Table for Seven
Title: “Table for Seven”: BTS fanfiction
Pairing: Yoongi x Male Reader (Chef)
Genre: Fluff | One-shot | First Meetings | Celebritu AU
Warnings: None
Summary: Yoongi gets flustered by a charming male chef during BTS's first trip to America. After a few shy glances and special meals, he works up the courage to ask for his number — and gets it.
The summer air in Los Angeles buzzed with a kind of heat that didn’t exist in Seoul — dry, dusty, and full of promise. It was BTS’s first real schedule in America, and though their days were packed with interviews, performances, and awkward miscommunications with hotel staff, their spirits were high. Namjoon tried to teach the others a few key phrases in English, which mostly resulted in Jungkook screaming “HELLO I LOVE YOU” at every stranger, and Taehyung confidently asking, “Where is the bathroom?” even when they didn’t need one.
After a long rehearsal day, their manager had mercy on them.
"Okay," he sighed. "I found a Korean fusion place nearby. Real food. Let’s go."
Cheers erupted from the van.
The restaurant wasn’t flashy — tucked between a laundromat and a record store — but the second they walked in, they were hit with the scent of gochujang, garlic, and something sweet-sour sizzling on a grill. A warm comfort in a strange city.
They were seated at a corner table, large enough for all seven members. The waitress, flustered and giggling the whole time, took their drink orders before slipping behind the counter and whispering, “It’s them.” to someone behind the pass. Yoongi caught it. Not unusual.
But what was unusual — or rather, what did unusual things to him — was when the chef turned around.
You.
Baseball cap backwards, sleeves rolled to the elbow, tattoo barely peeking out from under your wrist, laughing quietly at whatever the waitress said before turning to plate something at lightning speed. Efficient. Calm. Sharp. Attractive.
Too attractive.
Yoongi looked away fast, blinking. He must be tired. He wasn’t expecting to find someone hot while waiting for jjajang tteokbokki.
The dishes came out one by one — the food was incredible. Even Jin, who prided himself on being picky, nodded with his mouth full. Jimin moaned. “We’re coming back here tomorrow.”
Yoongi tried not to stare, but every time you stepped out of the kitchen to bring something over yourself — a bowl of kimchi, another plate of grilled galbi — his eyes tracked you like a magnet. You were friendly, but not pushy. Confident, but chill. And the moment your gaze met his, just briefly?
Yoongi looked away so fast he almost hit his head on the back of his chair.
“Hyung,” Jungkook whispered, mouth full. “You okay?”
“Fine,” Yoongi muttered, stabbing his rice like it had offended him.
“Wait…” Taehyung leaned in. “Are you blushing?”
“I am not.”
“You are!” Jimin grinned. “Oh my god, Yoongi-hyung likes the chef!”
Yoongi tried to murder Jimin with his eyes. It didn’t work.
——
You noticed him right away. Not just because he was famous (you recognized them, yes, but pretended not to). No — it was how quiet he was. Still. Watching everything. Except when you made eye contact, and he’d turn away like a kid caught stealing candy.
Cute.
When you came out to bring the last dessert — a homemade hotteok with vanilla ice cream — you made a decision.
You placed the plate in front of Yoongi, then leaned a little closer than you had before and said, in soft Korean, “On the house. You looked like you needed something sweet.”
He froze. Actually froze. His ears turned red before the rest of him did.
Namjoon blinked at the two of you, then smirked.
“Th-thanks,” Yoongi mumbled. Then, as you turned to leave, he blurted, “Do you — uh — do you… cook here a lot?”
You turned back, lifting a brow. “I’m the head chef. I kind of… live here.”
Yoongi nodded, then immediately hated that response. Stupid, stupid—
But you just smiled. “If you come back, I’ll make something special. Just for you.”
And that was it.
Yoongi didn’t sleep that night.
——
They did go back the next day. And the day after.
You kept your promise. You always made something off-menu for him — nothing wild, just… thoughtful. Simple. Like him.
On the fourth visit, as they got up to leave, Yoongi lingered at the counter, watching you wipe your hands on a towel. You looked up.
“Hey,” he said, voice low. “I’m not good at… uh, this. But… could I get your number? Maybe we can hang out sometime. After your shift.”
You tilted your head. “Like a date?”
Yoongi's face nearly combusted. “…Maybe.”
You smiled, reached for a pen, and scribbled something on a napkin. “Only if you tell me what your favorite dish is next time.”
He took the napkin like it was gold. “Deal.”
As he turned to leave, you added, “Yoongi.”
He looked back.
“I like guys who blush.”
He nearly tripped on the mat.
—————
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