I’ve been in a giving mood lately. I can’t help it”, Yoongi is pouting, eyes focused on your hands. They look so sexy when they are wet and messy.
“You’re almost always in a giving mood.”
“I’m sorry.”
“No, hey. I’m not attacking you, just teasing because you’re gonna be sensitive.”
“I know.”
“There is nothing wrong with you wanting to give, okay?”
“Yeah, okay.”
“But now that you’re letting me take care of you, are you excited, kitten?” You purr, eye fucking him as you kiss your way down his thigh. You wrap your left hand around his cock again, spreading the lube in up and down motions.
Yoongi feels like puddy when it comes to you. He wants to focus on the thigh kisses, on your handjob, on your fingers massaging his rim but he can’t decide on which thing because everything just feels so good.
“Mhm, my love? Are you excited?”
“Yeah”, he breathes, searching for your hand on his cock. He finds it just in time for your finger to sink into him. The stretch is familiar, making him feel whole and very hot.
“Fuck”, he groans, squeezing your hand. It doesn’t embarrass him how easy it was for you to breach him, solely because you make it feel so fucking good. “More fingers. More, please.”
As a matter of fact, he begs for more and when you fulfill his wish by slipping both your middle and ring finger inside, Yoongi swears he sees the creation of the universe for a second.
He moans loudly, pulling his left leg up and hugging it against his chest. He will never ever wait two months again. Holy fuck, he missed out on so much.
With a thumping heart, you take his cock back into your mouth, only adding to the growing pleasure he experiences. You do not pump your fingers in and out, no, you know exactly where you want them. You flip your hand and curl your fingers, pressing the pads of them against his prostate. His walls clench around you, his cock leaks onto your tongue. He tastes like lube but you will clean him of it thoroughly.
“Holy fuck.”
Yoongi sometimes forgets how easy pleasuring him comes to you until you remind him.
“Holy fuck. Holy fuck.”
Your moan tickles his cock. Yoongi doesn’t know whether the pleasure comes from his tip or his prostate. It’s everywhere, spreading down his legs and up his torso. He slams his leg back into the mattress, feeling restless. He has to do something. Maybe grab his own pecs and pinch his nipples. The view of it makes you moan again and forces your fingers to part just slightly so his hole experiences a stretch while you milk him.
“Please don’t stop, please.”
You couldn’t even if you wanted to. Yoongi is your drug. The very thing you currently need to survive. His juices are making your senses hazy and give you an unbearable, insatiable feeling of hunger. His throbbing hole is so eager for your fingers, pulling you in as if he missed you. You need to suck him dry. You need to have all of him.
“You’re making me cum, you’re really making me cum. Really. Is…really…___ you’re making me cum”, he whines, stomach convulsing repeatedly as you send him straight to heaven.
Denying him comes to your mind for a second, tempting you but you have him riding on such a wave of pleasure right now which will be difficult to replicate it. You would hate to ruin this for him. You are going to keep sucking him, keep jerking him and keep massaging his prostate just so you can torture him afterwards. That’s a good plan. Such a good plan, making you purr around him.
“You have to stop or else I’ll cum in - ah - your mouth”, he warns, tapping your head repeatedly. You give him your answer by leading his hands back to his nipples while you continue to fuck him senseless.
“Really?”
“Mh-hm.”
“Oh.”
Yoongi grows silent, which means this is going to be intense for him. He takes one big breath and holds it, hands stilling on his nipples and stomach curling into itself while his hips slowly move upwards.
They twitch once when it hits him before his body begins to shake on its own and the breath he held leaves him in ecstatic mewls.
You suck him through it, massaging his throbbing prostate because he deserves to feel eternal. His taste is amazing. You cannot stop gulping him down like a starved animal finally getting food.
Seven times you let him thrust his hips, seven times it takes him to empty everything and then it should stop.
Should.
You move your fingers out of their stiff position, pumping them in and out his tight hole. Your grip around his cock is possessive, keeping him right where you need him to be.
You bite his tip, dragging your teeth up on it and applying enough pressure that it hurts.
Yoongi mewls your name, hips fleeing the torture even if there is no escape. You keep fucking his hole, keep biting him and squeezing his overstimulated cock. This is the most amazing torture Yoongi has ever experienced.
You do that so many times. Soft mouth followed by intense pain as you drag your teeth up his tip. And all of this after the orgasm he just had.
Yoongi knows that he hasn’t arched his back in a very long time, but fuck, he has to arch it right now. He doesn’t know whether he wants you to stop or to keep going. It hurts, but he loves pain so much which makes it amazing. He feels conflicted and tortured and ecstatic and fucking good. So good.
Pain feels so good when you are its creator.
“I feel dizzy.”
You do it another time, licking up every single droplet of his sweet, post-orgasmic spill.
“I-I feel really dizzy.”
You curl your fingers when you are knuckle deep inside him and you spread them when you pull out. Being stretched from the inside out is a different kind of intense.
“I can’t see”, he whimpers, feeling like passing out. He hopes that you don’t stop.
You won’t stop. You know that he still has one more for you. Yoongi is never satisfied with only one. He is a fucking glutton for pleasure once you get him there.
You know that he still has more to offer, you just need to hit the right spot.
You let go of his shaft and take his balls to squeeze them.
Yoongi wails and arches his back even harder.
“I’m cumming!”
There he is. That did the trick and fuck, is it messy. You can’t keep everything in your mouth, resulting in his pleasure to spill down his cock and balls.
You have never heard him say your name as many times in a row as he does right now. It’s like your syllables are his own personal prayer and fuck, does it make you feel good. So fucking good that you feel yourself come undone just by squeezing your thighs together and enjoying his orgasm with him.
Yoongi grows limp after his orgasm, fighting for air he dearly needs. This was it. He is spend (for the next hour at least). And you know that he is, taking care of him with soft licks and kisses. You got him messy and you need to clean him, doing so while you recover from your own high. This was intense.
You lick his rim as you pull your fingers out. He is clean anyway so you don’t worry. Yoongi purrs, reaching down to stroke the back of your head. You look up. His eyes are still closed and he looks completely wrecked, but fuck, does he seem happy. His body is covered in a thin layer of sweat, the wax once covering is chest is speckled all over it in ruined pieces.
“Yoongi, my love”, you get out, feeling the incessant need to hold him. You kiss a path up his torso until you reach his lips. You and he lose yourself in slow, exhausted kisses, limbs tangling together and bodies melting with each other. You end up on your sides, having to break the kiss for some air.
He smiles, rubbing his nose against your face like a cuddly cat.
“I’m happy”, he whispers.
“I’m happy too.”
“Mhm, your breath smells like me.” He snickers and presses his nose into your cheek. “I can’t believe you just did that.”
“I felt in trance, no joke.” You exhale into your own palm. “Does my breath stink?”
“No. Just smells like my cum. Ah, so embarrassing that you had to swallow”, he whines, covering his eyes, “I’m sorry. I hope it wasn’t too bad for you.”
“Yoongi, what? You taste amazing, are you serious? I loved it.”
“Really?”
“Yes. Really. I love your taste.”
He snickers again, pulling you closer. He is so cuddly and clingy, which he only gets when you really made his soul leave his body with his orgasm.
“Do you want me to return the favour?” he still can’t help but offer because this is just who he is.
“I actually came with you.”
“Huh? Really?” he gasps, head shooting up to gawk at you.
You snicker, booping his nose, “you’re not the only one who cums from giving head just saying.”
“Oh. Okay.” He blushes and hides away in your chest, nuzzling his face between your breasts.
“You’re adorable”, you say, hugging him with all your limbs around him. “I’m never letting you go again.”
“Good.” He hugs you back. “Me neither.”
“Except for breakfast and for when you open your presents. I hope you’ll like them.”
“I will, my princess.”
“God, Yoongi I can’t believe that today’s your birthday. Mhhm I’m so happy”, you say and squeeze him tightly.
Yoongi can’t help but chuckle, patting your butt. He is happy too. Really fucking happy.
you’ve tried to separate yourself from your infamous crime family, but a new case has your carefully-constructed world crashing down around you. now you have to figure out how to heal old wounds and handle the new man who enters your orbit.
Summary: Your life was boring in your small rinky-dink town. Nothing ever happened to you. That is until your grandma decides to go on a month-long cruise, leaving you in charge of her B&B. Now suddenly, you're faced with something strange. Feelings for your recently divorced friend. Will you be able to survive this Christmas?
Pairing: Handyman Yoongi x F. Reader
Genere: Romance, Smut, Low Angst
Warnings: Explicit Sex, Unprotected Sex, Mentions of Cheating (Not Yoongi). Drinking. Mentions of Blood. Mentions of Vomit. Swearing. Jokes about Anal Sex.
A/N: Had to break this up into two parts. I'm not happy about it but it is what it is.
If you celebrate, Merry Christmas. I hope you have a wonderful holiday. 🎄🎁🎅
The heater clicks …. and clicks …. and nothing.
Your eyes go to the thermostat on the wall and see the current temperature was sitting at a pretty chilly 62 degrees. It's already fallen two degrees since you started tinkering around with the damn thing on the wall. Rubbing your hands together, you needed to do something fast. Your guests were going to be up soon for breakfast.
It had only been one day since your grandmother left for her once-in-a-lifetime Christmas cruise. One day and already something was going wrong.
While you have been working at Willow Grove since your teen years and have been pretty much running in it on your own since you moved back to town after college. This was the first major mishap you've had to deal with on your own.
This wouldn't have happened if your grandmother had stayed. Nothing seemed to go wrong when she was around. No, the old Victorian home with seven bedrooms waited until she left to break down on you. Testing you. To see if you were capable of taking care of your grandparents' pride and joy.
You thought you had been doing a good job since your grandfather passed away some years ago. You started helping your grandmother run the business end and eventually took over the day-to-day operations well. Your days were busy with cooking breakfast for the guests; laundry and cleaning never seemed to end. However, as your grandmother was getting older. Someone needed to step up and step in to help. She couldn't deal with everything on her own anymore. You dealt with everything that you could.
Now, you had to deal with a broken furnace.
Maybe you should go to the basement and try to kick it. Maybe that will get it going again.
“What's going on?” Yoongi, your friend and your grandmother's on-call 24/7 handyman, asks as he hurries into the house.
“Listen,” you say and turn the thermostat off and on again for him to hear the clicks. “That's all it's been doing. The temperature is dropping quickly in here, Yoongi. I'm going to freeze my guests out of here,” you say, sounding panicked.
“Calm down,” he says, placing his hands on your shoulders. “I'll get it figured out. If anyone complains. Just knock a little bit off their stay.”
“Okay,” you nod. “I can do that.”
“I'll be back,” he practically runs for the basement door, where his footsteps thump downstairs.
Looking at your watch, you silently curse when you see that it's time to get breakfast started for the sleeping guests upstairs. Walking to the kitchen, you quickly turn on the oven to preheat and grab the ingredients for the homemade muffins. You might not be able to help them with the freezing problem, but at least you can feed them, and maybe cooking extra bacon will keep them happy.
“Why is it cold in here?” Taehyung, your best friend asks as he lets himself in the kitchen door.
“The furnace isn't working,” you huff.
“Do you want me to look at it?” He asks with a smile, and you look at him with a raised eyebrow. “What?”
“I don't want to blow up,” you laugh.
“I might be able to figure it out,” he tells you, sounding offended.
“Yoongi is on it,” you inform him. “But, if you want to help me. Grab me my big griddle for the bacon and sausage.”
Tae does what you ask without question as he stays near you on standby, waiting for his next instruction.
“If you want, I can help you around here while Grandma Bea is away,” he suggests.
“Tae, thank you, but you are literally one of four post office workers,” you laugh and dump your ingredients into a bowl. “They kind of need you more than me. I got this. I need to prove to grandma that I can do this and handle any issue on my own.”
“I can go set up your food warming thing,” he offers. “I've done it before.”
“Thank you,” you murmur distractedly as you whisk the muffin ingredients together.
Placing the bowl down, you reach for the muffin tin sitting on top of the refrigerator just out of your reach. Looking around, you didn't see your step stool anywhere. Sighing, you open the refrigerator door and stand up on the bottom ledge, trying to reach up and grab it.
“It started,” Yoongi tells you as he comes into the kitchen. “Your gas valve was clogged. I'll make sure to routinely clean it. What are you doing?”
“I'm getting my muffin tin,” you tell him, going up on your tippy toes.
“Do you want help?” He asks.
“Nope,” you say, as you try to reach higher, but it is still out of reach. “I'm an independent woman. I can do this on my own.”
“Well, Ms. Independent,” he says and grabs you around the waist, lifting you and moving you away from the refrigerator, making you squeal in shock. “Let's not knock the fridge down, okay?”
“I had it,” you tell him.
“Sure you did.” He closes the door and grabs the metal pan for you.
“Thanks,” you say, taking the pan from him.
“No problem. I won't charge you for that one,” he smirks.
“How kind of you,” you roll your eyes at him and clean the pan. “Have you eaten yet?”
“Nope, I was going to actually sleep in today. Until a panicked phone call woke me up,” he teases.
“Sorry, I'll just figure it out on my own next time,” you tell him as you pour the muffin batter into the newly cleaned pan. “Or just call one of those numbers that are posted on the telephone poles for a handyman.”
“And get scammed by an uninsured and probably unlicensed dude,” he nods. “Try it. I'll charge you double to fix his mess.”
“You know,” you comment, placing the muffins in the oven and shutting the door. “I was going to make you a nice fresh breakfast, but you can go now.”
Yoongi smirks again, pulling out a chair and plopping down at the kitchen table. Pursing your lips, you stare at him and walk over to where he sits. You glare down at him, which only seems to humor him as he smiles back at you. Grabbing his arm, you tug at him, but he doesn't budge.
“I like my bacon crispy,” he tells you.
Fully wrapping your arms around him, you pull and actually get the chair to move. Laughing, Yoongi grabs the table, not only stabilizing himself. He also completely stops you from moving him.
“Ummm,” Tae says, walking back into the kitchen, clearly confused by the scene before him. “I have everything set up. Do I need to give you all some privacy?”
“Thanks, Tae,” you smile at your best friend. “You're the best.”
“He's the best?” Yoongi asks, staring at you in shock. “I fixed your furnace. You and your precious guests won't freeze now.”
“Do you want me to bow at your feet?” You joke.
“I would love that,” he says.
“So, Yoongs,” Tae clears his throat. “How was your date the other night?”
“You had a date?” You ask Yoongi. “Why didn't I know about this?”
“It was just dinner, and it was fine,” he says, his teasing, lighthearted tone suddenly changing.
“I set him up with a woman from my online photography club,” Tae says with a smile.
“Is she pretty?” You lean over Yoongi's shoulder, making him glare at you. “Where did you take her?”
“Dinner,” Yoongi answers, not looking at anyone.
“Moose Tavern,” Tae elaborates.
“Ah,” you say, standing up straight and walk to the fridge to grab the bacon. “The fancy and romantic Moose Tavern. I got drunk there once or twice before and fell off the back deck into some bushes. Although, I still say Jimin or Kook pushed me. Good times. What did you order? I love the cheese curds, but you have to order the house sauce for them.”
“Saw that happen,” Yoongi comments, finally looking up at you. “You fell by yourself, and I had the chicken. It was dry.”
“Are you going to ask her out again?” Tae asks him.
“No,” Yoongi shakes his head, and your best friend practically scowls at him. “She was nice, I guess, but I just wasn't interested. I didn't even want to go out with her.”
“Yoongi, your divorce was finalized seven months ago,” Tae tells him. “It's time for you to move on. When a beautiful woman lands in your lap. Take the chance, or you'll miss out.”
“Can we use a different saying than that?” You comment, throwing the bacon on the griddle along with the sausage.
“You set me up without asking me,” Yoongi defends himself. “It was the day of. I didn't have much of a choice.”
“Kim Taehyung, you can't do that,” you tell him.
“All I'm trying to do,” Tae starts, but you whip around and slap him on the arm.
“Stop,” you tell him. “I need to finish breakfast for the guests and … Yoongi has a few projects he needs to do around here. I'll see you later, okay?”
“Okay,” he concedes. “I'll see you guys later.”
Tae walks out the door, leaving you and Yoongi alone in the kitchen once more. Looking over your shoulder at him, he seems deep in thought as his fingers tap against the wood of the table.
“He was wrong for that,” you tell him.
“He's not the only one that's been on me about needing to date,” he admits.
“I would say that they were doing it out of love. However, that would be really annoying if they were doing that to me,” you say, and he nods.
“I should go,” he says softly.
“Not until you have something to eat,” you tell him. “Did you want anything other than bacon?” He shakes his head. “Okay, crispy bacon coming right up.”
You lied, of course.
Yoongi didn't have any other projects around the bed and breakfast that day. In fact, it was pretty quiet for the rest of the day. You had two guests check out and one check in. You were able to go about your normal routine of laundry, dishes, and cleaning the dirty rooms. It was actually much smoother than you expected with how the start of the day went.
Throwing your hair up in a messy bun, you grab a box of Christmas decorations that you had stored in the closet of your bedroom. That was one small complaint you had about living here with your grandmother.
Living in the attic wasn't ideal, but it was better than nothing. It was cold in the winter, and you had to share it with storage space, but it was your little getaway. It was better than living with your parents or commuting here from one of the two overly expensive bustling cities that your little rinky-dink town was situated between.
You had no complaints.
This was your home.
Opening the box, you pull out some faux garland and a bag of ornaments that you use every year to decorate with. You love the classic Christmas look. Red, gold, and green bulbs would dangle from the large tree in the living room, accented with pinecones and holly berries. Nutcrackers lined the fireplace in neat little rows underneath a large wreath with a perfectly tied bow.
You loved to make it look cozy for Christmas.
A perfect nostalgic Christmas.
Smiling, you reach in again and grab a candy cane striped photo frame that you had glued little plastic gingerbread men to. It was a picture of your little friend group back in your senior year of high school. Your last Christmas before some of you went off to college while some of you stayed home and went to work.
Your grandma took the picture right in this very room. Right in front of the same tree you will put up in a few days. You laugh when you look at it now. Jungkook was behind Jin, giving the teen boy bunny ears. Jimin was in the very back, throwing his arms out dramatically, making sure he was being seen. Joon was down in front, ducking down the best he could so he wouldn't block anyone. You were squished between Hobi and Tae, smiling widely, and Yoongi had his arms around Arden, looking as happy as could be.
Yeah, you should probably get rid of that photo.
You and Tae have been best friends since you were in diapers. Thick as thieves the two of you were, but of course over time. You eventually became friends with the others throughout the years, and although you knew Joon and Yoongi your whole life. It wasn't until junior year in high school that you actually became friends with them.
Maybe it was Joon's fault.
Maybe it was yours.
But you clearly remember standing in the gym playing the clarinet during an assembly saying goodbye to the graduating senior class. Afterward, your friend who played the flute. Playfully, she swung her instrument at you, causing you to duck out of the way. Unfortunately for you, Joon was turning at the same time. Your forehead collided with his saxophone, knocking you to the ground.
Embarrassed, you lay there waiting for the ground to open up and swallow you whole as you bled from a small cut on the forehead. When suddenly, Arden's pretty face popped over you. She instructed her boyfriend, Yoongi, to help you to the nurses' office while Joon apologized profusely. Yoongi called you both idiots.
The group was complete that day.
You feel bad for Yoongi now. It had to be hard to move on from a relationship you had since you were a teenager. He and Arden were high school sweethearts. Each other's first loves. The golden couple of your little friend group.
You weren't surprised; while you were away at college, one day you received a wedding invitation. With Tae as your date, you attended Yoongi and Arden's wedding in her parents' backyard. It was a beautiful wedding. You remember thinking how lucky she was to have someone look at her the way Yoongi looked at her. The way his eyes sparkled when he looked at her. The way he smiled at her.
They seemed to have the perfect life together. The older women in town would coo at them. Often comparing the two of them to their own relationships with their husbands, who had passed by then.
They were sickly sweet.
No one suspected that anything was wrong. Even when you moved back home after college, everything seemed normal. Yoongi and Arden seemed still very much in love as they had been in high school. It wasn't until your weekly dinner at Jin's that it all fell apart.
Yoongi and Arden didn't show up that night. They weren't answering their phones, and everyone was growing worried. Jimin was volunteered by Joon to go over and check on them. The night had continued on tensely now that you were down three people and were anxiously awaiting news. It took three hours for Jimin to show back up looking like he saw a ghost.
She had cheated on him.
Arden had met some guy at the vet's office where she was working the front desk. She had tried to justify herself to you. Defending her actions by saying that she shouldn't have gotten married so young. That she should have been able to go off to college and experience life like you had.
You almost punched her when she tried to blame Yoongi for not wanting to leave town. For wanting to settle down into a boring life just like all your families had. You had yelled at her and told her that she didn't have to say yes to his proposal. She had no one to blame but herself.
She started crying.
You walked away.
You didn't talk to her again.
Flipping the picture frame over, you press in the little metal tabs holding the back in place and remove the picture from the frame. Taking a look at the glossy memory once more, you open the top drawer in your desk and toss it carelessly in there amongst the rest of your mess.
“Hi,” Tae says, entering through the front door this time.
“Hi,” you say, walking around to the front of your desk, garland in hand. “Shouldn't you be at work?”
“I finished my route early,” he informs you. “Do you need any help?”
“Why are you wanting to help all of a sudden?” You question. “And why are you setting Yoongi up on blind dates without telling him first?”
“I just want him to be happy and move on,” he explains. “He's not going to find someone when all he does is work and go home.”
“I don't think Yoongi needs help finding someone,” you laugh and attach your garland to your desk with a piece of putty and removable hooks.
“I don't understand,” he comments, looking at you with a tilt of his head.
Your face turns red as you busy yourself attaching the other end of the garland, making it drape across your old piece of wood.
“It's just … you know …” You stumble over the words you want to say but do not want to say at the same time. Digging into the box, you grab a large red shiny plastic bulb that was already good to go with a hook and secure it around a random spot on the faux greenery. “Yoongi's smart and hardworking. Women really like that, and he won't have a problem finding someone.”
“You're lying.” Tae crosses his arms and looks at you seriously. “You were going to say something else.” You couldn't even open your mouth to deny the accusation before he spoke again with a shit-eating smile. “You find Yoongi attractive.”
“Knock it off,” you scowl at him. “I do not. He's my friend.”
“Then why were you flirting with him this morning?” He asks.
“We were messing around,” you argue. “We were not flirting. Yoongi has never once flirted with me. We've just kind of grown closer since he's been working around here a lot.”
“Oh, well, Kook says they have quite a few out-of-town jobs on the books. I guess he won't be around much if you need help.” He shrugs. “I'll be more than happy to help if you need someone. Well, anything that doesn't require electric work or cutting into anything or ….”
“That's not necessary,” you say, slightly disappointed by this new information. “I'm an independent woman, Tae. I don't need a man!”
Grabbing your next decoration, you wince slightly as the hook pokes your finger. Smiling at him the best you can, you were freaking out internally. Yoongi was always your go-to guy, ready to go when you needed him.
You better hope nothing else goes wrong.
The next morning was quiet.
The house was warm and toasty as the early mornings were finally giving way to frost on the car windows, and your thick sweaters were going to have to be replaced with your winter coat. The warmer-than-normal seasonal weather was gone. Snowflakes were bound to be in the forecast any day.
You only have a few more days left before the last guests leave and you're able to close the B&B for your Christmas break. A present from your grandmother. Willow Grove had never closed for Christmas before. In fact, you don't think it's ever closed. However, when she told you to take a break and relax. You knew there was going to be a catch.
There's always a catch.
She wanted to give the guests' rooms a little makeover. Of course she didn't tell you that until the last possible minute, and she didn't tell you when the deliveries would be coming. So, you weren't really surprised when everything started arriving after breakfast.
Now, your very Christmasy sitting room minus the tree was stacked with rolls of carpet, and new curtains with curtain rods. Shaking your head, you rue the day when you taught your grandmother the pleasures of online shopping. There was no way you were going to relax during your break.
“Why … are … carpets … so … heavy?” You pant as you drag a large rolled-up area rug up the stairs by yourself.
Rolling your neck, you try to angle the rug in hopes that it will stay wedged between the stairs and the wall. Letting go, you wipe your brow of the light sheen of sweat from the workout you were getting. However, you clearly didn't know what you were doing. The heavy carpet almost immediately slid back down the stairs, hitting the wall at the bottom with a loud thump.
Frozen, your mouth drops open in horror. Not only was all your effort for nothing, but you're pretty sure there was damage to the wall. Blinking, you launch yourself down the stairs and move the heavy rug with shaking hands.
Yup, a hole.
A large hole in your grandmother's precious baby.
“Is everything okay?” An older woman comes out of her room to ask. “We heard a loud noise.”
“Yes, sorry,” you laugh nervously as you stand and try to hide your mistake. “That was me. Everything is … fine.”
“You should call that young man that was over here yesterday to fix that hole,” she says with a smile.
“Oh, Taehyung wouldn't know how to fix this,” you laugh.
“Isn't he a handyman?” Her husband pops out from behind her, and his wife lovingly slaps his shoulder.
“There are two of them,” she tells her husband. “I'm talking about the one who you packed the muffin and coffee to go for him yesterday morning.”
“Yoongi,” you say and blush. “I don't think he's in town, and Taehyung is my best friend. It's not like that.”
“Thinking isn't knowing,” the older man points at you.
Looking back down at the hole in the wall, you knew he was right. You needed this fixed. You weren't going to get away with placing a picture over it and calling it a day.
“Crap,” you whisper to yourself.
Yoongi looks at the wall, then at the carpet, and finally at you. You smile sweetly at him before he sighs.
“Why would you try to do this yourself?” He asks.
“Because I'm an indepen…” You start to say, but he holds up his finger, cutting you off.
“If you say you're an independent woman one more time,” he says. “I've watched you struggle to pick up a case of beer before. Why, just why?”
“I'm sorry,” you tell him. “I know you and Jungkook were out of town…”
“What are you talking about?” He questions.
“Tae said you wouldn't be around to help me,” you explain. “He said you and Kook took some jobs out in the city, and you wouldn't be around here for me. He tried to offer me his help as long as it didn't actually require him to do anything.”
“Kook is driving back and forth, but I'm here,” he informs you. “Don't you think I would have told you if I wasn't going to be able to be at your beck and call?”
“You're not at my beck and call,” you deny. “You're at my grandmother's beck and call.”
“Oh, really,” he laughs. “Didn't you call me crying a couple months ago because you got your hair stuck in your brush? I had to carefully use my pliers to pull those damn bristles out without pulling your hair out of your head.”
“To be fair, I called Jimin first, but he said he would bring his scissors,” you tell him. “I trust him but not that much.”
“Okay,” he looks at the wall again. “I can fix this, but I told Mr. Lee that I was taking lunch and I would be back to finish my project for him. I'll have to come by later this evening.”
“You're making me feel bad,” you admit.
“Just don't move anything else until I get here.” He gives you a stern look.
“I can call Tae,” you offer. “He'll be more than happy to help me move this mess.” Yoongi crosses his arms and stares at you without saying anything. You smile. “Lunch?”
“Putty knife.” Yoongi holds out his hand, and you place the tool in his hand.
“Do you think she will be able to tell I put a hole in the wall?” You ask as you sit on the step above him.
“I don't know,” he says, applying the spackle to the wall and smoothing it out. “I won't tell. By the time I sand this down and repaint the whole wall. It should be good as new.”
“I was nervous when she left,” you tell him. “But I figured I've been around this place my whole life. I've been working here full-time since I was twenty-two. That's a whole ass six years, and nothing has ever gone wrong. Now, two things have been fucked up. If it wasn't for you, I would be screwed.”
“That's not true,” he says, looking over his shoulder at you.
“It is,” you argue lightly. “I kind of thought that if anything happens in the future. That I would be able to run this place, but I'm having second thoughts about it. I'm clearly not as good as I thought I was. I'm clearly not an independent woman.”
Yoongi drops his putty knife onto his towel on the floor and scoots up to sit next to you.
“You do run this place,” he tells you. “You run the check-in, the cooking, and the cleaning. You take care of all the bills and make sure I'm paid. At this point, Bea is just the face of the place who gets to visit with the guests and spend the rest of her time with her bingo friends. She tells me all the time how proud of you she is.”
“When do you two have heart-to-heart conversations?” You question.
“I come over for tea sometimes at night,” he admits, and that surprises you. “She's a good listener and gives pretty good advice.”
“Advice about what?” You ask.
“I couldn't figure out where I went wrong with … my marriage for a while,” he says softly. “Now, her company is just nice.”
“For what it's worth,” you bump his shoulder with yours. “I don't think you did anything wrong. Arden was a bitch who had us all fooled. I would kill to have someone look at me like you looked at her.”
“How did I look at her?” He asks, staring at you curiously.
“Like she was your whole world,” you answer. As you stare back at him, you think you might have imagined it, but you swear his eyes flicker to your lips for the briefest of moments. “But, what do I know? Look at my string of bad luck when it comes to men.”
“Ah, yes,” he chuckles. “The guy who wouldn't tell you where he lived because it turned out he was living with his mom and sleeping on her couch. After he told you he owned his own home.”
“Or the guy who lied about being a med student,” you add, making him laugh harder. “You asked him where the prepuce was.”
“Dumbass pointed to his chest,” Yoongi recalls.
“Joon had to tell him that it was another name for foreskin,” you laugh with him.
“At least you got out and lived,” he tells you once the laughter dies out. “You didn't get stuck here with your high school boyfriend and regret every choice you ever made.”
“I did get out, and now I'm back,” you say. “I'm back because I want to be here. Arden never wanted to stay. That was something she should have been honest about from the very beginning. You were a good husband, Yoongi. She'll regret letting you go, trust me.”
“I do trust you,” he nods.
Wrapping your arms around him, he stiffens for a moment before slowly reciprocating the hug and wrapping his arms around your waist the best he could. It was an awkward position with the two of you sitting on the stair step, but it was nice.
A different kind of nice.
It wasn't the warm, cozy hug you get from Tae.
It wasn't the excited bear hug you get from Hobi and Jimin when something good happens.
It wasn't even that brotherly one-armed hug with a quick pat you get from Kook, Joon, and Jin.
This was extremely different. It stirred something within you that almost made you feel nervous. You had never been nervous around Yoongi before, but now. There was no Arden buffer between the two of you. There was no grandma here joining in on a random conversation.
It was you and him having a vulnerable conversation.
He trusts you, and it's nice.
“What's going on here?” Jimin asks, smirking at the two of you after he walks through the kitchen door.
You and Yoongi pull apart before he turns to smoothing out the hole in your wall once more.
“What do you want?” Yoongi asks.
“Don't be rude,” Jimin says teasingly. “I've been looking for you everywhere since you don't want to answer my texts. Tae told me to look over here, and what do you know? He was right.”
Jimin gives you a look, and you stare blankly at him in return, not understanding the unspoken accusation in his eyes.
“I'm working,” Yoongi tells him. “I repeat. What do you want?”
“Well, can I work for you if it means hugging beautiful women and getting paid for it?” he smiles and waggles his eyebrows at you. “I would be your most successful employee. Employee of the month every month.”
“Jimin!” Yoongi snaps.
“I'm joking,” he holds his hands up. “We have a new intern at the pharmacy, and she's single. I told her all about you ….”
Yoongi drops his putty knife and turns to his blond friend, who takes a couple of steps back.
“No,” Yoongi says in a serious voice. Jimin looks at you again, but this time there is a contemplative look on his face. Something that was a little more serious, as if something dawned on him. “Do not set me up. I am not interested.”
“Okay, I'm sorry,” Jimin apologizes as Yoongi gets back to work. “I'll let her know that I was mistaken. So, Y/N, are you going to Tae's Christmas party with him?”
“What?” You furrow your brow at him at the sudden change of topic.
“You go every year with him. You're like his permanent date,” Jimin smiles at you and looks over at Yoongi, who seems to have stopped working again.
“We go as friends,” you tell him. “You know this.”
“I'm pretty sure his co-workers think you're more than that,” Jimin informs you. “Old Mrs. Jang said that she hoped to see that nice pretty woman that he always brings. She said you two are absolutely adorable together.”
“He's like my brother,” you laugh. “Why are you being weird?”
“Yeah, but you've been single way too long as well,” Jimin sighs. “You and Tae…”
“Jimin, we have a lot to do tonight,” Yoongi cuts him off, and Jimin smiles bigger, nodding. “Unless you are staying to help us move stuff upstairs. You can go.”
“I'll go,” he laughs, then turns to you, giving you a quick pat on the shoulder. “Oh, this is going to be fun to watch.”
Jimin walks back to the kitchen door, leaving you alone and leaving you with a whole lot of questions.
“What did he mean by that?” You question. “What's going to be fun to watch? Why would he ask about me and Tae like that?”
Yoongi scrapes off his putty knife on the inside of the spackle bucket, avoiding looking at you.
“I don't know,” he tells you. “You know how Jimin is. Always trying to stir up some sort of drama for his amusement.”
“I don't know if I feel comfortable going to his Christmas party now,” you comment. “He hasn't asked me yet, but I know it's coming. I don't want his co-workers thinking there's more going on than there is.”
“It won't be the end of the world if you tell him no,” Yoongi explains. “That's … probably what Jimin meant. Let him down easy about not going.”
“Yeah,” you nod. “Besides, grandma was invited to that Toy Drive Charity Event and Dinner hosted by the Chamber of Commerce. She RSVP'd yes for me to go in her place to represent Willow Grove. I think it's the same day his party usually is.”
“You're going to that?” Yoongi looks at you like he is surprised, making you nod. “I got my invite too. I was just going to write a check, but … I think I can still RSVP yes if you want to …. go together.”
“Yeah,” you smile at him. “I would like that.”
“Yeah?” He looks kind of surprised by your answer. “Great.”
“Great,” you smile.
You suddenly feel nervous at the thought of spending an evening with Yoongi. A type of nervousness that you haven't felt in a long time. It was the feeling of excitement and anticipation. It was the feeling of …. liking him? Have you always liked him? Maybe your joking around with him was starting to affect you a little more than you wanted to admit too.
Guilt creeps in as you watch him clean up his work. Arden was your friend at one point, and he seems to still be grieving the loss of his marriage. You had to push those feelings away. Your friends, and that's how it had to stay.
Just friends.
Closed.
You had removed the open sign hanging from the main Willow Grove sign by the sidewalk and replaced it with a closed sign. You thought you would feel a sense of relief to have a little downtime. A little peace and quiet. Some time to yourself. However, as you sit in the old empty house with Christmas music playing in the background to cover the silence. You find yourself a little scared to be here by yourself. It was too quiet, too empty. You didn't like it.
Maybe you should ask Tae to stay with you. Maybe the house wouldn't feel so eerie then. Shaking your head, you open your large red Christmas tree bag and carefully pull the three artificial pieces out and place them in a neat row on the floor.
“Hello, Y/N,” Jin calls as he pops his head through the front doorway. “The Christmas Brigade has arrived.”
“We brought food.” Nali, his fiancée, pushes him further into the house with her arms full of bags.
“And drinks,” Jimin shoulders his way in. “Break out your big glasses.”
“Thank god!” You hop up off the floor and dust your leggings off.
“We have karaoke tonight,” Hobi smiles widely, walking through as he carries the karaoke machine.
“I'm going first,” Kook calls after him. His own hands carry in a monitor.
“I'll make the drinks strong tonight,” Grace, Hobi's girlfriend, winks at you. “It's Christmas classics tonight. They were fighting over who was going to sing that Mariah Carey song.”
“I nominate Yoongi for that,” Joon jokes, taking off his jacket and hanging it up.
“Good luck with that.” Yoongi rolls his eyes and shakes out the light snow from his hair. “Shove a mic in my face and I'll throw it out the window.”
“Why can't you just have fun with us?” Tae complains and kisses you on the head. “I get to sing second.”
You look at Yoongi, who had a small glare set upon your shared friend. His eyes flicker over to you, and it disappears as he approaches you.
“I tried telling them we shouldn't just barge in,” he smiles, regrettably, at you. “You know how they are, though. You're lucky you didn't have to get out tonight. It's fucking cold.”
Yoongi places his cold hands on the back of your warm neck, making you yelp out in surprise.
“It's fine,” you laugh and swat at him. “I'm happy everyone showed up. I was getting a little …. scared here by myself.”
“What's there to be scared of?” He asks. “You practically grew up here. I don't think it's haunted.”
Jimin hands you both a drink that you take with a thank you.
“It's the first time I've been here alone,” you explain. “I'm thinking of asking Tae to stay with me.”
“Um,” Yoongi coughs. “You know any of us would stay a night or two if you needed. Also, we all have extra rooms you could stay in if you wanted to get out of here.”
“I wouldn't want to impose on anyone,” you shake your head. “I'll be fine. I'm an inde….”
“I swear to god,” he laughs. “Every time you say that, something bad happens.”
The karaoke machine behind you cues up, and Jungkook starts to belt out “Jingle Bell Rock”. You take a drink of the dark liquid from your glass, and your eyes go wide. Yeah, Grace definitely made the drinks strong tonight. You were going to have to pace yourself.
“I'm fine,” you say again. “Let's eat, and then I'll deal with this damn tree.”
Jungkook's voice cracks slightly under his high note, and you take another sip. Yeah, strong is good tonight.
“What's going on with you and Yoongi?” Grace asks as she eats with you and Nali at your check-in desk.
“What do you mean?” You ask.
“I saw him flirting with you when we first came in,” she smirks.
“We're friends,” you reply. “He was just teasing me.”
“Weeellll,” Nali takes a sip of her drink. “I'm his friend too, and he doesn't act like that with me.”
“And rumor has it that the two of you are going on a date,” she whispers.
“It's a charity event that we were both invited to,” you defend yourself. “How do you even know about that?”
“He asked Hobi what he should wear,” she laughs. “Then Hobi said I should keep it quiet. There was a whole video call and everything.”
“Why?” You question, and both women share a look. “What?”
“Yoongi likes you,” Grace says, like it was obvious.
“Absolutely not,” you deny, shaking your head. “He just got divorced. He seems to get upset when the guys set him up on dates. He's not ready to move on.”
“Almost a year ago,” Grace argues.
“I agree,” Nali says. “I don't think it's the fact that he's not ready to move, but maybe he doesn't know exactly how. He married his only girlfriend. The man is out of practice.”
“I'll admit that maybe there is a little flirting.” You roll your eyes, making them smile. “But it's innocent. Us going to the charity event is more out of convenience since we both got invited.”
“How do you explain him getting all flustered the other night when the guys went out to dinner?” Grace smirks, and you look to Nali for more info.
“I guess there was a joke made about you two,” Nali admits.
“What was the joke?” You ask.
“I don't know,” Grace sighs. “Something about you handling his tools, but the point is. According to Hobi, Yoongi got all embarrassed and turned red.”
You blush, picking up your fork, and start to pick at your food.
“Oh, you like him, don’t you?” Nali asks.
“Maybe I like his attention,” you admit. “BUT,” you look around at the guys fighting over a game of Go Fish happening in the sitting room. “I seriously don't think he's ready to move on.”
“Has he told you that he's not ready to move on?” Nali asks, and you shake “Has he actually used those words?”
“No,” you sigh.
“Keep your eyes open,” Grace smiles. “You'll be surprised by what you see because what I see could be spicy.”
You look back at Yoongi, who was sitting with Joon on the couch, laughing at the chaos that was unfolding in front of him. Then, your eyes go to Tae, who smiles deviously at you when you catch his gaze. Smiling back at him, you wonder if Nali and Grace were right.
Maybe if you pretend you don't know. It will all go away. They say ignorance is bliss, and that's where you want to live.
Ignorance.
You're faking ignorance because the last thing you want to do is get your hopes up and wait for a man who is pining after a ghost of his past.
Ignorance is better.
You always forget how good of cooks Nali and Jin both were. Your belly was full, and so was your third drink. After about six attempts of getting Yoongi up to the mic. Hobi and Jimin didn't give him a choice. Extra mics were pulled out of nowhere, and now you, Grace, and Nali were sitting on the couch filming all seven guys singing a beautiful rendition of “Last Christmas” while you three acted like fan girls. Hooting, hollering, and fawning all over them. You hope you'll be too drunk to remember this in the morning, but you were hardly feeling buzzed.
“Stop it!” You scold Kook, who laughs, placing the same colored red bulb next to an identical red bulb.
“Stop being anal about it,” Hobi teases and does the same as Jungkook with a green ornament. “Give it some life. Where's the colorful tinsel?”
You huff, snatching the decoration off the tree and moving it elsewhere.
“She probably needs some anal,” Jimin jokes, making you gasp, then snort with laughter.
“Knock it off,” Yoongi slugs Jimin in the arm.
“Don't worry, Jimin,” Grace winks at you. “Yoongi probably has a tool for that.”
The guys minus Yoongi laugh while you start blushing. Grabbing an ornament from the tree, you chuck it at Grace, who ducks, and it misses her, causing it to bounce across the room.
“I hate you all.” Yoongi shakes his head and rubs the back of his neck in embarrassment.
“I think it's time for everyone to go,” you say. “Thank you for visiting, but I need to finish this tree for real and clean up.”
“We're just teasing,” Jimin laughs, throwing his arm around you.
“Come on,” Joon says. “It's getting late. You heard the lady of the house.”
Soon, your guests gathered their things and slowly exited Willow Grove with the things that they came with. Only Tae and Yoongi seem to be lagging behind the rest of the group. Neither man had attempted to grab their coats as the last of your mutual friends gave you a goodbye hug.
Suddenly, it's feeling quite stuffy here.
“You guys don't have to stick around,” you tell them as you shift around nervously. “I'm just going to finish up here and go to bed.”
“I'll help,” Tae and Yoongi both say at the same time, then look at each other.
“Oookkaaay,” you breathe out.
“Hey, Yoongs, I'm sure you're tired of being over here all the time,” Tae says. “I got this. You can go.”
“I'm good.” Yoongi put his hands on his hips, making Tae smirk at him. “Don't you have to be at the post office early in the morning? I mean, it's already past midnight. You should probably get going.”
“He's right,” you speak up. “You shouldn't have to go to work tired because you helped me with a tree.”
“Would you rather Yoongi stay than me?” Your best friend asks. “I am highly offended.”
“Yeah, I'm sure you are,” you tell him. “I'm tired, and the alcohol is starting to kick in. I just want to get this done.”
“Fine, I can see that I'm not wanted,” he frowns dramatically, then smiles. “Have fun, you two.”
He grabs his jacket and hurries out the door before you can argue with him. You frown at the closed door for a moment before Yoongi's warm hand lands on your shoulder, causing you to jump slightly.
“You okay?” He asks.
“Yeah,” you blink rapidly and nod. “Yeah, I'm good. You really don't have to stay, Yoongi.”
“If you're not feeling the best. I want to help you get this done so you can get to bed,” he explains, grabbing a gold ornament and hooking it with a metal hook.
“I feel fine,” you admit. “I spaced my drinks out enough. They're just a lot sometimes.”
“I swear Tae was trying to get you alone,” he chuckles. “I didn't know that it was like that with you two?”
“It's not,” you tell him.
“I mean,” he picks up an ornament and secures it to the tree. “Jimin made a good point with you being Tae's permanent date and all.”
“We've always been each other's go-to person,” you shrug, grabbing your own bulb and placing a hook around the loop.
“People would get the wrong idea though,” he comments. “He kisses your head, and you two are kind of touchy with one another.”
“I haven't been that touchy with him lately,” you shake your head. “I've only been touchy with yo ….”
You stop yourself. Your eyes quickly dart to the man next to you, who seems frozen at your unfinished sentence. Sniffing, you wrap your hook around the tree's fake branch, securing it tightly.
“So,” he clears his throat. “I take it that means that you two are strictly friends then.”
“Yeah,” you confirm his assumptions.
“Great,” he says, then grimaces. “I mean, not great. It's just good to keep friends as friends. You know.”
Your stomach sinks at his words.
Keep friends as friends,
His flirting with you really was innocent. It really didn't mean anything. You knew that. You always knew that, and you let Grace and Nali get into your head. You let your little butterflies in your stomach get the best of you, and now you have to swallow your disappointment.
Grabbing a sparkling gold bulb, you place your hook around the small loop at the top. Reaching up, you place it on a branch when Yoongi's flanneled arm places an identical bulb right next to yours. Snapping your head to the side to glare at him, he smirks at you before reaching higher and choosing a different spot.
“I think the tree is going to look pretty,” you comment, watching the lights dance off the sparkling ornaments.
“Yeah,” he agrees softly. “Very pretty.”
You look at him and see him looking right at you. Smiling at him, you swallow thickly and bend down to fumble through the box of decor to look for …. something … anything. It was innocent. All innocent, and you didn't need to get your hopes up over a playful comment.
You didn't need a man.
You were an independent woman, and that's how it was going to stay.
You and Tae were sitting across from one another at The Moose Tavern. He was smiling at you with his hands clasped in front of him like he was waiting for something.
“What?” you ask.
“It's nice coming here without parents now, huh?” He asks, looking around.
“I guess,” you say. “We've been coming here since we turned twenty-one on our own.”
“I know,” he smiles at you. “It's always fun hanging out here. Is it weird being here after Yoongi had a date here not long ago?”
He suddenly leans over the table to stare at you, making you back up in your seat.“Tae,” you sigh. “What's going on? Why are you acting like Moose Tavern is some romantic setting? It's The Moose Tavern. We've all gotten drunk here. Hobi threw up in that plant over there. Why would it bother me that Yoongi brought a date here?”
“Okay,” he says, leaning back. “I just think this is a nice place, and I wanted to take you out somewhere nice so we could talk.”
“We can talk anywhere,” you tell him.
“Look who’s here.” Grace waves a little too enthusiastically with the rest of your friends behind her.
You look at your group of friends in confusion as Tae waves enthusiastically back at her. You have a feeling this was planned.
“What a coincidence,” Tae laughs. “Pull up some tables and join us. We haven't ordered yet.”
“The first round is on me,” Jungkook says, heading up to the bar.
“No, Jagerbombs,” Jin instructs. “Y/N will fall into the bushes and blame someone for pushing her.”
“Someone did push me,” you say, pointing at the group, but they all shake their heads. “You are all liars. I'm going to the bathroom.”
You get up from your seat with Grace and Nali following you. The three of you head to the back of the restaurant and enter the bathroom, where you rest against the sink and look at them.
“What is going on?“ You question them.
“We wanted to go out,” Grace shrugs, and Nali looks away, trying to hide her smile.
“Funny,” you smile at her.
“Jin and Yoongi were talking, and Yoongi mentioned he hasn't talked to you in a few days,” Nali admits. “We think he was fishing for information, but we didn't have any, so … group outing.”
“But what I want to know is,” Grace smiles. “Why are we fake setting up a group outing? Did something happen, and you're avoiding him?”
“He asked me if there was anything going on with me and Tae. I told him no, and he mentioned friends should stay friends,” you shrug. “So, I think that speaks for itself. I've backed off so there wouldn't be any confusion between us.”
Both women scrunch up their faces at your words.
“That is not what we wanted to hear,” Nali says.
“I told you all that flirting was innocent,” you tell them. “I'm going to make sure that I back off and I keep a friendly but professional relationship with him.”
“That's boring,” Grace complains.
“He works for me,” you argue. “Well, for my grandma. I can't mess that up by acting stupid. Sorry, but that little love affair that you want me to have with him won't happen. He's not interested.”
Sending them one last look, you push open the door and head back to the tables that were pushed together. Your feet almost stumble over each other, making Grace and Nali laugh quietly.
“Sure,” Grace breathes in your ear. “Not interested my ass.”
Tae hasn't moved from his seat across from you. However, in the table that was slid next to yours. Yoongi sat in the chair right next to yours. Licking your lips nervously, you continue on and walk around the table, taking your original seat.
“I ordered cheese curds,” Yoongi tells you. “With the house sauce. I figured we could split them.” You tilt your head in question at him. “You did say you liked them, right?”
“Yeah,” you confirm. “I just … You remembered that.”
“Yeah,” he chuckles, and your traitorous heart starts thumping rapidly.
“Thanks,” you smile.
“Have you heard from Bea at all?” Joon asks you.
“She sent me some pictures,” you tell him. “There were several with the same guy in the background. So, I'm kind of suspicious.”
“Oh, Bea is getting lucky,” Jimin laughs, and you pull a face.
“I don't want to think about that.” You shake your head at him and sip your water. “She's too old for that.”
“She's old, not dead,” Yoongi laughs.
“Then what's your excuse?” Tae asks, looking at him. “You must be getting tired of your own hand. Unless you have someone that we don't know about.”
“Shut up,” you tell your best friend, making him laugh at you. “We all don't need to know everything about each other.”
“I know what Grace got you for your birthday this year,” he loudly whispers, making you gasp and throw some peanuts at him that were out in a bowl on the table.
“That was just a joke,” you hiss.
Tae holds out his fist and starts to shake it while making a buzzing sound. You cover your reddening face when you feel movement from Yoongi and a cry of pain from Taehyung.
“I'm sorry,” he cries out.
You peek through your fingers and see him rubbing his arm. You don't know what happened, but good.
Good.
“Gin and tonics for everyone!” Kook says, arriving with the first round of drinks. “For the lightweights.”
He places a drink down in front of you and Hobi, making the table laugh at the two of you.
“I'm not a lightweight,” Hobi says, seemingly offended.
“You threw up in a plant over there and then cried,” Jimin recalls.
“You refused to come here for months after that,” Joon remembers.
“I'm sad I missed that,” Grace laughs.
“I didn't cry,” Hobi denies the truth.
He definitely cried.
“Where have you been?” Yoongi asks you. “I'm kind of surprised you haven't called for some kind of emergency.”
“Yeah, I've been hanging with my parents the past couple of days,’ you explain. “They decided to follow grandma's footsteps and do something for Christmas at the last minute. They're going to Hawaii.”
“What about you?” He asks, looking concerned.
“I'm going to spend Christmas morning with Jin and Nali like we always do and then lie around in bed all day watching cheesy Christmas movies while stuffing my face,” you explain.
“I told you, you can come with me to my parents,” Tae says from across the table. “They love you.”
“I love them too, but I'm okay,” you smile at your friend. “Besides, the last thing I want to do is be stuck with my parents at an airport for hours. They promised to bring me back some good stuff. I'm fine with it.”
“Maybe we will get a snowstorm on Christmas Eve, and a handsome stranger will get stranded outside Willow Grove, and you'll have to shelter him, and then you'll fall in love,” Nali says wistfully, making you all stare at her like she's crazy.
“She's been reading those romance books again,” Jin says, waving you all away.
“Cheese Curds,” the server, Sophie, a woman you all graduated with, reaches between you and Yoongi, placing the basket of fried cheese between you. “Hi, Yoongi. I haven't seen you in here in long time.”
“He was just here,” Tae answers, laughing.
“Oh, maybe I wasn't working that day.” She smiles at him, and it makes you want to back away.
“Well, you're working now,” he says, placing an arm around the back of your chair. “We wouldn't want to get you in trouble.”
Yoongi pops the lid off the cup of sauce for you as you stick your cheese with a toothpick. You shove it in your mouth, chewing slowly, and look at your friends down at the other end of the table, who were staring at the woman standing behind you.
She still hasn't moved.
They were loving this.
Swallowing, you stab another piece of cheese and dip it in the sauce.
"Be careful, Y/N,” Sophie says. “Those have a lot of calories in them.”
“You fucking bitch,” Grace says, trying to stand up from the table, but Hobi had to hold her down.
Yoongi glares at the woman and takes the food from you. Smirking at you, he brings the golden fried food to your lips, and your eyes go comically wide. You see Grace mouthing for you to open your mouth out of the corner of your eye.
Parting your lips, he slips the food between your lips, feeding you. A drip of sauce hits your lip, and his thumb reaches out and wipes it away. You watch him bring it to his own lips and lick it away.
Your friends' mouths drop open.
You almost choke.
Sophie huffs and walks away.
Yoongi grabs his own piece of cheese and carries on like nothing happened.
Okay, you'll admit it. That was an interesting development, but you're sure it can be explained away, and you'll explain it away. Once everyone stops gawking at you.
Fucking stop it!
“What was that?” Grace asks as you bury your face in the jukebox.
“I don't know what you're talking about,” you say as you flip through the music selection. Which doesn't seem to have been updated since the eighties.
“You can't deny that,” she argues.
Your eyes flicker to the side where the guys were standing around the pool tables. They seemed to be standing around Yoongi, shaking his shoulder and ruffling his hair. Your face heats again.
“He was just scaring Sophie off,” you tell them. “I was right there. I was an easy out for him.”
“I highly doubt he would have done that to Jin if Jin was sitting next to him,” Nali laughs.
“Shots, my ladies,” Joon hands all three of you shot glasses.
You take it quickly and throw it back.
“This music,” you shake your head. “They really need to update this.”
“Let's see if you can ignore it since he's coming over here,” Grace whispers.
“Watch me,” you say and continue to flip through the old music as they walk away.
“Anything good in there?” Yoongi asks.
“Nothing from this century,” you reply.
“You say that like it's a bad thing,” he laughs and leans over your shoulder, looking at the catalog of music with you. “They have plenty of good artists here.”
“Yeah, but your taste in music sucks,” you tease.
“Ouch,” he chuckles. “Says the woman who only listened to the Twilight soundtrack in high school.”
Gasping, you turn quickly and practically end up being pinned up against the jukebox as you glare at him.
“It was the New Moon soundtrack,” you correct him.
“Don't tell me you still listen to it?” He asks, and you look over to your group of friends, who were too busy ‘playing’ pool to pay attention to you.
“No,” you shake your head. “Of course not.”
“Let me see your phone.” He narrows his eyes at you. “I want to see your playlists.”
“ … No,” you answer, trying to keep a straight face.
“You still listen to it,” he laughs, and you roll your eyes trying to play off the embarrassment of being caught.
“I …. am going to the bar,” you tell him and hold your closed fist to him. He opens his hand to you, and you drop some quarters in his palm. “Play something good.”
Patting him on the chest, you walk up to the bar to calm the thudding of your racing heart. Hopping up on a bar stool, you lean on the counter and pull out your phone, waiting for someone to wait on you. Unfortunately for you, it was the one you didn't want.
“You do remember that Arden was your friend, right?” Sophie asks.
“Can I have a Long Island, please?” You ask, ignoring her question.
“You shouldn't go after your friend's exes,” she tells you. “It makes you look bad.”
“And so does desperation,” you snap. “A Long Island Iced Tea, please.”
A song you're not familiar with fills the bar as Sophie curls her upper lip at you. As she walks away, that guilt from before settles back in your stomach. There was probably some girl code about this. Even though you were no longer friends with Arden. It probably was inappropriate of you to be acting like this.
“Hurry up,” Grace says, sliding up next to you. "Some of the guys think they can beat us at pool.”
“They probably can,” you say.
“Nah, Hobi is playing, and he's already pretty tipsy,” she laughs. “Yoongi is going to play too. So, just stick your ass out at him, and he'll be distracted.”
“I can't with you anymore,” you sigh.
Sophie slams your drink down in front of you, making it slosh over the sides of the glass and spill onto the bar. Taking a deep breath, you toss some bills on the bar top and walk over to the pool table as you sip your drink. Immediately, you pull back and grimace. She definitely overpoured; it was way too strong.
“You okay?” Yoongi asks, chalking his pool cue.
“Fine,” you nod.
“You playing?” He questions with a hint of humor in his eyes. “Or have the drinks gotten to you yet?”
“I'm not a lightweight,” you say, taking a drink to prove your point but grimacing again upon the liquor hitting your taste buds. “I can take you. Hobi looks like he's already about to cry.”
“Hmm,” he hums. “Nali isn't even holding her stick right. You're about four sips away from being more than buzzed. I don't think Grace can carry the game on her own.”
“You keep forgetting,” you smile at him. “I'm an independent woman. I can do anything.”
Taking a big drink, you swallow the drink while he smirks at you before he holds out his glass of water to you. Coughing, you take his drink and chug half of it. Damn, your drink is nasty.
“Good luck,” he laughs.
“Yeah,” you nod. “You, too.”
“I can't believe we got kicked out,” Joon says, shaking his head at everyone. “We are almost thirty years old. I don't understand.”
“Well, Y/N’s drunk as a skunk, and she climbed on top of the pool table. Nali clearly didn't know what she was doing and smashed a light with her stick while Y/N was on top of the pool table. Also, Grace kept poking Hobi's ass with her stick, making him scream.” Jungkook explains.
“Yeah, I'm not surprised,” Jimin says, laughing. “You really should have seen this coming. At least they told us to stay away for only thirty days.”
Snorting, you cover your lower face and burst out laughing harder as Grace falls into laughing with you. Yoongi catches the two of you so you don't fall to the ground hurting yourselves.
“Okay,” Jin claps. “Who's taking whom home? We will have to come back for the cars tomorrow.”
“I'll take the drunken lovebirds,” Jimin says, grabbing Grace and Hobi by the arm and dragging them to his car.
“Well, Y/N and I came together anyway.” Tae starts, but Yoongi stops him.
“I'll take her,” he says. “I … need to make sure the heater is still working anyway.”
“Just admit you want to spend time with her,” Jungkook says, but all of this goes right over your head in your drunken haze.
“Shhhuuut it,” Yoongi hisses and wraps an arm around your waist, leading you to his truck.
“Where are we going?” You ask, looking around the pretty empty parking lot.
“I'm taking you home,” he answers.
“Did I win?” You ask, making Yoongi chuckle.
“Yeah, Ms. Independent. You won,” he answers.
“I knew I could do it,” you throw your hands up in the air and wobble on your feet. “I’M A WINNER!”
“I'm such a fucking loser,” you cry as Yoongi helps you up the step of Willow Grove.
“Come on,” he says, opening the screen door and entering the code to get into the house. “In we go.”
“I just don't understand,” you cry, stumbling into the house and into the living room. You let yourself fall onto the couch and stare at the ceiling. “Arden is such a BITCH! She is such a bitch. She had you, and she threw you away. You're hot and hardworking and … and hot. She didn't deserve you, but somehow bitches like her and Sophie score men like you. Who do I get? I get men who lie to me. I get men who try to slip me their number while their partners unpack stairs.”
“Seriously?” He asks, standing over you.
“Where do I find someone like you?” You ask softly. “Where's my snowstorm and stranded man?”
“Hey,” he laughs humorlessly and scoops you up, forcing you to sit so he can look you in the eye. “You're drunk, and you don't know what you're saying.”
“I do,” you whisper as an overwhelming feeling settles in your stomach. “I … I'm going to be sick.”
Shooting off the couch, you rush to the bathroom located in your grandmother's master suite and fall to your knees in front of the toilet. Emptying your stomach, you cry as you flush the toilet and fall to the floor. You hated drinking. You hated drunk crying. You hated being alone.
You were going to end up an old spinster running Willow Grove until the day you die … or until you accidentally burn it down. You were jealous of people who were able to find their loved ones while they were young. You also wanted to shake and scream at the ones who did and then just threw them away without a second thought.
But hey, what do they care?
You're sure Adren is doing just fine out there. With her pretty looks and bubbly personality, men will probably fall at her feet. Yeah, Arden will be just fine. Yoongi will be just fine. You'll be growing older every year, still secretly reading Twilight and listening to that damn soundtrack like you were still in high school.
You wonder if maybe Taehyung would marry you if you both were desperate enough. He would probably be a good husband. He would annoy the hell out of you, but he would be good to you.
Closing your eyes, a wave of nausea rolls over you at the thought of marrying Taehyung. You'll have to cross out that idea. You'll have to come up with something better but right now. You wanted to sleep, and you didn't want to move.
Sighing, you close your eyes and drift off to sleep on the tiles of your grandmother's bathroom, praying for that snowstorm. Praying for that man in need to come knocking on your door. You know you don't live in a Hallmark Christmas movie, but you could dream, and dream you will.
You'll dream of a beautiful snowy night. Your twinkling Christmas lights and a handsome stranger with dark hair. One who almost has a familiar face and plays you bad music while fixing things for you.
You like this dream, and you don't wake from it.
Sorry you had to sleep in your clothes. I didn't want to change you.
Yoongi
P.S Why is your room so cold?
“Whhhyyy,” you slap yourself on the head. “Ow.”
“Hey,” Tae says, slamming the door behind him with a smirk. “How's the hangover?”
“Shhh,” you say, throwing the note down and putting your head on the kitchen table. “I don't think I can drink anymore.”
“It's not like we have many places to drink now other than at home,” he says, crossing his arms. “You all got us kicked out last night. Between you climbing on the pool table, Nali breaking shit, and Grace trying to shove things where they don't belong. It was a night to remember.”
“No, I didn't,” you say, looking up at him.
“What was I doing?” You ask, looking horrified by what he was telling you.
“Jungkook and Jimin were talking shit to you,” he informs you. “I think … you were attempting to get at them, but you failed and landed on your face. You were fucked up last night.”
“Great,” you sigh, looking at the note Yoongi left.
“You haven't heard the best part,” he smiles, and your face crumples. “We all thought it was odd for you to get that drunk … THAT fast. So, we all tasted your drink, and boy oh boy. Yoongi threw a fit when he realized how much alcohol was in there. We think he might have gotten Sophie fired. We're not sure about that, but he definitely made her cry.”
“Whhhyyy!” You lean back in your chair. Letting your body go slack, you quite literally slide out of your chair and fall onto the floor.
In your embarrassment, you hear the door open. A second pair of feet comes in and stands next to your best friend.
“You're here early,” Yoongi's voice says, and it makes you want to crawl away in a dark hole.
“I could say the same about you,” Tae says. “I had to inform her of last night’s entertainment. The poor girl doesn't remember. It's probably a good thing.”
“Can you go away?” you groan from underneath the table where you landed.
“Is that how you treat someone who loves you and checks up on you?” Tae teases. “By the way, since you have ditched me and my Christmas party. I still have yet to find a date. So, thanks a lot.”
“Ask Sophie,” Yoongi tells him. “I hear she might be free.”
You actually laugh at that a little bit.
“Why don't you ask Jimin about that woman at the pharmacy?” You suggest, while looking at the underside of the kitchen table.
“That's a pretty good idea,” Tae says. “I'll see you later. I have to try and get a date.”
You watch Tae's legs carry him out your kitchen door, and Yoongi comes around to stand by your head. You look up at him, and he smiles, bending down, grabbing you underneath your arms, and dragging you out from underneath the table.
“Did you really yell at her?” You ask, looking up at him while still lying on the floor.
“Yeah,” he nods. “What if you kept drinking like that? She could have given you alcohol poisoning. You really don't remember anything from last night?"
“No,” you sigh, and move to your knees and stand up. “I remember starting our game of pool and some bad Christmas music.”
“Well, the bad music wasn't me,” he says. “I want to check your windows.”
“What?” You shake your head at his sudden request.
“When I got you into your room, it was freezing in there,” he explains. “I want to see your windows.”
“You don't have to,” you tell him. “That's why I have four thick blankets on my bed.”
“I’m not going to let you freeze at night,” he sighs and heads toward the kitchen door leading to the living room.
“Seriously,” you say. “You should take this time and not worry about this place until we get guests again. I've been extra careful around here since the hole in the wall.”
“Do you not want me to fix your windows?” He asks as he starts to climb the stairs. “Or, do you not want me in your room?”
You can hear the slight teasing in the tone of his voice.
“Weren't you already in my room last night?" You ask. “Thanks, by the way. You could have just thrown me on the couch.”
“Oh, you were on the bathroom floor when I had to pretty much throw you over my shoulder and get you up here,” he laughs.
“Of course I was,” you groan, following him past the guests’ room and to your usually locked attic door. “Anyway, I'm sure you have more important things to do.”
“I do,” he agrees, opening the attic door. “I have to check your windows.”
Deciding not to argue with him anymore, you let him enter your room, and right away he stops and looks at you.
“What?” you ask.
“Unless you have your windows open,” he says. “The windows are so drafty they are moving your curtains.”
“Four thick blankets.” You point to your bed.
Yoongi moves forward in his mission and opens your curtains by your bed, running his hands along the inner trim of the window. His mouth drops open, looking over your shoulder like you're crazy.
“I know,” you tell him. “I keep telling that old woman we need new windows up here. Clearly that hasn't happened.”
“I will talk to her,” he says, looking down toward your nightstand, and then smirks. “So, that's how you really keep warm.”
Smirking wider, he reaches down and plucks something off your bedside table. A book. A book that you let yourself enjoy at night before bed as you relax, and no, it wasn't Twilight. God, you wish it was Twilight.
“What do we have here?” he laughs.
“Give it back,” you say, throwing yourself at him and trying to grab the book from his hands.
“A Burning Inferno: A Firefighter’s Love,” he continues to laugh and raises the book above his head. “Topped off with a dirty, sweaty guy on the cover.”
“Yoongi, give it back to me,” you say.
“You have a bookmark in the middle,” he teases. “Should we see where you left off?”
“No, no, we shouldn't,” you hiss, jumping for the book, and he clears his throat while opening the book.
“Emma's back arches against the FIRETRUCK!” He exclaims. “As Noah's head dips between her tensing thighs. Oh my…”
You screech and throw yourself at him, but he was on his game, ready for you. Dropping the book, he laughs and grabs ahold of both of your wrists, stopping your nonfatal attack. You watch the book fall onto the floor as his laughing suddenly stops.
Snapping your head back up, you look on as he stares at your arm. Well, not your arm, but more specifically the charm bracelet that was hiding under your long-sleeved flannel. The jewelry that was wrapped around your arm was exposed to his gaze as your sleeve slid down your arm while he held it up in the air.
“What?” You ask.
“Your bracelet,” he says quietly, and you pull your arms from his grasp, hiding the accessory in embarrassment.
“I know, I know,” you chuckle. “It's a Twilight-themed charm bracelet. Make fun of me all you want, but I love it. My Secret Santa gave it to me our senior year when grandma forced all of us into doing Secret Santa. I never did figure out who gave it to me.”
“That was over ten years ago,” he says, furrowing his eyebrows. “And you still wear it?”
“Every day,” you nod. “Mainly when I'm not doing anything because I don't want to break it, but ….”
“I worked at the hardware store senior year,” he says, interrupting you. “I worked hard to get … her … a locket that I thought she would love. I even worked extra hours for free so Jungkook's dad would engrave our initials on the back of it at no cost.” You tilt your head as you listen to him, not sure where this was going. “I don't think I ever once saw her wear it.”
“Yoongi,” you sigh.
“It cost me a lot of money to buy that for her. I put in a lot of effort picking it out and putting a picture of us in it, and she never wore it. However, you still wear a bracelet I got you from a random store in the mall after I pulled your name out of a stocking. I just grabbed it when I remembered you always carried that book with you.”
“You were my Secret Santa?” You ask and fiddle with the wolf charm dangling from your wrist.
“Why do you still wear it?” He questions, looking at you seriously.
“I like looking at it,” you tell him. “It reminds me of when we were younger. I always liked that someone actually took time and got me something I would like. I like ….mmphmm.”
You don't get to finish as Yoongi suddenly presses his lips against yours. Your eyes widen at the action, but with his hands creeping into your hair and his tongue licking the seam of your mouth.
You close your eyes, giving in to him.
Opening your mouth, he takes the invitation, and his tongue slides into your mouth. Your tongues dance together as his hold on your hair tightens just right. Moaning into the kiss, Yoongi pulls away quickly, practically throwing himself to the other side of the room.
“I'm sorry,” he says, running his hands through his hair. “I'm so sorry! I'll measure your windows another day.”
Yoongi turns and walks quickly out of your room as you stand there trying to figure out what happened. You were just talking about your bracelet, and then you were kissing. You were confused. Did he run away because he finally realized what you thought you knew all along? He wasn't over Arden. Or … did he just make a mistake with you?
Maybe everyone was going crazy. Yoongi wasn't attracted to you, and it took him shoving his tongue in your mouth to find that out.
Suddenly, your hangover hits you full force and your head starts pounding. Falling face first onto your bed, you groan. You hope that he locked the door behind him because you weren't leaving your bed. In fact, you think that you will stay right here until your grandmother comes back.
Genre: rivals to lovers; (debatable) exes to lovers; holiday romance
Pairing: Yoongi x Reader (f)
Rating/Genre: M (18+); smut
Summary: In a town like Merriman, there are three things you can count on: first, that the holiday season is the busiest tourist time of the year; second, that any presentation given by Remmy Quarrels, elected treasurer, during town hall will be boring; and third, that Yoongi Min will find a way to be infuriating throughout.
This year is no exception, but instead of the usual presentation from Remmy, he announces the bane of small businesses everywhere: Emerald Corporation, hotel conglomerate and killer of joy, plans to open a ski resort on the next mountain. This would be fine, except your family owns the Rosy Finch, a cozy inn at the center of town, and Emerald Corp is a death sentence to places like yours – and the Lodge at Blue Glenn, owned by none other than your rival, Yoongi Min.
When you team up to stop this from happening (okay, fine – when you bully Yoongi into helping), you soon realize things are not what they seem. Not only with Emerald Corp, but your feelings for Yoongi seem to change by the day. As the countdown to Christmas continues, two important questions emerge in your mind: Will you be able to save your businesses in time?
And, more importantly, have you misjudged Yoongi Min from the start?
Estimated WC: 37K
Teaser WC: 1.4K
Posting Date: December 23, 2025; 7:00 PM ET (Eastern Time Zone)
Content Creator: thank you @kithtaehyung for this AMAZING BANNER!
[ Author's Note: THIS IS NOT THE FIRST SCENE IN THE STORY ]
Apart from Remmy's unpleasant announcement, the rest of town hall passes smoothly. To distract yourself from the mounting anxiety, you take copious notes until the last speaker ends. Sadly, your penmanship leaves something to be desired and at the end, you find yourself squinting at the third line you wrote.
Standing from the uncomfortable folding chair, you tilt your notebook towards Jasmine, your best friend and the only one capable of deciphering your writing.
"What do you think I meant here?" you muse. "Lax efficiency. Lax – like lacrosse?”
“Tax deficiency, I think,” says a familiar voice right behind you.
Snapping your notebook shut, you whirl around. Yoongi Min stands in the aisle, watching you with amusement. Always amusement – and always directed at you.
He glances at your closed notebook. “If you can’t read your own notes, Y/N, I don’t think you need to worry about me reading them.”
Scowling, you recover enough to take a step closer. “Nice try, Yoongi, but I’m not falling for that one. You’re probably just trying to steal my Christmas decorations – again.”
Yoongi blinks at you down his nose. “Y/N, there are precisely three holiday decorators in town.”
“Which, frankly, seems like a lot.” His friend, Seokjin Kim, appears alongside him. Pushing a hand through his hair, he looks at Jasmine. “Is there really enough work for three holiday decorators in this town?”
Yoongi ignores this, focused on you. “Odds are our holiday décor will overlap, Y/N. There’s only so much a person can do with red and green.”
“Sure,” you say loftily. “If you’re burdened by the smallest thimble of creativity.”
His lips twitch. “Thimble?”
“Thimbles are small, Yoongi. Didn’t you ever watch Thumbelina? When she floats down the river and–”
“Anyways,” Jasmine loudly interrupts. “What did you think of Remmy’s presentation, Yoongi?”
His expression flattens. “I think he’s full of crap,” Yoongi says, still looking at you.
Most of the room has emptied, leaving the four of you alone in the row. Remmy has also disappeared from the premises – likely in a cloud of sulfur and bullshit.
Surprised, you nod. “For once, we agree on something.”
“Do we disagree on so much, Y/N?”
You wish Yoongi would stop saying your name like that. Purposefully – savoringly – as though the word were melting. It must be distracting to more people than you.
Jasmine has certainly noticed. She keeps glancing between you with an expression you once described as her Emma Woodhouse look. Inevitably, a matchmaking attempt will follow, and you still haven’t recovered from her last failed attempt to set up your friend, Jimin, and the girl from the candle shop.
“Do you think the offer is legit?” Jasmine asks, surprising you by turning to Seokjin. If anyone would know, it would be him – his family owns half the town. “Have you heard anything?”
“No.” Seokjin shrugs. “But that doesn’t mean much, since the sale would be private. I’ll ask my cousin – she works in the mayor’s office. She’ll know of any large property being bought or sold.”
“Cool.”
Still watching Yoongi, your eyes narrow. “What if the offer is real?” you demand, unsatisfied by his answer. “What if Emerald Corp does plan to buy land on Mount Bowler? What will you do about it?”
Yoongi seems taken aback. “Do about it?”
“Yeah.”
“Why would I be responsible? And what do you expect me to do, egg someone’s house?”
“Please be serious, Yoongi.”
“I–”
“This is a corporation we’re talking about. You would need to egg several houses.”
Jasmine and Seokjin burst out laughing, and you hide a smile, pleased. You don’t know Seokjin very well, since he was two grades older than you were in school. It would seem your humor matches, though, which is nice. Anything which frustrates Yoongi Min is music to your ears.
Unfortunately though, Yoongi doesn’t seem frustrated. If anything, it looks like he’s suppressing his laughter.
“This is typical Remmy,” you mutter, opening your notebook to search for something – anything – useful. “You know he tried selling parking permits on Main Street last winter?”
A crease mars Yoongi’s forehead. “Don’t the snowplows go through there?”
“Yeah.”
Seokjin is appalled. “Dastardly. Who would pay for a parking permit to shovel themselves out every week?”
You snap your notebook shut again. “Hence why the motion didn’t pass. Yoongi, come on,” you groan, stepping closer and poking him – hard – in the arm. “We have to do something!”
Staring down at your hand, he rapidly shakes his head. “There is no we, Y/N.”
Stiffening, you withdraw. Of course, there’s no we. Yoongi made that crystal clear to you in high school, but there’s no need for him to be so… emphatic. You got it. Yoongi does not – and will not – ever like you like that.
Jasmine is scowling, likely thinking the same, so you hasten to interject before she can say something embarrassing.
“Do you or do you not,” you huff, “own the Lodge at Blue Glenn.”
“I do,” Yoongi says slowly.
“And as the town’s only hoteliers, don’t you think we should stick together?”
“Not true,” Jasmine pipes in, cheerful. “Mr. Moldove is renting a room in his barn. I saw an ad.”
You twist around to glare daggers. “Whose side are you on?”
Holding up both hands, Jasmine takes a step backwards to stand beside Seokjin.
Returning to Yoongi, you cross both your arms. “Well?”
His gaze moves between you and Seokjin, who seems to echo Jasmine’s philosophy of not getting involved.
Eventually, Yoongi sighs. “Fine. Why don’t we reach out to Emerald Corporation and ask for a meeting? We can explain our situation and maybe even convince them to build elsewhere.”
It’s not a bad idea, although privately you doubt anything will come of it. At the very least, you’ll be able to say that you tried.
“Alright,” you declare, turning to Jasmine. “Ready to go?”
Nodding, she zips her coat up to her chin. “It was nice to meet you,” she tells Seokjin. Her expression turns stony when she beholds Yoongi. “Always a pleasure.”
“I’ll send an email once I arrange the meeting,” says Yoongi, seemingly oblivious to Jasmine’s death stare. “Is your work email okay?”
Heart pinching, you realize what this means: Yoongi deleted your number.
Rallying quickly, you try and convince yourself that this means nothing. Not everyone is a hoarder whose Contacts section in their phone reads like a who’s who of late-night occupants of the Brewsters bar’s bathroom. Yoongi is probably the type to review their Contacts monthly and delete names he hasn’t talked to.
Well, that’s fine. If Yoongi wants to keep things professional, you can do that. You can be corporate as hell.
Lifting your chin, you search the recesses of your brain for something relevant. “Perfect,” you say grandly. “Let’s circle back on this.”
Yoongi frowns. “You want to… circle back before we’ve had the meeting.”
Shit. You took a shot in the dark. “Um, no,” you cough. “I just meant, let’s put a pin in this. Find time on my calendar.”
Even Jasmine is staring like you’ve grown an extra head. Swiftly, you turn around on your heel. “See you!” you squeak, striding straight for the exit.
Luckily, Jasmine follows, and when you burst outside, you find Namjoon and Jimin waiting beside the main door. They hover beneath the streetlight, Jimin loudly complaining about his hair and static. This is his third winter in the mountains and still, he complains about climate. Without breaking stride, you link your arm in his and start to drag him down the road.
“Hey, Y/N!” Jimin grins, deciding to roll with it. “Where are we going?”
“Bar,” you groan. “Need shots. Now.”
Jasmine laughs from where she walks with Namjoon behind you.
“Uh-oh,” says Namjoon. “Does this have something to do with Emerald Corporation?”
“And Yoongi Min,” Jasmine singsongs.
Jimin’s eyes alight with an unholy glee. Shit. You forgot that when it comes to matchmaking, he ranks only second to Jasmine.
“Tell me everything,” he gushes, grip like iron while steering you through the snow.
You make it to Brewsters in record time. Several shots in, things don’t seem quite so bleak. Namjoon points out no one in the town likes Remmy or corporations, so it’s unlikely this whole thing will even pass. Jasmine whips out an impression of Yoongi that sounds like Mr. Darcy, and Jimin falls off his stool from laughing too hard.
All in all, when you collapse into bed late that night, much of the day has pleasantly blurred. Except for one thing, which cuts through the haze like a knife.
The sound of Yoongi Min saying your name.
Author's Note: AND WE'RE BACK! I hope you all enjoy this coming holiday fic. FYI that I may need to post this in two parts, but I will do my best to make them very close together. The first part will post on the date above. Ho, ho, ho, and Merry Christmas, etc.! A very happy, anti-capitalist caper for our man, Min Yoongi LOL
“Your life in a small countryside village was nothing of the extraordinary, you owned a quaint little teashop, enjoyed warm evenings in your garden and liked taking walks by the river. One day a handsome stranger moves in the abandoned cottage opposite side of the river and it is not long that he becomes a source of comfort in your life.”
Pairing: Yoongi x f.Reader
Genre: s2l!AU, Neighbours!AU, Teashop!AU, Slice of Life!AU, Romance, Fluff, Smut
Warnings: This is a very feel good story, meant to comfort the soul and warm the heart. However it contains talks about car accidents and memory loss, as well as sexually explicit scenes. If you are sensitive to such topics I advise you read with care.
summary: Spending the holidays in your hometown, where your ex-boyfriend, Yoongi, still resides, wasn't part of your plan. However, you had offered (been bribed) to drive Jungkook home due to the snow. Now, your car won't start, your childhood bedroom now belongs to the family cat, and your favorite hometown coffee shop is now owned by Min Yoongi. Ho-ho-fuck!
wc: 15.9k
warnings: a long unedited fic, cursing, angst, anxiety and depression, loneliness, homesickness, miscommunication, food/alcohol mention, meddling friends, fingering (f. receiving), protected sex
date: December 24, 2025
Snow hit your windshield as you grumbled about leaving earlier in the day. Beside you, your stepbrother, Jungkook, ignored your grumblings as he sang along to his Christmas playlist.
You had less than a mile to go and were beyond ready to park your car in your parents’ driveway. Jungkook feared driving in the snow, so you offered to bring him home for the holidays.
Despite his best efforts and your mom’s, you were ditching Jungkook and heading back home, seven hours away. Sometimes, you debated moving further to avoid your ex, Min Yoongi. It wasn’t that the relationship ended badly, but you couldn’t stand the thought of running into him. You were still madly in love with him, even five years later.
Life had pulled you in opposite directions, and now you refused even to set foot in your hometown longer than necessary.
However, sometimes you think about moving back home. Your parents aren’t getting any younger after all, and you’d hate for something to happen while you’re living life so far away.
Sigh.
“Jungkook, you better not fall asleep,” You warned as you focused on the road in front of you. The familiar homes make you sigh in relief. Just one more turn and you’d be in your childhood neighborhood.
“I’m not gonna,” Jungkook rolls his eyes as he lowers the volume on the stereo. “Aren’t you staying the night? It’s snowing harder now.”
“Not part of the plan,” you remind him as the windshield wipers speed up. You turn on your right turn signal and wait at the stop sign. Once you’re sure the road is clear, you turn.
“Stay the night,” Jungkook insists as he looks out his window. Anxiety begins to build in his chest as he shuts his eyes. His breathing grows heavier, and you place your hand on his.
“Breathe, Koo. I’ve got this, okay?”
“Stay tonight,” Jungkook’s shaky voice breaks your heart. “He won’t be there. Mom wouldn’t do that to you. Please, stay tonight.”
“Fine,” you give in to his pleading. You squeeze his hand once before releasing it as you pull into your parents’ driveway, parking behind your mom’s car, a black Hyundai Accent.
Jungkook thanks you softly as he unbuckles his seatbelt. “I’ll get our bags.”
“Do you need help?” You ask him as you shut off the car, then unbuckle your seatbelt.
“Nah, I’ve got this,” Jungkook assures you as you get out of the car. Your black boots sink into the snow, a shiver runs down your back, and despite your heavy winter coat, you’re freezing.
You head up the walkway to wait for Jungkook on the front porch. He carries your duffel bag and his, one you packed just in case the snow got worse.
“Coming!” Jungkook grins as he stomps up the walkway in his thick, black leather boots. His nose is pink, and his breath frosts in front of his face as he takes a few long strides toward you.
You stick your old faded-purple key in the lock, but the door opens before you can turn it.
“My babies!” Your mother hollers in excitement as she lets you inside the warm home. Jungkook’s dad comes out of the kitchen to greet the two of you.
“You made it in time for dinner! Jae, take their bags to their rooms.” Your mom orders Jungkook’s dad, and he smiles after giving you and Jungkook a quick hug.
“Mom, you didn’t have to go through the trouble.”
“What trouble?” Your mom waves you off as she helps you out of your coat, while Jungkook struggles to get out of his thick leather boots.
“I can’t believe you’re wearing those,” you shake your head as he wiggles his toes in his black toe socks.
“They’re comfy!” He pouts as he wiggles his toes again.
“They’re adorable!” Your mother coos as she leads the two of you to the kitchen. Jungkook grins when he sees the food on the table, all his favorites on one end and all of yours on the opposite end.
Jae joins the three of you, asking how the drive was.
Jungkook fills him in as your mother sets the table. You each grab a plate and fill it before taking your spot at the dining table. Soft holiday music plays in the background as Jungkook talks and talks, filling your parents in on every aspect of his life since the last time he was home.
Dinner ends an hour later, and you join your family in the living room. Decorations litter every available space. The Christmas tree sparkles in its corner, gifts stacked beneath it.
Cheddar, the cute orange tabby your mother recently adopted, lies in front of the fireplace. She doesn’t bat an eye when you sit in the recliner closest to her.
Jungkook resists the urge to throw himself on the floor to play with her.
“We’ve got the whole weekend to finish wrapping presents and hit the Christmas fair,” Jae informs you as you scroll through your feed.
“Wait, I don’t think I’m staying past tonight,” You state.
“Nonsense,” your mom waves you off. “Of course, you’ll stay.”
“Mom,” you start, but she glares at you, and you shut up immediately.
“This is the first time you’ve come home in years. You have to stay for Christmas,” Your mom frowns as she walks to you. She hugs you tightly, squeezing the breath out of your lungs.
“Mom,” you whine, but she squeezes you harder. Jungkook laughs, startling Cheddar.
The tabby cat yawns, leaving the room.
“Cheddar!” Jungkook calls after her. “I’m sorry! I can change!”
Jae laughs at his son’s antics before he grabs the newspaper. He’s glad to have his family back under one roof.
“You can sleep in Cheddar’s bedroom,” your mom says as she pets the furball on her lap. You blink.
“Cheddar’s bedroom? Where’s that? Outside?”
Your mother gasps; Cheddar hisses. “I would never!”
You wait for your mother to stop clutching her metaphorical pearls. “It’s your old bedroom. We had it redone for Cheddar.”
Jungkook giggles from his spot on the couch.
You glare at him.
“I beg your finest pardon?” You choke out. Surely they were joking. “Why not redo Jungkook’s room?”
Your stepfather shakes his head. “We use it to work out. He already had all the equipment in it.”
“Unbelievable,” you mutter, but head up the stairs to leave your bags. Outside your Cheddar’s bedroom, you pause and grip the doorknob. What tomfoolery lies behind this door? Are you sure you can handle it?
After taking a deep breath, you twist the doorknob and push open the door. Your California King bed is long gone. In its place is a single bed with a pink comforter. Above the headboard, a sign reads "CHEDDAR" in pink neon lights. Across from the bed by the large window is an obscenely high cat tree. The pink and white curtains are drawn to the side to give Cheddar the best view of the neighborhood and the nests in the tree closest to the house. Against the wall, there’s a faux fireplace beneath a small flatscreen TV where a white child-sized couch faces it.
Surely your parents have gone mad, though it's kind of cute. You wish they hadn’t redone your bedroom for the feline, though. Speaking of, Cheddar walks past you. She jumps onto her bed and curls up in the middle, almost as if telling you to fuck off.
You sigh.
This is her room now.
You’re a guest.
~
Sleep is impossible.
You had to put up with Cheddar at her scratching post. She’d scratch it any time you’d do something she deemed wrong.
You opened your suitcase and told her no after she jumped on your favorite sweater, coating it in orange fur.
Cheddar eyed you angrily and scratched at her post, stopped to look at you once more, then continued. Cheddar had one hell of an attitude. After that debacle, she sat on the edge of the bed with one leg behind her head to clean herself. You tried poking Cheddar with your big toe to get her to cease, but that earned you a bite that still throbbed.
Now, you were staring at the ceiling, little glow-in-the-dark stars shone above, and Cheddar sat above your head on the pillow, purring loudly. This had to be a nightmare. “In the morning I’ll be gone,” you whisper as you roll over to face the wall. Cheddar gets up, stretches, and then sits on your head again. Well, at least she wasn’t cleaning herself again.
~
Gritting your teeth, you wait as the step settles. The wood creaks as you take another step, and you ignore the hammering of your heart as you wait to see if anyone has woken. The only one up beside you is the orange fur ball that nearly tripped you down the stairs when she cut you off. Cheddar sat on the last step, a paw in the air as she licked it clean.
She looked impatient.
“I am not feeding you!” You hiss as she continues to stare into your soul. Cheddar’s automatic feeder is set on a timer.
12 a.m., 6 a.m., 12 p.m, and 6 p.m.
The good stuff comes at lunch time, but Cheddar isn’t opposed to a meow or two if it’ll get her those tuna treats she likes so much. The ones in the blue bag that you accidentally shook last night at dinner out of curiosity.
Cheddar meows, and you hush her with a glare. She doesn’t seem to care as she meows louder, and you huff as you take the last few steps. “You’re an annoying little thing, aren’t ya? More like an annoying sibling than a pet,” you grumble as you grab your car keys and your purse.
Cheddar follows you to the door.
She takes a look at the kitchen.
Why are you going in the wrong direction? Her treats are in the kitchen, surely you know this?
Cheddar yowls, and you pick her up in your arms. She wriggles until she notes you’ve taken her to the kitchen. She jumps out of your arms and onto the counter. Her paw knocks down her bag of treats, it opens, and treats spill on the tile floor. Cheddar hops down from the counter and starts chomping on stinky tuna star treats.
You shake your head as you zip up the bag and put it in a cabinet, but for all you know, the brat knows how to open them as well.
~
“Come on,” You grunt as you slam your hand on the steering wheel. The engine won’t turn over, no matter how hard you try.
You curse, banging your head on the cold steering wheel.
“Fuck!”
“Car trouble?” A deep voice asks, startling you.
You turn to see Namjoon, a childhood friend.
“Joon!” You screech as you get out of your car to pounce on him. He laughs as he wraps his strong arms around you.
“What are you doing here?” He asks as he releases you. “I thought you were only dropping Kook off?”
“That was the plan,” You use your hand to motion at the thick snow.
“Ah,” Namjoon shakes his head. “Tough break.”
“I’m heading out now,” You inform him before looking back at your car with a frown. “Or I was trying to. It won’t start.”
“I’d love to help, but I know fuck all about cars,” Namjoon chuckles.
“I’ll have to wait until Jungkook or Jae wakes up. Ugh, so much for sneaking off.”
“You were going to leave without telling anyone?” Namjoon furrows his brows.
“I-I can’t stay,” You admit sheepishly.
“Why don’t we go get coffee, and you can tell me what’s going on?”
“I can’t. I gotta try to get this stupid car to start.” You kick the tire twice.
“Oooo-kay,” Namjoon nods, waving as he heads down the road.
~
An hour later, you’re sitting in front of the fireplace in your candy cane pajamas. A shiver runs down your back, and Cheddar meows until you move off her spot.
“You’re a real butthead, ya know?” You mutter at the cat as you scoot a few inches to the left. Cheddar ignores you as she rolls onto her back and kicks her paws out before curling into a ball and dozing off.
“Here you go,” Jungkook hands you a Santa mug full of hot chocolate and twelve little marshmallows because you’d bite his head off if he gave you an odd number.
“Thanks,” You take the mug and groan when it meets your lips.
“It was stupid to sit outside for so long,” Jungkook chastises you. You flip him off.
“Mom! She flipped me off!” Jungkook shouts, and you smack him in the arm.
“Bro! You’re 28, and you’re still tattling on me?!” You hiss as you smack him again.
Your mother calls your name, “Be nice to your brother!”
Jungkook smirks before he takes a big sip of his drink. Cheddar peers open an eye before rolling over.
“You little shit,” you grumble as you drink from your mug.
“So, what were you doing outside anyway?” Jungkook asks as he wipes the milk mustache from his lip. His long hair is still messy from sleep. He had heard you cursing loudly and had dashed down the stairs to see what was going on.
He found you on the porch, car keys in hand, and snow melting onto your clothing.
Your duffel bag sat in the passenger seat, and anger bubbled in your stomach.
It had taken a lot of coaxing to get you into the house until he finally had to get your mom and his dad.
Now you were handing him your mug, asking for a refill as you shivered in front of the fireplace. Jungkook sets the mugs aside, rising from the floor to grab a throw blanket off the couch. Carefully, he drapes it over you before he takes the mugs to the kitchen.
Frantic knocks disturb your thoughts.
“It’s open!” Jungkook calls from the kitchen.
“Jungkook!” You hiss in response. “It could be a serial killer!”
“One who knocks at 8 in the morning?” Jungkook quirks his head as he looks at the door when it bursts open.
“Oh no! It’s worse!” You groan as you throw yourself on the floor, startling Cheddar.
“We resent that!” Seokjin and Jimin exclaim as they shove each other through the threshold.
“Let me at her!” Seokjin shouts, rattling the home as he launches himself at you.
“Jin!” You cough as he lands on you, with Jimin following his lead.
“You bitch!” Seokjin curses as he hugs you tightly. “I had to find out from Namjoon that you were in town!”
“He saw me this morning. I wasn’t gonna stay,” You explain as Seokjin’s broad frame finally moves off you. Jimin still clings to you, though.
“We haven’t seen you in months, and you stay the night and don’t even bother telling us? How rude!” Jimin huffs as he pulls you to his chest.
“I wasn’t gonna stay!” You insist, but they wave you off as Jungkook shuts the door and goes to the kitchen for more hot chocolate.
Your mother and Jae prepare breakfast, tripling the recipes now that all your friends are here. It’ll only be a matter of time before Namjoon walks through the door as well.
“How long are you here for?” Seokjin asks as he grabs another egg omelet off the porcelain dish in the middle of the table.
“Yeah,” Jimin chimes in. “Are you staying for the festival? I got a booth with Jin, and we could use the help.”
“Wait, wait!” you shake your head. “I need to head home.”
“No, you don’t,” Jungkook waves you off. “I put in your PTO until the fifth.”
“Jungkook!”
“What? When’s the last time we spent Christmas as a family?”
“He’s right, hon,” Jae agrees, and you groan.
“Fine,” you give in. “But next time, clear it with me first?”
“Scouts honor!” Jungkook salutes you.
“You weren’t even a Boy Scout, shut up,” You grumble.
“Be nice to your brother,” Jae and your mom say.
You groan as you stab the scrambled eggs on your plate, muttering to yourself.
~
“Let’s go get coffee,” Jungkook tugs your arm repeatedly.
“Jungkook, I’m trying to catch up on my show,” You whine as he tugs your arm once more before he releases it to walk around your bedroom, tossing jeans, a sweater, and thick socks at your head.
“Be downstairs in five minutes, or I’m calling Seokjin to drag you out of bed,” Jungkook threatens before he leaves you to get dressed.
Even at his age, it was hard to tell him no. Reluctantly, you got dressed, meeting Jungkook at the door where you put your jacket on.
“Mom and Dad went out, so it’s just us until dinner. Namjoon and Jimin are waiting for us, and Seokjin is on his way.”
“Fine, but you’re paying for my order,” You grumble as you follow him out the door.
“Sure, sure,” Jungkook waves you off as the two of you make the short trek to the coffee shop two blocks away from your home.
Snow still clings to the ground, but at least it’s been shoveled off the sidewalks and salted.
The bell above the shop’s door chimes when Jungkook opens it for you. The shop plays Christmas music softly; decorations in red, green, and gold litter the counters and walls. A Christmas tree sits by the register, and your group of friends takes up the largest table near the back.
Namjoon and Seokjin are already arguing about one thing or another, while Jimin stares at the menu, trying to decide what he’ll order.
Taehyung, one of Jungkook’s friends from high school, sits behind the counter. He waves when he sees the two of you.
“Hey!” Jungkook smiles as he lets you go on without him to the table.
“You made it!”
“Jungkook threatened me,” You sigh as you sit beside Jimin, resting your chin on his shoulder to get a look at the menu.
“When did this place get a new name? Seesaw seems kinda odd,” You comment as you look over the drink menu.
Your friends freeze, eyeing each other, but nobody says a word.
“About a year ago,” Namjoon answers nervously.
“Ooh, that looks good!” You point to a drink, not paying attention to the shift in your friends' atmosphere.
“You should get something to eat,” Jimin says as he turns the page, hoping it’ll distract you.
“Are you joining us for the festival tomorrow night?” Seokjin asks, hoping you’ll forget all about the coffee shop.
“Maybe. What are you guys selling? Cakes?” You ask as you decide on what to order.
“Cupcakes, cookies, brownies,” Seokjin shrugs. “Something easy to eat while at the festival.”
“Did you bake everything?”
“Baked some yesterday and finishing up tonight,” Seokjin assures you.
“We’ll set up everything, I just need help manning the booth here and there,” Jimin explains as he goes to the counter with Namjoon to place their orders.
Jungkook looks pale when he sits beside Seokjin.
“I’m so sorry,” Seokjin whispers to Jungkook, but he just shakes his head.
“We forgot.”
“You forgot?! She’s gonna lose her mind!” Jungkook hisses in response.
“He’s not even here. It’ll be fine,” Seokjin sighs as Jimin and Namjoon return to the table, quickly starting a new conversation.
Jungkook can’t seem to relax, not until the five of you leave the shop.
The next morning is Saturday.
Most of the snow has melted, turning into slush or dirty puddles.
This morning, you snuck out of the house, trying to turn your car on, but it’s useless. However, you didn’t sit out in the cold for an hour like the day before.
Progress.
The last thing you wanted to do was pay for a tow and then for the work with Christmas so close and all your cards near maxed.
Maybe Jae could have a look at it once the weather isn’t so harsh. You knew Jungkook would refuse if only to keep you home for Christmas.
Lunch is your first meal of the day. Your parents are out once again. They’re visiting Jae’s family before the festival.
“Jungkook! I’m heading out!” You shout as you wrap your scarf around you.
Jungkook informs you he’ll meet you at the booth before you leave your childhood home.
The wind is unforgiving as you set foot outside. You shove your gloved hands into your coat pockets as you head down the sidewalk.
“Fuck this,” you grumble as your nose grows icy. “I need a drink.”
You check both sides of the road before you cross the street. You head to the coffee shop you had visited with your friends in need of coffee or hot chocolate.
There were several items on the menu you were eager to try, including a sea salt caramel hot chocolate. Perhaps that’s what you would go with today.
Your stomach growls, and you add a chocolate chip muffin to your mental list.
Chimes ring above your head as you push open the glass door, stomping your boots on the mat before you step in further.
Warmth engulfs you as you shut the door, and you shiver as you unwrap your scarf. A few patrons fill the tables, their conversations nearly drowning out the Christmas music that plays in the background.
There’s nobody behind the counter at the moment, but you use the time to take in the sweet confections.
“Welcome to Seesaw!” A voice greets you, and you smile as you pry your eyes away from the glass display case, freezing when you spot Hoseok, your ex’s younger brother.
Hoseok’s eyes widen when he recognizes you, his smile radiant as he rounds the counter to hug you.
He says your name in surprise as you welcome his hug.
“I haven’t seen you in ages! What brings you here?” He asks as he takes a step back. You grin as you take in his long black hair, his bright red sweater with a reindeer on the front makes you laugh. He was always eccentric with his style.
“Jungkook wanted to spend the holidays at home, so I drove him. Car won’t start, so I’m stuck here,” you shrug as Hoseok gets behind the counter. He nods at your explanation.
“It’s good to see you regardless! Especially here, since you know,” he trails off with a shrug. “What can I get you?”
You ask for your drink in a to-go cup and a muffin in a baggie. Hoseok refuses to take your money, and you huff.
“I don’t want you to get in trouble,” you hiss.
Hoseok laughs. “Trust me, I won’t.
“What do you mean?” You ask, confused. “Do you own the place?”
Hoseok shakes his head. He bites his lip as he debates answering your question, but before he can, someone calls his name.
The employee door opens, and you freeze in your spot as your ex walks in.
He doesn’t see you at first, too occupied with what he was going to tell Hoseok, but when you gasp, his eyes turn to you.
Yoongi is even prettier than the last time you saw him. His hair is longer than Hoseok’s, and his cat eyes are just as enticing. His lips are just as beautiful and kissable as you remember, and it makes you want to run in the opposite direction.
Which is what you do when your heart pounds in your chest.
Yoongi calls out for you, but the chimes overhead drown out his voice as you take off down the sidewalk with your drink and muffin rattling in their containers.
Tears threaten to spill, but you refuse to cry.
They knew.
They all knew
They had to have known… and yet they took you there anyway.
Once you’re sure Yoongi hasn’t gone after you, you cut through the park and plop down on a cold metal bench.
Anger fills your veins as you drink your hot chocolate, not caring that it scalds your tongue and taste buds. The muffin gets torn to pieces before you stuff it in your mouth, chewing aggressively until it’s all gone.
The logo on the paper bag mocks you before you crumple it up and toss it into the garbage can. You hold your drink in your hands, allowing the warmth to distract you as you stomp your way to the lines of booths at the other end of the playground.
Seokjin and Jimin are busy decorating their booth. They own a successful bakery downtown, where they often create gorgeous cakes and desserts that occasionally go viral. Today, their Christmas confections are immaculate, some already on display as the two try to wrestle their banner into place.
Jimin holds one end of the banner in his hand while holding the ladder with his other hand. He’s mid-sentence when he spots you, his smile vanishing when he sees the familiar logo on your cup.
“Oh no,” he groans, causing Seokjin to turn in your direction, his eyes widen as he spots Yoongi’s logo on your cup.
“Fuck.”
“You knew!” Your words spew like venom at the two men. Jimin pins his end of the banner, allowing the other end to hang over the booth.
“We wanted to tell you,” Jimin starts, but you raise your hand to silence him.
“But you didn’t.”
“You ended on good terms,” Seokjin begins, and you bite your lip. “We wanted to include you in our plans. We hadn’t seen you in months.”
“You should have told me,” you huff, looking down at the white cup with the red lid.
“Would you have gone if we had?” Jimin inquired as he stepped off the ladder.
“No,” you answer honestly. “I wouldn’t have.”
“You broke up a long time ago. Why are you still avoiding him?” Seokjin asks as Jimin moves the ladder to the other side so he can pin the banner.
“Because I still love him, Jin,” you sigh dejectedly. “It’s stupid, I know. I was the one who moved far away. I wanted to get out of this town, and he didn’t. Now it just hurts to see him.”
“Have you tried talking to him?” Jimin asks as he gets off the ladder. Seokjin turns to inspect the banner position.
“No!” You scoff. “He’s got the perfect life here. Why would I mess that up?”
“Are you dating anyone?” Jimin queries as he folds the ladder and leans it against the booth. He’ll have to get the Christmas lights from his car and the tiny Christmas tree with ornaments in a moment, but this conversation is too juicy to miss.
You shake your head. “Nope. You both should have told me, though. He was the last person I was expecting to see.”
“He’s been pretty busy lately.” Seokjin shrugs. “He hasn’t been in the shop as often.”
“And when he is, he’s in the back baking,” Jimin informs you.
“Regardless, I looked like an idiot. I ran off before he could say something. Fuck, I need to go home.”
“You have time for a nap before the festival,” Seokjin says as he leans against the booth. A few other people have arrived to decorate their booths, and you know, once evening hits, the park will be filled with townsfolk looking for some holiday cheer.
Most of these festivals happened every weekend leading up to Christmas Eve, and as this was the second, you had at least one more before Christmas.
“I meant back to my home, not here,” you grumble.
“The fuck not!” Seokjin exclaims as he places his hands on his hips. “Jungkook already told us you have PTO, and we haven’t spent a Christmas together since you left. You’re staying, or I will hunt you down to the ends of the earth to get you back here.”
You swallow your emotions and the urge to cry. Seokjin and Jimin were two of your best friends, and they were right, you had run away from here, leaving them behind. You wanted to go back home, but for what? To spend the holidays alone for the sixth year in a row, when you could spend them with your family and friends instead? What was waiting for you back home anyway? A sad-looking tree, a drafty apartment, and obnoxious neighbors who stomped around all night? Is that what you want to do for the holidays?
Grumbling, you toss your empty cup into a nearby trash can. “Fuck, fine! I’ll stay!”
Seokjin and Jimin perk up, grinning from ear to ear.
“But I don’t want to see Yoongi the rest of the time that I’m here.”
You miss the nervous glances your friends exchange as you pull them into a group hug.
“Mom!” Jungkook runs into the kitchen that afternoon with Cheddar in his arms as he slides on the kitchen linoleum with his toe socks.
He shouts your name as he cowers behind your mother, as you slide into the kitchen after him.
“You knew!”
“I was going to tell you!” Jungkook yells from behind the safety of your mother.
“But you didn’t!”
“Sweetheart, what is going on? You’re scaring Cheddar,” your mother plucks her beloved cat from her youngest and has you sit on a stool.
“Jungkook knew that Yoongi owned that coffee shop near the house!” You huff, flipping off Jungkook when your mother turns to face him.
Your sibling sticks his tongue out at you and gets chastised by your mother. Being back home gave you the freedom to bicker like children.
“I was going to tell you, but he wasn’t there that day anyway. No harm, no foul,” Jungkook pouts; his eyes sparkle with unshed tears, but you’re immune after growing up with him.
“Save it,” you shake your head. Your mother sighs.
“Jungkook, it was wrong of you to withhold information from your sister. You know she loves you and did not want to be sideswiped by Yoongi’s coffee shop.”
“Mom!” You shout, and Cheddar hisses before scrambling out of your mother’s arms and into the living room. She’s had enough excitement for the day.
“What? Am I wrong?” You resist the urge to roll your eyes at your mother because she’s right. You didn’t keep much from her, and since there had been no relationships after Yoongi, one could easily infer he was the reason why.
“Good,” your mother takes your silence as her answer. “Now, hug, and get out of my kitchen. I need to get started on dinner for tonight.”
“Yes, Mom,” you and Jungkook say in unison, mumbling apologies before leaving the kitchen for your rooms.
-
Hours later, Jungkook walks beside you to the festival. The street light illuminates your path as you head for the booths.
“Are you going to get on the Ferris Wheel?” Jungkook asks as he tugs his beanie lower to cover his ears from the cold. The wind ruffles his hair at the ends, and he frowns as he tries to fix it.
“I don’t know. I’m not in a festive mood. My car still won’t start, and now my ex runs the coffee shop with my new favorite drink.”
“Chill, Grinch. It’s just a few weeks,” Jungkook sticks his tongue out at you, and you bump into his side. He laughs as he rights himself just as you walk past a few booths.
Children run around the park, some by the giant Christmas tree, and others in line to get their faces painted. Sweet and savory scents fill the air as vendors serve their treats to hungry customers.
Up ahead, Seokjin and Jimin man the booth while Namjoon takes payment.
Seokjin greets you cheerily, handing you one of his fudge brownies. He elbows Jimin, and they apologize in unison.
“It’s going to take more than a brownie to make me forgive you,” you huff.
Seokjin grins as he reaches the table behind him to grab a purple thermos.
You eye him warily as you take it from him. Cautiously, you open the thermos and groan when the sweet scent of your favorite hot chocolate meets your nose.
“You fight dirty, Jin,” you state as you take a sip before putting the lid back on.
“I know what my baby likes,” Seokjin wiggles his eyebrows at you, and Jimin cackles beside him.
Namjoon finishes the transaction with the customer at the booth and walks over to join the conversation.
“In my defense, I thought they had told you,” he shrugs.
“Way to throw us under the bus, Joon,” Jungkook rolls his eyes at his friend, and Namjoon smirks.
“Why don’t you two go look around, and I’ll take over for Joon,” you suggest as you take a large bite of your brownie.
Seokjin bites his bottom lip before nodding hastily. Jimin tries to protest, but a sharp elbow meets his ribs.
“Sure!” Namjoon exclaims. “There’s a pastry I want to try. It’s a fish, but ain’t no fish inside.”
“You mean the red bean paste one?” Jungkook cackles as Namjoon rounds the booth to join him. The two push each other, laughing as they head farther into the park, past booths selling food, jewelry, and other crafts.
“When do you think those two will finally get together?” Jimin asks as Seokjin takes the next customer.
“Before Christmas,” you smile as you see Jungkook and Namjoon stop at a booth further down the line. The two stand close together, looking at something. Jungkook stands closer than necessary, his chin resting on Namjoon’s shoulder with a smile on his lips.
There was no way one of them wouldn’t confess before the holiday.
-
Thirty minutes fly by as you finish your hot chocolate. You’ve rang up a few people and covered bathroom breaks, but as the night grew chilly, you were aching to check out a few booths before heading home.
You had offered to stay until the event ended, but your friends assured you they’d have help.
“Have a look around, and we’ll meet you for lunch tomorrow,” Seokjin insists as you try to help pick up.
Seokjin places his hands on your shoulders and turns you around towards the other booths.
“Buy something, eat something, I don’t care, just get out of here,” he chuckles as you stomp away after flipping him off.
Part of you wonders if Jungkook and Namjoon are still in the park. You browse here and there, buying a bracelet from one of the vendors before moving on.
Music fills the space as you tuck your hands into your pockets. You don’t pay attention as you keep following the path until a sweet smell garners your attention.
Distracted by the smell, you don’t notice who is manning the booth. Letting your nose guide you, you reach for a double chocolate chip muffin, your hand on your purse, ready to take your card out to pay for it. By the time you lock eyes with the vendor, it’s too late. Standing in front of you, and all his angelic glory, is Yoongi.
Yoongi is just as surprised as you are when his eyes meet yours. For a moment, the world stops. You feel lightheaded, your heart skips a beat, and you are sure you are about to pass out. It takes two stuttered heartbeats for you to come to your senses.
However, it’s Yoongi who breaks the silence first. He whispers your name, in disbelief, sure that he had imagined you in his coffee shop the other day, despite assurances from his brother. He had believed you were simply a mirage.
Not knowing what to do, you hand him your card with shaky fingers and remain silent.
Yoongi blinks; his lashes brush his cheeks as he takes the card. The card trembles between his fingers as he taps it on the machine.
The machine chimes as it takes payment; Yoongi hands your card back.
The evening chill is your blame for the chills that run down your spine. At least, that’s what you’ll tell yourself later when you’re wrapped up in blankets in your childhood home.
It has nothing to do with the soft brush of Yoongi’s fingers against yours as you take the card back.
“Do you need a receipt?” Yoongi asks, cursing himself. Is that all he had to say to you?
“No, I’m good,” you respond as you hold his gaze. He’s grown out his hair since you broke up, his eyes are dark and no longer shine like they used to when you were younger. He looks more stern, maybe a little closed off.
You never wanted it to end.
Yoongi was your person, but you wanted different things.
Even now, it wasn’t plausible to imagine a future with him. His life was rooted in your hometown; yours was hours away.
“Excuse me, but we’re next,” the customers behind you say. They break whatever spell Yoongi cast on you, and you apologize to the people behind you in line before you make your escape.
Yoongi stares at your retreating form until his customers wave a hand in his face.
So you are back in town, and he was the last to know.
“No.”
“I haven’t said anything,” Jungkook furrows his brows.
“The answer is still no,” you state as you use a thick piece of yarn to play with Cheddar. She takes a swipe at the string, misses, and licks her paw before leaving the living room.
Jungkook drops to his knees, he clasps his hands, and pouts as he meets your gaze. You lie on the couch, one leg bent and the other stretched out. Your left arm still dangles over the side as you wiggle the yarn.
“I promised Seokjin I’d take walnut banana bread to his place tonight. He’s having a small get-together,” Jungkook frowns.
“So not only was I not invited, but you want me to bake?” You roll your eyes at your younger brother, pushing his shoulder until he falls on his butt.
“I didn’t invite you because I knew you’d say no,” Jungkook explains. “Please? Namjoon’s gonna be there.”
A sly smile appears on your lips as you hear Namjoon’s name.
“Oh? Namjoon will be there?” You wiggle your eyebrows, and Jungkook blushes. He covers his face and nods.
“Fine,” you sigh as you roll off the couch to land on your sibling. He grunts and pushes you off; the two of you end up wrestling until your mother breaks it up.
“I thought at your big age, you’d stop this nonsense,” she chuckles.
“Nah!” You and Jungkook laugh as you get up.
“Come on, we have a loaf to bake,” you drag Jungkook to the kitchen with you. He gathers the ingredients and preheats the oven.
Your mother lets you have your time to bake while she makes a shopping list for her annual Christmas dinner.
An hour later, Jungkook panics as he looks at the time.
“Shit! I need to get ready,” he heads for the stairs, and soon the shower starts.
The banana bread is still baking, and you fear it won’t be ready by the time Jungkook comes back down.
“You might just have to take it to Seokjin’s yourself,” your mother says your name as she checks the loaf. It’s thicker than normal, and it’s taking longer to bake fully.
Jungkook stomps down the stairs fifteen minutes later, looking like he’s heading out for a date.
You smile as you hope Namjoon will finally say something to Jungkook.
Even before the two of you moved away, there was a spark between your stepbrother and your best friend. You hoped every year one of them would finally break down, but with the distance, you weren’t sure if they would.
Part of you expected Jungkook to tell you he’d want to move back home to be with Namjoon, but it was never brought up.
Jungkook didn’t thrive as much as you did. However, you grew somewhat tired of the big city. If it wasn’t for Jungkook, you might consider moving back home.
Not that it mattered at the moment, you weren’t going to leave your only sibling high and dry in a city that was your dream once.
“Jungkook, it’s not done yet. I’ll have to bring it over once it cools,” you inform him.
Jungkook frowns. “Okay, but please don’t forget! Namjoon is looking forward to it!”
You laugh and nod, “I swear. I’ll drop it off as soon as it’s ready. Now go, you’ll be late!”
Jungkook waves as he leaves the home, and you eye the oven.
“It’s not gonna bake any faster because you stare at it, sweetheart,” your mom comments as she goes over her list, adding more items.
“I know,” you sigh as you cross your arms.
“Why don’t you go shower and get dressed. I’ll keep an eye on the bread. You can’t go to Seokjin’s in your pajamas,” Your mother says as she looks at the little kittens on your red pajamas.
“Not if he’s hosting,” your mother says. You nod as you head up the stairs to shower and get dressed.
Eventually, you and the banana bread make your way to Seokjin’s home.
You don’t bother to knock.
Music fills your ears the moment you step inside the familiar home.
Part of you is annoyed the invitation wasn’t extended to you, but as you pass the foyer and head to the kitchen, you spot Yoongi.
Somersaults in your stomach make you want to turn tail, but you have to set down the loaf first. You look for a bit of counter space, but drinks (alcoholic and non) cover every inch to your right, and food covers the table.
You could push aside the different-colored bracelets, but then you froze.
Colored bracelets?
You read the index cards taped to the counter in front of each color:
Green - Single and open to being approached
Yellow - Platonic meetings/complicated
Red - Taken
In a panic, you set the loaf down by the bracelets and get ready to make a hasty exit.
When Jungkook gets home, you’ll thank him for not inviting you to the Singles’ mixer. You were not here to date, nor did you want to speak to anyone.
Running might be your best option.
“What’s your color?” A familiar voice asks behind you.
Ice courses through your veins, your lungs inflate, but you’re unable to breathe as memories slam into you like a battering ram.
That deep honeyed voice, a voice that had promised futures and dreams but now was the source of your panic. A voice so saccharine it still cinched your heart when you’d hear it. A voice that you could pick out in a crowd, that you had that fateful day at the train station, when it begged you to stay, and you decided to leave.
Should you make a break for it, crush his soul for good, or turn around and give him a sliver of hope?
The window of escape shuts with a (metaphorical) bang as Yoongi walks in front of you instead. He faces you, his bemused expression shooting you right in the heart.
“I’m just here for Kook,” you explain as you look past Yoongi to see if your bratty brother is around. You were planning on ending up on some Most Wanted list tonight.
“I see,” Yoongi says as he cards his fingers through his thick hair.
“Have you seen him or Joon?” You ask, hoping you’ll spot either of them before Jimin and Seokjin spot you.
The last time you were at a mixer, Seokjin had the bright idea to play spin the bottle, and Jimin egged him on.
You don’t think you’ve eaten onions after your kissing partner landed a stinky kiss on you.
Gross.
“Nah,” Yoongi answers casually as he leans against the counter. His hands slide in his black leather jacket.
You wonder if he does it to appear cool and composed, but the truth is, he has to keep his hands in his pockets to keep from reaching out to you.
“I offered to cater,” Yoongi explains easily. “Knew Seokjin would drag me here otherwise. I’ve been here all night.”
The kitchen suddenly feels smaller, constricting, as you feel the fiery stare of your ex-boyfriend.
From the living room, you spot Seokjin with a bottle of Moscato, and you duck behind the wall.
“It’s time to spice things up with a game of spin the bottle!” Seokjin laughs maniacally, and some of the guests cheer.
“That’s my cue to bounce.” You straighten up and make a mad dash for the front door. “See ya!”
Yoongi’s gaze follows you as you dodge and weave between guests to sweet freedom just on the other side of Seokjin’s front door.
Disappointment fills you as Jungkook stops and grins.
You turn on your heel and head back to the kitchen.
Perhaps you can sneak out the back door and shimmy over the fence into the neighbor’s yard. A yappy Chihuahua in the backyard seemed a better opponent than your brother and your friends.
In the kitchen, Yoongi speaks to a woman you don’t know. Her bracelet is green, you note as she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear.
You ignore the jab to your heart as you eye the back door, but unfortunately, you’re spotted by Namjoon.
“Hey! You’re here!” He smiles, the contents of his cup swish, and you step to the side. “Whoops! I’ve had a few too many eggnogs tonight. Seokjin has a heavy hand when it comes to this shit.”
“And you’re still a light-weight,” You stick your tongue out at him. Namjoon laughs as he downs his cup and sets it on the counter.
“Not anymore,” He responds. “What are you drinking?”
“Oh, I’m not staying.” You shake your head and ignore the fiery heat of Yoongi’s stare.
“You have to!” Namjoon pouts. “You haven’t been home in years.”
“It’s not home anymore, Joon. You know that,” You say softly, but you don’t need to look at Yoongi to know your words have cut like a knife.
“Nonsense! This will always be your home, no matter where you go. Your heart is here,” Namjoon motions with his arms. You’re sure he means in general, but your heart flips when you meet Yoongi’s gaze.
The woman beside him prattles on about one thing or another, unaware and uncaring that Yoongi isn’t actually listening to her. Perhaps she likes to hear herself talk.
“I left the oven on,” You lie as you sidestep Namjoon when he refills his cup with eggnog.
“I can call your mom,” Namjoon offers as he sips his drink. “I’m sure she’s home.”
“Do not call my mother while you’re drunk!” You laugh, shaking your head. The last thing you wanted was your mother listening to Namjoon go on about the life cycle of some aquatic animal while she wraps presents for Cheddar.
“Stay a few minutes. Keep me company,” Namjoon pouts as he grabs a cup for you.
“Joon,” you sigh, and he knows he’s got you.
“Doesn’t have to be alcohol, love,” Namjoon assures you as he points to the dispensers on a different table. There was so much food and drinks crammed into Seokjin’s kitchen, you overlooked them.
“Joon! Kook’s looking for you! He’s under the mistletoe!” Jimin’s voice rings through the hall. Namjoon blushes before he waves hastily.
You look at the drink options. Thankfully, they’re all labeled. If there was something you could count on, it was Yoongi being meticulous with food. The last thing he wanted was to cause someone an allergic reaction or have them consume something they were unsure about. Perhaps it was because you were a very picky eater (chicken tenders and fries almost everywhere you went), or maybe it was just who you were.
“Not that one, babe,” Yoongi’s voice brings you out of your thoughts as you stand in front of a dispenser. “Shit, sorry.”
You don’t even register his apology as the endearment makes your heart soar and your face heat.
“Hm?” You hum in question as you look at the black and silver dispenser.
Peppermint hot cocoa.
“Ah, thanks,” You thank him as you walk to the next dispenser. You read through the ingredients, then the one beside it that has oat milk, one that has almond milk, and one that has soy milk beside those two. There are peppermint variations and ones that are just cocoa. You make your selection, then sip your drink.
It looks like you’re trapped in this kitchen with Yoongi until you can find a moment to sneak out. You wonder if you can still shimmy down Seokjin’s bedroom window and down the trellis as you used to as teens.
“I wouldn’t think about it,” Yoongi smirks as he sits on the stool beside the table. “Breaking a bone at our age is different than breaking one as a teen.”
“You don’t even know what I was thinking.” You roll your eyes as you sip your hot chocolate.
Yoongi scoffs. “Mhm, mind reader.”
Yoongi confidently points to his temple and smiles.
His smile makes your heart grow wings and fly into the atmosphere at full speed. You were not sure how you were expected to survive this holiday season if Yoongi was going to keep popping up.
Even if you locked yourself in your bedroom (slash Cheddar’s), you were 100% sure Jungkook would easily kick the door down.
The lights in Seokjin’s home dim as the guests ooh and ahh over the grand Christmas tree in the living room. A few dim lights light the otherwise dark kitchen, and you feel confident enough to step closer to Yoongi.
You set your drink down, and your hand rests on the table as you lean forward. “You can’t possibly know what I’m thinking about right this second.”
Yoongi leans forward, his lips just a hairbreadth away. “Try me.”
Kiss him.
Kiss him.
Do it.
Fuck it!
Just before you silence him with your lips, the lights come back on. Startled, you step back. The thumping of your heart is deafening as you make a mad dash for the back door.
Yoongi calls after you, but you refuse to halt or face him.
What did this even mean?
Was he going to kiss you?
Were you going to kiss him?
Harder than necessary, you open the back door, only to see a few more guests drinking and socializing around a fire pit.
Fuck, was there no end to this fucking Singles’ mixer?
However, your slight hesitation bites you in the ass as you’re grabbed from behind and pulled into a broad frame.
Kim Seokjin, ladies and gents.
“Where do you think you’re going, candy cane?” Seokjin asks as he pulls you back into the kitchen, as you try to break free. You kick the back door shut in your attempts to break free, but none of the partygoers give you a second look once they see it’s their host behind the disturbance.
“Lemme go!”
“Not yet, sugar plum. You just got here, and you didn’t even say hello,” Seokjin pouts as he whips out a sprig of mistletoe and hangs it over your heads with his fingers.
“Seokjin!” you huff as he kisses your cheek. You wipe his kiss off your skin and flip him off as he laughs.
Jimin comes over, and he takes the mistletoe from Seokjin, but you know better than to think he’d come to your rescue.
“You call that a kiss?” Jimin goads Seokjin, then kisses your cheek with a wet smack.
“I hate you both,” you grumble as you wipe Jimin’s kiss off your skin. The two men laugh as they drag you to the kitchen, where Yoongi is busy talking to someone else.
“What’s your color?” Seokjin asks as he looks at the counter with all the bracelets.
“I am not participating in your… event.”
“Sure you are!” Jimin nods as he reaches for a yellow bracelet, but Seokjin shakes his head.
“Even Yoongi is wearing one,” Seokjin states as he uses his thumb to point in your ex's direction. You look over Seokjin’s shoulder to see Yoongi pushing his long hair back, and there on his wrist is a bright green bracelet.
Your heart sinks to your stomach.
Oh.
Any hope that you could make it through tonight leaves you as you excuse yourself to the bathroom. Seokjin doesn’t stop you as you make your way down the hall. He’s not stupid enough to believe you’d be back as you head for the front door to head back home.
“I’m hosting a friends and family pre-Christmas dinner,” Your mother announces a few days later.
“Didn’t you send out invites for that right after Friendsgiving?” Jae asks as he reads the paper.
“Yes,” Your mother answers, but that was before our darling daughter was in town. “What do you have to wear for the event? Should I call Hoseok and Jimin to take you shopping? You know they both graduated from FIT in New York.”
“Yes, Mom, I know. I was there for graduation.” You respond as you take the last muffin from the tin before Jungkook can take it.
“Hey!” Jungkook protests, and your mother has another tin ready to set on the table before you two can argue further.
Name cards.
So many name cards.
Your mother urges you and Jungkook out the door with instructions on not returning until 6 pm.
“She hosts a dinner party every year,” Jungkook explains as the two of you head to the coffee shop.
“For the neighborhood?” You ask as you stuff your hands in your coat pockets.
Jungkook chuckles as they come to a stop. He hits the button to the crosswalk. “Just a few friends and whatnot. She’s excited you’re home for the holidays.”
“Against my will,” you mutter. Jungkook sighs, and the two cross the road when it is safe to do so.
“Don’t you miss living here?” Jungkook asks as they walk past a few Mom and Pop shops.
You’re not sure if you should answer honestly. You had moved so you could be there for your little brother, but he wasn’t so little anymore. Sure, you missed your hometown, missed your parents, your friends, the serene, quiet nights. The big city seemed to never sleep, traffic, car alarms, loud neighbors: it was all too much at times.
“What? Have you decided to move back home?” You ask Jungkook, gently bumping him with your side, and he bumps you back.
“Sometimes,” he shrugs to appear apathetic, but you know him better.
“Is it because of Namjoon?” You ask softly, and Jungkook's head whips in your direction. His doe eyes are wide in surprise.
“No!”
You giggle as you tease him, poking his cheeks as he blushes.
Jungkook groans as you approach Seesaw. Thankfully, Yoongi isn’t behind the counter this morning, you’re not sure you could survive seeing him after you ran out of Seokjin’s house.
“Shh, Joon’s in there,” Jungkook nudges you, then holds the door open for you to head inside. Your friends are all at the largest table, arguing over what to get and how much to eat before your mother’s dinner party this evening.
Jungkook sits beside Namjoon, the two smiling and joking instantly as you sit beside Jimin.
Chatter from your friends and the other patrons fills the cozy coffee shop. It’s rather busy, busier than it ever was with the previous owner. Perhaps Yoongi does have a knack for business.
The moment you think of Yoongi, he appears from the kitchen. The door swings closed after him, flapping back and forth a few times as he sets down a silver tray of freshly baked goods.
Patrons scurry towards the counter, and Yoongi chuckles as he has them form a line, assuring them he’s got more in the back.
He looks happy in his element, his eyes have a sparkle in them as customers compliment his confections and coffee. Hell, even water tastes better just because he pours it.
For a moment, you allow yourself to wonder what life would have been like if you had stayed here instead of leaving with Jungkook.
Would you be beside Yoongi right now? Would you be jolly like him? Would you still be together?
Your heart cinches as you look away from Yoongi, but your thoughts weigh you down like an anchor.
“So you’re leaving? Just like that?” Yoongi tries to hide the hurt in his voice, but his eyes burn with unshed tears, and the knives in his throat scrape as he swallows.
“Yoongi,” you say his name in a tone that makes his heart shatter to pieces. Where had this even come from? Suddenly, the velvet box in his pocket feels like a concrete block, threatening to sink him further than his heart.
“He’s my little brother. He can’t go off alone. He asked me to go with him. You know how anxious he is,” you explain, but Yoongi shakes his head. Of course, he knows; he deals with his own mental illnesses and can empathize with Jungkook.
“What about us? Are you just leaving like that? Without a second thought?” Yoongi can barely breathe. This is not what he had in mind when he asked you to join him for a stroll.
Yoongi had imagined a whole different outcome, a happier one. One in which the ring tightly nestled in its box was on your finger instead.
But you had insisted you had to talk to him, that it was urgent, so of course, he let you go first. After all, there wasn’t anything the two of you couldn’t solve together, as a team, as lovers.
The wind has been knocked out of his lungs just moments ago, and if he were honest, he’s not sure he’ll ever breathe normally again.
“Yoongi,” you reach for him, but he takes a step back. Did he think this wasn’t killing you, too? Was being forced to pick between a sibling and the love of your life destroying you?
Yoongi shakes his head. He can’t think, can’t breathe, and can barely stand as his knees wobble. The frigid air feels like tiny needles pricking his skin.
You hadn’t even asked him to go with you.
“We can do long distance,” you tell him, but he doesn’t want to listen.
“Until you meet someone else?” Yoongi spits out, and you know he’s hurt, but this wasn’t easy for you either. Why can’t he see that?
You sniffle, refusing to cry.
“That’s not gonna happen!”
“You don’t know that! I’ll be a memory in your rear view while you meet someone else.” Yoongi shakes his head and wipes his tears.
“We’re leaving tomorrow,” the final jab in Yoongi’s heart.
A stray tear runs down your cheek without you noticing.
You’ve been staring at the table, trying to push that night out of your head.
When you look up, Yoongi is looking at you with concern as you taste the saltiness of your tear. You wiped it away and straightened up in your seat as you plastered on a smile for your friends.
Yoongi is both concerned and impressed by how quickly you did that. What had caused that sorrowful look in the first place?
Surely, you didn’t still think of him?
Or that night.
He never did get to give you the ring in his pocket, though now it rests in a drawer, out of sight.
On nights when he’s feeling particularly lonely, he takes it out and holds it in his hand. He wonders what life would have been like if he had asked you to be his wife. If his cold, empty sheets would smell like you, or if your sweet voice would fill all the corners of his home instead of the deafening silence.
It doesn’t matter, he tells himself as he heads back to the kitchen for more baked goods.
It’s not like you’re staying for long anyway.
“Just find your name, dear,” Your mother says as the guests arrive for her dinner party.
The dining table is full of guests while the kitchen is stuffed with all sorts of dishes. The serving staff work hard not to bump into each other as they get ready to serve the first course.
You find a smaller table in the living room with your friends and some of your younger family members. You find your name card beside Jungkook, and your nine-year-old cousin, Ava, smiles at you. Her eleven-year-old brother barely looks up from his handheld gaming console, and you hear someone pull the chair beside you.
Namjoon sits next to Jungkook, the two chatting while your friends discuss plans after the dinner party.
A smile appears on your lips as you turn to face your dinner guest, but it crumbles when you note the familiar lips mouthing your name.
“Shit!”
Yoongi freezes as he scopes around the room for an empty seat.
Your parents are busy hosting, and you know it would be childish to ask to move. However, you wonder if you can bribe one of your younger cousins to switch seats with you.
“Did we get put at the children’s table?” Yoongi asks when he realizes there’s nowhere else to go. His parents are already seated and comfortable; he couldn’t just get up and leave without it being a distraction.
You look around the table. Other than your friend group and Jungkook, the rest of your dinner mates are under the age of twelve.
Seokjin curses as he tells a joke, and the kids all turn to face him. He burns red as he apologizes, not used to having to watch his words.
His gaze meets yours for a moment, his eyes wide when he sees Yoongi sitting beside you.
A minute later. Your phone buzzes: Do you want to switch seats?
My mother would have a fit. It’s one dinner, it’ll be fine.
Seokjin keeps his gaze on you a bit longer before he nods.
Thankfully, Hoseok and Taehyung show up to sit beside Yoongi at the table, so you won’t have to sit beside him all night, thinking of conversation topics that won’t send you over the edge.
The first course is served without incident. You turn your body towards Jungkook and your friends. They do their best to include you in conversation, but most of it is places they’ve traveled to while you were gone.
During the second course, you reach for your napkin, accidentally brushing Yoongi’s thigh as you set the napkin on your lap. Heat rushed to your cheeks as you murmured an apology.
“Do you ever think about moving back? Now that you’ve finally finished university?” Seokjin asks Jungkook, and a silence falls over the kids' table.
Jungkook feels everyone’s gaze on him, and he turns red.
“Sometimes,” he answers honestly.
“You should totally move back!” Taehyung exclaims before he challenges Jungkook to a gaming marathon, and whatever unease Jungkook had dissipates as the conversation moves on.
Would you want to move back home?
If you were honest, the thought had crossed your mind frequently. You’d moved to keep Jungkook company as he studied and learned to live with his anxiety. Now he was older, he didn’t need you as much, and you knew you baby him a little too much, but he was your brother.
Your grown-up brother who didn’t need you at his side 24/7 anymore. Perhaps staying so far away was just an excuse to keep avoiding Yoongi and the fact that you still loved him.
Would you move back home if Jungkook decided to?
Possibly, more than likely.
You missed your friends, your parents, the small city life, and the lifestyle.
Most importantly, you missed Yoongi.
He was right beside you (which you’re sure Jungkook had some say or sway with your mother), and you missed him desperately. The feel of his body, the scent of his skin, the taste of his lips, his touch.
Buzzing of chatter fills your ears as you push past the crowd.
Jungkook is rolling your suitcase and his behind you as you part the crowd for him.
Part of you is surprised you could fit your life into a large suitcase and lug it onto the train, but here you were.
You didn’t have time to cry.
Your mother has done plenty of it when you left for the train station with Jungkook.
Sorrowful, weepy goodbyes weren’t your thing. You had forbidden your friends from showing up at the station or at your house.
A simple text was all you had sent to let them know you’d miss them dearly, but now you swear you can hear your name being called again and again in a desperate tone.
When you turn, you see Yoongi, and your heart crumples to pieces.
You didn’t want to say goodbye. You had hopes that long distance would work out.
Jungkook stops. “You don’t have to come with me.”
Torn between a sibling and love.
Yoongi says your name once more, this time it’s a plea.
“I’m sorry.”
After dinner, the “kids” are excused.
Your younger cousins head to Cheddar’s bedroom. The poor feline has climbed to the top rung of her cat tree to get away from the loud chatter and incessant pets.
Seokjin leads the way outside.
It’s snowing again, but not as heavily as before. Snow still lingers on the sidewalk, the grass, and along the road as Christmas lights shine in the night sky.
The eight of you crowd on the front porch until Jungkook and Taehyung start a snowball fight, dragging each of your friends into it until you divide up into two groups.
Unfortunately, your teammates include Seokjin, jimin, and Yoongi.
Like the troublemakers they are, jimin and Seokjin run off, laughing as they take the brunt of jungkook and Hoseok’s snowballs.
Namjoon hides behind a tree trunk, trying to shake the snow out of his shirt before it melts. He shivers as Taehyung keeps rolling snowballs, getting them ready for Jungkook to throw.
“Shit!” Jimin shouts as he pelts Taehyung in the face, and the two run down the sidewalk, their laughter in the air.
Seokjin and Hoseok chase after them, laughing as they hit the two with snowballs until they round the corner on the block.
Namjoon and Jungkook start heading toward their rowdy group of friends, or they start to but unbeknownst to you, they break off and head to the neighborhood park together.
Namjoon holds Jungkook’s hands in his. “Have you told her yet?”
Jungkook shakes his head. “I don’t want her to be mad at me, Joon.”
A heavy sigh escapes Namjoon. “I know, but you already gave notice at your job. Your dad has your old home ready for us to move in together.”
“I’ll tell her, I swear.”
“Soon?” Namjoon questions.
Jungkook nods. “I promise.
Another heavy sigh escapes Namjoon. If it were up to him, you’d know about his and Jungkook’s relationship from the start. The couple had kept it a secret in case it didn’t work out. Jungkook lived hours away; long distance wasn’t his first choice, but now he was ready to move back home and be with Namjoon.
Secretly, Jungkook had quit his job just before coming home for the holidays. His parents knew of his intent to move back home, or to his childhood home, which Jae had fixed up.
However, his parents had insisted that Jungkook tell you before he moved into the home. They wouldn’t give him the house key until he did. Sometimes his parents made him feel like a child, but it had both positive and negative effects.
This was a negative.
“We can tell her together,” Namjoon offers his support as the two come to a stop. Jungkook knows he should have said something sooner, but how would he break your heart when you had given up everything to move with him?
“I’ll tell her soon,” Jungkook swallows thickly. “Let’s just enjoy this moment alone.”
Namjoon agrees, kissing Jungkook until his friends' laughter has them breaking apart. He can’t wait until his relationship with Jungkook is no longer a secret.
“Well, this is awkward,” Yoongi states as all your friends chase after each other.
“Gee, way to make it worse,” you grumble as you shove your hands in your coat pockets.
Yoongi chuckles as the two of you walk in the direction of your friends’ laughter.
“Oh, come on. We can be friendly,” Yoongi bumps you with his arm, and you stumble. He laughs when you steady yourself and bump him back.
“You’re annoying,” You sigh as you reach the end of the block.
Yoongi grins. He bends and throws a snowball at you.
“Yoongi!” You scream-laugh as you shake off the snow.
Yoongi checks both ways before he runs across the road as you give chase.
At the park, a full-blown snowball fight has broken out between your friends. Every person fights for themselves, and Yoongi has made you his main target.
Snow pelts your side, and you toss a snowball at Hoseok, who cackles and takes off running before being tackled by Seokjin.
“Go chase someone else!” You laugh as Yoongi hits you once more. You throw a snowball at him, but he bats it away.
“I don’t think so!” Yoongi responds as he runs after you, the two of you leaving your friends behind as you wander further into the park.
Eventually, the chase turns to walking.
For the first time in a while, you feel at peace.
Silence webbs between you as you come to a stop.
Snow surrounds, and more falls gently onto your face. Yoongi carefully wipes a snowflake from your cheek.
You watch his movement closely, eyes on his as he tells you to make a wish.
“On a snowflake?”
“Why not?” Yoongi asks in a whisper.
You make your wish, close your eyes, and Yoongi releases the tiny melting snowflake into the wind.
Perhaps for a moment, you can pretend you’re still a couple.
“I’m glad you’re here,” Yoongi admits as his hand cups your cheek.
“Yoongi,” You start, afraid to let your feelings show. You desperately want to hold him, to kiss him once more.
“Shh,” he hushes you gently.
You nod, refusing to leave his gaze.
The space between you dwindles until his lips brush yours ever so gently.
Laughter has the two of you breaking apart, cheeks flushed as you leave a gap between you.
“I think Yoongi should invite us to his place for hot chocolate and muffins,” Jimin suggests as he leads your snow-covered friends toward you.
Yoongi’s eyes linger on you for longer than necessary before he leads everyone to his place.
Once inside his apartment above the coffee shop, Yoongi gets busy in the kitchen with Hoseok while your friends spread out in the living room after removing their coats.
Normally, you wouldn’t be nosy, but unlike everyone else, this is your first time here. Yoongi’s always been a tidy person, so there was no argument on his part when Jimin invited everyone over.
A guitar sits in the corner, a piano in the other, and a hallway leads to his bedroom. Your friends are busy choosing what to watch on the TV as they spread out on the living room couch and floor, tugging throw blankets over their laps as the sweet scent of warm muffins fills the space.
One step, another, until you enter Yoongi’s bedroom.
It’s dark, a little chilly, but the bed is made, and there’s a set of bright green eyes staring back at you from the bed.
A stretch, a yawn, and a slinky black cat jumps off the bed, rubs against your leg, and exits the bedroom.
Your fingertips brush a lamp as you try to follow the cat, but you stub your toe and curse. The throbbing makes you bite your lip until it goes away.
Beside the lamp, there’s a picture frame.
Against your better judgment, you pick it up.
You immediately recognize the photo. It was one of your early dating days, when Yoongi had told you he loved you for the first time.
You’re smiling at the camera, but Yoongi’s only looking at you.
What you wouldn’t do to turn back time and make everything right.
Maybe you wouldn’t go with Jungkook, maybe you’d have a spot in Yoongi’s bed.
No matter, you don’t think you’d trade your time with your sibling for anything. The two of you are closer than ever, best friends.
“It’s not working anymore,” Yoongi says softly, apologetic.
“What isn’t?” You’re obtuse, wondering if he means his phone that you’re currently video calling him on.
“Us. This,” Yoongi explains as he ignores the ache in his heart.
Your world begins to fall apart as you process his words.
“Oh.”
“I think we should end this. I don’t want to move. I like living here, and this distance has no end. It’s better if we just end things on a good note.”
“Is this a good note?” You ask as you sniffle, you turn the camera off. You won’t allow him to see your heart shatter into pieces.
Yoongi breathes your name, but it only makes the ache worse.
“Goodbye, Yoongi.”
“I don’t think you’re supposed to be in here,” Namjoon says, startling you. The picture frame in your hands nearly falls, and you set it hastily on the nightstand.
“I was just,” You trail off.
What? Picturing a life that was never meant to be yours? Wondering if the spot next to your ex was taken by someone other than a cat? Wondering what it would be like to wake up with Yoongi by your side once more?
“The hot chocolate’s ready,” Namjoon informs you. You nod, thanking him before you follow him to the kitchen.
Yoongi’s kiss still lingers on your lips.
Seokjin hosts a small get-together for you and your friends to exchange gifts and good tidings. Yoongi and Hoseok hide away in the kitchen, not sure if Seokjin is up to something. Music comes from Seokjin’s speaker with the excuse that they can’t hear Seokjin asking them to sign up for some dating app or other.
The holidays really brought the match-maker to Seokjin for some reason, and Hoseok was happily single while Yoongi was still head over heels in love with you.
Not that he’d admit that to you, much less Seokjin tonight.
“Someone here has a secret,” Seokjin says as he raises his glass of wine to take a sip. His gaze is hard to look away from, and soon Jimin blurts something out.
“Okay! I was the one who broke your ceramic Santa cookie jar!”
Namjoon, Jungkook, Taehyung, and you stare at Jimin blankly.
“Babe, I know. That’s why I used your card to order another one,” Seokjin replies in a bored tone as Jimin wipes the sweat from his brow, then his clammy hands on his pants.
Seokjin sighs as he looks at the four of you.
“If I have a secret, it's news to me,” Taehyung states as he relaxes on the couch, and Jin waves him away.
“Please, if you had a secret, it would be out by now. You blab so much,” Jimin laughs, and Taehyung flips him off playfully.
Now that those two were off the hook, Seokjin stares into your soul and Jungkook’s, but it’s Namjoon who blurts out his secret.
“I’m dating Jungkook!”
“Yoongi and I kissed,” You whisper, but then turn to Namjoon and Jungkook. “You’re dating?”
“You kissed Yoongi?” Namjoon asks with wide eyes.
Seokjin chokes on his wine, waving away a concerned Jimin.
“I saw Namjoon and Jungkook kiss at the park, but you’re dating?!” Seokjin screeches.
Jungkook blushes. “Yes.”
“You and yoongi kissed?” Jimin whispers as he leans close to you.
“Shhh,” you bat him away.
“He can’t hear us,” Jungkook looks at the corridor leading to the kitchen. Hoseok’s voice carries as he helps Yoongi saute the vegetables.
“How long have you been dating?” You ask Jungkook, smiling as you hug him tightly.
“A few months now,” Namjoon answers as you hug him tight, until he has to release his neck from your arms.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“We wanted to make sure it would work out,” Jungkook explains as he places his hand on Jungkook’s.
“We’re all very happy for you,” Seokjin grins, but then turns his sinister gaze to you. “A kiss, huh? Are you two back together?”
“No!” You hiss at your friends. “It was like a friendly peck.”
“On the lips?” Namjoon raises a brow.
“I think we bumped heads or something,” you lie with a shrug.
Before your friends can interrogate you further, Yoongi calls everyone to the dinner table.
It wasn’t your idea to host this dinner or exclude Yoongi. It wouldn’t have been fair to either of you since you share the same friend group, but that doesn’t mean it’s any less awkward on your part.
Hell, the two of you hadn’t even had a moment alone to talk about it. Did you even have to talk about it?
Okay, maybe you brushed your lips with your fingertips in the privacy of your old bedroom, remembering what Yoongi’s lips felt like, but it’s not like it meant something.
Could you have imagined it?
Or perhaps you were buying your own Bull shit lie about bumping heads? Lips?
Is that even possible?
“Hello? Are you there?” Hoseok waves his hand in front of you. “Can you pass the bread rolls before Jungkook inhaled them?”
“I’m a growing boy!” Jungkook protests as his hand reaches for the breadbasket.
You bonk a roll off his head to silence him and pass the basket to Hoseok. “Here you go. Sorry.”
“No worries,” Hoseok smiles sweetly as the group roasts Jungkook.
Yoongi’s gaze meets yours.
Christmas Eve comes with flurries.
Music fills the home as your parents prepare the last of the dessert for tomorrow.
Jungkook sits beside you at the kitchen table, finishing his lunch.
“I need you and your friends tonight,” Your mother informs you. You resist the urge to groan.
Every year, your mother picked up a new hobby. Last year it was knitting, the year before that was embroidery, and the year you moved with Jungkook was shuffleboard. All her activities somehow roped you and your friends in.
You kept the lopsided sweater she knit you last Christmas, though you never wore it. Not because it was ugly, it had no hole for your head.
Jungkook's sweater, however, had two head holes.
Silently, Jungkook side eyes you. What could your mother's new hobby be? Nothing good ever came of “asking your friends for help.”
“Mom,” you start, but she waves you off.
“It’s the last festival tonight, and I know Jimin and Seokjin have a booth to care for, so they’re excused, but the rest of you,” Your mother grins brightly, and dread fills you to the core. “Are single and ready to mingle. That’s why I volunteered to host the speed dating event tonight.”
“Ma,” Jungkook tries to say no, but your mother frowns.
“Kookie, you can’t let this flop. I’ll be the talk of the town.”
“Fine,” Jungkook relents, and Cheddar nuzzles his leg as if pleased with his acquiescence.
Easily convinced by Cheddar’s affection, you’re left to be the bag guy.
“Mom, I’m not interested,” you sigh heavily.
“I need people to show. It’s an hour, and there will be snacks,” your mother says.
“What kind of snacks?” You question, and she knows she’s got you on board.
The community center is decorated to the nines. A fire blazes in the fireplace, warming the area where the event is set up.
Outside, the festival is in full swing, and you wish you were out there instead, but you promised your mother an hour of your time.
Taehyung and Jungkook are already at the snack table while Namjoon looks for his name on the place cards.
After grabbing some hot chocolate, you take your seat, thankful that you won’t be the one moving from one table to the next.
As the event starts, you keep the conversation light, not interested in any of the people who sit in front of you. At one point, Jungkook goes to stand by your mother, who is in charge of hitting the bell every five minutes.
Your mother leaves Jungkook in charge while she takes a bathroom break, and Jungkook’s gaze meets yours.
A smile appears on his face, and he hits the bell before the five minutes are up.
The man sitting in front of you looks confused but moves to his left to the next person, only for Jungkook to hit the bell again and again despite the people grumbling about it.
One more clang of the bell, and you sigh as you look up at your next five-minute date.
“Yoongi,” you whisper, then look at your brother.
Jungkook waves.
“Think he’ll hit that annoying ass bell again, or do you think this was his plan?” Yoongi asks as he cards a hand through his long hair.
Tonight he’s even hotter than usual. His long hair is styled back, his cologne is already making you feral, and his easy-going smirk makes you want to leap across the table to devour him.
“Seems like he’s taken a page out of Seokjin’s book,” you respond with a laugh.
“Do you think he and Namjoon will make the long-distance thing work?” Yoongi asks as he looks at Namjoon, who is trying to feign interest in his speed date, but he keeps looking over at his boyfriend.
“I think they’ve got what it takes,” you answer as you watch Jungkook blow a kiss towards your best friend.
“And we didn’t?” Yoongi asks, his tone accusatory.
“Yoon,” you say his affectionate nickname softly, almost as a plea.
You can’t do this now, not when your mother is back and eyeing the timer.
“I was gonna propose that night,” yoongi admits, and your world collapses in on itself.
“W-what?”
Yoongi swallows the knot in his throat. He’s not sure if he would ever tell you, but the words are out, and there’s no taking them back. Perhaps that’s why he always made an effort to think before he spoke, but you unravel him from the inside, thread by thread.
Yoongi wets his lips; his hands shake, so he clasps them. “I was going to propose. The ring was in my pocket. I had spent weeks working up the nerve and then…”
Tears prick the corners of your eyes. “Yoongi.”
Exhaling deeply, Yoongi meets your gaze, and it shatters your heart to dust.
“You never asked me to go with you.”
“I-I-“ you stutter as you wrack your brain replaying that night in your head like a broken time loop. As if you hadn’t played it over and over in your mind for the past five years.
You don’t have a response. How do you combat that when it’s true? You’d been focused on your future now that you were moving with your sibling, so you didn’t even bother asking Yoongi to join you.
Before you can even think of something to say, your mother hits the bell, and yoongi is gone in a flash.
Nothing else matters as you chase after him. You let him go once; you weren’t going to make the same mistake twice.
Yoongi walks away from the building, a cigarette already lit. He takes a deep drag, ignoring your footsteps as you jog over to him.
“I’m sorry!”
Yoongi doesn’t turn to face you.
“I didn’t ask you because I was afraid you’d say no. I couldn’t ask you to uproot your life, too,” you explain as he exhales.
“I would have,” Yoongi’s gruff tone answers as he looks at you over his shoulder. “But you didn’t even give me a chance.”
Silence builds between you as Yoongi tosses his cigarette on the ground and stomps it with his foot.
He walks away with his hands in his coat pockets, the icy wind slapping his skin, but nothing hurts worse than his shattered heart.
It only takes you a moment to go after him. You may have let him go once, but you’d be a damned fool to let him slip through your fingers once more.
Your hand wraps around his wrist, stopping him from walking further away. His cheeks are flushed, but tears roll down his face as his dark gaze meets yours.
“I still love you, Yoongi. I never stopped,” you admit as you release him. Even if he were to walk out of your life for good this time, at least you would feel at peace knowing you said something.
Yoongi looks up at the night sky in silence. His mind is a mess of thoughts and anxieties. Hadn’t he imagined this exact moment thousands of times? How would he confess his lingering feelings? How he would scoop you into his arms if you even felt a modicum of what he did.
Why is he holding himself back?
Is fear such a vast opponent in his heart and mind?
You only miss the shots you don’t take, he reminds himself as he faces you, his locked on yours.
“Do you think we’d make it this time around?” Yoongi’s voice is fearful, but there’s hope embedded in his words.
Gently, you place your hand on his cheek. Your thumb caresses his skin as you lean forward, allowing him to close the distance between you literally and metaphorically.
Yoongi hesitates for a split second, wondering if the outcome is worth the risk.
“Fuck it,” he growls as his lips slam yours. His hands grip your head as he kisses you deeply, hoping his kiss can say everything words can’t.
“Yoongi,” you moan as you take a breath before his kiss consumes every fiber of your being.
One moment you’re outside in the icy winter night, the next you’re lying on Yoongi’s bed with him slotted between your legs as you run your fingers through his hair.
Moans fill the bedroom as he grinds against you while you bare your neck for him to trail kisses down your jaw to the column of your throat.
Yoongi moans your name tenderly.
“Should we stop?”
“Never,” you answer earnestly as you kiss him once more. Your hands are greedy as they peel off every layer of clothing until you tug at his belt.
“Patience, baby,” He chuckles as you try and fail to undo his belt in your overeagerness. Yoongi shakes his hair out of his face. He then grabs your hands and pins them over your head as you whine, begging for more of his touch.
Yoongi kisses you while holding your wrists with one hand. Skillfully, he undoes the buttons of your coat, then your blouse.
“I’ve missed you,” Yoongi meets your gazeands he releases your hands. He cups your face, kisses you softly, then trails kisses down your neck until his teeth tug at the front bra hook until it opens and spills your breasts free.
“Fuck,” Yoongi groans as he kisses one breast then the other, his fiery tongue swirls around the stiff peak as you arch into him.
Desperate hands reach for his hair as you tug the thick locks just to hear his dulcet moans that nearly drive you over the edge as he switches from one breast to the other until you’re writhing beneath him begging him for more.
Yoongi listens.
A slow trail of kisses is placed on your warm skin until the two of you are both undressed under his sheets.
The two of you take your time kissing, exploring, rediscovering as you part your legs for him needily.
“Please,” You plead as you arch, a hand gripping the sheets until it aches.
“I missed you,” Yoongi admits as his fingers trace circles onto your skin before he moves them closer to the apex of your thighs.
“Fuck!” You moan as his fingers sink into you, so warm and wet as your arousal coats them, and he pumps them in and out slowly until he finds the rhythm that you loved so much.
You crumble for him just like always, and pride swells in his chest.
He’s still got it.
“Yoongi! Yoongi!” His name on your lips is his favorite song, ingrained in his memory in case this is the last time, but it won’t be, never will be.
“That’s it, baby. Let go for me, love.”
Panting, your mind spins because fuck, Yoongi’s always been the best.
It takes Yoongi a moment to grab a condom and sheath himself. He kisses you sweetly, full of love and adoration as his hair falls over his eyes.
“Are you sure you want to keep going, babe?” Yoongi checks in, concern in his gaze until you cup his cheek.
“More than anything, Yoongi. I want this. I want you. I want us,” You answer honestly, firmly as your lips meet his and the two of you become one.
“Ugh, make it stop,” You groan as you reach over the side of the bed to pull your phone from the pile of clothing discarded last night.
“Hello?” You ask as you use your free hand to rub the sleep from your eyes.
“You’re missing Christmas morning,” Jungkook says instead of greeting. “Mom’s about to call the sheriff.”
“Shit, I’ll be there as soon as I can,” You assure him before you hang up.
“No, come back to bed,” Yoongi’s gruff, morning voice draws you in as he tugs you toward his chest. His hand rests on your hips as he nuzzles his face in your neck. “Don’t go yet.”
“Come with me, Yoon,” You say in between yawns as Yoongi tugs the blankets over the two of you.
“Just a few minutes longer,” Yoongi smiles sweetly as he kisses your shoulder, your neck, and oh… Christmas morning would have to wait just a bit longer.
Eventually, the two of you get out of bed.
However, a shared shower keeps you longer until Jungkook shows up at Yoongi’s door to pick the two of you up.
“Geez, you’d think mom would wait just a few minutes,” You grumble as you rest your head on Yoongi’s shoulder in the backseat of your mom’s car.
“It’s been two hours since I called!” Jungkook exclaims as he pulls into the driveway.
“Eh,” You shrug as you get out of the car once it comes to a stop. Yoongi holds your hand as you walk up the driveway and into your family home.
Namjoon sits on the living room floor with a piece of yarn, wiggling it in front of an apathetic Cheddar.
Seokjin and Jimin sit on the loveseat, both whispering about something or other as the three of you head to the kitchen, where your parents, Yoongi’s family, and Taehyung clear the table.
“Mom, Dad!” Yoongi exclaims in surprise.
“Jungkook called last night,” Yoongi’s mom smiles brightly as she pulls you into a hug.
“Blabbermouth,” you mutter.
Jungkook bumps you with his hip.
“Time for presents!” Your mother clasps her hands before she leads everyone to the living room. Cheddar heads up the steps to her bedroom now that her home is filled. She also has no interest in human interactions unless it leads to an empty box or crinkly wrapping paper.
Jae starts by giving Jungkook a small red box with a gold bow. “For you and Namjoon.”
Jungkook opens the box, and his heart sinks; his smile is wiped off his face.
“What’s wrong, Kook?” You ask from your spot on Yoongi’s side on the rug.
Jungkook looks at Namjoon, then back at you.
“The reason I wanted to come home for Christmas wasn’t just to spend the holidays here,” Jungkook explains as Namjoon holds his hand in support. “I’m moving back home. This is the key to my childhood home.”
“You don’t want to live with me anymore?” Your feelings are hurt as you stare at your little brother.
He sniffles.
“Namjoon and I, we want to live together, and the city was an experience, but it’s not home.”
“Hey, come here,” You reach for Jungkook and hug him tight. “I know exactly what you mean, Kook. If you want to move back to be with Namjoon, you should.”
“What about you?” Jungkook asks as he looks over your shoulder at Yoongi. After your night in his bed, there hadn’t been much time for talking.
A smile lights up your face as you reach for Yoongi’s hand.
“I think it’s time we both came home.”
“Wonderful!” Your mother exclaims as she grabs a box.
From: Jae and Kook
With furrowed brows, you open the box to see some wire-looking thing.
“Um, thanks?” Confusion is clear on your face, and Yoongi peers over your shoulder before he bursts out laughing.
“What is it?” You pout, and he kisses your lips.
“Did your car not start, babe?” Yoongi asks with a grin.
“No, I kept trying, but I gave up. I was gonna wait until after Christmas to get it looked at,” You explain, and your friends laugh and shake their heads as Jae and Jungkook pretend to look innocent.
“They took your ignition fuse, baby. Your car wasn’t going anywhere.” Yoongi’s smile makes your heart flip as he kisses your temple.
“We just wanted you to spend Christmas with us,” Jae hugs you, then your mother. You’re surrounded by friends and family, and your heart couldn’t be more full of love.
What had started as a dreaded trip home was now the best one.
After the gift exchange, Yoongi and you head out on a walk. Your friends run on ahead toward the park to use any remaining snow for a snowball fight.
“So, you're moving back?” Yoongi asks as he wraps his arm around your shoulders.
“Looks like it,” You grin brightly, feeling lighter than air. “Though I’m not sure Cheddar’s gonna like sharing her room with me.”
Yoongi stops walking and takes both your hands in his. “What if you didn’t have to share with Cheddar?”
“I don’t think my parents would want to move her to Jungkook’s bedroom. Their workout stuff is in there,” You answer cluelessly.
Yoongi laughs, “No, you dork.”
“What?” You whine, embarrassed.
“I meant, move in with me instead.”
“Are you sure? Isn’t that too fast?” You question him.
“Not if we’re both up for it. I am,” Yoongi states honestly.
“I think that’s a great idea,” You grin as you wrap your arms around his neck, kissing him deeply as his hands rest on your waist.
Yoongi rests his forehead on yours as he smiles. He never would have thought he’d be holding you in his arms again, much less kissing you. His heart flutters in his chest, and though there’s still a lot to talk through, all of that can wait.
“I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
“Come on, lovebirds!” Hoseok hollers as your friends jog towards the two of you, still embraced. “We want hot chocolate!”
“And cake!” Jimin adds as he jumps on Seokjin’s back for a piggyback ride. Namjoon bends for Jungkook to do the same, and Taehyung tells Hoseok not to even think about it.
You giggle as you turn to face your friends, feeling complete once again. Yoongi wraps his arms around your shoulders as he holds you close before he kisses your cheek, then whispers, “Ready to go home?”
Genre: Angst, Smut, Fluff, Roomates to Lovers!AU, Best Friends to Lovers!AU
Warnings: Reader Has Shitty Boyfriend, Marking, Cunnilingus, Fellatio, Fingering, Hair Pulling, Secretive Pining,Big Dick!Hoseok, Hoseok Has A Huge Dick, Multiple Orgasms, Body Worship, Cream Pie, Unprotected Sex, Honestly Just Super Sensual And Lovey Dovey Sex
A/N: Gotta give a shoutout to my girls @rougebangtan and @unoriginal-username15432 for being so lovely reading and editing. I spent a lot of time on this fic and it means a lot to me so I hope you all really love it.
The sea is a miserable temptress. Water flows freely, crashing along the shoreline begging to enrapture you. To take you under the comfort of her salty tears, to bring you home where you feel the most comfortable. She is raw, potent energy waiting to be appeased by the gods. The way the rocks, dry greyscale stones, wait to be blessed by her presence. Wait to be licked with her furious energy, as they sit under the cloudy skies of silver brings a sense of calm. The sea was disastrous, much like you.
You lean back, hands perched behind you as you dig your fingers into the countless golden clusters of sand underneath. Your toes hoping for the same masked feeling as your head lolls back to look at the incoming rain clouds. In the distance, a flash of lightning, spearing brightly with flashes of orange and white; draws your attention and you can’t help but appreciate the way the world works. If lightning were to strike down on the sand around you right now, it would turn to glass. Just a quick simple action could completely change up the form of the small, insignificant granules right by your side. A weak fragile granule could turn into something brilliant and hard like glass. Then, it comes to mind. You wish something would change up your form. For something to change up who you are from being insignificant to something hard and strong like glass.
→ SUMMARY : You’re a grad student working at a coffee shop near campus when you start noticing a pattern: Jung Hoseok—billionaire, tech genius, and literal Iron Man—has become a regular. He orders the same americano, sits in the same corner, and listens to you ramble about superhero theory like it’s the most fascinating thing he’s ever heard. You tell yourself he’s just being polite, because the alternative means admitting that maybe Iron Man doesn’t just come for the coffee. Maybe he comes for you. (LMAO does he come.)
→ TAGS : second person perspective used, female pronouns used, grad student au, coffee shop au, iron man au, captain korea is namjoon, spider-man is jungkook, korean setting, university setting, rom-com chaos, mutual pining, hoseok is a disaster in a tom ford suit, reader is oblivious as hell, namjoon fucked his ex while wearing the suit (yes really), excessive coffee drinking, superhero banter as stress relief, FRIDAY is the real MVP, elevator malfunctions, stuck in elevator, elevator sex, semi-public sex, first time together, dry humping, grinding, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, creampie, coming inside, multiple orgasms, cunnilingus, cum eating, hoseok eats his own cum out of you (yes that happens), praise kink, mild embarrassment kink, premature ejaculation (but make it cute), hoseok has been waiting MONTHS for this, explicit consent, soft dom hoseok, reader rambles when nervous, excessive use of the word ‘geumsa’ (golden thread), cushion arranging as a love language, FRIDAY cockblocking and then un-cockblocking, robots throwing tantrums mid-battle because heroes won’t pay attention to them, namjoon’s terrible texting skills, found family dynamics, the most expensive coffee shop visits in history.
→ PLAYLIST: set the vibes.
→ MASTERLIST | TAGLIST REQUEST | WORDCOUNT: 17.2k
→ A/N: Hi everyone! Welcome to my first official attempt at writing a romcom, which is WILD because anyone who knows my work knows I’m psychologically incapable of not traumatizing my characters. My little psychology-lover heart just wants everyone to suffer beautifully, but I promised myself I’d try something light for once! 🌟 And honestly? I LOVED how stupidly adoring this came out. Hoseok is a simp in a $10k suit and I’m obsessed with him. Reader is me every time I try to have a normal conversation and end up lecturing people about leadership theory. FRIDAY (yes, FRIDAY, not JARVIS—she’s a woman here and she does NOT let Hobi breathe) is the real hero of this story. Also that robot in scene 2 that’s just demolishing buildings because our boys are too busy arguing about their love lives? Peak comedy. If you enjoy watching competent people become absolute MESSES when they catch feelings, this is for you. Fair warning: there’s elevator sex. Extremely detailed elevator sex. I have no excuse except that I’m weak for confined spaces and emotional desperation. Sorry (but not really). Hope you enjoy this catastrophe! ✨
Edit: Also yes, I gave Hoseok a dead childhood best friend named Friday as his emotional anchor because apparently I CAN’T write anything without at least a LITTLE trauma. Baby steps, people. Baby steps. (ᵕ—ᴗ—) And apparently, it is through this fic that I find out there's a length limit on Tumblr so... Yeah. Yeah it cuts at Hobi saying "Impeccable timing" and impeccable timing indeed. So part 2 in the reblogs I guess?
“Please stop talking about him.”
Okay, so that maaaaaay have slipped a bit rougher than he intended, because the way you freeze mid-gesture—coffee pot suspended in air, eyes wide with surprise—almost makes him wince. Almost.
And yeah, immediately he’s thinking ‘smooth, Hoseok, really smooth’, because this isn’t exactly his usual MO.
Jung Hoseok doesn’t snap at people, especially not at you, the ridiculously adorable barista who’s somehow managed to become the best part of his increasingly chaotic superhero-slash-CEO existence.
But honestly? If he has to sit through one more lovingly detailed breakdown of Kim Namjoon’s ‘incredible leadership presence’ and ‘flawless shield technique,’ he’s going to lose what’s left of his sanity.
Which, granted, wasn’t that much to begin with.
“I—sorry,” you stammer, setting the coffee pot down with the kind of movement that suggests you’re rattled. “I didn’t mean to ramble again. I know you probably don’t care about superhero stuff—”
“It’s not that.”
He drags a hand through his hair, mentally kicking himself for being such an idiot.
Because here’s the thing—he does care about superhero stuff. Kind of hard not to when you literally are one. He lives it, breathes it, gets punched in the face by it on a semi-regular basis.
But listening to you wax poetic about his teammate—his friend—with actual literal stars in your eyes while he’s sitting right here, Jung Hoseok, also known as Iron Man, nursing his third americano and trying to work up the nerve to ask you out?
Yeah, that’s a special kind of torture. The ironic kind. His favorite.
You’re looking at him with those ridiculously expressive eyes—seriously, it should be illegal how much emotion you can pack into one look—and that little crease of concern between your brows that makes him want to smooth it away with his thumb.
And just like that, his irritation dissolves faster than sugar in hot coffee.
This is why he keeps coming back to this tiny shop in Sinchon, wedged between a bookstore and a ramen place, despite having coffee machines in his penthouse that probably cost more than your monthly rent.
It’s not really about the coffee—though you do make a damn good americano.
It’s about the way you practically glow when you get excited about something. It’s about how you remember his order down to the extra shot on Mondays and the switch to decaf after six because apparently you’ve noticed he gets ‘too bouncy’ with caffeine late in the day.
(And listen, yes, he’d been offended by the ‘bouncy’ comment for exactly thirty seconds before realizing it was actually kind of endearing.)
It’s about the genuine interest in your voice when you ask how his day went, like you actually give a damn about the answer.
It’s about you, and he’s been way too chicken to do anything substantial about it.
“Your americano,” you say softly, sliding the cup across the counter.
Your fingers brush his as he takes it, and he wonders if you notice the way his breath catches, the slight tremor in his hands that has nothing to do with caffeine withdrawal and everything to do with the simple touch of your skin against his.
“Thank you.”
He takes a sip, buying himself time to figure out how to salvage this conversation.
The coffee is perfect, as always—bold and smooth with just a hint of sweetness that somehow captures your personality in liquid form.
“I’m sorry for snapping. It’s been a long week.”
You shake your head, ponytail doing that swishy thing that’s definitely too cute for his cardiovascular health.
“No, I totally get it. I do talk way too much about… well, everything really. My friends are constantly telling me I need to learn when to stop.” You laugh, but there’s something self-conscious about it that makes his chest do this uncomfortable tightening thing. “Occupational hazard of spending too much time with academic papers and superhero documentaries, I guess.”
“You don’t talk too much,” he says, and wow, okay, that came out way more sincere than he was planning. “I actually like listening to you.”
There. Cards on the table.
Well, some of them anyway.
And there it is—that blush that starts at your cheeks and works its way down your neck like watercolor paint.
You duck your head, suddenly finding the spotless counter absolutely fascinating.
He wants to bite his own knuckles.
“That’s… really sweet of you to say. Most people’s eyes glaze over the second I mention leadership theory and tactical analysis.” You peek up at him through your lashes in a way that should probably be classified as a weapon. “I’m doing my master’s thesis on modern heroism and public influence. Super riveting stuff, I’m sure.”
“Are you kidding? It’s not boring at all.”
And honestly? If only you knew how many times your random observations about public responsibility and the psychology of hope have popped into his head during missions. How your academic theories have actually influenced some of his decisions in the suit.
“Your whole analysis about superhero visibility and social cohesion was brilliant.”
Your eyes go wide. “You actually remember that?”
“I remember pretty much everything you tell me.”
Aaaand there goes his mouth again, running ahead of his brain.
But the way you’re looking at him now—like he just said something genuinely surprising instead of mildly stalkerish—makes it worth the temporary panic attack.
Maybe you’re thinking about how Iron Man probably has better things to do than listen to graduate student theories about superhero psychology.
Maybe you’re wondering why he keeps coming back here instead of getting coffee delivered to his fancy penthouse like a normal rich superhero would.
But then you get this soft, wondering expression that has absolutely nothing to do with his suit or his public persona and everything to do with the fact that maybe, possibly, hopefully, Jung Hoseok the regular guy is just as interesting to you as Iron Man the hero.
“That’s…” you bite your lip—a habit he’s definitely noticed and definitely filed away under ‘things that are adorable and slightly distracting’—“no one’s ever told me that before.”
And okay, that physically hurts to hear. Like, actual chest pain.
How is that even possible? How can someone as brilliant and passionate and genuinely good as you be surrounded by people who don’t appreciate the way your mind works?
“Then they’re all idiots,” he says, rougher than he means to.
Your blush deepens, spreading down your neck in a way that makes him think some very unprofessional thoughts about tracing that path with his fingertips.
“Hoseok…”
The way you say his name—all soft and uncertain and maybe, just maybe, a little hopeful—does things to him that should probably require a medical consultation.
This is it. This is the moment where a normal person would ask you out. Where he’d suggest dinner somewhere that doesn’t involve a counter between you and the weird professional distance of customer-and-barista. Where he’d finally grow a pair and—
His phone buzzes against his thigh. That specific pattern that means Namjoon is calling with something urgent. Something that probably requires Iron Man’s immediate attention and completely terrible timing.
Of course. Of course.
Because apparently the universe has a sense of humor, and that sense of humor involves his teammate cockblocking him at every possible opportunity.
Even when said teammate has no idea he’s doing it.
“I should probably…” He pulls out his phone, confirming Namjoon’s name on the screen with a mental string of profanity that would make his mother wash his mouth out with soap.
“Of course!” You step back, and he doesn’t miss how quickly that polite smile slides back into place. “I should let you get back to your day anyway. I’ve probably kept you here long enough with all my superhero rambling.”
“Hey, no—I told you I don’t mind—”
“Hoseok-ssi?” Namjoon’s voice crackles through the speaker, tinny and urgent. “We need Iron Man. There’s a situation in Gangnam—”
He lifts the phone to his ear so fast he probably looks like he’s swatting a fly. “Yeah. On my way.”
When he hangs up, you’re already helping another customer, but you catch his eye and give him this little wave that’s somehow both casual and melancholy.
He wants to say something—wants to finish what felt like the beginning of something important—but duty calls.
Literally.
As he heads for the door, he can hear you laughing at something the next customer says—bright and genuine and utterly captivating.
He pauses with his hand on the door handle, looking back one more time.
Fucking Namjoon and his stupid spectacular timing. He’ll shove his foot up his ass later.
But first? First he’s got to go save Seoul.
Again.
Honestly, Hoseok’s pretty sure this is the most ridiculous conversation he’s ever had while actively getting shot at by laser cannons.
“So,” Namjoon grunts, deflecting another energy blast with his shield before hurling it at the oversized robot currently trying to level half of Gangnam District. “How’s your coffee shop girl doing?”
Hoseok pauses mid-flight, nearly getting clipped by a stray laser beam.
“Are you seriously asking me about my love life right now?” He fires off a repulsor blast that takes out two of the smaller drones buzzing around the main threat. “We’re literally in the middle of preventing Seoul from becoming a crater.”
"I'm just asking!" There's that insufferably reasonable tone that Namjoon uses when he's being deliberately obtuse. "You've been going there for what, three months now? Same girl, same order, same dopey expression every time you come back from—"
"I do not have a dopey expression."
"You have the dopiest expression. Jin said you look like a golden retriever who's been told he's a good boy."
Hoseok wobbles in the air. "Jin said what now?"
"Focus, Iron Man." But he can hear the grin in Namjoon's voice even as he's launching himself through the air with enough force to dent the robot's thorax. "I'm just saying, maybe you should actually ask her out instead of pining dramatically over your americanos."
"I don't pine dramatically."
"You absolutely pine dramatically. It's like watching a K-drama in real time."
“I do not—and by the way how do you even know about her?”
“Well. FRIDAY mentioned you've been asking her to look up 'best gift flowers for graduate students' and 'how to ask someone out without seeming like a creepy rich guy.'"
Oh, he's going to have words with his AI when they get back. Possibly involving some creative reprogramming.
“FRIDAY needs to learn about privacy settings, clearly.”
"She's worried about your mental health. Apparently you've been pacing around the workshop muttering about 'academic brilliance' and 'the way she bites her lip when she's thinking.'"
"I'm going to murder you."
The robot chooses this moment to release what appears to be some kind of sonic screech that rattles every window in a three-block radius, which honestly is perfect timing because it drowns out the string of profanity that Hoseok definitely shouldn't be saying in public while wearing the suit.
"Anyway," Namjoon continues conversationally, as if they're not currently trying to prevent a giant robot from turning Gangnam into a pile of rubble, "she seems sweet. Really enthusiastic about superhero theory, from what you've mentioned. Actually listens when you talk about your work without getting all weird about the celebrity thing."
"Yeah, she's great," he says slowly, nailing the robot with a concentrated blast that finally seems to do some actual damage. "Really smart. Has this whole theory about leadership dynamics in crisis situations that's actually pretty brilliant when you think about it.”
“She sounds really passionate about her research.” There’s something almost fond in Namjoon’s voice that makes Hoseok’s eye twitch.
“Yeah, well, she’s passionate about a lot of things.” Hoseok takes aim at the robot’s power core, charging up his chest piece. “Unfortunately, most of those things involve gushing about Captain Korea’s ‘incredible tactical mind’ and ‘inspiring leadership qualities.’”
He fires, and the blast connects perfectly, sending the robot staggering backward into a conveniently empty building.
“She talks about me?”
And okay, now Namjoon sounds genuinely pleased, which is just fantastic for Hoseok’s blood pressure.
“Oh, she talks about you alright.” Hoseok lands on a nearby rooftop, already calculating the best angle for his next attack. “Just yesterday she spent twenty minutes explaining your shield trajectory physics to me like I don’t have three degrees in engineering. Apparently your ‘intuitive understanding of aerodynamics’ is ‘absolutely fascinating from an academic standpoint.’”
“That’s actually pretty insightful—”
“I swear to God, Namjoon, if you start getting a ego boost from this I will personally reprogram my suit to electrocute you every time you touch that shield.”
Namjoon’s laugh crackles through the comm as he leaps from building to building, pursuing the robot as it tries to retreat. “I think it’s cute that she’s so enthusiastic about superhero theory. Most people just see the flashy stuff.”
“Cute.” Hoseok’s repulsors whine as they charge up again. “Yeah, it’s real cute watching the girl you’re trying to ask out spend forty-five minutes analyzing another guy’s combat techniques while you’re sitting right there.”
“You still haven’t asked her out?”
“It’s complicated!” Hoseok dives after the robot, which has apparently decided that fleeing toward the Han River is a brilliant strategy. “Every time I work up the nerve, she starts talking about you, and then I remember that I’m competing with Captain fucking Korea for her attention, and it’s just—”
“Language.”
“—incredibly frustrating because she obviously has a type and that type is apparently ‘noble leader with a shield’ not ‘sarcastic genius with abandonment issues.’”
The robot takes a swing at Hoseok with one massive mechanical arm, and he barely dodges in time. The wind from the near-miss sends him spinning, and he has to fire his stabilizers to avoid crashing into a bridge support.
“You know,” Namjoon says, sounding way too casual as he sprints along the riverbank below, “you could always just tell her how you feel. Worst case scenario, she says no and you move on.”
“Easy for you to say. You don’t have to worry about dating complications.” Hoseok circles around behind the robot and starts targeting its joints. “Must be nice having your whole mysterious secret identity thing going on. No messy personal entanglements.”
There’s a pause.
A longer pause than usual, which is weird because Namjoon’s normally quick with the self-deprecating humor when Hoseok brings up his commitment to keeping his Captain Korea identity separate from Kim Namjoon the museum curator.
Something about his tone makes Hoseok glance down at him.
Even from this distance, he can see the tension in Namjoon’s shoulders that has nothing to do with the giant robot they’re fighting.
“Actually,” Hoseok continues, because apparently he has a death wish today, “speaking of complications, how’s that journalist you’ve been not-talking about? The one who keeps requesting interviews with Captain Korea through official channels?”
And there it is. Dead silence on the comm.
Hoseok knows he’s hit a nerve because Namjoon usually deflects personal questions with some variation of “focus on the mission, Hoseok” or “my private life is private for a reason.”
The fact that he’s not saying anything at all is basically a flashing neon sign that says ‘EMOTIONAL VULNERABILITY DETECTED.’
“Oh no,” Hoseok says, slowing his pursuit of the robot as pieces start clicking together in his brain. “Oh no no no no.”
“I didn’t say anything!” Namjoon’s voice cracks slightly.
“You met her, didn’t you.” It’s not a question.
More silence.
“Oh my fucking God, you absolute fucking disa—”
“She was at Seokjin’s party, okay?” Namjoon’s words come out in a rush, like he’s ripping off a bandaid. “And she looked so, so, so pretty, Hoseok. She was wearing a blue dress, a BLUE dress, do you know what that does to a man?”
“—ster, Jesus fucking Christ, how many times do I have to tell you that exes are exes for a reason and—”
“Like, blue is one of my literal colors, it was fate, definitely has to be fate.” Namjoon’s voice gets soft and wistful in a way that makes Hoseok want to crash his suit directly into the nearest building. “She’s always been pretty, but after so many years you don’t understand how pretty—”
“—I cannot believe you would—wait, what?” Hoseok nearly flies into a street lamp. “Many years? How long were you two together?”
“Two years. We broke up right before I became Captain Korea because I couldn’t figure out how to balance everything and I thought it was better to end things than lie to her constantly and—”
“Oh for fuck’s sake, Namjoon—”
“—and she needed help with interviewing Captain Korea, so I said ‘sure, I can help you with that’ because I AM Captain Korea, obviously, but she doesn’t know that, so I had to…”
Hoseok’s brain stutters to a complete halt. “You WHAT?”
“…I had to say that I kind of… work with him? And that maybe I could talk him into doing an interview and…”
“WHAT DO YOU MEAN ‘AND’? THERE’S MORE?!”
The robot, apparently tired of being ignored, chooses this moment to fire a massive energy beam directly at the bridge they’re fighting near.
Hoseok barely manages to deflect it with his repulsors, sending the beam harmlessly into the river where it creates a spectacular explosion of steam.
“Focus, guys!” Namjoon calls out, but his voice is strained in a way that has nothing to do with physical exertion.
“Don’t you dare ‘focus guys’ out of the subject!” Hoseok swoops down and grabs Namjoon around the waist, lifting them both to a safer vantage point on top of a nearby skyscraper. “Finish the story!”
“I… I did the interview.” Namjoon’s voice is barely above a whisper. “And I might or might not have… slept with her.”
“YOU FUCKED YOUR EX?!”
“Language!”
“Oh my God, that is literally in the rule book of keeping superhero identities separate! Why would you sleep with your ex, you absolute—”
“No, wait!” Namjoon holds up his hands defensively. “I didn’t sleep with her as Namjoon. I slept with her as Captain Korea. I didn’t… I didn’t take off the mask. Or much of the outfit, for that matter.”
Hoseok stares at him.
Just… stares.
Because there’s no fucking way he heard that correctly.
There’s no way his best friend, his partner, the most responsible and rule-following person he’s ever met, just told him that he had masked superhero sex with his ex-girlfriend who has no idea it was actually him.
“I’m sorry,” Hoseok says slowly, “but did you just tell me that you catfish-fucked your ex-girlfriend with your own secret identity?”
“It’s not catfishing if it’s technically still me!”
“IT’S DEFINITELY CATFISHING!”
Below them, the robot has apparently given up on whatever its original plan was and is now just smashing things at random, probably frustrated by the lack of attention it’s been getting.
A few police helicopters are circling at a safe distance, and Hoseok can see news vans setting up on nearby streets.
“We should probably—” Namjoon starts.
“Oh no, we’re not done here.” Hoseok crosses his arms and hovers in place, using his suit’s systems to maintain position. “Let me get this straight. Your ex-girlfriend, who you’ve been pining over for three years, shows up asking for an interview with Captain Korea. So instead of either refusing or coming clean about your identity, you decide the best course of action is to pretend to be a middle-man, set up a fake interview, and then have anonymous superhero sex with her?”
“When you put it like that, it sounds really bad.”
“IT IS REALLY BAD! It’s insane! It’s the kind of thing that happens in really terrible romantic comedies!” Hoseok starts pacing back and forth in mid-air. “What were you thinking?”
“I was thinking that I missed her!” Namjoon’s voice cracks again. “I was thinking that she looked beautiful and sad and I wanted to comfort her, but I couldn’t do it as myself because then she’d ask questions about why I disappeared, and I can’t tell her the truth because of the whole secret identity thing, but as Captain Korea I could be there for her without any of the baggage…”
A chunk of debris flies past them as the robot continues its rampage below. Hoseok absently blasts it out of the air before it can hit a news helicopter.
“Okay,” he says finally. “Okay, we’re going to table this conversation because we have a job to do. But after we stop this thing from turning Seoul into a parking lot, we’re going to have a very serious discussion about your complete and utter lack of judgment.”
“That’s fair.”
“And you’re going to figure out how to fix this situation without completely destroying this poor woman’s life.”
“Also fair.”
“And you’re buying me coffee for a week because listening to this story has taken years off my life and I need caffeine to cope.”
“…can we get it from August Coffee shop?”
Hoseok turns to stare at him again. “Are you seriously trying to use your romantic disaster as an excuse to meet my coffee shop crush?”
“I’m just saying, if I’m buying coffee anyway…”
“I’m going to murder you.”
“Language!”
“I’m going to murder you in a very family-friendly way!”
The robot must really dislike being ignored because it now lets out a mechanical roar and starts charging directly toward their building.
Hoseok sighs and powers up his repulsors.
“We’re finishing this conversation later,” he warns as they leap back into action.
“Looking forward to it,” Namjoon says, but there’s relief in his voice that suggests he’s actually grateful to have someone to talk to about his monumentally stupid decision.
Hoseok makes a mental note to call Yoongi after this fight is over.
If anyone can help him figure out how to unfuck Namjoon’s romantic life, it’s their resident genius hacker who’s seen every possible way superhero secret identities can go wrong.
He’s also making a mental note to never, ever tell you about this conversation.
Because if you find out that Captain Korea is not only taken but also potentially a manipulative disaster when it comes to relationships, Hoseok might actually have a chance.
Which makes him feel guilty about feeling hopeful, but honestly? After listening to Namjoon’s confession, Hoseok’s pretty sure his own romantic problems are significantly less complicated.
At least when he finally works up the courage to ask you out, he’ll be doing it as himself.
You’re pretty sure this is the best day of your entire academic career, and that’s including the time your thesis advisor actually said “good work” instead of just circling everything in red pen.
Because right now, right here in August Coffee after closing time, you’re having an actual conversation with Captain Korea. THE Captain Korea. The man whose leadership theories you’ve been analyzing for months, whose shield techniques you’ve probably watched on YouTube more times than is socially acceptable, and who is currently sitting across from you looking even more impossibly heroic in person than he does on television.
Well, what you can see of him anyway. The mask covers most of his face, leaving only his mouth visible, but somehow he still manages to look like he stepped off a propaganda poster.
“—and that’s exactly what I mean about your tactical adaptability!” you’re saying, gesturing so enthusiastically with your hands that you nearly knock over the coffee you just made for Hoseok, who is currently face-down on one of the corner tables like he’s given up on life entirely. “The way you adjusted your strategy during the Gangnam incident last week—switching from offensive to defensive positioning when you realized the civilians needed evacuation routes—that’s such good situational leadership theory, but applied in real-time under pressure, which is just incredible!”
Captain Korea gives you this smile—or at least, you think he’s smiling based on how his mouth curves—that’s probably caused at least twelve diplomatic incidents and three international peace treaties.
“Well, I mean…” He adjusts his mask slightly in a way that seems carefully calculated to look humble while actually being the opposite. “It’s not easy being the symbol of hope for an entire nation, you know? The responsibility, the weight of expectations… but someone has to do it.”
You nod so vigorously you’re surprised your neck doesn’t snap. “Absolutely! And the psychological pressure of maintaining that public image while making split-second decisions that could affect thousands of lives—I actually wrote a whole section in my thesis about the mental resilience required for that kind of symbolic leadership role.”
“Did you really?” His visible expression lights up in a way that suggests he’s absolutely loving this conversation, and you feel a little thrill of academic validation mixed with pure fangirl joy. “That’s fascinating. You know, not many people understand the philosophical implications—”
“Oh my god, he just fucked his ex.”
The words cut through like a knife through butter, and you freeze mid-pour, coffee pot still suspended in the air where you were about to refill Captain Korea’s cup.
The voice came from Hoseok’s corner, where he’s finally lifted his head from the table to glare at Captain Korea with an expression that could probably melt steel.
“I’m sorry, what?” you squeak, because surely you misheard.
Surely Iron Man did not just announce to the (empty but still, principles?) coffee shop that Captain Korea—Captain Korea!—had relations with someone.
“Did you just—”
“You heard me,” Hoseok says, sitting up fully now, and there’s something almost manic in his grin. “Our perfect symbol of hope and unity over here just had a very educational evening with his ex-girlfriend. While wearing the suit, I might add.”
Your brain makes a sound like a computer crashing. “While wearing the—what—how do you even—I mean, the logistics alone—”
Captain Korea’s visible skin has gone approximately the color of his shield, which is to say red, white, and blue all at once, and he’s making frantic cutting motions with his hands.
“Hoseok, maybe we shouldn’t—”
“Oh no, I think we absolutely should,” Hoseok continues, and he’s definitely lost his mind because nobody talks to Captain Korea like this, except apparently Iron Man does. “Tell our friend here about how you conducted a very thorough interview. For journalism purposes. Very professional.”
“HOSEOK.”
But it’s too late, because your brain has put the pieces together—Captain Korea, journalism, ex-girlfriend, educational evening—and you’re pretty sure your worldview just shifted off its axis entirely.
“Oh my god. Oh my GOD. You—she was interviewing you and you—but she didn’t know who you were so you were basically—oh my GOD this is like the plot of every fanfiction I pretend I don’t read!”
Captain Korea makes a sound like a dying whale and launches his shield directly at Hoseok’s head.
Hoseok catches it one-handed without even looking up from his coffee, which is probably the most impressive thing you’ve ever seen and also completely terrifying.
“Careful there, buddy,” he says, examining the shield like he’s checking for damage. “This thing probably costs more than most people’s cars.”
“Give that back,” Captain Korea demands, but his voice cracks a little on the word ‘back,’ which ruins the commanding effect entirely.
“What, this old thing?” Hoseok spins it on his finger like it’s a frisbee instead of a vibranium shield that could probably split a building in half. “I thought you were done using it for the evening. You know, since you were busy using other things.”
You’re still trying to process this entire conversation when your brain helpfully supplies you with an even more disturbing parallel.
“Oh god, this is like Spider-Man all over again.”
Both men freeze and stare at you.
“What?” Hoseok asks slowly.
“Spider-Man! He comes in here all the time—well, not all the time, but regularly enough that I know his coffee order, which is complicated because he orders it through the mask so it’s all muffled, but he always gets the same thing—and he’s always hanging around that journalism student who comes in to study.”
You’re rambling now, but you can’t stop because this is actually important information that they need to understand.
“Literally hanging. From the ceiling sometimes. It’s adorable, he calls her ‘noona’even though nobody knows how old he actually is under the mask, and she just sits there typing away on her laptop while he hovers upside-down asking if she needs anything and—” You stop, realizing both superheroes are staring at you like you’ve grown a second head. “What?”
Hoseok sets Captain Korea’s shield down on the table with a very deliberate clink.
“So let me get this straight. Spider-Man also has a thing for journalism students?”
“Well, I mean, I don’t know if it’s a thing exactly, but he definitely spends a lot of time making sure she’s comfortable and bringing her snacks and asking about her articles, and last week he actually hung a little web banner over her table that said ‘Fighting for truth and justice!’ which was honestly the cutest thing I’ve ever seen, and—” You pause again. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“No reason,” Hoseok says, but his voice has taken on a very dangerous tone. “Just seems like there’s a pattern here. Superheroes and journalist women. Very interesting pattern.”
Captain Korea has buried his face in his hands. “This is a nightmare.”
“This is karma,” Hoseok corrects. “This is what happens when you don’t listen to your teammates’ very reasonable advice about keeping your personal life separate from your superhero life.”
“You’re one to talk! You’ve been mooning over—”
“Geumsa,” Hoseok interrupts, turning to face you directly, and you feel your cheeks warm at the nickname he’s started using recently. “Maybe you could make us some more coffee? This seems like a conversation that’s going to require a lot of caffeine.”
Captain Korea’s head snaps up. “Wait, hold up. Geumsa? You have a nickname for her?”
Your hand automatically goes to touch the golden thread holding your ponytail in place, and you can feel your face getting redder by the second.
You turn your head slightly, pointing bashfully at the golden bow securing your hair, because that’s why he started you calling you that in the first place.
Golden thread.
“It’s just… the thread. I always wear it when I work, so…”
Captain Korea looks between you and Hoseok, and even with the mask covering most of his expression, you can tell he’s grinning.
“Oh. Okay, that’s actually really sweet—”
The shield goes flying again, this time with considerably more force.
Captain Korea barely dodges it, and the shield embeds itself in the wall behind him with a solid thunk.
“HOSEOK!”
“That’s what you get for being smug,” Hoseok says, completely unrepentant. “And before you say anything, yes, it’s different.”
“How is it different?”
“Because I’m not sleeping with her while pretending to be someone else!”
You’re pretty sure your brain has officially given up trying to process this conversation, because now you’re just standing there holding a coffee pot, watching Iron Man and Captain Korea bicker like an old married couple about their respective love lives.
This is definitely not how you imagined your first real conversation with Captain Korea would go.
“Um,” you say, raising your hand tentatively like you’re in class. “Should I… make more coffee?”
Both men turn to look at you, and for a moment, the coffee shop is completely silent.
Then…
“Yes,” Hoseok says finally. “Make a lot more coffee. And maybe something stronger.”
“I don’t have anything stronger. This is a coffee shop, not a bar.”
“Then make the coffee stronger.”
“I can do that.” You pause, looking between them. “Are you two going to be okay? Because I feel like I just witnessed something that’s either going to end in friendship or homicide, and I’m not qualified to deal with either of those outcomes.”
Captain Korea makes another whale noise. “I think I need to go home and rethink my life choices.”
“Good idea,” Hoseok says, getting up to retrieve the shield from the wall. “Maybe start with the choice to have emotional conversations while wearing a patriotic costume.”
“You’re never going to let me live this down, are you?”
“Never. I’m going to bring this up at every team meeting for the rest of our natural lives.”
“I hate you.”
“Love you too, Cap.”
You’re pretty sure you’re witnessing the natural habitat behavior of superheroes, and it’s simultaneously more and less dramatic than you expected.
“Also,” you say, because apparently your mouth has decided to operate independently of your brain’s better judgment. “Can I ask how you two know each other, or is that classified information?”
They both stare at you again.
“We work together,” Hoseok says slowly.
“Teammates,” Captain Korea adds.
“Right. Of course. That makes sense.”
It doesn’t make sense at all, actually, because you’re pretty sure Iron Man is more of a solo act while Captain Korea works with the government, but you’ve learned enough today to know when not to push for details.
“Well, for what it’s worth, I think you’re both doing great work. You know, saving the city and all that.”
“Thanks,” they say in unison, and then glare at each other for the synchronization.
“Okay,” you continue, because apparently you’re committed to this awkward conversation now. “I’m going to make that coffee, and you two are going to figure out whatever… this… is. And maybe next time, we can discuss superhero theory without any shocking personal revelations?”
“Deal,” Captain Korea says quickly.
“No promises,” Hoseok adds, because of course he does.
As you turn back to the espresso machine, you can hear them starting to bicker again behind you, something about proper disclosure and emotional maturity and the ethics of costumed dating, and you can’t help but smile a little.
Because this is your life now, apparently. Making coffee for superheroes while they have relationship drama in your shop after hours.
You could probably write a whole thesis about this too.
And maybe you could—
The thought hits you like a repulsor blast to the face, and you nearly drop the espresso portafilter.
“Oh my god.”
“What?” both superheroes say in unison, and then glare at each other again.
You whirl around, abandoning the coffee machine to face them with what you’re sure is an absolutely manic expression.
“My thesis. My research. You two—you’re perfect.”
Captain Korea shifts uncomfortably in his seat. “I’m not sure I like where this is going.”
“No, listen!” You’re gesturing wildly now, academic excitement overriding your starstruck nervousness. “I’ve been analyzing superhero leadership from media coverage and public statements, but that’s all external observation. Secondary sources. But you two actually do this—the teamwork, the decision-making under pressure, the tactical planning—”
“Geumsa,” Hoseok interrupts, and there’s something careful in his voice. Something that sounds almost… hopeful? “Are you saying you want to study us?”
“Not study exactly, that sounds weird and creepy, but—” You pause, trying to organize your thoughts into something coherent instead of the excited word-vomit currently happening. “Research? Observe? Get a behind-the-scenes understanding of how superhero collaboration actually works?”
There’s a long moment of silence.
Captain Korea looks at Hoseok.
Hoseok looks at Captain Korea.
Some sort of silent communication happens that you absolutely cannot parse.
“That,” Hoseok says slowly, “is actually a really interesting idea.”
“It is?” you and Captain Korea say at the same time.
“Sure.” Hoseok leans back in his chair with the kind of calculated casualness that probably looks natural to most people but somehow feels deliberate. “We could help you out. Show you some footage, maybe walk you through some of our tactical models. Give you that primary source material you need.”
Your heart does a little flip. “Really? You’d do that?”
“Of course. Always happy to contribute to academic research.” He’s smiling now, that confident Iron Man smile that makes headlines. “Why don’t you come by my place tomorrow? After your shift. We can set up a proper research session.”
“Why would we—” Captain Korea starts.
“Shut up,” Hoseok says pleasantly.
“Excuse me?”
“I mean, shut up, of course we’d love to help.” Hoseok’s grin has taken on a slightly manic quality. “It’s important work. Educational. Beneficial for everyone involved.”
Captain Korea tilts his head, and you can practically see him trying to figure out what game Hoseok is playing.
“I don’t think I can make it tomorrow, actually. I have a—”
“With us!” Hoseok says brightly, kicking something under the table that makes Captain Korea grunt. “You have plans with us. The three of us. Working together. On this very important research project.”
“I really don’t think—”
“He’s very enthusiastic about it,” Hoseok continues, his smile never wavering. “Aren’t you enthusiastic about it?”
There’s another beat of silence where Captain Korea seems to be running through several different responses in his head.
You’re too excited to notice the weird tension between them.
“This is amazing! I can’t believe—I mean, the primary source access alone will be incredible for my thesis, and getting to see actual tactical models and decision-making processes—” You stop, a horrible thought occurring to you. “Wait, is this classified? Am I going to have to sign an NDA? Because I can do that, I just need to make sure my advisor is okay with—”
“Don’t worry about it,” Hoseok says, waving a hand dismissively. “We’ll handle the logistics. You just focus on your research.”
He pulls out his phone—not the fancy Iron Man gauntlet interface you’ve seen in videos, just a regular phone—and types something quickly.
“I’ll send a car to pick you up tomorrow. What time do you finish your shift?”
“A car?” Your brain is struggling to keep up. “You don’t have to—I can take the subway, it’s really not a problem—”
“Nonsense. You’re doing us a favor by including us in your research.” He looks up from his phone, and there’s something warm in his expression that makes your stomach do a weird little flip. “What time, Geumsa?”
“Um. Six? I close at six.”
“Perfect. Car will be there at six-fifteen.” He goes back to typing. “Wear something comfortable. We might be going through footage for a while.”
“This is really happening,” you say, mostly to yourself. “I’m going to be doing primary research with Iron Man and Captain Korea. I should probably prepare questions, right? And bring my laptop? Oh god, I need to charge my laptop—”
“Breathe,” Hoseok says, and his voice is gentle enough that you actually do. “Just bring yourself and whatever you need to take notes. We’ll provide everything else.”
“Okay. Okay.” You press your hands to your cheeks, trying to cool the flush you can feel spreading. “This is the best day of my entire life.”
“Better than meeting Captain Korea?” Hoseok asks, and there’s something odd in his tone that you can’t quite identify.
“Well, I mean—” You glance at Captain Korea, who’s watching this interaction with what you think might be amusement under his mask. “Meeting Captain Korea was incredible, obviously. But getting to actually work with both of you? Getting primary source material for my thesis? That’s—that’s career-defining. That’s going to make my advisor actually take my research seriously.”
“Your advisor doesn’t take your research seriously?” Captain Korea asks, and he sounds genuinely offended on your behalf.
“He thinks superhero studies are ‘frivolous’ and ‘lack academic rigor.’” You use air quotes for emphasis. “He only approved my thesis topic because I framed it as leadership theory with contemporary case studies.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Hoseok says firmly. “Your research is brilliant. The analysis you did about public responsibility and symbolic leadership? That’s publication-worthy material.”
You blink at him, startled by the vehemence in his voice.
“You really think so?”
“I know so.”
There’s a moment where you just stare at each other, and something warm unfurls in your chest.
Iron Man—Iron Man—thinks your research is brilliant. Thinks it’s publication-worthy.
That’s…
Captain Korea clears his throat. “So. Tomorrow. Six-fifteen.”
“Right.” You shake yourself back to reality. “I should finish making that coffee. The stronger coffee. That you asked for.”
“Probably a good idea,” Hoseok agrees, but he’s still looking at you with that expression you can’t quite read.
You turn back to the espresso machine, hands slightly shaky from excitement and caffeine and the surreal nature of your entire evening.
Behind you, you can hear the two superheroes having some sort of whispered argument.
“—know exactly what you’re doing—”
“—helping with legitimate academic research—”
“—can’t believe you’re using her thesis as an excuse to—”
“—shut up or I’m telling Spider-Man about the journalist thing—”
“You wouldn’t—”
“Try me.”
You smile to yourself as you pull the espresso shots, watching the dark liquid stream into the cups.
Tomorrow you’re going to Iron Man’s house.
Tomorrow you’re going to do actual primary research with actual superheroes.
Tomorrow is going to be the best day of your academic career.
You’re almost completely sure of it.
The coffee finishes brewing, rich and dark and strong enough to wake the dead, and you bring it over to their table with hands that are only slightly trembling.
“One extremely strong americano,” you announce, setting Hoseok’s cup down first. “And one regular coffee for Captain Korea, unless you’d like something stronger too?”
“I think I’m going to need it,” Captain Korea mutters, but he’s accepting the regular coffee anyway.
“So,” you say, unable to contain your curiosity any longer. “What exactly will we be doing tomorrow? Is it just footage review, or—”
“Footage, tactical models, maybe a demonstration if you want.” Hoseok takes a sip of his coffee and makes a satisfied sound. “Perfect as always, Geumsa. We might order dinner too—can’t do proper research on an empty stomach.”
“Dinner?” Your voice comes out squeakier than intended.
“Unless you’d rather not—”
“No! No, dinner is great. Dinner is perfect.” You’re definitely blushing now. “I just—I didn’t expect—”
“It’s the least we can do,” Hoseok says smoothly. “You’re giving up your evening for this research. Feeding you is basic hospitality.”
Captain Korea is very quiet, and when you glance at him, you could swear he’s trying not to laugh.
“Well,” you say, straightening your apron and trying to regain some composure. “I should let you two finish your coffee and your… discussion. I have closing duties to finish.”
“Of course.” Hoseok raises his cup in a small salute. “See you tomorrow, Geumsa.”
“Tomorrow,” you echo, and the word feels full of promise.
As you head back behind the counter, you catch Captain Korea leaning toward Hoseok and saying something that sounds suspiciously like “—really doing this, aren’t you—” but Hoseok just grins and takes another sip of his coffee.
You’re going to need to figure out what to wear.
And maybe reread all your thesis notes.
And definitely charge your laptop.
Hoseok adjusts the sofa cushion for the third time, realizes it looked better the second time, and moves it back.
Then he takes a step back to evaluate.
Is this trying too hard? This feels like trying too hard.
But also, leaving the cushions in their normal ‘I literally threw these here last week and haven’t thought about them since’ arrangement seems like not trying at all, which is somehow worse.
He’s wearing a suit. A suit. Not the Iron Man suit—that would be weird, even for him—but an actual Tom Ford suit that cost way too much. It’s charcoal grey, perfectly tailored, and he’d convinced himself this morning that it struck the right balance between ‘successful tech CEO’ and ‘definitely not trying to impress anyone.’
Looking at himself in the reflection of his floor-to-ceiling windows, he’s starting to think he might have miscalculated.
“FRIDAY,” he says, tugging at his collar. “Honest opinion. Is this too much?”
“For a research session with a graduate student, boss? Absolutely.”
“Thanks. Super helpful. Love the support.”
“You did ask for honesty.”
Hoseok glares at the nearest speaker. “Remind me to reprogram your sarcasm protocols.”
“You’ve been threatening that for two years now.”
“And I mean it every single time.”
He checks his watch.
Five-forty.
The car should be picking you up in about thirty-five minutes, which means you’ll be here around six-thirty accounting for Seoul traffic.
Which gives him just enough time to make sure everything is perfect.
Not that this needs to be perfect. Because it’s just research. Academic research. Very professional, very educational, very not-a-date.
Except he’s wearing a Tom Ford suit and he’s rearranged the cushions three times and he’s had FRIDAY order enough food to feed the entire nation because he wasn’t sure what you’d like and figured variety was the safe option.
Yeah. He’s totally fooling everyone. Especially himself.
His phone buzzes. Namjoon’s name flashes on the screen.
Hoseok answers it immediately. “Remember, you’re not coming.”
There’s a pause. “I… know?”
“Great. Just wanted to make sure we were crystal clear on that.”
“We’ve been clear on that since you kicked me under the table last night. I have a bruise.”
“Good. Perfect. Excellent.” Hoseok moves another cushion half an inch to the left. “So you should probably say something in the group chat. Make it official.”
“The group chat that you insisted we create even though we could have just texted her individually?”
“The group chat that establishes professional boundaries and appropriate research protocols, yes.”
“Hoseok.”
“Namjoon.”
“You’re using her thesis as an excuse to have dinner with her.”
“I’m facilitating important academic research.”
“You’re wearing a suit right now, aren’t you.”
Hoseok looks down at his perfectly tailored charcoal grey Tom Ford.
“That’s completely irrelevant to this conversation.”
“You are. Oh my god, you’re absolutely wearing a suit.”
“Some of us like to maintain professional standards—”
“Some of us are trying way too hard—”
“Just send the message, Namjoon. Tell her you can’t make it.”
“Okay, okay. What should I say?”
“I don’t know, something believable. Something that sounds like an actual emergency.”
“Like what?”
“Like—like—” Hoseok’s brain scrambles. “Like you have a government meeting! Or a training session! Or a debriefing! Literally anything that sounds official and Captain Korea-ish.”
“It’s six PM. What government meetings happen at six PM?”
“The important kind! The classified kind! The ‘symbol of national security’ kind!”
“Fine, fine. How about… ‘Hey, something came up. Won’t be able to make it tonight. Sorry!’”
Hoseok nearly drops his phone. “No. Absolutely not. That sounds like you’re blowing her off!”
“What? It’s casual and apologetic—”
“It’s lazy and suspicious! She’s going to think we’re not taking her research seriously!”
“Then what do you want me to say?”
“Something with more gravitas! More—more heroic responsibility! Like ‘Apologies, duty calls’ or ‘Unfortunately, Captain Korea is needed elsewhere’ or—”
“That sounds pretentious.”
“You’re literally a walking symbol of national pride, Namjoon, don’t talk to me about pretentious.”
“Okay, how about—” There’s a pause where Hoseok can hear typing. “What about this: ‘Really sorry, but Captain Korea duties are calling. You and Iron Man should still proceed with the research session!’”
“Yes! Perfect! Send that!”
“Sending now—”
“Wait, not the—”
His phone buzzes with a notification. Hoseok pulls up the group chat with a sense of impending doom.
“NOT LIKE THAT!” Hoseok nearly shouts into the phone. “Oh my god, are you—you’re a complete dimwit! I literally just told you not to send that exact message!”
“You told me to send it!”
“I told you to send the SECOND version! The one with gravitas! The heroic responsibility one!”
“You said ‘send that’ and I sent!”
“Context, Namjoon! Context matters! We literally just discussed why that first message was terrible!”
“Well maybe if you’d been more clear—”
“I WAS clear! Incredibly clear! A child could have understood—”
“You know what, I’m trying to help you with your weird elaborate dinner date scheme, so maybe don’t yell at me about message clarity—”
“It’s not a dinner date, it’s RESEARCH—”
“In a SUIT—”
“—and now she’s going to think we’re not taking her seriously because you sent ‘something came up’ like you’re ditching study group!”
“I am literally ditching study group! That’s the entire point!”
“The point is to make it seem like you WANT to be there but CAN’T because of IMPORTANT HERO THINGS, not that you just forgot about a dentist appointment or whatever ‘something came up’ implies!”
There’s a long suffering sigh from Namjoon’s end.
“You’re so lucky you’re my friend.”
“Best friend,” Hoseok corrects, still glaring at the chat. “I’m your best friend. Which means you’re supposed to be better at this.”
“Better at what? Lying to nice graduate students so you can have romantic dinners under the guise of academic research?”
“Yes! Exactly that! That’s exactly what best friends are for!”
“I think you need to reevaluate your friendship expectations.”
“I think you need to reevaluate your texting skills.”
Namjoon laughs, the bastard. “Look, it’s fine. Just—fix it. Do your smooth Iron Man thing and make it work.”
“My smooth Iron Man thing.”
“Yeah, you know. The charisma. The confidence. The thing you do where you make everyone think you’ve got everything under control even when you’re clearly panicking.”
“I’m not panicking.”
“You’ve rearranged the cushions, haven’t you.”
Hoseok looks at the cushion in his hand. “…No.”
“Liar. Look, just—be yourself. She already likes you.”
“She likes IRON MAN. Not Jung Hoseok.”
“Pretty sure she likes the guy who listens to her thesis ideas and remembers her coffee theories and came up with a nickname based on her work uniform. That’s Jung Hoseok, not Iron Man.”
Hoseok is quiet for a moment, staring at his reflection in the window.
“When did you become the emotionally intelligent one?”
“Someone has to balance out your disaster energy. Now stop arguing with me and go be charming.”
“I’m always charming.”
“Sure you are, buddy. Good luck. Try not to make a complete fool of yourself.”
“No promises.”
Namjoon laughs again and hangs up.
Hoseok looks back at the chat. Sure enough, the dots are appearing.
𝐆𝐞𝐮𝐦𝐬𝐚: 𝙾𝚑 𝚗𝚘! 𝙸𝚜 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚔𝚊𝚢?
He watches as Namjoon types, probably trying to salvage his terrible first message.
Hoseok sets his phone down and looks around the penthouse one more time.
The cushions are arranged. The food is ordered. The suit is… well, the suit is staying on because changing now would just be admitting that Namjoon was right, and that’s not happening.
His reflection in the window shows a man who is definitely, absolutely, completely not nervous about spending the evening alone with the cute barista who makes perfect coffee and has the most brilliant mind he’s encountered in years and looks at him like Jung Hoseok is interesting instead of just Iron Man being famous.
“FRIDAY, dim the lights a bit. Not too much—we need proper visibility for research purposes—but maybe like, fifteen percent?”
“Mood lighting for academic purposes, boss?”
“I will reprogram you.”
“You always say that.”
“And one day I’ll actually do it.”
“Sure you will. Dimming lights by fifteen percent.”
The penthouse takes on a softer glow, and okay, yeah, it does look better. More comfortable. Less ‘sterile tech CEO office’ and more ‘welcoming research space.’
Totally professional. Completely academic.
“FRIDAY?”
“Yes, boss?”
“If at any point tonight I start to make a complete fool of myself, feel free to create a distraction.”
“Boss, with all due respect, I’ve been doing that since I was installed.”
“…Fair point.”
Hoseok tugs at his collar again, straightens his tie, and tries to remember how to act like a normal human being around someone he definitely isn’t developing feelings for.
This is fine. This is going to be fine.
It’s just research.
In a Tom Ford suit.
With mood lighting.
And enough food to feed the entire nation.
“I’m an idiot,” he mutters.
“Just now figuring that out, boss?”
“FRIDAY.”
“Yes, boss?”
“Play something. Background music. Something that says ‘professional research environment’ but also ‘I have excellent taste and am very sophisticated.’”
“Ah yes, the ‘definitely not a date’ playlist you’ve been curating.”
“I—” Hoseok stops. “Okay, first of all, that’s not what it’s called.”
“You’re absolutely right. It’s labeled ‘Background Music For Research Sessions (Professional).’”
“…Just play it.”
“Excellent choice, boss.”
Soft music fills the penthouse—carefully selected tracks that are interesting enough to appreciate but not intrusive enough to distract from conversation.
Jazz, mostly. Some acoustic. Nothing too romantic, but nothing too impersonal either.
Because it’s for research.
Obviously.
Hoseok moves a cushion one more time, then forces himself to step away from the sofa before he starts a fourth round of rearranging.
He can do this.
He’s faced down alien threats and interdimensional monsters and hostile board meetings with shareholders who wanted to weaponize his technology.
He can handle one evening with a graduate student who happens to be brilliant and beautiful and completely unaware that he’s been half in love with her since she first explained the sociological implications of superhero merchandising while making his coffee.
The cushions are perfect.
The lighting is perfect.
The music is perfect.
Now he just has to not completely screw this up.
Hoseok straightens his tie one more time and tries to remember how to breathe like a normal person.
This is fine.
Everything is fine.
It’s just research.
The doorbell chimes—because of course his penthouse has a doorbell chime that sounds like it belongs in a five-star hotel—and Hoseok’s heart does this stupid stuttering thing that would probably concern a cardiologist.
“Show time, boss,” FRIDAY says helpfully.
“Not helping.”
“Wasn’t trying to.”
He makes his way to the private elevator entrance, trying to remember how to walk like a normal person instead of someone whose knees have suddenly forgotten their primary function. Through the security camera feed on the wall panel, he can see you standing in the lobby, looking around with wide eyes and clutching your laptop bag like it’s a shield.
You’re wearing jeans and an oversized sweater that somehow makes you look softer than your coffee shop uniform does, and your hair is still tied back with that golden thread that inspired the nickname he definitely doesn’t think about too much.
Hoseok presses the button of the elevator and waits.
The secondary elevator—the one that goes to all floors—opens immediately, and he steps inside, pressing the button for the floor just below the penthouse.
It descends smoothly, numbers ticking down on the display.
Hoseok checks his reflection in the polished metal doors, smooths down his tie, and tries to arrange his face into something that looks welcoming and professional and definitely not like someone who spent forty-five minutes rearranging cushions.
The elevator slows.
Stops.
The doors open.
And there you are, in the lobby, eyes widening in surprise as you see him.
“Oh! Hi!” You wave, which is adorable because you’re literally ten feet away. “I was just—I’m coming up! The elevator is—it’s very nice! Very smooth! I was waiting—”
“Geumsa,” he says, and wow, okay, his voice actually sounds normal. Points for him. “Hey. I thought I’d come meet you.”
“Oh, you didn’t have to—I mean, I have the floor number, and the elevator is pretty straightforward, there’s really only one button—”
“Ride up with me,” he says, because apparently his mouth has decided to just go for it.
You step into the elevator.
Hoseok presses the button for the penthouse.
The elevator starts moving.
And that’s when the lights flicker.
“Oh,” you say. “That’s—is that normal?”
“Totally normal,” Hoseok lies, at the exact same moment FRIDAY says in his nearly-invisible earpiece: “Boss, we have a problem.”
The elevator lurches.
You stumble forward with a small yelp, and Hoseok’s hands automatically reach out to steady you, catching your shoulders before you can fall.
You’re close now—close enough that he can smell whatever shampoo you use, something light and clean that makes him think of those fancy organic stores—and your hands have landed on his chest, right over his arc reactor.
The elevator grinds to a complete stop.
The lights flicker again and then settle into emergency lighting, dimmer and somehow more intimate than the regular fluorescents.
“Okay,” you say, voice slightly higher than normal. “That seems less normal.”
“FRIDAY?” Hoseok says, trying to keep his voice level despite the fact that you’re still touching his chest and he’s still holding your shoulders and this is either the best or worst timing in the history of technology malfunctions.
“Minor power fluctuation in the building’s eastern grid,” FRIDAY responds in his ear. “Backup generators are compensating but the elevator system has automatically locked down as a safety precaution. Estimate fifteen to twenty minutes for a full system reboot.”
Fifteen to twenty minutes.
In an elevator.
With you.
In a suit that’s suddenly feeling very warm.
“So,” Hoseok says, because someone should probably say something. “This is not ideal.”
You let out a slightly hysterical laugh and step back, which should make him feel better but actually makes him miss the warmth of your hands on his chest, which is ridiculous because it’s been approximately five seconds.
“Oh my god, I’m so sorry,” you’re saying, words tumbling out in that way they do when you’re nervous. “I don’t know why I’m apologizing, it’s not like I broke the elevator, unless I did? Can a person break an elevator by stepping into it? I mean, I know I’m carrying my laptop and I had a big lunch but I don’t think I’m over the weight limit—”
“You didn’t break the elevator,” Hoseok says, and he can’t help smiling because you’re genuinely worried about whether your laptop and lunch broke his multi-million won elevator system.
“Are you sure? Because I have a lot of research files on this laptop, and I guess technically data has weight, although it’s like, negligible, we’re talking electrons and—” You stop yourself. “Sorry. I’m rambling. I ramble when I’m nervous.”
“I’ve noticed.” He leans back against the elevator wall, trying to project calm despite the fact that his heart is doing gymnastics. “It’s actually kind of cute.”
Your eyes go wide. “Cute?”
Oh shit. Did he say that out loud?
“I mean—informative. It’s informative. For research purposes. The way people communicate under stress is very relevant to your thesis about superhero psychology.”
Smooth. Very smooth. Namjoon would be so proud.
(Namjoon would absolutely not be proud. Namjoon would be laughing his ass off.)
“Right,” you say, and you’re blushing now, which makes the elevator feel about fifteen degrees warmer. “Research. Yes. Although technically I’m supposed to be studying your communication patterns, not the other way around.”
“Very scientific,” you echo, and then you laugh again, a little less hysterical this time. “Okay. Okay, we’re stuck in an elevator. This is fine. This is totally fine. How long do you think—?”
“FRIDAY says fifteen to twenty minutes.”
“FRIDAY?”
“My AI,” Hoseok explains. “She runs the building systems. And also judges my life choices.”
“I do not judge, boss. I simply observe and comment.”
You look around the elevator like you’re expecting to see speakers. “Is she—can she hear us right now?”
“Unfortunately,” Hoseok mutters.
“That’s amazing! I didn’t know you had a fully integrated AI system—I mean, obviously you do, you’re Iron Man, but I thought that was mostly for the suit? Having it run your residential building is actually brilliant from a security standpoint, and the processing power required for that kind of real-time monitoring must be—” You stop again, pressing a hand to your face. “I’m doing it again. The rambling thing.”
“Don’t stop on my account,” Hoseok says, and he means it. He could listen to you ramble about processing power and security systems for hours. “It’s interesting.”
“It’s nerdy.”
“I’m literally a tech CEO who builds flying suits of armor. I think I’ve cornered the market on nerdy.”
That gets a real smile out of you, and Hoseok feels a little surge of victory.
Then you shift your laptop bag on your shoulder, and the movement draws his attention to the fact that the elevator is definitely getting warmer.
The emergency lighting isn’t helping—it’s making everything feel closer, more intimate, like the space has somehow shrunk.
You seem to notice it too, because you tug at the collar of your sweater.
“Is it just me, or is it getting hot in here?”
“Not just you,” Hoseok says, loosening his tie slightly. “Emergency power means reduced climate control.”
“Right. Of course. That makes sense.” You set your laptop bag down on the floor and fan yourself with your hand. “I’m glad I didn’t wear layers. Well, more layers. This sweater is already—” You pull at the fabric. “Do you mind if I—?”
“Go ahead,” Hoseok says, trying very hard not to think about the fact that you’re about to remove clothing in an enclosed space with him.
You pull off the oversized sweater, revealing a simple tank top underneath, and Hoseok suddenly needs to focus very intently on the elevator’s control panel.
The tank top is white. Basic. Completely innocent.
It’s also showing off your collarbones and the curve of your shoulders and the golden thread is still in your hair, catching the emergency lighting like it’s specifically designed to draw his attention.
He is in so much trouble.
“That’s better,” you say, fanning yourself again. “Sorry, I run warm when I’m nervous. Which is unfortunate because I’m nervous a lot, so I’m basically always temperature-regulating poorly, which my friends say is probably stress-related but I think it’s just—” You stop, bite your lip. “I’m rambling again.”
“I told you, I don’t mind.”
“You’re just being nice because we’re trapped in an elevator and you have to be polite.”
“I’m really not that polite,” Hoseok says, shrugging off his suit jacket because the elevator genuinely is getting warm and also because he needs something to do with his hands that isn’t reaching for you. “Ask anyone. Politeness is not my defining characteristic.”
“What is your defining characteristic?” you ask, and then immediately look like you regret the question. “Sorry, that’s—you don’t have to answer that. That’s too personal for someone you barely know.”
“You don’t barely know me,” Hoseok says, hanging his jacket on the elevator railing. “You’ve been making my coffee for three months. You know I take an extra shot on Mondays and switch to decaf after six because I get ‘too bouncy.’”
You laugh, covering your face with your hands. “I can’t believe you remember me saying that.”
“I remember everything you say.”
The words come out more intense than he intended, and suddenly the elevator feels even smaller.
You lower your hands slowly, looking at him with those expressive eyes that always give away exactly what you’re thinking.
Right now, they’re saying you’re surprised. Flustered.
And maybe—maybe—something else.
“I should—” you start, then seem to forget what you were going to say. “It’s really warm in here.”
“Yeah,” Hoseok says, because his brain has apparently decided to take a vacation and leave his mouth to fend for itself. “It really is.”
You’re both just standing there now, in the dim emergency lighting, and Hoseok notices every detail about you.
Like the way you’re breathing slightly faster than normal, or the flush on your cheeks that might be from the heat or might be from something else, or the way your fingers are playing with the strap of your tank top.
“So,” you say, voice slightly breathless. “Fifteen minutes.”
“Give or take.”
“That’s not very long.”
“Feels long,” Hoseok says, and okay, he needs to get his brain back online because this is getting dangerous.
You bite your lip again—seriously, you need to stop doing that—and look away. “I should probably use this time productively. For research. I could—I have questions prepared. On my laptop. I could pull them up and we could start going through them?”
It’s a good idea. A sensible idea. The kind of idea that would definitely help him remember that this is supposed to be professional and not at all like a romantic comedy setup where two people get trapped in an elevator and—
“Or,” Hoseok hears himself say, “we could just talk.”
You look back at him. “Talk?”
“Yeah. Just… talk. No research. No questions. Just two people stuck in an elevator, talking.”
“About what?”
“Anything.” He slides down the wall until he’s sitting on the floor, legs stretched out in front of him. “Everything. Whatever you want.”
You hesitate for a moment, then slowly sink down to sit across from him, your back against the opposite wall. Your legs are crossed, and there’s maybe three feet of space between you, which feels simultaneously too much and not nearly enough.
“Okay,” you say softly. “Let’s talk.”
And even though the elevator is too warm and you’re both stuck and this was definitely not part of his plan, Hoseok can’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, this is exactly where he wants to be.
“So,” you say, fiddling with the hem of your tank top. “No research questions. Just… talking.”
“Just talking.”
“About anything.”
“Anything,” Hoseok confirms.
You’re quiet for a moment, and he can practically see you cycling through conversational options in your head.
Finally, you land on: “Why did you really come to the coffee shop that first time?”
Hoseok blinks.
Of all the questions he expected, that wasn’t one of them.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, you’re Iron Man. Jung Hoseok. You probably have coffee machines that make better coffee than I could ever make. You could have coffee delivered. You could have a personal barista. But you came to August Coffee.” You tilt your head, curious. “Why?”
He should probably lie.
Say something smooth about supporting local businesses or needing a change of scenery.
But something about the way you’re looking at him—genuinely interested, no judgment—makes him want to tell the truth.
“I was avoiding a board meeting,” he admits. “Walked into the first place I saw that looked quiet. And then you asked me what I needed.”
“I’m pretty sure I asked what you wanted to order.”
“No.” Hoseok shakes his head. “You said ‘what do you need?’ Not want. Need. And I don’t know, it just—it felt different.”
You’re blushing now, which makes the elevator feel even warmer. “I always ask that. It’s just my thing. I think it sounds more personal than ‘what can I get you.’”
“It does,” Hoseok says. “That’s why I kept coming back.”
“For the personal service?”
“For you.”
The words flutter between you in the dim emergency lighting.
Your eyes go wide, and Hoseok thinks maybe he should backtrack, make it less intense, but then you’re smiling—soft and wondering and real.
“Oh,” you say quietly.
“Yeah,” Hoseok says. “Oh.”
“I thought—” You stop, start again. “I thought you just really liked coffee.”
“I do really like coffee. But I like the person making it more.”
You press your hands to your cheeks like you can physically push away the blush.
“You can’t just say things like that.”
“Why not?”
“Because it makes my brain stop working! I had a whole plan for tonight—questions prepared, research objectives, professional boundaries—and now we’re sitting on an elevator floor and you’re saying things that make me forget how to form coherent sentences.”
Hoseok grins. “You’re forming sentences just fine.”
“I’m rambling. That’s different. Rambling is what happens when my brain panics and just starts throwing words out hoping some of them make sense.”
“They make sense,” he says. “They always make sense to me.”
You groan and let your head fall back against the wall. “This is not how tonight was supposed to go.”
“How was it supposed to go?”
“Professional! Educational! I was going to ask you intelligent questions about tactical decision-making and leadership philosophy and maybe, if I was brave enough, mention that I think your approach to humanitarian technology is really inspiring.” You lift your head to look at him. “I was not supposed to end up trapped in an elevator having a conversation that feels like—like—”
“Like what?”
“Like it matters,” you finish quietly. “Like it’s more than just research.”
Hoseok’s heart does that stupid stuttering thing again. “What if it is?”
“More than research?”
“Yeah.”
You’re staring at him now, and he can see the exact moment you process what he’s saying.
“But you’re—you’re Iron Man. You save people and build incredible technology and have press conferences and attend galas with people who are important and sophisticated and—”
“Boring,” Hoseok interrupts. “You forgot boring.”
“I was going to say accomplished.”
“Same thing. Trust me, those galas are terrible. Everyone talks about market shares and portfolio diversification and I spend the whole time wishing I was somewhere else.”
“Where?”
“Lately? A coffee shop in Sinchon where a brilliant graduate student explains superhero psychology while making perfect americanos.”
You look like you’re trying very hard not to smile. “That’s a very specific location.”
“I’m a very specific person.”
“You’re ridiculous.”
“I’m honest,” Hoseok corrects. “FRIDAY, back me up here. Tell her I’ve been talking about her for—”
Silence.
He waits for FRIDAY’s inevitable sarcastic response, but nothing comes through his earpiece.
“FRIDAY?”
Still nothing.
“That’s weird,” he mutters, tapping his ear. “She never just stops responding.”
“Maybe the power outage affected her?”
“No, she runs on independent servers. Building power shouldn’t—” He stops. “Unless she shut herself down.”
“Can she do that?”
“Technically no. But FRIDAY is…” Hoseok trails off, remembering. “She’s just like the person she was named after. Same attitude. Does whatever she wants when she wants to.”
You lean forward slightly, interested. “Really?”
“My sister,” Hoseok says, and wow, he hasn’t talked about this in a while. “Not my actual sister—I don’t have biological siblings—but my best friend growing up. She lived next door, and we did everything together. She was brilliant. Funny. Always called me out on my bullshit.”
“Was?”
“She died,” Hoseok says simply. “Car accident when we were sixteen. Drunk driver.”
Your hand moves like you want to reach for him, then stops. “I’m so sorry.”
“It’s been years. But when I was developing the AI system, I wanted to name it after someone who would keep me grounded. Someone who wouldn’t let me get away with being stupid or reckless or too caught up in my own head.” He smiles, though it aches a little. “She used to say Fridays were the best day because they meant possibilities.”
“That’s beautiful,” you say softly.
“Yeah.” Hoseok clears his throat. “Anyway. The AI—FRIDAY—she’s incredibly smart, she knows when to back off. When to give me space. She probably realized we needed privacy.”
“For what?”
“I don’t know, this,” Hoseok says. “I guess.”
You’re looking at him with so much emotion in your eyes that it makes his chest tight. “You named your AI after your best friend who died.”
“Yeah.”
“And you just told me about it. Even though we’re basically strangers.”
“We’re not strangers,” Hoseok says. “We’ve known each other for a few months. That’s not nothing.”
“It’s not everything either.”
“Then let it be something,” Hoseok says. “Let tonight be something.”
The elevator is so quiet he can hear both of you breathing.
You’re still looking at him, and there’s something building in the space between you—something electric and terrifying and inevitable.
“Hoseok,” you whisper.
“Yeah?”
“I think I’m going to do something really stupid.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
And then you’re moving, crossing those three feet of space faster than he can process, and your hands are cupping his face and your lips are on his.
For a split second, Hoseok’s brain completely flatlines.
Then it comes roaring back online with the singular thought: oh thank god.
He kisses you back, one hand coming up to tangle in your hair—careful of that golden thread he’s been thinking about for months—while the other settles on your waist. You make this small sound against his mouth, surprised and pleased, and it sends electricity straight down his spine.
You taste like the mint chapstick you must have applied in the car, and you kiss like you do everything else—enthusiastically, a little unsure, but completely genuine. Your hands slide from his face to his shoulders, gripping his shirt like you need the support.
When you shift closer, your hand lands on his thigh—high on his thigh—and Hoseok makes a sound that is absolutely not professional or research-appropriate.
“Sorry,” you gasp, breaking the kiss. “Is that—should I—”
“Don’t you dare move,” Hoseok says, and his voice comes out rougher than intended.
He slides his hands to your hips, tugging gently.
“Come here.”
“Where?”
“Here,” he says, guiding you forward until you’re straddling his lap, your knees on either side of his thighs.
You let out a soft “oh” as you settle your weight on him, and Hoseok has to close his eyes for a second because this is—this is—
“Is this okay?” you ask, breathless.
“This is so far beyond okay,” Hoseok says. “This is—I’ve been wanting to do this for weeks.”
Your eyes go wide. “Weeks?”
“Months,” he corrects, sliding his hands up your sides, watching your face as you process that. “I’ve been thinking about kissing you for months.”
“Months,” you repeat, and you’re blushing so hard he can feel the heat radiating off your cheeks. “But you never—you didn’t say anything—”
“I’m saying something now.”
He pulls you down into another kiss, deeper this time, and you melt into him with a sigh that he wants to bottle and keep forever.
Your fingers thread into his hair, and when you tug slightly, he groans into your mouth.
“That’s,” you gasp between kisses, “that’s a nice sound.”
“You’re going to hear a lot more of them,” Hoseok promises, and kisses you again before you can overthink whatever that means.
You shift in his lap, and the movement makes both of you inhale sharply.
The elevator suddenly feels about a thousand degrees hotter, and it has nothing to do with the climate control.
“Hoseok,” you breathe against his lips.
“Yeah?”
“This is—we’re—”
“I know.”
“In an elevator.”
“I’m aware.”
“We should probably—”
“Probably,” he agrees, but neither of you moves to stop.
Your hands slide down from his hair to his chest, fingers finding the buttons of his shirt, and Hoseok thinks distantly that this is absolutely not how he planned tonight to go.
It’s better.
So much better.
You work at his shirt buttons, clumsy and eager, and Hoseok is pretty sure he’s never been more attracted to anyone in his entire life.
“Can I—” you start, and he doesn’t let you finish.
“Yes,” he says against your mouth. “Whatever you’re asking, yes.”
You laugh, breathless and a little nervous, and pull back just enough to actually see what you’re doing with his buttons.
Your hands are shaking slightly, which shouldn’t be as endearing as it is, but Hoseok finds himself wanting to kiss every one of your trembling fingers.
Instead, he slides his hands up your sides again, thumbs brushing the underside of your breasts through your tank top, and watches your breath catch.
“Can I?” he asks, echoing your question.
You nod, biting that bottom lip again, and Hoseok is definitely going to have fantasies about that lip for the rest of his life.
He finds the hem of your tank top and pulls it up slowly, giving you every chance to change your mind.
You lift your arms to help him, and then the fabric is gone and you’re sitting in his lap in just your bra—simple, white, completely devastating—and Hoseok has to take a moment to just breathe.
“You’re staring,” you whisper.
“I’m appreciating,” he corrects, running his hands up your sides again, watching goosebumps rise in the wake of his touch. “There’s a difference.”
“What’s the difference?”
“Staring is passive,” Hoseok says, leaning forward to press a kiss to your collarbone. “Appreciating is active.”
He kisses across to your other collarbone, feeling your pulse jump under his lips. Your skin is so soft here, and warm, and when he uses his teeth just slightly, you make this sound—small and surprised and absolutely perfect.
One of your hands comes up near your mouth, like you’re trying to muffle the sound, while the other grips his shoulder hard enough that he can feel your nails through his shirt.
“Don’t,” Hoseok says, pulling back to look at you. “Don’t hide those sounds.”
“They’re embarrassing,” you protest, but your voice is already wrecked.
“They’re perfect.” He kisses you again, deep and thorough, until you’re making those sounds into his mouth instead. “You’re perfect.”
“I’m really not—”
“Shut up and let me appreciate you,” he murmurs against your lips, and you laugh, which turns into a gasp when his hands find the clasp of your bra.
“This okay?” he asks, fingers poised.
“Yes,” you breathe. “Yes, god, yes—”
The clasp gives way easily, and Hoseok pulls the straps down your arms, watching your face the entire time.
You’re blushing so hard it’s spread down your neck to your chest, and your eyes are wide and dark and full of want that makes his cock throb almost painfully against his zipper.
The bra falls away, and Hoseok has to close his eyes for a second because he’s nineteen again and seeing his first pair of breasts, except he’s not nineteen, he’s an adult man who should have some semblance of control.
“Hoseok?” you say, uncertain.
He opens his eyes. “I’m going to die.”
“What? Why?”
“Because you’re—” He gestures helplessly at you, at all of you, perfect and half-naked in his lap. “Look at you.”
You try to cover yourself, but he catches your wrists gently.
“Don’t,” he says. “Please don’t. I want to see you. I want—can I—”
“Yes,” you say again, and it’s becoming his favorite word in any language.
He leans forward and presses a kiss to the center of your chest, right over your sternum, and feels your heart racing under his lips.
Then he kisses lower, to the swell of your breast, and you make that sound again—the one he wants to record and play back when he’s alone.
When he takes your nipple into his mouth, your whole body jolts.
“Oh,” you gasp, and your hand flies to his hair, gripping tight. “Oh my god—”
Hoseok hums in agreement, using his tongue in slow circles while his hand comes up to cup your other breast, thumb brushing over your nipple until it’s hard against his palm.
You’re squirming in his lap now, and every movement sends sparks of pleasure-pain through his cock.
He’s so hard it’s actually uncomfortable, trapped in his pants, and when you shift again—grinding down just slightly—he has to pull back with a gasp.
“Fuck,” he breathes against your skin.
“Is that—should I not—”
“No, you should definitely—” He switches to your other breast, giving it the same attention, and you reward him with another one of those perfect sounds. “You should keep doing exactly what you’re doing.”
His hand works your breast while his mouth focuses on the other, gentle kisses and rougher attention that makes you whimper.
Your nails are definitely leaving marks on his shoulder now, and he fucking loves it—the idea that he’ll have proof of this tomorrow, evidence that this actually happened.
“Hoseok,” you gasp, and his name sounds delicious on your mouth. “That feels—I can’t—”
“What?” He pulls back to look at you, lips wet. “What can’t you do?”
“Think,” you manage. “I can’t think when you—when you do that—”
“Good,” he says, and takes your nipple between his teeth gently, just enough pressure to make you cry out.
Your hips rock forward, and the pressure against his cock is so intense that Hoseok has to freeze.
Actually freeze.
Every muscle locked, not breathing, because if you move even one more time he’s going to come in his pants and that is absolutely not how this is going to go.
“Hoseok?” Your voice is concerned now. “Are you okay?”
He presses his forehead to your sternum, right between your breasts, and tries to remember how to form words.
“I need,” he starts, then has to stop and breathe. “I need a second.”
“Did I do something wrong?”
“No.” He laughs, slightly hysterical. “No, you did everything right. That’s the problem.”
“I don’t understand—”
“I’m about to come,” he says bluntly, because there’s no point in pretending otherwise. “In my pants. Like a sixteen-year-old who’s never been touched. If you move one more time, I’m done.”
There’s a beat of silence.
Then you laugh—surprised and delighted and maybe a little bit smug—and Hoseok can feel it vibrating through your chest against his forehead.
“That’s not funny,” he mutters.
“It’s a little funny.”
“It’s embarrassing.”
“It’s hot,” you correct, and your fingers card through his hair gently. “You’re that turned on?”
“I’ve been thinking about this for months,” Hoseok reminds you, still not lifting his head because he needs at least thirty more seconds before he can look at your naked breasts again. “Months of imagining what you’d sound like, what you’d taste like, how you’d feel. And now you’re here and you’re perfect and making these sounds and I’m—I’m—”
“Overwhelmed?”
“Completely fucking gone,” he finishes.
Your fingers keep moving through his hair, soothing, and gradually Hoseok’s heartbeat starts to slow to something approaching normal.
His cock is still hard enough to cut diamond, but at least he’s not on the immediate edge anymore.
“Okay,” he says finally, lifting his head to look at you. “Okay, I’m—”
Whatever he was going to say dies in his throat because you’re looking at him with so much want that it steals his breath.
Your lips are swollen from kissing, your chest is flushed, your nipples are still hard from his attention, and you’re sitting in his lap like you were made to be there.
“We should probably stop,” you say, but you don’t sound like you mean it.
“Probably,” Hoseok agrees, running his hands up your sides again because he literally cannot help himself.
“The elevator could start working again any second.”
“Any second,” he echoes, thumbs brushing the underside of your breasts.
“Someone could see—”
“There are cameras,” Hoseok admits. “But FRIDAY has them on a loop.”
Your eyes widen. “She does?”
“She’s very thoughtful like that.”
“So no one can see us?”
“No one can see us.”
You bite your lip, considering. “How much time do you think we have?”
Hoseok grins. “How much time do you need?”
Your hands move to his belt. “However much we have.”
He chokes with his own spit for approximately three seconds before he speaks again.
“Wait,” he manages, catching your hands even though it physically pains him. “Are you sure? We don’t have to—”
“I want to,” you say, and the certainty in your voice makes his cock throb so hard he actually sees spots. “I want this.”
And okay, Hoseok has imagined this moment approximately eight hundred times in the last three months—at 2 AM when he couldn’t sleep, in the shower when he was supposed to be getting ready for meetings, during actual board meetings when he should have been paying attention to quarterly reports.
He’s imagined kissing you over the coffee counter (sappy and completely against his whole ‘cool tech CEO’ brand, but whatever).
He’s imagined asking you out properly, taking you to dinner somewhere nice where he could actually focus on making you laugh instead of just ordering coffee.
He’s imagined slowly, carefully building up to this moment over weeks or months of actual dating.
He did not imagine fucking you in an elevator twenty minutes after you arrived at his place.
But hey, he’s nothing if not adaptable.
His hands join yours at his belt buckle, and together you manage to get it undone despite the fact that both of you are shaking.
The button of his pants follows, then the zipper, and when your hand brushes against his cock through his boxer briefs—Jesus fucking Christ—Hoseok has to bite back a groan that probably would’ve echoed through the entire elevator shaft.
“You’re really—” you start, eyes wide as you palm him through the fabric.
“Really hard? Yeah. That’s what months of wanting someone does to a person.” He’s trying for casual but his voice comes out strained. “Turns out sexual frustration is a very real thing and I’ve been living it.”
You flush beautifully, and Hoseok files away that particular shade for later contemplation.
Much later.
When he’s not about to die from wanting you.
“Condom,” he forces out, even though the word tastes like ashes. “I should have—probably in my wallet—”
“I’m on birth control,” you say suddenly, and Hoseok’s brain whites out for a full five seconds. “And I haven’t been with anyone in over a year, actually, which is probably too much information but I just wanted you to know that we don’t need—I mean, if you’re comfortable with—”
“No it’s—I’m comfortable, to be honest and I haven’t—” He’s definitely talking too fast now. “And it’s been—fuck, it’s been since before I started coming to your coffee shop. Turns out when you’re spending all your mental energy thinking about one person, everyone else kind of becomes irrelevant.”
You make this small sound—surprised and pleased—and Hoseok wants to bottle it.
“I’ve been thinking about you,” he continues, because apparently he’s just going to confess everything now. “About this. About touching you. Not even—I mean yes, this, obviously this, but also just—holding your hand. Kissing you in broad daylight like I have the right to. Taking you to dinner and not having it be weird that I’m asking too many questions about your thesis because I genuinely want to know every thought in your brilliant head.”
“Hoseok,” you breathe.
“I know. It’s sappy. It’s completely against my whole brand. Tony Stark would be embarrassed for me.”
“Who?”
“Never mind. Can I please be inside you now before I say something even more embarrassing?”
You laugh—bright and genuine—and pull back, your hands going to your jeans.
Hoseok helps you, both of you working the denim down your hips in the awkward confines of the elevator. You’re wearing white cotton underwear—simple, normal, and somehow the hottest thing he’s ever seen.
His boxer briefs go next, shoved down just enough to free his cock, and the relief of not being constrained anymore makes him groan. He’s so hard it’s actually painful, precum already beading at the tip, and when you look down at him your eyes go wide.
“That’s—you’re—” You seem to lose your words, which Hoseok would find adorable if he wasn’t about to lose his mind.
“Second thoughts?” he manages, even though the idea of stopping now might actually kill him.
“No!” You shake your head quickly. “No, I’m just—processing. You’re very, um. It’s very… substantial?”
Despite everything, Hoseok laughs.
“Substantial. I’m going to remember you called my dick substantial.”
“It’s a compliment!”
“I know.” He runs his hands up your thighs, feeling you shiver. “Come here.”
Together you work your underwear off, and then you’re completely bare, and Hoseok has to close his eyes and count backwards from ten in three different languages because this is happening, this is actually happening, and he needs to not come immediately.
“Is this okay?” you ask, stroking experimentally, and okay, apparently he’s going to die.
This is how Jung Hoseok dies.
Not in battle, not in some heroic sacrifice, but from a handjob in an elevator.
“It’s perfect. You’re perfect. Everything is perfect and if you keep doing that I’m going to cum in about thirty seconds.”
“That’s okay—”
“It’s not okay,” he says firmly, catching your wrist even though it’s the hardest thing he’s ever done. “Not yet. I want—I need to be inside you. Please.”
You nod, and together you position yourself over him.
Hoseok grips your hips as you guide his cock to your entrance, and that first touch—the head of his cock against your slick heat—makes his vision white out for a second.
“Okay,” you breathe, and start to sink down.
Slowly. So fucking slowly.
And Hoseok can feel every single inch—how tight you are, how wet, how your body is adjusting to take him.
His fingers dig into your hips hard enough that he’s definitely leaving bruises, but he can’t make himself let go.
Because if he lets go, he might actually float away or spontaneously combust or some other dramatic thing that his mind can’t quite process because all his blood has traveled south.
“Oh,” you gasp when you’re halfway down. “Oh my god, you’re—that’s—”
“Too much?” Hoseok forces out through gritted teeth. “We can stop. We can—fuck—”
“Don’t you dare stop,” you say, and sink down the rest of the way in one smooth motion.
The sensation of being fully seated inside you—completely surrounded by your heat and tightness, your thighs bracketing his, your hands gripping his shoulders—is so overwhelming that Hoseok actually has to close his eyes and count fucking sheep in his head.
“Hoseok?” Your voice is breathless, concerned. “Are you—”
“Give me a second,” he manages. “You feel—I can’t even describe—I need a second or this is going to be over in about five seconds and that would be really embarrassing.”
Your hands come up to cup his face, and when he opens his eyes, you’re looking at him with so much affection that it makes his chest physically ache.
“I don’t think it would be embarrassing,” you say softly. “I think it’s sweet. That you want me this much.”
“Sweet is not the word I would use.” Hoseok laughs, slightly hysterical.
“I like it,” you whisper, and kiss him.
It’s gentler than your previous kisses—slower, sweeter—and something about the tenderness of it makes Hoseok’s control snap.
“Move,” he breathes against your lips. “Please move. I need you to move.”
You do, rising up experimentally and then sinking back down, and the friction is so intense that Hoseok genuinely thinks he might black out. His hands guide your hips, helping you find a rhythm, and soon you’re riding him with increasing confidence.
And the sounds you’re making—breathy little gasps and whimpers that go straight to his cock—are going to live in his brain forever.
He’s going to be ninety years old and still remember the way you sound when you’re taking his cock, the way your face looks in the dim emergency lighting, the way your nails dig into his shoulders like you need the anchor.
“That’s it,” he breathes, watching your face. “Just like that. You’re so perfect. You feel so fucking good.”
“Hoseok,” you gasp, and your rhythm is getting faster, less coordinated. “I can’t—this is—”
“What?” His hands slide up your sides, thumbs brushing the underside of your breasts. “What is it?”
“So good,” you manage. “You’re so—I’ve never—”
And fuck, if that doesn’t make him feel like a king.
But then you roll your hips just right, grinding down on him, and Hoseok realizes with a jolt of panic that he’s way closer to the edge than he thought.
“Wait,” he gasps, but you do it again. “Fuck, wait—”
“Are you close?” you ask, and there’s something almost curious in your tone.
“I’m—yes—but I want you to—”
You lean down and kiss him, deep and thorough, and that combined with the way you’re clenching around him is too much.
“I’m going to come,” he gasps against your mouth. “I’m sorry, I can’t—”
“Do it,” you breathe. “Come inside me. I want to feel it.”
And that’s it. That’s the end of any control Hoseok thought he had.
His hips jerk up as his orgasm slams into him, and he comes with a groan that’s probably loud enough to wake the entire building.
It feels like it goes on forever—pulse after pulse of pleasure so intense it’s almost painful—and through it all you’re there, still moving, drawing it out until he’s gasping and boneless and completely wrecked.
“I’m sorry,” Hoseok says immediately, because he’s many things but he’s not going to pretend that didn’t just happen. “That was—that was not the plan. That was the opposite of the plan. I wanted to make you feel good and instead I just—”
“That was really hot,” you interrupt.
Hoseok blinks. “What?”
“That was really hot,” you repeat, and you’re smiling now. “You were so turned on that you couldn’t even—I mean, I barely moved and you just—” You bite your lip. “No one’s ever been that attracted to me before.”
“Then everyone else is an idiot,” Hoseok says flatly. “And I’m still sorry because you didn’t come and that’s—that’s not acceptable.”
“It’s okay—”
“It’s not okay,” he says firmly. His cock is starting to soften inside you, and he can feel his cum beginning to leak out around where you’re joined. “But I’m going to fix it.”
“How?”
Hoseok grins. “Get up. I’m going to eat you out until you can’t remember your own name.”
Your eyes go wide. “But you just—I mean, you came inside me—”
“I’m aware.”
“That’s—you don’t have to—”
“I want to,” Hoseok says, and he means it with every fiber of his being.
He’s imagined what you’d sound like, what you’d taste like, how you’d look when you fell apart.
He just didn’t imagine he’d be tasting himself too.
But honestly? He doesn’t give a single fuck.
“I want to taste you,” he says, meeting your eyes. “I want to make you feel so good you forget your own name. And then I want to watch your face when you cum, and I’m going to remember it forever. I’m probably going to ask FRIDAY if I can marry a memory.”
You make this sound—half laugh, half gasp—and Hoseok takes that as permission.
He helps you up carefully, and when he slides out of you, he can see his cum starting to drip out.
It’s obscene and perfect and everything he’s been fantasizing about.
“Sit back against the wall,” he says, voice rough. “Spread your legs for me.”
You do, movements shaky, and Hoseok settles between your thighs like he’s been planning this for months.
Which, technically, he has.
“You’re really going to—” you start.
“Yeah,” Hoseok says simply. “I really am.”
He doesn’t wait for a response before leaning forward and dragging his tongue through your folds in one long, slow lick.
He can taste his own cum, can feel it coating his tongue, and instead of being strange it just makes him harder.
Because weirdly enough, there’s something fundamentally right about this—about tasting himself inside you and cleaning up the mess he made; about making you feel good in the aftermath of his complete loss of control.
“Oh my god,” you gasp, hand flying to his hair. “Hoseok—”
He groans against you, the sound vibrating through your core, and sets to work in earnest. More of his cum leaks out as he works, and he licks it up eagerly, using it as additional lubrication as he fucks you with his tongue.
Then he seals his lips around your clit and sucks, and your whole body jolts.
“Fuck,” you gasp, and your grip on his hair tightens almost painfully. “That’s—don’t stop—”
Hoseok has no intention of stopping.
He works you with his tongue, and it’s messy and wet and so fucking hot that he thinks he might be able to go again, despite having just come.
When he slides two fingers inside you—easy with how wet you are, how open from taking his cock—you cry out and your thighs tremble around his head.
“That’s it,” he murmurs against your clit. “Let me hear you.”
He crooks his fingers, searching for that spot he knows is there, and when he finds it your whole body jolts.
“There?” he asks, even though he knows the answer.
“Yes,” you gasp. “Right there, please—”
He fucks you with his fingers while his mouth works your clit, and he can feel more of his cum leaking out around his fingers. He’s essentially fingering his own cum back into you while eating you out, and the thought makes him groan against you.
“Oh god,” you whimper. “That feels—I can’t—”
He looks up at you then, wanting to see your face, and the sight makes his cock throb.
You’re completely wrecked—head thrown back against the wall, chest heaving, one hand in his hair and the other pressed against your mouth like you’re trying to muffle your sounds.
“Look at me,” he says against you, pulling back just enough to meet your eyes. “I want to see your face when you cum.”
Your eyes are already hazy and unfocused, but you manage to look down at him.
Hoseok holds your gaze as he seals his lips around your clit and sucks hard while his fingers press insistently against that spot inside you.
Your mouth opens in a silent scream, your whole body going taut, and Hoseok watches every single second of it.
The way your eyes squeeze shut despite trying to keep them open.
The way your back arches off the wall.
The way your thighs tremble around his head.
It’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, and he’s going to remember it until the day he dies.
He works you through it, fingers and tongue gentling as you come down, and when you finally slump back against the wall—boneless and gasping—he presses soft kisses to your inner thigh.
“Holy shit,” you breathe.
Hoseok grins, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “That’s what I said earlier.”
“That was—I can’t—my brain stopped working.”
“Good.” He sits back on his heels, admiring his handiwork. “You’re gorgeous like this.”
You make a weak sound that might be embarrassment, covering your face with your hands.
“I can’t believe we just had sex in an elevator.”
“Best elevator malfunction of my life,” Hoseok says, finding your underwear and gently helping you back into it.
“What if someone saw—”
“No one saw. FRIDAY had it handled.”
“FRIDAY is my new favorite person.”
“She’s an AI.”
“My new favorite AI,” you correct, and then start giggling—slightly hysterical, post-orgasm giggles that make Hoseok’s chest feel warm. “Oh my god. This is insane. I came here for research and instead I—we—”
“Had incredible elevator sex?” Hoseok suggests, pulling his own pants back up.
“I’m never going to be able to ride in an elevator again without thinking about this.”
“Good,” Hoseok says, tugging you gently into his lap—careful this time, tender. “I want you thinking about this. About me. About what just happened.”
“Kind of hard not to,” you mutter, but you’re smiling.
“So,” Hoseok says, and his heart is suddenly beating too fast for someone who just had an orgasm. “I know we did this backwards—”
“Very backwards—”
“—but I’ve been wanting to ask you out for months. Properly. Dinner, dating, the whole thing.” He takes a breath. “Would you—I mean, are you interested in—”
“Yes,” you say, before he can finish stumbling through the question. “Yes, I want to go on a date with you. Many dates. All the dates.”
Relief floods through him so intensely that he actually laughs.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. I mean, you made me come so hard I saw stars. I’d be an idiot not to want to see where this goes.”
“Romance,” Hoseok says dryly. “Thy name is post-orgasm pragmatism.”
You laugh, and the sound fills the elevator with warmth.
That’s when the elevator lurches back to life, lights flickering to full brightness, and starts moving smoothly upward.
— chapter summary | When Yoongi slips away from the celebration, your instincts push you to follow. In the dim glow beyond the crowd, you find him face-to-face with an uninvited guest—one whose presence alone threatens to undo every careful step you’ve taken so far.
— title: Carousel | pairings: Min Yoongi x female reader | genre: CEO!Yoongi, Arranged Marriage!AU, smut, angst
— ratings & warnings | +18 / M for mature; involves delicate themes related to arranged marriage, family legacy, alcohol consumption, minor character death, grief.
— word count: 4,281 words
— story masterpost: Carousel | ⤎ previous chapter | next chapter ⇢
— chapter drop date: Oct 15th, 2025 | main masterlist | mailbox | feedback | ko-fi | patreon | series taglist
𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝟶𝟼. 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚞𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚟𝚒𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚐𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚝
Standing out in the corridor, you feel as if you have been sent into a different world.
You can still hear the muffled sounds coming from the event hall; the gentle tune of music vibrating from the other side of these walls, the clinking sound of glasses shared at the bar, and the hum of conversation shared by the guests still enjoying the party within the hall. But out here, you are surrounded by nothing more than silence.
Everything seems to come to a halt. Even your mind becomes quiet. It feels as if you are given a chance to take a short break from all the excitement.
And yet, you find it hard to find calmness. Perhaps not until you can find your missing fiancé and find out what he is up to.
Knowing that he wouldn’t have walked away from his own party without a reason, you know that something must be happening. Whatever it is, you can only hope that it won’t be anything bad enough that would ruin the night for the two of you.
And for everyone involved, you wonder, as you picture Yoongi’s mother’s proud smile wavering in the wake of trouble transpiring at her party.
You take a look around to find him, finding no sign of Yoongi along the empty corridor. The only option left would be the garden surrounding the main building, which appears mostly dark, with only little garden lamps and spotlights illuminating the property as tonight’s ball hadn’t needed this area to use.
Resolving to find Yoongi before anyone else in the ball notices that he is missing, you carefully hike up the front of your ballgown and step out onto the stone pathway leading out to the garden, hoping that perhaps you can find him out there. Taking slow steps, you venture into the dim-lighted garden, squinting your eyes to get a better look around while making sure that your heels don’t make too much sound to expose your presence.
Moments pass and you still can’t find him.
The more you walk, the more the shadows forming between the rosebushes and the lower trees growing on either side of the pathway are making you feel like you are dreaming. The way they seem to stir as you walk by makes you believe that you might have drunk too much champagne during dinner while you were avoiding your mother’s advances.
You are just about to give up and turn away when suddenly begin to hear noises coming from somewhere nearby, voices faintly echoing from the hidden area behind the gazebo standing at the end of the pathway.
Curious, you move a bit closer. Keeping yourself in the shadows of the trees as you approach the gazebo, you continue until you are close enough to be able to listen better.
The voices seem to be coming from two people who are having an argument. You can immediately recognise one of the voices as Yoongi. The cool, deep tone of voice that he uses when he speaks makes it hard for you to make out what he is saying. You can tell that he is struggling to keep his composure while he continues to try to appease the other person.
The second voice belongs to a woman. A voice that you cannot recognise, as it’s unfamiliar to your ears. Whoever this person is, she isn’t shy about getting her voice heard. The restrained whisper-yell she makes each time she argues back to whatever Yoongi is saying to her keeps getting louder, even as Yoongi tries to calm them down. And you are beginning to feel worried that their voices will soon reach the party hall.
Soon enough, people will start noticing that both you and Yoongi are no longer at the ball. It would be quite a spectacle if anyone ever tried to look for you and find the two of you out here, with the future groom arguing with another woman while everyone at the ball is celebrating his engagement.
Sighing, you move closer to observe the situation before you can decide whether or not you should interfere.
“…told you many times to stop saying this crap. It makes you sound completely delusional. You’re not even allowed to be here,” you hear Yoongi speak in a low tone of voice which is strained with his anger.
From this angle, you can see him standing with his back on you. The muted glow of the garden lamps coating his suit helps you see the tension rising on his shoulders. You look down, and you can see his fists clenching on his side.
“Then tell me why you are so set on going through with this. You’re doing this to get back at me, aren’t you?” says the woman who is yet to be identified.
Leaning further against the gazebo, you try to find a better angle so you can see who it is. The moment you see her face, you finally understand why Yoongi seems to be on edge.
You may have never known her personally, yet you have seen her before. Numerous times. Her face used to appear everywhere; on the news, on social media, on the front cover of fashion magazines, and the front pages of gossip tabloids. You have seen her on the catwalk during fashion week events to which you used to get invited, yet never once have you ever crossed paths with her during the time that she was active on the runway nor back when you spent a lot of time hanging out with other young socialites while building your network.
But you have always known her name.
The woman is Bora Kim. Known to be an international supermodel who only made it big for a short period of time before her name and pictures began filling many gossip articles—which was how you eventually heard of her name all those years ago—once her name got entangled with Yoongi’s. She became more known to be Min Yoongi’s lover as she began appearing by his side at various charity events and upper-class parties, flaunting her closeness with the rising young tycoon.
The infamous ex-girlfriend, who had then become the talk of high society when she suddenly announced herself as the future Mrs. Min just a year after she began dating him, and after keeping her title as Yoongi’s lover long enough compared to his other known escapades.
Only to lose her title merely months later, when she suddenly began appearing on the news, walking hand-in-hand in public events with a different son of the Min family.
The older brother.
An incredulous laugh leaves Yoongi’s lips. “Nothing about this has anything to do with you. Not everything is about you, Bora. Especially when it involves my life, which is none of your business to care about,” Yoongi responds, seething with anger. “You made a choice a long time ago and whatever happened after has been the consequences of your choices and your own doing. They are no longer my problem, just as my life is no longer yours, and I will not be held responsible for anything you’re now stuck with.”
Something about his words tickles the back of your mind. Until it finally clicks.
The infamous act of the older son of Min which had brought his own family to shame, and nearly brought many other business chains down with him in his downfall, may have caused her the same fate. Choosing the wrong brother of the Min family to side with may have cost her losing the career and reputation that she had built for years, and any chances of gaining the life that she had once envisioned for herself when she first got involved with the Min brothers.
Has she been trying to get back to Yoongi’s good side all this time, without you knowing?
Is that why Yoongi had created this whole facade of being a womanizer for the past couple of years since their relationship ended? To show her that there was no chance for her to come back and reclaim her place by Yoongi’s side?
While your question is left unanswered, you can still see the unmistakable sight of fear and guilt emerging from beneath her tears of anger that are threatening to fall. She opens her mouth to speak, only to swallow back her words when a shudder rocks through her body.
But then she blinks away her tears, putting up a new front when her mask comes off and raising her voice as she responds with, “Well, I hope you’re happy with your choice. Don’t regret it when that conniving bitch shows her true colours one day and shows you that she is only using you to up her class.”
Hearing this enrages you. But before you can do anything about it, Yoongi snaps first.
In a blink of an eye, he suddenly goes right up to her face, lowering his voice further as he threatens her, “And who the fuck are you to accuse her of such atrocity? Haven’t you looked at yourself in the mirror? You, of all people, have no right to throw those words around. You are nothing more than a sly fox who would stop at nothing to gain money and fame for yourself. Even if it costs other people’s lives.”
Never once had you ever seen Yoongi grow so angry. Caught by surprise, your hands rise to your lips to cover the sound of your soft gasp. On the other side, Bora flinches. It seems clear that the woman hadn’t expected to see Yoongi react so strongly to her insults. Fear quickly replaces the desperation you saw in her eyes as Yoongi stalks closer to her in his rage.
Sensing that things may escalate further, your body reacts on its own. You don’t even realise what you are doing until you slip out of your hiding place, as if your legs are following your instinct which is telling you to defuse the situation before it is too late.
“Yoongi,” you call out to him, keeping your voice as calm as you possibly can as you approach them. Your voice seems to have startled them, as they both sharply turn to look at you. But to your relief, Yoongi’s anger seems to dim the moment he sees you walking towards him.
For a brief second, you almost believe that you see Bora exhaling a deep sigh of relief as well. The fear in her eyes clears before her gaze turns to despair, then, hatred.
You choose to ignore her, keeping your eyes on Yoongi instead as you say to him, “There you are.”
“Why are you here?” Yoongi asks. The gentle tone of his voice a complete contrast to the way he spoke merely seconds ago. The fact that he isn’t looking at you with guilt lets you know that Yoongi wasn’t trying to hide this from you. He was just as unprepared to deal with this as you were.
Keeping your questions to yourself, you simply look at him with a forced smile. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you. It sucks to be the center of the party without my fiance by my side,” you playfully whine, playing things off as if you hadn’t heard any part of their argument. The last thing you want is to show Bora Kim that her words had any effect on you when you are the one with the upper hand.
Sliding your arm around Yoongi’s, you cling to his side as you ask, “I think the party is about to end. Some guests are leaving and they wanted to say goodbye to us and the family. Shouldn’t we be inside?”
With a deep exhale of breath, Yoongi nods. At the same time, you can feel the tension ebbing away from his body and shoulders as you lean further into him and gently rub your hand over his shoulder. You give him a smile, relieved to see him finding his calm again, and then turn to the uninvited guest before you.
“Hello, I don’t believe we’ve met,” you calmly greet her, deliberately keeping your cool as you wipe the smile from your face. “I wasn’t expecting to see you here tonight, Miss Kim. But it sure is nice that I finally get to see you in person.”
Bora Kim looks flustered for a brief moment, still shaken up from Yoongi’s wrath and your sudden appearance, and evidently stunned to hear you greeting her as if her appearance does nothing to rattle you. Her eyes shift between you and Yoongi, stopping at your hand which is resting on Yoongi’s elbow, and the despair in her eyes deepens.
Pressing her lips together, Bora straightens her shoulders before answering, “Unfortunately, it seems that my coming here was a mistake.” She lifts her gaze at Yoongi. Her eyes look bitter. Pained. And you can almost feel it when she adds, “It seems clear that I am not welcome here.” She turns to you next, then says, “Congratulations on the engagement.”
With those final words, she quickly turns around and leaves the premises. The sound of her heels knocking on the solid stone pathway echoes through the garden as she walks away until she disappears around the dark corner.
You keep watching her go with your arm wrapped around Yoongi’s until she is no longer in sight, and only then can you finally breathe a sigh of relief. “I wasn’t aware that you were inviting your ex to the ball,” you coldly accuse him as you gently pull away from him.
Yoongi’s eyes follow you as you step aside, clearly not enjoying the fact that you choose to cross your arms over your chest and keep your distance instead of holding onto him. “I thought you promised that there will be no problems coming from your past lovers.”
Yoongi says nothing for a moment. But the look in his eyes speaks louder than words. There is still a hint of rage in his eyes when he looks at you, and it is that he is still annoyed by the disruption. Yet he also seems amused, as if he is still having trouble believing that you had somehow appeared at the right time, taking control and interfering just when he was coming close to losing his patience.
He briefly closes his eyes, taking his time to regain his composure before answering, “I never did.” His gaze softens when he opens his eyes again. “I already promised that no part of my past would interfere with our future, and I never added her name to the guest list. She was never invited in the first place. It’s not like I’ve kept in contact with her after everything between us ended.”
Relief washes over you. It warms you on the inside to have him reassure you about the situation with his ex when he never truly needed to, and you have no idea how to react to this. “Well,” you say instead, “I hope that she now gets the message that she will never be invited to anything involving us and our families.” You look straight into his eyes as you add, “Ever.”
You hope that your words can serve both as a warning and a reminder for him to make him understand that you will not stand by should he ever allow any part of his past love life to get entangled with your arrangements.
Once again, he looks as if amused when he looks at you and nods. “You have my word,” he promises, and you can easily hear how genuine he is when he says those words.
“Right. Thank you.” You nod. “We really should get back inside. You were away for quite some time, and I really did notice that some guests were starting to leave, so I’m sure they’ll be wondering where we are.”
Yoongi gives you a small smile. “Of course. After you,” he says, extending his hand as he allows you to go first. You turn to walk ahead and he quickly joins you. His hand finds its way to the small of your back as he guides you back to the main event hall.
The moment you return to the ball, the atmosphere seems odd and tense. Some people you pass by keep glancing over their shoulders to look at you and Yoongi as you enter the hall together. Some others seem to be giving you side-eyes and curious looks. Seeing this only adds to the tension that you can still feel surging between you and Yoongi as you make your way towards the center of the room.
“Seems like some of the guests heard your little argument outside. Or, at least, they might be thinking that there is trouble happening between us during our time away,” you whisper to him without bothering to hide your displeasure.
You hear him murmuring a curse under his breath, so you quickly pull him towards the dance floor instead of letting him take you back to the dining tables. “Come on, dance with me. Let’s show these people that there is nothing they should worry about.”
Yoongi says nothing to respond. Yet neither does he try to stop you. His eyes remain on you as he follows you quietly to the dance floor. You can tell by the look in his eyes that he feels unsure about this, until he glances over your shoulder to see that everyone is watching the two of you closely.
As if waiting for the masks to come off.
For them to find something to gossip about over their morning tea the next day after the ball is over.
With a subtle nod, Yoongi takes your hand in his and places his other palm on the small of your back as he gently takes over the lead.
A soft classic tune begins playing from the grand piano, replacing the quick-paced music which the guests have been dancing to, giving you the perfect tempo to accompany you for a slow dance. With your arms wrapped around his shoulders and his palms resting on your waist, you begin to follow his lead, swaying gently to the music together as if you are moving as one.
Keeping your gaze on his face, you are drawn to the crease forming between his brows. You notice that the crease has been present since his altercation with his ex. One of his quirks which you have learned through the weeks you spent more time with him by going on dates and various public events as a couple.
Yoongi would have this look on his face whenever he felt displeasure, or when something was bothering his mind. The deep crease would appear between his eyebrows whenever he was thinking deeply. Just like what he seems to be doing now, even as he is moving in tune with you in the slow dance.
There were times when you had wanted so badly to brush your thumb over the crease to wipe it away or kiss it until it would disappear, always finding it odd how much it bothered you to see him so troubled. Yet you had always managed to stop yourself from doing so, fearing that you would cross his boundaries and make him feel uncomfortable.
But it seems like your body has decided to keep making its own decisions tonight.
Just like how you moved to interfere with Yoongi’s incident earlier before you could think better of it, your body moves on its own again before you realise what is happening.
With your eyes locked on his, your hands move up to gently cup his face. With one hand placed on his chin, you keep him still while the other makes its way up, and you begin brushing your thumb over the crease between his brows. Yoongi’s gaze sharpens upon contact, looking caught by surprise. Before he has any chance to react, or to say anything, you lean forward, standing on your tiptoes so you can reach his height and press your lips to kiss the crease away.
You can feel his body growing tense under your touch for a brief moment, and you feel worried, thinking that you might have offended him by your actions. But as you slowly pull away, you can feel him relaxing against you, before he suddenly tightens his hold on your waist to hold you closer, keeping you from pulling yourself away from him.
Your eyes meet his at that moment. You quickly notice his gaze darkening, and you begin to lower your face to hide the flush growing on your skin. As you begin to apologise, Yoongi stops you with his fingers tilting your chin up so you can meet his gaze again. He does nothing else at first. He simply keeps you in this position for a moment longer, allowing your eyes to lock on each other in silence.
And then, he slowly leans down, his face coming closer until his lips meet yours, stopping any words from coming out of your lips with a soft kiss.
Your heartbeat starts racing. Your skin grows warm.
Because this is the first actual kiss that you have ever shared.
And it ends too quickly. Because he pulls away before you can even react to it.
Your eyes flutter open to once again meet his gaze as he is still staring straight at you. He pulls you close while you are still stunned to silence, keeping your body pressed to his chest as he continues leading you in the slow dance, close enough for him to rest his forehead on yours.
“I should probably warn you,” he whispers, “that it’s dangerous for you to fall in love with a man like me.”
Warmth rushes through your body. His words are simple and clear, yet they manage to light up every sense in your body, making you grow alert as you continue to sway together with him to the slow tune of music.
“I know,” you whisper back to him with a sigh as you close your eyes. As you embrace this moment—the closeness, his warmth, the gentle sway of your bodies, and the soft flutter rising in your chest—while holding your tongue to stop yourself from saying,
But it would probably be more dangerous for you to fall for me.
A couple of nights have passed since the ball, and you find yourself sitting in the study room at Jinyoung’s old apartment.
When Jinyoung was still alive, there were times when you would find him like this; sitting with crossed legs on the floor instead of using his desk to work; slouching forward the more he was focused on the numbers and data he was reading from his laptop; books and papers scattered around him as he worked, covering the expensive Persian rug which he had bought only to add bright vivid colours into the monotonous room.
During those times, you would be the one to go back and forth to check on him when he kept working through the night, making sure that he wasn’t skipping his meals and was wearing warm clothes to survive the cold, or to retrieve the empty boxes of take-outs and empty cups of coffee that would always join the messy pile of his work.
Tonight, you are the one to occupy the room as you sit crossed legs on the floor with your laptop on. The night has grown late, yet you remain. Because there is work to be done.
The kind of work which you have kept as a secret from everyone in your life.
On one side of the rug, a cardboard box is laid open, surrounded by folders of files with logos of Lacuna Technologies printed on its front cover. Some of the pages are spread in the open, marked with post-its and markers lining up the texts.
You have another pile of files on your left. Some pages are laid open, displaying pictures and personal data gained from Jinyoung and the members of his family that you have gotten to know through your relationship.
Joining the mess is a different set of files. Similar to the ones you see of Jinyoung and his family, these pages have your pictures and personal data printed on them. Those of which had been taken and collected from the day of your birth until the moment your previous engagement ended when Jinyoung passed away.
Sitting at the center of the chaotic scene, you find an unsettling quiet. Only that you currently have your eyes locked specifically on the folder of files you have in your hand.
The logo of MYG Holding and its mother company are imprinted on the cover. You already know what the folder contains; the names and personal data of every member of the Min family and everything related to the family’s main business chain.
With careful hands, you pull out a set of pages from the folder. Those revealing a set of pictures which seem to have been taken with a long-range camera lens.
On the front page is the image of Min Yoongi, the man who is now holding your future in his hands—whether it will turn out to be your glory or your downfall is still such an undecided fate. His cold, unwavering eyes are looking out from the picture as if he is present, standing right in front of you, as his eyes are staring straight into the lens.
Looking at his picture makes it seem as if he is staring straight at you, waiting for your next move.
Note: bolded urls = unable to tag | Please notify me if I missed your url or if something needs to be fixed so I can tag you in the next part. Feel free to let me know if you want to be removed :)
Please kindly leave a like to let me know that you are tagged and leave comment if you enjoyed reading this. Please also help support the story by reblogging it!
part four: inevitable fall
#23 | #24 | #25 | #26 | #27 | #28 | #29 | #30
⊹･ﾟ✧ plot✧ﾟ･⊹
Sydney has nothing on Osaka, and that's a truth you're forced to face five years late. It's then, when you're stuck in Osaka with a dead-end job and too much free time, that you text your childhood friend Hoseok—the one who's been living in Osaka all this time. What starts as 'just catching up' turns into something you're both too stubborn to name. He still calls you Capy, you still call him Ott, and you both still pretend nothing's changed even when everything has.
⊹･ﾟ✧ drabbles ✧ﾟ･⊹
▷ summer vacation (age 12)
▷ the great capybara incident
▷ goodbye doesn't mean forever
▷ apartment hunting disasters
▷ convenience store confessions
▷ what happens at 3am
▷ research sessions
▷ borrowed hoodies and forgotten boundaries
⊹･ﾟ✧ extras ✧ﾟ･⊹
☆ playlist: the soundtrack
☆ moodboard: aesthetic & vibes
☆ tag: #wgulyrics
☆ layouts: hobi’s apartment
☆ asks : ask the disasters (open) | asks about the fic
☆ readers’ requests ➜ through asks!
⤷ pov reversals (requests: open)
xxx
⤷ drabbles (requests: open)
xxx
☆ disclaimer☆ this is a work of fiction. all characters and events are fictional, and any resemblance to real persons or events is purely coincidental.
