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[ktownshizzle]

Smoke & Mirrors, part one | myg

✎ ˎˊ˗ Pairing: Min Yoongi x female Reader ✎ ˎˊ˗ Genre: Situationship, idol!au, angst, smut, coworkers, love triangle maybe ✎ ˎˊ˗ Summary: Across sleepless cities on tour, you and Yoongi cling to each other in an unspoken arrangement neither of you knows how to end until someone new makes you wonder if you should. ✎ ˎˊ˗ Chapter Warnings: BTS fucks a lot!, except one (he’s kinda depressed), implied smut, angst, heavy make-out, mention of death :c, mention of mental health struggles, second-hand embarrassment, MC handles rejection not super well, drinking, Mean Yoongi, canon moments I manipulated for my own sick pleasure, the ending, that fucking Hannam scene, holding hands (it deserves a warning in this fic), angst i guess, and again Mean Yoongi, redemption arc when?, he’s an idiot but he has heart I promise, probably wrong ways to play LOL chess/teamfight tactics, foyer quote was inspired by something i randomly saw in my feed, watch out for the time skips (one flashback and a tiny flash forward) ✎ ˎˊ˗ Word count: 10.3k whuuuut ✎ ˎˊ˗ Betaread by: Aqua (this is for you!), Tea, and Catie; credits to Aqua for inspiring one of MC’s quotes (marked **) ✎ ˎˊ˗ Playlist by @angellekookie (my very first fic with an OST i'm sobbing, ty sweets) ✎ ˎˊ˗ Notes: A whole ass year in the making and it took a trip to South Korea and experiencing Arirang in all its glory for me to finally bring this fic to life the way I envisioned it. After dropping two teasers I guess y’all really fw this plot, so I do hope you guys like it. Don’t forget to comment or reblog. I’d really appreciate it. I might take time to tag everyone that requested, so bear with me. Other than that, enjoy~ Thank you to the lovely and talented @risky-peaches for the banner. 💜

Series Masterlist | Masterlist

You’re part of BTS’ BTS. 

Bangtan Tour Sluts. 

It’s a term one of the make-up unnies coined half-jokingly, after realizing the truth: you’re a group of women who’ve practically dedicated your lives to seven men who are not even your family. 

You’re a sorority of girls who go on tour with the group, taking on multiple hats, making sure every tour stop goes as best as possible. 

You willingly do every beck and call of theirs because you actually like them. They are nice and you want to see them succeed. And even if they’re not being nice (oh the stories you could tell!), you still do everything for them. Like good girls. Like sluts. 

Maybe that’s just what devotion looks like in this business.

Yours started with Hoseok.

Back before you had a name that anyone could recognize, you were just another girl on YouTube flexing dance moves in her tiny apartment. Somehow, he saw one of your clips, a clean cover of Dope, and sent your link to their performance director.

You got the email weeks later, went in for an audition, and the rest is history. 

Then came the rehearsals. The late nights. The endless counts of eight. You were still so broke in those early days that you couldn’t even afford a cab after a late night practice, so you’d wait at the bus stop outside the studio, hoodie soaked through, sneakers squishing from the rain.

One night, Jin pulled up beside the curb and offered you a ride. You remember Yoongi was in the passenger seat. Wordless for the most part, but he blasted the heater so you wouldn't get cold. You thanked Jin profusely as he dropped you off. 

He shrugged and said, “Good thing Yoongi saw you.” 

You still remember the heat sinking back into your bones.

It added up over time. 

Jimin once wrapped your ankle when you landed wrong after some crazy choreo you were trying to hit. Even crazier, Namjoon paid for your eomma’s emergency medical bills, because you were still struggling then. 

You tried to pay him back. He just looked at you, shrugged, and said, “If you really want to, just stay with us. Stay in the team.”

So you do.

The boys noticed you beyond your work. Not all at once, but steadily, gradually, eventually. And maybe that’s all it takes. You’d follow them anywhere after that. From MOTS to PTD Live On Stage to Arirang.

The thing is, some of the Bangtan Tour Sluts do become that over time.

You once overheard a manager say: stupid idols date fans; smart idols date other idols. Or each other.

The boys are fine as fuck. But after living together for years, the latter feels… borderline incestuous. Except for two of them, who you suspected had something non-platonic going on, but you don’t want to speculate further.

You’ve seen some of them try dating other idols too, but it’s chaos. Too many schedules to align, too many eyes watching, security doubling the second they want to meet up even in a different city for a simple fuck.

It’s easier this way. Closer. Quieter.

You don’t even blame them for it. This arrangement. The girls are hot as hell.

There’s Angel from Wardrobe who’s become Taehyung’s emotional support buddy. She’s on-call to dress him and undress him, whenever the situation calls for it.

Jungkook’s got a couple in his roster. Bina from glam and Tiff, also from glam. It could be problematic, sure, but so far they’re having fun.

Somehow, even if you highly considered becoming Seokjin’s… 

You ended up becoming Yoongi’s.

…and it all begins with a very mature game of Spin the Bottle.

You and the rest of the crew had stayed back in the rehearsal studio to celebrate the birthday of Rei, assistant performance director, resident tyrant, and class president of your little dysfunctional sorority.

There’s food, balloons, and too many empty soju bottles. One of which is currently spinning… and lands on you.

“Shit,” you mutter, already reaching for your beer. “Truth.”

A chorus of groans.

“Boring!”

“Ask her something good!”

The birthday girl leans forward, eyes glassy, tipsy as hell. “Aight, gun to your head—which member you gonna fuck?”

You choke on your drink. “No way I’m answering that. Next question.”

“Nah,” Tiff tosses a handful of popcorn at you. “You know the rules.”

You groan, tilting your head back dramatically before swatting the kernels off your lap. “You guys…”

“Wuss!” Bina teases.

“C’mon, you’ve thought about it. Don’t even play,” Rei smirks.

All eyes are on you. The pressure is mounting so high that you almost want to hurl. You take another swig. Rei is right though, as she almost annoyingly always is. You’ve definitely checked the boys out. It’s not even a question of who (singular), because if you’re gonna be honest, you have biblical levels of greed and there’s two in particular you’d let rearrange your guts.

But ugh. You’ll play along. 

Just one name to satiate these hoes.

“Fine,” you huff, wiping your lip with the back of your palm, readying to reveal your answer:

“Kim Seokjin.”

The room erupts.

“OHHHH—”

“I knew it!”

And even if you know you could stop at that, the alcohol kicks your courage into overdrive. 

“I’d let him fuck me raw until the inside of my coochie moulds to the shape of his dick...”**

The rest spills out of you in a half-slurred, disgustingly specific ramble that has the girls screaming and Angel spilling her shot.

You’re laughing, face hot, still high off everyone’s reactions when you feel the heat of someone’s stare.

You glance up and holy shit. It’s the name you withheld.

Feline eyes piercing and lips curling at the corners, oh Yoongi looks hella amused. He’s right there and he heard it all.

Fucking hell. Your life is literally over.

⊙⊝⊜

It’s later, much later, when you run into him again.

The hallway outside the bathrooms is quieter, the bass from the dance studio muffled into a distant thrum. Your head is a little light, steps a little uneven, but you’re mostly sober now. Okay, not really.

You push the door open and there he is, almost like he’s been waiting.

Yoongi’s leaning against the wall, one foot propped up, head tilted just enough that his hair falls into his eyes. He looks… loose. Drunk, then. Obviously. Just like everyone else in the party.

His gaze slides over you and that same almost-smile returns. “Seokjinnie-hyung, huh?”

You groan immediately, covering your face. “Oh my god, don’t.”

He huffs out a scratchy laugh and your fist collides against his arm.

He rubs the spot with his palm. “Didn’t know you had that much to say about him.” 

“I didn’t know you were listening,” you shoot back.

“Right place at the right time,” he shrugs.

You narrow your eyes. “You’re enjoying my demise way too much.”

“Am I?” he says, pushing off the wall.

He steps closer. “I mean…” his gaze flicks down, then back up. “You were pretty detailed.”

This close, he smells like warm musk and whisky. It hits you all at once, heat creeping up your neck before you can stop it. You swallow it down, deflecting. “You’re drunk.”

“So are you.” He smiles sweetly, pretty teeth and pink gums on show. Then he circles back smoothly to the topic because he is a piece of shit. “Didn’t know you had that in you.”

You scoff, folding your arms like that’ll save you. “Oh, there’s a lot of things you don’t know ‘bout me.”

His gaze dips, trailing down the exposed skin where your cardigan has conveniently fallen off your shoulder, towards your breasts hugged by your camisole. His eyes linger just a second too long before dragging back up to your face.

And there it is. He did the thing for you. That thing he does where his tongue presses into his cheek. Fucker.

“Yeah?” he murmurs.

Alarm bells are ringing in your head because is Min fuckin’ Yoongi lowkey hitting on you right now?

“Well…” his head tilts, voice dropping just enough to feel it. “Was that just talk?”

He is! Fuck. Why? No, shut up. It doesn’t matter right now. Say something.

You swallow, then tilt your chin up, meeting him head-on as liquid courage pushes you to say the next words. “What?” You shrug, forcing a smirk. “You wanna stand-in for your hyung?”

His lips curve, slow and amused. “Maybe.”

“I… could be open,” you say almost lazily.

And then he moves.

Rough hands find your wrist, tugging you down the hall before you can think too hard about it. You let him and the next thing you know you’re pressed behind his studio door.

Just the two of you.

Too close that you feel the heat emanating from his body.

“Jin’s got a girl,” he murmurs, close enough that you feel his hot breath grazing your cheek.

That makes you pause, because you didn’t know Jin was steady with someone. Else you wouldn’t have said what you said.

 “And y’all won’t fuck nasty like that.”

Your breath catches, but you don’t pull away. Instead, you lean in, just enough that your lips brush his when you speak.

“No?” You lick between his parted mouth, pulling back with a smirk. “And… we would?”

“Like animals.”

And then he cups the back of your neck and crashes his lips into yours.

⊙⊝⊜

Monday comes faster than you’d like.

You don’t know what you were expecting from Yoongi exactly. A text, maybe? Something more than the thumbs up he sent after you told him you got home safe. Friday night feels like it happened in a vacuum, sealed off like crime scene evidence the second he booked you that Uber.

You’ve spent the weekend turning it over in your head, wondering if things are supposed to be different now that you’ve had sex. Are you supposed to be different? Is it going to be awkward?

You’re about to find out.

You don’t usually hang around after hours unless there’s a reason.

Tonight, the reason is Jimin, who’d dragged you in with the promise of early access to the new tracks you’d be helping to choreograph. You felt a little strange when you entered the studio and found just two members of Bangtan and one of their producers, who nodded at you casually as you entered.

So here you are, curled up on the couch in the corner of the studio, laptop open but mostly forgotten, as the last bits of a track play through the speakers. You’re too deep in thought to notice the delivery guy come in, but you do notice when Yoongi picks up the coffee tray, wordlessly plucking a cup free and walking it over to you.

He holds it out, no expression, no explanation.

“Hyung,” Jimin calls lazily from where he’s sprawled out on the floor. “Where’s my coffee?”

Yoongi doesn’t even glance up. “Just grab a Coke from the fridge.”

You stifle a laugh as Jimin groans dramatically, dragging himself up to rummage through the mini fridge.

A few minutes later, Yoongi slips out of the room, muttering something about finding Namjoon because he should have joined you all 30 minutes ago.

As soon as the door clicks shut, Jimin flops back down beside you, grinning like he’s got a secret he can’t wait to spill. “That’s him flirting, by the way.”

You blink at him. “What?”

Jimin points at the cup still in your hand. “Hyung doesn’t even order me coffee.”

“Why would he? You’re an annoying lil bitch.”

Jimin playfully slaps the visor of your baseball cap down so that it covers your eyes.

Which works out just fine because as you glance down at the cup again, you’re suddenly hyper-aware of the warmth seeping into your palms. You shake your head, trying to play it off, but the corners of your mouth betray you, tugging up into a smile you can’t quite hide.

You take a sip of your warm drink and pretend it doesn’t taste sweeter somehow.

Namjoon finally walks in ten minutes later, forehead sweaty, hoodie hanging off his shoulder. Yoongi follows behind him.

“Sorry, sorry,” Namjoon says, already reaching for the aux like he owns the place. He knocks over a cup of pens as he does so.

Then, his eyes land on you. “You ate?”

You nod, lifting your coffee, lipstick-stained spout and all.

“That’s not food,” Namjoon shakes his head, dimples deepening, as he reaches for something in his pocket. “This one’s better.”

A tiny Quaker Oats bar, a bit warm from pocket heat, lands on your lap.

“Thank you.”

The crinkle of the granola bar mixes with Jimin’s whines. “Why doesn’t anyone give me food?”

⊙⊝⊜

In the weeks that follow, when tour prep shifts into high gear, nothing else really happens—not in the way you thought it might, at least. Yoongi doesn’t seek you out. Doesn’t text. Doesn’t bring up that night, ever. You’re not really suprised, considering…

But you do notice he lingers in small ways. A bottle of water left by your things before you even realize you’re thirsty. A quiet “eat” when the catering after a shoot finally finishes setting up. The occasional glance. Maybe even a tiny smile here and there. You fall into an easy rhythm with him, familiar but not quite the same, and you catch yourself thinking, maybe something did shift. 

Maybe this is just how it starts.

⊙⊝⊜

Rehearsals just wrapped up and your heart is reckless with exhaustion.

You’ve never asked anyone out before. Let alone a fuckin’ idol. But you’re young and dumb. Heavy on the dumb, actually. Anyway, you’ve already slept together. And you’re convinced the chemistry is off the charts. So, why not? And it’s just hanging out anyway. It’s not that deep.

You approach Yoongi as he’s wiping off his neck with a white terry cloth, still breathing heavily. It’s probably serendipity, how everyone else has already slipped out of the room, leaving just the two of you.

He lifts his eyes towards you, mouth slightly agape as he gulps oxygen back in.

Ugh. 

Your earlier bravado is slowly evaporating.

This is stupid. So stupid. But wasn’t it him who said if you know you’re going to crash, accelerate harder?

“So there’s this café in Yeonnam,” you say, stopping in front of him as he ties his shoelaces. 

“Apparently, the building it’s in has been standing since the Joseon dynasty. Crazy. Used to be an apothecary or a medical clinic and they restored it so well it looks so legit...”

You’re blabbing. His face is unreadable, but you press on, fumbling toward hope.

“You’re into historical shit… Daechwita vibes, right? Anyway, the place looks pretty cool. If you’re free sometime, we could—”

There’s an audible inhale as Yoongi stands, dusting off his jeans, slow and careful, before he lifts his head towards you.

“Look,” he says, and you already know how this ends just from the weight of that word. You wish the floor would just open up and swallow you whole.

“I’m not really…” he tilts his head, like you should know. Like you shouldn’t even be having this conversation. “You get it, right?”

You force your face into something neutral, something that won’t betray you. Shrug like embarrassment is not a fire razing you from the inside.

“‘S all good.” You smile albeit tightly. You even pat his shoulder as you pass, casual, almost laughing. But inside you’re ash.

“Oh, get that shoulder pop on 2.0 sharper,” you toss on the way out. “I’ll tell Junho to run it with you again tomorrow.”

Behind you, his eyes slant with what you can only tell is pity.

You make it to the hallway before the first tear slips free, quick and traitorous and pathetic, falling soundless onto the worn carpet. 

You’re already a few beats away when you hear it, “Hey Y/N!“ and then frantic steps.

You don’t stop walking. No. No fuckin’ way. You speed up.

He can’t see you like this. 

You round the corner and run straight to the fire exit to extinguish the heat of shame before you’re burned to a crisp.

It’s sort of easy to get back into the normal swing of things, despite everything. You’re not friends. You probably never will be. And that’s okay.

You have your dignity.

You have the girls. 

You have Rei. 

…who proceeded to scream at you when you explained to her why your eyes were bloodshot the day after you made that reckless decision to ask a world-famous idol out.

She had to re-orient you how this goes. The boys are not off-limits per se, but they do have limits. Fuck, it’s not like you forgot, you just thought… it was different. You were different. Or you could be, given your history. You’ve been in the team for years now and you’d like to consider yourself not just a colleague, but maybe even a friend.

Because there was that one time in Hannam when he… fuck. It’s probably irrelevant. Unimportant. You’re just making it a thing.

And you know what, honestly, you’re fine with rejection. You’ve had practice.

Jongho, back in fifth grade, returned the paper heart you gave him because Bora sent him one first. Bigger, more glittery. 

Baekhyun, in college, dumped you for that French exchange student with ginormous tits.

Even recently, word got to Seokjin about your little drunken speech, and he wasted no time reminding you exactly where you’ve always stood—firmly in the friend zone. He has a girl after all.

It was during the Swim choreo shoot. Jin flicked your forehead when he caught you staring too long during break. He was sweaty and his lips were really plump and pink, and…

“Focus,” he said. “I know I’m handsome, but you can’t do that. Next time, I’ll have to charge you.”

You flipped him off. And thank God he laughed like a windshield wiper, otherwise it would just be really unfair.

As always, you survive. You move on. You always do.

But the real problem? Life is dangling you the man of your dreams like a keychain and you can’t seem to catch it.

Yoongi’s haircut. Right before tour.

It’s almost cruel, because Yoongi’s long hair is most revered by society, widely beloved. Tiktoks and shrines were dedicated to that lionesque mane. ARMY yearned for it. Scissors were manifested to disappear within a 5-mile radius from him.

But you? You personally liked cleaner cuts on guys. When you joined the team circa-MOTS, he had that sharp, neat cut that you were very much into. 

To add insult to injury, you’ve always liked Nerds. You consider yourself one, too.

And now Yoongi’s walking around with this new pair of specs—rimless frames, whenever he feels like wrecking your equilibrium. It sits low on his nose when he’s tired or playing League of Legends Chess during breaks or sipping on his coffee in between takes, and it’s…

Torture. Pure, unadulterated torture.

Comeback season officially starts and everything else falls away. Days blur into soundchecks and rehearsals, quick meals eaten standing, ears popping from cabin pressure.

There’s no time to think about anything else when you’re moving from the Netflix show in Gwanghwamun to New York for that Spotify event and then back home again. You’re running on three hours of sleep and caffeine, counting formations in your head even when you’re off-work. You don’t have time to breathe, but somehow it’s easier like this.

Once in a while during rehearsals, Yoongi still asks for your input on how to execute a move better. Of course you give it; it’s your job. Doesn’t mean it doesn’t sting when he, famously allergic to eye contact, suddenly makes an effort to meet your gaze.

Honestly, you don’t know why he bothers. He doesn’t owe you anything. No line was crossed without your consent. And whatever that was, it’s not happening again. You almost wish you could just hate him, because that would be easier than this neutral middle ground you’re stranded in.

But you can’t.

Because you see the quiet way he takes care of people, especially Jimin. He shows up, every time, steady and professional and so annoyingly good at what he does. There’s something about that you can’t ignore.

You respect it, because you respect him.

Maybe that’s the worst part. Because he didn’t string you along and didn’t blur the lines more than you let him. You gotta hand it to him, he shut it down clean.

So… you just gotta move on.

Right?

And you… You’ve built this life carefully, piece by piece. You didn’t fight this hard just to get distracted now. So you buckle up. You lock in.

It’s days before the World Tour kicks off and you’re knee-deep in rehearsals. Day in, day out, you’re in the dance studio, double-hatting as a dancer and an assistant choreographer. You’re exhausted–bone-deep, muscle-aching tired, but you’re focused on the grind, on making this show the best fucking tour in history. The boys deserve it. The whole team deserves it. So do you.

You used to rewind dance practice videos frame by frame, pausing just to study the angle of an arm, the timing of a step. Back then, it was just you, your reflection, and the stubborn belief that if you worked hard enough, you could belong in rooms like this. And now you do.

“Let’s start?” Seung Eun calls and everybody hops back into formation. You drop your strawberry lip balm back in your bag.

There’s this sequence in Hooligan.

You and the other dancers crowd Yoongi during his verse, closing in until there’s barely any space left between bodies. It’s choreographed, calculated chaos. You’re meant to get in his face, invade his space just enough to look dangerous, just enough to feel menacing for him. And he’s supposed to hold eye contact, like he’s unbothered. 

For this run, you’re standing in for Kian, who pulled his calf muscle and needed to get iced real quick. Injuries are part of the game, but there’s always a medic on standby to ensure any impact is minimized.

The music starts and your bodies move to the choreography. You slide into position on the last count, stepping into Yoongi’s space. He recites his line.

“Hooligan, like hooligan, ttaeryeo buswo like hooligan…”

You tilt your chin up slightly, eyes on his—ready, steady, professional. But that’s when it shifts.

His gaze doesn’t land where it usually does with the others. It drops to your mouth. 

Anyone else might miss it, but you don’t.

And suddenly you’re hyper-aware of the way you’re breathing, the way your lips part just slightly, the way your body feels a fraction too close to his.

“Sigan dwaesseuni jom bikyeo jom…”

His next line stumbles.

“Ah, fuck—”

The music cuts.

Yoongi lifts a hand, already half-turning away. “My bad.”

There’s a ripple of movement around you as everyone resets, but you’re still standing there as blood rushes up your neck, your cheeks warming before you can stop it.

You glance at him. He glances back.

And then, quieter—almost under his breath—he mumbles to you without meeting your eyes. “That‘s… distracting.”

You gulp.

When the next sequence starts, there’s a faint smudge of red staining the back of your sleeve. You don’t remember doing it. But you do remember how Yoongi doesn’t miss a single beat when Kian steps back in to take your place.

[Goyang, SK, April 2026]

“Stay safe out there!” Namjoon calls just before the curtains are drawn and the opening beat of Hooligan detonates through the speakers.

The crowd goes wild as the bassline rattles your ribs, syncs with your pulse, turns your body into music before you even think. On cue, you surge forward with the rest of the dancers, breaking through the curtain like a wave, energy ripping out of you in sharp bursts, boots slamming against the stage in perfect unison. 

You’re gripping a red smoke stick, heat blooming in your palm as it spits thick plumes into the air, bleeding color into the stage until everything is drenched in crimson. It curls around your bodies, around the lights slicing down from above like blades, burning the stage with fire without flames.

Man. Goyang hits different.

Maybe it’s because it’s home. Maybe it’s because this is the first real show where everything finally clicks into place—not just in your head, not just in rehearsals, but out here, in front of thousands of people screaming like the world is ending.

The 360 stage feels massive under your feet, lights slicing through the dark in perfect sync, pyro exploding at just the right beat. Every cue lands. Every formation locks. Every transition you’ve drilled into muscle memory finally breathes.

It’s insane and you feel even more insane because you’re in it. On stage, moving with everyone, keeping up, matching energy, feeding off it. The crowd roars and it vibrates through your bones, through your chest, through everything.

As rain pours down from the sky like blessings from above, you feel genuinely alive. Even though you’re damp and drenched and soaked to your very core, there really is no place else you’d rather be.

⊙⊝⊜

When you hit backstage after the encore, everyone’s wet, loud, breathless, half-laughing, half-shouting over each other, still riding the high of the first show. You don’t even think; you’re just moving, adrenaline buzzing under your skin as you high five whoever’s in reach, grinning like an idiot.

“Good job!” someone yells.

“You killed it!” another voice.

You barely register who’s who.

Hoseok finds you in the middle of it all and just pulls you into the biggest hug, squeezing tight like he’s just as proud of you as you are of yourself.

“You did so good,” he says, bright and warm and Hobi, and you laugh into his shoulder, still catching your breath. He praises you like you’re the global superstar, not him.

When you pull back, everything’s still squishing about, still loud and electric. 

Namjoon messes up your hair. Jungkook gives you a high five. Yoongi’s across the room, exchanging quick fist bumps with some of the dancers, head dipped, saying something you can’t quite catch. Then he looks up and sees you.

There’s a split-second of indecision. But, you smile. He nods. A tiny one. He looks a little tired. He’s never been one to hide when he’s exhausted, but just like you he’s glowing. Tired, but certainly happy.

And then someone grabs him from the side, pulling him into a quick hug, and the moment’s gone just as easily as it came, replaced by high-pitched screams, and too-tight hugs from your girls.

[Tokyo, JP, April 2026]

You find Hobi slumped against the wall of the green room, half-hidden behind a rack of wardrobe like he’s trying to make himself smaller than he is.

You’d heard. Everyone had, in that quiet, careful way news like that travels—soft voices, lowered eyes, staff moving around a little more gently than usual.

You hesitate for a second, unsure if it’s your place. When you think about it, Hoseok isn’t just one of them to you. He’s your mentor. The reason you’re even here. The first person who saw something in you and decided it was worth something. And more than that, he’s someone you really care about.

Before you can think yourself out of it, you move closer. He looks up and red-rimmed eyes meet yours. Then, something in his expression breaks the distance you were trying to keep. You’re kneeling in front of him the next second, and he’s leaning into you, folding into your arms like he’s been holding himself together for too long.

His sobs are quiet, restrained, but they shake through him all the same.

You wrap your arms around him, one hand coming up to cradle the back of his head, the other rubbing slow, steady circles into his back.

“I’m sorry, Hobi,” you murmur softly. “I know she meant everything to you.”

He lets out a shaky breath against your shoulder, voice breaking. “I hate this. I should be home. I should be there, but I…” his grip tightens slightly. “I fuckin’ can’t.”

Your chest caves at that.

“She knows,” you say gently, pulling back just enough to look at him. “She understands. She’s looking down on you right now, smiling, so proud of you. I promise.”

Hobi looks up at you then and for a second, beneath the stage makeup and styled hair and everything that makes him him to the world, he just looks like a little boy.

Small. Hurt. Lost.

As your heart breaks a little, a soft cough breaks the moment.

You glance over your shoulder. Yoongi stands a few steps away, hands tucked into his pockets like he doesn’t quite know what to do with them, like he walked in on something he wasn’t meant to interrupt.

“I—um…” he shifts slightly. “They told me to come get you.” He means Hoseok, but for some reason, his eyes are fixed on you.

“Shit,” Hobi exhales, scrubbing at his face as he pulls away. “Yeah. Yeah, give me a second.”

Hobi stands, walking over to the makeup station, picking up a tissue and carefully blotting at his cheeks, trying to undo what he can.

It feels like your cue to leave. Rei’s probably already looking for you anyway because there’s a hole in the formation.

Hobi disappears into one of the changing rooms, pulling the curtain shut behind him as he gets ready.

You turn to go, but a hand catches your arm.

“Y/N,” Yoongi says quietly, before his fingers lose their grip.

There’s something in Yoongi’s expression that stops you for half a second. You don’t know what it is. But mostly you think, it’s gratitude sitting heavy in his gaze like he doesn’t know all the words for it.

You shrug lightly, because it doesn’t feel like something you should be thanked for. It’s the least you can do for someone who changed the trajectory of your life without ever asking for anything in return.

He just nods, still looking at you. You see his fingers reaching then drawing back.

It’s… a lot. More than you’re used to with him.

So you look away first, swallowing the tightness in your throat before the sting in your eyes turns into something else.

[Tampa, FL, April 2026]

Being in America is always exciting. Something about stepping onto U.S. soil flips a switch in the boys, like there’s something in the water, or maybe it’s just the distance from home loosening something in their bones.

Tae, for one, fully commits to the bit—gray sweats, tank tops, lewd little ad libs to the choreo. No one questions it. Angel is definitely going through it. Lucky bitch.

Jungkook is on his phone 24/7, liking everything in sight to send any and all users in a frenzy to fuel them until their next life. He also films these borderline menacing TikToks alone in his hotel room at ungodly hours, looking fucked out because well, he probably has done just that.

Jimin wakes up one day and decides he wants to have an even longer ponytail. And suddenly the internet is in shambles, ARMY collectively just losing their shit.

And that’s just the maknaes. 

It’s fascinating to watch all of them, seeing different versions surface depending on where they are, like they’re all just slightly more themselves here. Or maybe just slightly less guarded.

After the last show in Tampa, the members decide to treat the crew to KBBQ at some nearby strip mall. You squeeze into a long table with some of the dancers and a couple of the boys, smoke from the grill curling into your hair, soju flowing a little too easily.

For one reason or another, as people made room for others, and chairs were moved left then right, you somehow end up in front of Yoongi like you just played musical chairs. 

“How’s it going?” you say.

“Not bad. You?”

You shrug, “I’m okay.”

“Okay.”

The awkwardness is like a knot that loosens as drinks flow. Then, the easy back-and-forth comes like you do this on a daily basis instead of pretending you don’t think about him at all.

“You’re in a good mood,” you say, watching as he pours you another shot.

“Am I?” he asks.

“Yeah,” you shrug. “You talk more when you are.”

He huffs softly, like he doesn’t agree but won’t argue it either. He looks pretty like this, barefaced and sleepy. Then you remember something and you decide to be a menace. “Give me a reason to not tattle.”

His brows meet in the middle. Confused. “What do you mean?”

“Oh you know full well.” You mimic a head turn and flail your arms.

Yoongi’s cheeks turn pink. He fumbled the Run choreo. AGAIN.

“I recovered faster this time.”

“Not the point,” you reply pointedly.

“I ate in Day 1.”

“You did,” you nod. “Not the point though.”  

He gives a wary glance over at Hoseok who has half a rib inside his mouth at the moment, when he looks back at you and challenges. “Name your price.”

“RP gift card. Could use some new arena skins.” You smile sweetly, knowing he’s been obsessed with LoL Teamfight Tactics, too. You’ve seen it on his phone.

“Fine.” Yoongi laughs, actually laughs,  because he didn’t expect the response. “We should play sometime.”

And it was your turn to not expect that response.

“Oh, alright. Sure.” You nod, a little flustered even as you recall the nugget you’ve seen from one of his interviews. “Congratulations, by the way.”

Yoongi smiles, so gummy and wide, like he has a praise kink that you just discovered. “Thank you. Diamond is very hard to achieve.” So you let him brag a bit, before you decide to knock him down a peg.

“Trust me, I get it.” You bring the spout of your beer to your mouth and before you take a swig, you quip. “I’m a grandmaster.”

His jaw hits the floor and you almost spit your beer out. “You are not.”

You tilt your head as if to say, try me. He is still waiting. And the smirk disappears from his mouth when swipes of your screen later you show him your profile and your level is as you disclosed.

“Wow.”

“I know. Wow.” You say, smug. “Anyway, do you think you’re gonna get away with it, or is there a fan cam already circulating?”

“You tell me. I don’t watch those things.”

“My phone probably heard us and is about to add it to my algorithm. I’ll let you know.”

“Taehyung-ie threw me off, honestly.” He leans back and exhales deeply.

A giggle slips out of you because you know exactly what he means. “Yeah, no, everyone was just feeling it. Kookie did the dougie to Life Goes On. Namjoon was fucking the air to Butter of all songs. Insane behavior from all of you, actually.”

“I’m innocent.” 

Oho. “You’re not off the hook.” You wag your finger.

“Wae?”

“Baepsae.” You lean your chin on your palm, referring to the Army time surprise song.

“What?” 

“You got real close to a camera and let ‘er rip.”

“Did no such thing,” His lips stretch into that infuriating bracket-like grin. He’s obviously lying.

“Don’t even play. I saw the smile you tried to hide when you turned around, you dog.”

“So you were really watching me, huh?”

“I was monitoring the performances from backstage. As it is my job.” 

“Mhm,” he hums, biting his lip to hide a smile as he shakes his head.

“Shut up.”

“I’m not saying anything,” he chuckles, voice a little higher than usual.

“Silence is admission.” You point your chopsticks at him and smirk. “It’s fine. You were just feeling yourself.” 

You thought you were gonna have the last laugh. But as always, Yoongi knows how to render you speechless.

“And if I am,” he tilts his head slightly, eyes straight to yours. “What you gon’ do ‘bout it?” 

You have a comeback. You definitely do. It’s just stuck in your brain traffic, unable to come out.

He pushes his glasses up higher on his nose bridge and the single action almost makes you fall to your knees.

God, you hope he doesn’t notice.

But he does. 

That’s the only explanation for the text that you get while you’re settling in your hotel room that night. 

Rei is on her bed already semi-snoring, her phone still lit up as a TikTok live seller continues to peddle a hyaluronic acid sheet mask bundle. 3+1 event—you’d check it out if you didn’t have a booty call staring back at you.

You check it again. Still not sure if you’re reading the text correctly.

Yoongi: 2004 Yoongi: come over if ur feelin it

So you find yourself on his floor thirty minutes later, the faint scent of your perfume still clinging to your blouse as you walk down the hallway.

Room 2002 has a very loud and dramatic show playing inside. For sure it’s one of the members as they’re typically roomed in the same floor. You just don’t know who.

A few steps over is your destination. Room 2004.

Fuck. You’re doing this. (Again.)

Except… There’s a sound.

No. A moan.

Your knuckles are frozen, inches from the door.

Someone is definitely having a great time in there.

You check the text again, because maybe you got the room wrong. 

The numbers match. And yet, the math is not mathing. If he invited you, then why—

Oh.

Oh shit.

You look at your messages again and realize, all at once, what happened.

Your reply sits there with a red exclamation point. Which only means one thing. It was Unsent.

You:  yeah, i’ll come ❗

Well.

Now?

No, you won’t.

“Fucking shit,” your phone flies out of your hand when you trip on the carpet floor like a complete klutz. You can’t believe you’re risking injury and getting benched for the rest of the tour for this stupid cat man.

“Y/N?”

Noooooooooo

You straighten up immediately, thankful it wasn’t Yoongi’s door that flew open. “Namjoon, hi.” 

“Is this yours?” he bends to pick up your phone, which is resting by his doorway. 

“Yeah, umm. That’s mine.”

He studies you as you take the device from his hand. Your screen is still bright and open and your Kakao app is just there. Ain’t no way he didn’t see who’s on your thread.

“Are you okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“I’m totally fine.” You pocket your device, forcing a light smile. But before you can say anything else, Namjoon is pulling his door wider.

You stay rooted in place, even as your eyes dart inside the plush suite. You realize he is wearing a black tank top and matching pajamas. 

“I got food and a drama. Could use some company,” Namjoon says simply. No malice, no undertone. You’re sure Namjoon has no way of knowing you had a lacy thong underneath, so this is really just a simple invitation to hang out. 

You consider it. At the same time, you think, huh, his dimples are really, really deep. Your reply came easy after that. “I–sure, yeah. I’m down.”

“Cool.” he tilts his head, gesturing you in.

The night settles into something softer in Room 2002, the noise in your brain fading into nothing thanks to room service, wine samplers from the mini bar, and Namjoon’s running commentary over a drama. He’s literally such a yapper. You lean back into the couch, listening to him more than watching the show, letting his voice fill the space instead of your thoughts.

It’s easy hanging with Namjoon. No guessing. No second-guessing. And you don’t realize until now how much you needed Namjoon’s friendship until now, but you’re glad he is offering it.

And maybe more than that, you’re glad he didn’t ask any questions you couldn't answer even if you tried.

⊙⊝⊜

The next day, rumors fly that Gwayoung from Digital was bragging about being on the receiving end of that tongue technology.

The same day, you also receive a 50,000 won gift card credited in your mobile game.

You know it’s from the same person. And you know which one you would’ve wanted more.

⊙⊝⊜

The tour goes on. It starts off like a high you can’t come down from. New cities, new crowds. You collect moments like souvenirs—late-night convenience store runs, inside jokes backstage, someone filming content here and there, drinking sessions inside someone’s hotel room. There’s always something happening, always someone around. You don’t have to think too much because everything moves too fast. It feels like living ten lives at once, and for a while, it’s enough.

But somewhere along the way, the novelty starts to thin out. The cities blur into one long stretch of airports, hotel hallways, empty highways, and backstage corridors that all feel vaguely the same. You wake up and sometimes it takes a second to remember where you are. Your suitcase never really gets unpacked—just opened, lived out of, closed again. Everyone’s tired in that bone-deep way that makes even laughter feel like effort. You’re surrounded by people all the time, and somehow, it still feels lonely.

You and the girls have a kind of unspoken understanding between all of you now, forged in cramped dressing rooms and shared mirrors, in the quiet rituals of getting ready before a show. Someone’s always borrowing someone else’s lip tint, someone’s fixing a crooked lash, someone’s complaining about a bruise they didn’t notice until they caught it under the harsh vanity lights.

“Why are we like this?” Angel groans one night, poking at a purple mark on her thigh.

“Occupational hazard,” Bina shrugs, already halfway through redoing her eyeliner for the third time.

“Is that the one that you banged on the clothing rack, or, ahem…”

Angel’s face heats. It was Tae. Rough Tae, as per usual.

Rei rolls her eyes. “Alright, we know you’re getting it good. No need to shove it in our faces.”

“You know who I wouldn’t mind shoving something in my face?” Lisa pipes in. She’s one of the newer dancers that joined the US leg.

“Who?” You ask, curious.

“Yoongi. Fuck. He looks so daddy these days. Literally need that.”

Rei shoves a protein bar into your hand, with a stern look to match. “Eat.”

You do, because if you don’t you might say something you’ll regret.

⊙⊝⊜

Since that late night hallway encounter several stops ago, you and Namjoon have somehow made hanging out into a thing. It just happens seamlessly. Over meals, passing conversations end up lasting longer than expected. 

Off-handedly, he confides in you that he struggles to sleep. You piece together the rest on your own. Military life has altered his mental state in ways he is still struggling to undo and it’s been tough, but at least he’s a work in progress. 

As far as you know, he’s the only member who doesn’t really… distract himself the way the others do on tour. Nobody waiting for a quick one backstage, no regular to help release all that adrenaline after long shows.

So instead, he watches dramas. It’s funny, really. But you guess, it works for him. He really likes those cheesy lovey dovey ones or those about heartache. Tells you it’s the closest he can feel something real and he lets them play until he passes out.

He invites you to join him sometimes.

At first, you’re suspicious. You wouldn’t have blamed him (or minded, to be honest) if there were other intentions. Everyone has needs, after all. And honestly, you would have been flattered to be considered by a catch like him. But after the third or fourth time of bingeing on drama and food, it becomes clear that he doesn’t want you like that. And you have to admit—he’s a fun time. So it’s cool.

When you hang out, he tells you about the books he’s reading, summarizing them in a way that makes you want to pick them up yourself. You tell him about choreography ideas, about how certain movements sit in your body, about how you think music should look when it’s danced.

“You think in shapes,” he says once, mimicking the way your hands move as you explain.

“You think in paragraphs,” you shoot back.

He laughs at that, dimples deep, eyes soft. “True.”

“Long-ass paragraphs, actually. Mr. Yapper.”

Sometimes, when the days feel too long and the nights stretch a little too quiet, you find yourself standing outside his door without really remembering how you got there.

No matter, Namjoon always lets you in.

[Las Vegas, NV, May 2026]

One night, you get a message from Hobi inviting you for drinks. You haven’t hung out with him in a while, so it was a no-brainer when you said yes. You don’t go out every night at every tour stop, but you made an exception this time.

You put on something cute. Not to impress Hobi particularly, but because you know he always dresses well, and you will not be caught dead looking shabby beside him. Lips a little glossy and cheeks a little rosy, you make your way to the hotel bar, heels clicking against the marble. 

But instead of Hobi, you find someone else instead.

“Hey.”

“You stalkin’ me?” Yoongi smirks at his lowball.

“Yup, this is exactly what this is. Call Mr. Lee,” You deadpan, sitting on the bar stool beside him. “Where’s Hob-ah?”

He shrugs. “Not his keeper.”

“Is there another hotel bar?” You ask the bartender who was polishing off a wine glass.

“Yes, miss. There's another on the 31st.”

Realizing you might’ve gotten the venue wrong, you grab your clutch and start to slide off the stool. “I guess I’ll—”

“Stay.” 

He says it so quietly, almost like he was hoping you don’t hear it.

You pause.

When you look at him, he’s not even looking at you—just staring into his drink like there’s something at the bottom of it worth pondering. You know you should leave, but you don’t.

“You look… a little worse for wear,” you say as you settle back into your seat.

“You can say I look like shit.”

You glance at him, then nod once. “Okay. You look like shit.”

“Thanks.”

A beat.

“Everything okay?”

He shrugs. Noncommittal. Dismissive. Yoongi core.

You signal the bartender for a drink, letting the noise of the bar fill the space between you for a while as you wait for your cocktail.

It’s him who breaks first.

He slides a bowl of roasted edamame toward you, like a peace offering he doesn’t want to acknowledge.

“I dunno,” he mutters, more to the glass than to you.

You wait.

He exhales, long and slow, the amber liquid in his glass rippling with the movement.

“I keep listening to the album and it all just…” He trails off, jaw tightening. “Trash.”

You blink, shock evident in your face. “What do you mean?”

“Like I should’ve done it differently.” He lets out a short, humorless laugh. “Every track. Every arrangement. Feels like I missed out on changing something obvious.”

“That’s just—”

“I know,” he cuts in, already shaking his head. “I know it’s not real. I know it’s just…” He gestures vaguely, searching for the word. “Fatigue. Whatever.”

But it doesn’t sound like he believes that.

“I can’t turn it off,” he adds, quieter now. “Even when I see how fans enjoy the songs, the doubt just eats at me.”

There’s something raw in that. Something he doesn’t usually let slip. You watch him for a second, really look at him. And it pulls something up from the back of your mind:

Hannam-dong.

⊙⊝⊜

A random weeknight. You’d gone out alone, too proud to call anyone after your ex ended things over something stupid that somehow still shattered you. You were busy ugly-crying over your gin until someone slid into the seat beside you.

Him. Yoongi.

“What are you doing here, Yoongi?”

He shrugs, like it’s obvious. “You looked like you needed someone.”

“You heard me crying from across the room?”

“It was a bit loud, yeah.”

Your face crumples again and you let out a broken sound, covering your eyes. “Oh my god, that’s so embarrassing…”

“It’s fine,” he says, voice low, even. “No one’s looking.”

You sniff again. “I look disgusting.”

“You look like you’re crying.”

“Same thing.”

“It’s not.” He takes a handkerchief from his pocket and hands it to you.

You let out a weak huff, somewhere between a laugh and another sob, before taking it.

He didn’t ask questions or make it a big thing. Just sat there with his black face mask, providing you with the comfort of company. He let you talk when you wanted. Let you cry when you couldn’t stop. 

At some point, you’d leaned into him without thinking, and he’d just let you. Steady. Warm. He rubbed your back as you wrapped your arms around in his slight torso, sobbing slightly against his tee.

“Yoongi. Why are men pigs?” you sniff.

“I dunno. I’m a cat.” He shrugs. “...apparently.”

That makes you laugh, all wet and snotty. But it makes all the difference to lighten your mood.

“Look. I don’t know who the guy is. But I know he’s an idiot.”

“He is,” You nod immediately. “… but I am, too.”

A pause, before he chides. “Don’t do that to yourself.”

“I just…” You trail off lifting your head from his shoulder and looking up at the track lights hanging from the bar. “I just really love love, you know?”

He doesn’t interrupt.

“I like the idea of it,” you continue, words coming slower now, more honest. “Falling for someone. Growing with them. Having… I dunno, fuck…” you laugh weakly, shaking your head. “Someone to hold your hand ‘til it’s all sweaty and gross, like… I love that shit.”

It sounds stupid out loud.

“So even if I knew he wasn’t it, I tried to hold on. Because I’m scared of being alone. And I’m scared I won’t find someone who’d want me again.”

Jeez, that was a lot to unpack. You expect him to say something dry. He’s good at that.

No words come.

Instead, his fingers brush against yours where your hand rests on the bartop.

You glance down.

He’s not looking at you. Just placing his palm on the back of yours, before turning it over. And slowly, his hand closes around yours, fingers interlacing between each digit.

You’re staring at your conjoined hands and then his stoic face. He doesn’t look back, but he squeezes your hand tighter as if to say: I’m here. Not forever. But at least you’re not alone for now.

And that was enough. That night, you had someone to hold your hand til it was all sweaty and gross. You swallow, something tight in your chest easing just a little.

He walks you out after, hands still clasped. Makes sure you get into a cab. Waits until the door shuts before stepping back. Your hand feels cold without the feel of his when the car drives off.

But after that… nothing. He never brought it up again. Neither did you. Life got complicated. You don’t know what happened during his enlistment. So now you both just act like it didn’t happen.

If you will be honest, you still think about Hannam-dong sometimes. More than you will ever admit.

You’re reminded of it every time you see that random quote hanging on your foyer.

“The most romantic thing in the world is being understood. It’s even deeper than love.”

Things with Yoongi never really took off. But you will always have Hannam-dong.

⊙⊝⊜

Yoongi looks at you now, the same way you looked at him then, a little lost, a little broken, trying to stay strong. So you don’t make it a big thing either. You just reach for an edamame, pop it into your mouth, pull the peel, and shrug lightly as you mash the beans with your teeth.

“Sounds like your brain needs to shut the fuck up for a bit.”

He huffs, something almost like a laugh slipping out. “Yeah,” he mutters. “If only.”

“For what it’s worth, Album of the year, in my opinion.”

Yoongi can’t stop his lips from curling.

Satisfied, you call for the server. “Let’s eat something first. Then we solve your existential crisis.”

He glances at you, something unreadable flickering in his eyes.

“Yeah?” he says.

“Yeah,” you shrug. “I’m the best, right?”

He gives you a thumbs up. “Kkaepjjang.”

Ass.

You order food, which comes out quicker than expected, but what you really wanted to do to distract him comes in the form of a mobile game.

“You still play?” you ask, showing the app now loading in your phone.

Face instantly lighting up, he unlocks his phone and presses the same app sitting on the home screen. “One game.”

You grin. “Double Up?”

A small nod.

“Don’t drag me down,” he mutters as the queue pops.

“Tsss,” you shoot back. “I’ll carry.”

He huffs, but there’s no bite to it.

You fall into rhythm without needing to talk much—checking in here and there, nudging each other when it matters, covering where the other slips. Just quiet coordination, the kind that only happens when both people know what they’re doing.

At some point, you lose a round you shouldn’t have. You fumble a turn.

“I got you,” he says, and he does.

By the time the game ends—with a win you barely scrape—you’re both facing each other, knees touching, smiles plastered on your faces.

“Not bad,” you murmur, setting your phone down. “You did well.”

“But I always do well?” he replies.

You push him lightly. “Take a humble W for once.”

“No, cause I can’t remember ever doing poorly…”

“Oh my gooood, I’m tired of you.” You roll your eyes, attempting to swivel away from him, but his knees stop you.

He glances at you, something softer flickering through his expression. You look away first, because what’s with the face? You reach for your drink, swirling what’s left and sip.

“Thanks,” he says, and why are his fingers drumming on your knee? It’s kind of distracting, actually.

“Are you feeling a little better now?” You reply, forcing a neutral expression.

He pauses, exhales. “Yeah,” he says. “I guess I just got tired of my own head.”

And maybe it’s the fact that you’re sipping the final dredges of your margarita that the next words carelessly tumble out.  “Maybe you just need good head.”

The dining area is still loud around you, but somehow, between you and him, it has become z-z-z. His fingers cease tapping against your skin.

Panicking, you blab. “Just text Gwayoung. Or Haein… I’m sure they’re available. You don’t have to look too far, you know.”

His eyes bear a weight you didn’t anticipate. 

“I’m not,” he says quietly.

And the way he’s looking at you makes it very clear he’s not looking far at all. He doesn’t need to.

⊙⊝⊜

You don’t remember deciding to leave or how he even paid. Just the deja vu of how his hand found your wrist and the way you let it. Of how a door opens and then your back is firmly against it.

The next thing you feel is Yoongi’s soft lips sliding against your own. 

His hand drifts up the side of your neck, fingers settling at the base like he’s keeping you right where he wants you, and it does something weird to your breathing—shortens it, stutters it—without needing to press.

The strap of your dress sags against your shoulder, but you make no move to fix it.

Your fingers find his hair instead, threading through the longer strands at the nape. It’s softer than you remember, just enough length to catch between your fingers, and when you tug, he groans against your mouth, the sound going straight to your center.

Total brain fog. 

Your heartbeat, faint but present, is somehow the one that warns you about the risks. Because you’ve been in this situation before with Yoongi. You’ve been vulnerable in Hannam, and in his studio, and in the rehearsal space, and in room 2004. There’s a host of reasons why you should run away.

But it’s only taking one slow, smooth swipe of his tongue against the roof of your mouth for you to run in. 

Your mouths part at the same time, an accidental knock of teeth, before he catches your lower lip between his and sucks softly, almost sweetly.

God. Yoongi makes your head swim.

And all this kissing is making you feel like there’s something more, when there is none. You’d do well to remind yourself of that.

By some miracle you find the strength to pull away.

“Yoongi, if we’re doing this, just…” you place your palm gently against his chest, pushing him back. “Don’t confuse me.”

Yoongi frowns. “What do you mean?”

“I know what this is,” you say, still a little breathless. “And I’m down, but I just… let’s not…”

The words stall out, slipping through your fingers no matter how hard you try to hold onto them. You inhale sharply, trying to piece together something that makes sense, something that doesn’t sound as messy as it feels in your head.

Because if you’re being honest—really honest—you’re already in deeper than you should be.

You never quite bounced back from his rejections. It lingers, quieter now, but still there, still tender in places you don’t like to acknowledge. And that’s not something you can tell him. Not now. Maybe not ever.

Not when he’s this close. Not when his lips are a soft, distracting pink. Not when he’s looking at you like this—like, for once, all of his attention is yours.

So you decide on something, albeit hastily. You shift your weight, looking him dead in the eye. “You can’t kiss me.”

He studies you curiously, too amused for your liking. His eyes are transfixed on your mouth, observing how they’re still shiny from his own spit. “Too late for that, don’t you think?”

“No, you can’t do it again. Not anymore.”

If he is confused, he doesn’t let it show. He scratches his nape. “Just your mouth, right? Anywhere else is fair game?”

His eyes dip, trailing your body like he’s already mentally undressing you. You feel heat building beneath your skin.

“Yes.”

“Sweet.” His thumb brushes the corner of your mouth, dragging lightly across your lower lip to wipe away the trail he left behind. Then he turns, moving further into his hotel room, dropping the keycard into an empty fruit bowl. “Anything else?”

You follow him in, dragging your feet on the plush carpet, still deep in thought.

You exhale through your nose, trying to keep your tone even. “Don’t make me sign an NDA.”

“No need, your current NDA’s already airtight.”

That—

You blink, thrown for half a second. The reminder lands colder than you expected, like a bucket of reality dumped over something that was just starting to feel… not real.

“Right.” You nod slowly, arms tightening across your chest. “Way to make a girl feel special, Yoongi.”

“Legal contracts don’t turn you on?” Yoongi drops to the couch.

“Not particularly. My dad’s a lawyer.”

He makes a face.

You snort. “What? Talking about my old hairy lawyer dad doesn’t turn you on?”

“Pass.”

That gets a real laugh out of you, the tension cracking just enough to breathe again.

He watches you when you do, like he’s taking note of something. Almost like he’s fascinated with you.

Then his head tilts slightly, a small gesture, almost nothing. “C’mere.”

You hesitate for half a second, but step forward anyway, closing the distance until you’re right in front of him, standing between his parted legs as he looks up at you.

His hand finds your wrist first, then your waist, guiding you down like it’s nothing. You end up on his lap, breath catching just a little as his hand slides under your dress, resting on your upper thigh.

“Tell me,” he murmurs, eyes dragging over your face, slower this time. “What does?”

The question sinks somewhere low, coiling tight, as he squeezes your soft flesh, so close to where you need him.

You open your mouth to respond, but he’s already leaning in.

His lips brush your collarbone first, not really doing anything but press his mouth against your skin. It’s almost absent-minded, the way he does it, like he can ask a question and distract you at the same time.

You inhale sharply.

His mouth drifts lower, grazing the hollow between your chest, and your thoughts start slipping, unraveling faster than you can catch them.

“Yoongi…”

He hums against your skin, like he heard you, but doesn’t want to stop. Frankly you don’t want him to when you feel his lips latch on the top of your breast and your brain goes foggy, words dissolving before they can form.

And that’s exactly why you…

“Wait.” You feel the solidness of him under your palms, the steady rise and fall of his breathing, as you lean back.

He stills, mouth swollen.

“Mm?” he hums, lifting his head but not moving far, like he’s willing to wait—but only just.

“Don’t you have your own rules?”

There’s a brief flicker of something, before his expression smooths back out.

He blinks once and huffs. “Don’t leave me on read.”

You almost react. Almost say something about that night, about the message that never sent, about the door you stood in front of, and the sounds that destroyed you before his friend picked up the pieces of you that shattered in front of room 2004.

But you swallow it down. He doesn’t need to know.

“That’s it?”

“Yeah.”

You study him for a second longer, like you’re trying to find something deeper and coming up short.

“Okay.”

A beat.

It’s decided.

“So,” he says, voice lower, like it’s already done. “Are we gonna do this, or—”

“Fuck me, Yoongi.”

His mouth curves, just slightly one corner. “Gladly.”

Part 2

A/N: .....hi? :)

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[foliexaxdeux]

I'LL DO THE THING FOR YOU | MYG

Pairing: Yoongi x f!reader

Genre: Oneshot, smut, pwp, established relationship

Summary: After a small fight, Yoongi wants to make it up to you. He'll do the thing for you, he's on his knees and, of course, he also says please.

Warnings: MDNI, explicit sexual content, very loosely based on the lyrics of 'Please', oral (f receiving), fingering, face sitting, PiV, unprotected sex (they're together and I imagined MC on some form of contraceptive), dirty talk, Yoongi is cocky in the beginning and whiny towards the end, this isn't a dom/sub setting at all but if it was he'd be a switch, he's pussy whipped and begs for it hehe

Wordcount: 3.4k

Masterlist

The argument you had with Yoongi earlier wasn't even supposed to be one, seriously. You were just playing, but he took it the wrong way and now you're sitting on the couch sulking. 

You were driving home together when it happened. Yoongi was parking the car, had put it in reverse, looking out the rear window with his arm slung around the back of your seat while backing into the open spot. You’d told him something about - what even was it...? Some random post you’d seen online about sourdough. And he didn’t listen because he was busy concentrating on parking. He’d asked you to come again once he turned off the car and you said something along the lines of it’s alright, you never listen to me anyway. 

It was supposed to be a joke. Obviously! You’d even grinned while saying it but had turned your head away from him to look out the window in a dramatic display of feigned offense. Yoongi didn’t catch the sarcasm. And he huffed. Then shook his head and got out of the car without another word. That’s when you started to get pissed. He really thought you were that much of a bitch, huh? Okay then. 

Neither of you were in the mood to address it, busy seething with a subtle broil of pent up irritation as you entered your shared apartment. He tried to ease the tension by pushing your shoulder with a playful nudge of his while you slipped out of your shoes. You scoffed though, still griping about him believing you’d be upset over something so trivial. And yes, the irony was lost on you. He let you be then, knowing you’d come around after a while and needing a minute to clear his head himself.

Some hours have passed since, the cool down phase in full effect and you drop on the couch after a long shower that brought some sense of balance to your brain. This ‘fight’ was so stupid, it almost makes you laugh. You shake your head, pulling your bath robe tighter as you swipe on your phone when he walks past you, then stops. He’s testing the waters, you can tell from the way he monitors your body language; how you will or won’t react to his presence. You raise a brow while looking up at him, the corner of your lip pulling upwards. A truce. One he decides to accept, judging by the way he trudges closer.

“You feel better?” he asks and you know he worded it that way on purpose, so as not to ask you if you’ve finally calmed down. 

You huff out a breath, laughter mixed with a hint of reluctance, because that question still suggests that you’ve been overreacting. You don’t pin him down on it, though. Not yet at least. Rather, you return it. “And you?”

“Mhm.” He bends his knees until he’s crouching before you, his eyes now level with yours, one hand resting on your knee for support. “We were both being stupid, huh?”

Yeah, he’s right. Still, you don’t have to admit it right away. “I was just joking, you know? When I said you never listen to me.”

“Yeah, I figured,” he sighs. “An hour too late, I guess.”

The honesty makes you laugh and you drop your phone somewhere in the cracks of the couch cushions. 

Yoongi takes it as an invitation - an unspoken extension of the truce that, if handled correctly, could even lead to peace. “I’m sorry baby,” he says before he leans in. “Let me make it up to you.”

You’re closing in as well, meeting his lips for a single kiss. Smiling now, you might have an idea on how he could fulfill that proposition. “And how would you do that?”

Yoongi cocks his head to the side with a smirk, eyelids narrowing as he thinks about it. He moves from crouching to resting on his knees on the floor before you, hand on the back of your head pulling you forward, so you’re still face to face even though he’s positioned lower than before. He kisses your cheek, lips wandering along your jaw and down the side of your throat where he sucks lightly, making your breath hitch. When his nose traces your earlobe he detaches from you but stays close, whispering, “I’ll do the thing for you.”

“The thing?” Oh, you know exactly which thing.

“Yeah,” he breathes against your neck while his right hand reaches for the lapel of your robe. He rubs the soft material between his fingers before gently pushing it aside and slipping them under. “The thing you like so much, you know.”

With the back of his hand now resting on the supple skin of your chest he pulls his head back to look at you. 

“Hm, I don’t know what you mean,” you lie as you move closer for another kiss. He leans in harder now, sighing against your lips and pushes his tongue into your mouth. He flicks it against yours lightly, barely grazing you with its tip and it makes you chuckle how he’s subtly trying to help you remember. You pull back but keep him near by cupping his cheek. “Ah, that thing.”

His hand under your robe inches down, knuckles brushing over your nipple and the sensation makes it harden instantly. He finds the belt around your waist with his other hand and unties the knot with his thumb. His eyes widen slightly as the fabric falls open and drops loosely around your sides. It’s not like he hasn’t looked at you a million times before. Still, his lids show the tiniest of flutters every single time, the dilation of his pupils barely detectable. 

Yoongi leans in, not taking his gaze off your tits and latches onto your chest. With his lips around one nipple and his hand on the other, he sucks with a slight graze of his teeth and simultaneously rolls his fingers, pulling a gasp from you. 

The smirk on his face is dangerous, bordering on vicious, when he looks up at you. “You know, sometimes I think you’re only provoking those small fights for the make-up sex.” 

He straightens his back when you don't respond, his knees still on the floor and leans backwards as he snakes his hands beneath your legs. With a firm pull, he drags you down the cushion, so your ass rests at the edge of the sofa, your back now flat against the seat. His hands run up the skin of your thighs, grabbing them gently by the backs of your knees and pushing your legs up against your belly while spreading them. “Keep them like this for me, alright?” 

You do what he asked and hold your legs up with your hands, anticipation coiling tightly in your abdomen as you watch him with bated breath.

“So pretty,” he muses quietly when he looks down at you, nodding to himself as if he’s confirming his own remark while his eyes stay glued to your core. “Gonna make it up to you, yeah?”

You nod even though he doesn't wait for your answer anyway, already tilting his head down again but not closing in. He purses his lips a good few inches above your pussy and releases a dense wad of spit, letting it drop slowly so it stretches into a thick string, before it lands directly on your clit. You suck in a breath of surprise at the feeling, your hip jerking as hot slick that’s cooling down quickly trickles down your folds and Yoongi grins as he watches how it coats you.  

When he finally comes closer, his lips trace down the inside of your thigh, kissing and sucking the skin on his way. “Gonna eat you out so good baby,” he mumbles while his thumbs draw lazy circles around the outer edges of your labia. “You want that?”

“Yes,” you whine, mouth agape as you watch him descend. If you weren’t wet before, you certainly are now. “Want it so bad.”

Yoongi chuckles against your skin, hot breath fanning over the slick across your core. His lips are soft when he brushes them from where his thumbs work, up to your mound and his eyes snap to yours just before he closes the last bit of distance to place a kiss on your clit. You shudder at the contact, brows furrowed into a needy frown, to which he only grins. 

His tongue glides across you in calculated motions and - oh - when he flicks it, he’s really doing the thing that always makes your eyes roll back into your head. 

“Fuck,” you breathe out, removing your hand from your shin and bringing it down to stroke through his hair. Yoongi’s lids fall shut when your fingers catch hold of a thick strand to pull him even closer and he releases a muffled groan against you. 

He runs his tongue up and down your pussy in unhurried strokes, lapping at your entrance and tracing its outline before coming back up. His finger pushes into you right when his lips close around your clit, sucking lightly and kissing it softly as he applies pressure to his hand, entering you with one single, slow thrust. Your head falls back into the couch cushion when he pumps it in and out, curling it just right, so he hits the spot you need him to. 

“Right there,” you moan, fingers tightening around the hair close to his scalp. He knows, of course he does, that you like it right there and doesn't relent, his tongue still working its wonders while he adds a second finger, pushing and pulling and curling on their way out, making you feel like you’re going to explode. 

Fuck, the muscles in your abdomen are straining, breaths turning shallow and your legs begin to shake already. You're about to come, pulling him even closer and he groans against your pussy again. 

When you tear your eyes open to look at him, you notice him shuffling around a bit and wonder what he's doing. The coil in your belly relaxes at the slight distraction, eyes wandering over his hunched figure. Ah, he moved his free hand down into his pants. You twist your torso a bit to get a better view and take another peak to confirm. Yes, he pushed down his sweats and is jerking himself off while eating you out. 

You giggle, feeling yourself getting even wetter at the thought of him enjoying this so much he has to touch himself, but Yoongi looks up at you at the sound. 

“What's so funny?” he asks, a bit out of breath. 

“Nothing,” you answer as your fingers run across his scalp. “Just didn't expect you to multitask.”

His gaze drops down to his dick, a slight flush on his cheeks before he pulls up his pants. 

“No, don't stop. I like it.”

“Not planning on stopping,” he says as he stands up from the floor and offers you his hand. “Just changing the setting.”

You let him pull you up and guide you into the bedroom, where he pushes the bath robe from your shoulders and takes off his shirt. He pulls you to sit at the edge of the bed, tips of his fingers ghosting up your arms before he tangles them in your hair to pull you in. Your lips meet for a hungry kiss, Yoongi’s nonchalance slowly but surely dissipating. His hands roam your whole body and end up on your tits for a harsh squeeze while you sigh against his lips, desperately wanting to touch him too. You reach out for him, palming him over his sweats and earn a sharp exhale from him. He doesn't grant you access for long though as he pulls back, eager eyes now dark and almost impatient, taking in your figure before he slips away. 

You watch him moving up the mattress where he throws the pillows down to the floor and lays down flat on his back, his head right where the pillows were a second ago. 

“Come here and sit on my face,” he says as his hand already snakes down into his pants again. 

No need to ask you twice, of course you’re going to, you’re already on your way actually. You climb onto the bed and swing a leg over him, straddling his face between your thighs. Yoongi smiles up at you before pulling you closer by your hip. 

“Now let me finish this.” His words slur against your skin as you grab the headboard for support in hopes that it'll help you to come out of this alive. 

His strokes are quick now, diligently lapping at your dripping heat, making you throw your head back, nails digging into the wood in front of you. 

“God, fuck,” you sigh, wanting to tell him how good it feels but alas, you're lost for words, thoughts currently swimming somewhere too far away for your brain to catch up and form a coherent sentence.

You're afraid of suffocating him between your legs, thighs flexing absentmindedly to hold most of your weight up even though his left arm on your hip keeps pulling, pulling, pulling you down and you finally give in and relax. Now that you're really sitting down, he breathes out a groan so content, it vibrates through your whole body. 

Without a doubt he’s giving his all to make it up to you, kissing, tongue swirling, slurping you up until you see stars. Your hips start rocking on him on their own, needily grinding over his face as you chase your release and he seems to like that, judging by the way he hums against you at the constant back and forth. 

“Shit, I’m so close,” you gasp as he’s guiding your movements across his face, tongue rolling over your clit every time you glide over his lips. The coil in your belly tightens as you feel him stir and you turn your head only to see that he’s pushed his sweats down again, hand closed around his dick and stroking himself. The image propels you across the edge, fingers on the headboard digging harder into the wood while your other hand finds his hair to hold on to. With your head spinning and ears ringing, you shudder above him, riding out your high in quick motions, pussy clenching around nothing while he eats you out like you're his favorite meal. 

He’s not stopping his feast, still licking your throbbing clit until you have to pull off of him with a moan that ends up sounding more like a cry. Your body betrays you as you move and you practically fold, falling down on the mattress right next to him and landing on your back with a thump. 

Yoongi gets up on his knees while you gasp for air, towering over your figure with his sweats shoved down his thighs and he immediately presses himself against you, hand on his hard dick, rubbing it up and down your sensitive core. 

“Shit baby,” he grits out with his eyes closed, mouth glistening with your essence as he leans in for another kiss. “Wanna fuck you so bad.”

“Yeah?” you ask, buying yourself a bit more time to calm down. You reach for him and replace his hand with yours, fingers wrapping tightly around his erection. “I’m still so sensitive though.”

His tip is halfway inside of you and his head falls back when you start pumping him slowly, dragging out the moment before he can push in further. “Please baby, you feel so good.”

It makes you chuckle when he begs and he knows you like it, so you can't help yourself from playing that game, still pumping him lazily while he holds himself back from sinking in fully. “Are you sure you've made it up to me properly? You were really mean earlier.”

“Shit, don't do this to me,” he almost whines. “I was so, so good to you, wasn't I? Made you come so hard.”

“Yeah, you did,” you tell him, gripping him a bit tighter as you roll your wrist on him and drawing another sharp breath from his lips while you kiss him. “So you’d say you’ve earned it, huh?”

“Yes!” He nods like you asked him if you should gift him a million dollars right now. “Yes, I’ve earned it. Please baby. Please.”

Can't deny him his wishes, not when he begs so nicely, can you? 

“Alright, yeah,” you whisper while changing the angle of your hold to line him up perfectly. “Go on and fuck me, baby.”

He thrusts in fully without any warning, pushing a moan from your lungs at the sudden intrusion and his lids scrunch together when he does. “Shit, sorry,” he mutters as he stills. “That wasn't… Couldn't help it. Did I hurt you?”

Your hands intertwine behind his neck as you shake your head and relax, getting used to the stretch. “No, it's alright.”

He leans in for a kiss, tongue twisting against yours as he pulls his hip back before he thrusts into you again. He sighs with each move, groaning when your lips part. Gripping your hips as he leans back, he holds you in place, fucking into you with force now and his eyes roll back like he’s losing himself in the feeling. “Always so fucking tight for me.”

The noise of your combined moans, your high pitched whines and his low grunts fill the room, accompanied by the quieter sound of his groin snapping against yours, quite like a beat to the carnal melody that the two of you are creating. 

Yoongi slides his hands down your legs and moves them to drop your ankles upon his shoulders, creating an angle that allows him to go even deeper than before. You're gasping for air from how he plows into you, the roll of his hips making his cock drag across your g-spot with every thrust. 

He grows frantic, spitting out curse words here and there before he takes your hand and guides it between your legs. “Make yourself come on my cock,” he directs with his head falling back between his shoulders. “That’s it baby, I can feel how close you are. Fucking squeezing me.”

He’s right, you are close again, now rubbing yourself in tight circles like he asked and it's like there's no air left in your lungs to exhale. Your muscles tense all over and you bite your tongue to relieve the pressure, watching him pump in and out of you over and over, a vein on his neck straining against his skin like it's about to burst.

“Come for me,” he groans, voice breaking to a tone so wrecked, you both know that no one will ever hear him sound like that but you. 

You follow his command, it’s not like you have a choice, another orgasm crashing all over you and draining your mind from everything that isn't him inside of you. Limbs convulse and sweat drips down your temple as the shuddering waves ripple from your core throughout your whole body. 

Your pussy clenches around him frantically and pulls him over the edge as well, so he can't help the moan from slipping out as his hips stutter with every spurt of cum that he fills you with. His head falls into the crook of your neck, breathing heavily against your sticky skin, still moving, still pressing himself in as deep as he can, like he wants to bury himself inside of you. 

“Shit,” he curses, muffled and drawn out, panting and revelling in the feeling of your cunt still wrapped around him so tightly. “I’m never pulling out of you, just so you know.”

You chuckle as you bring your arms around his back, fingers playing with the hair on the nape of his neck. “You sure about that?”

He’s still breathing heavily and you feel his lips curl into a smile against your skin as he nods. “No doubt about it.” He lifts his head to look into your eyes. “Still mad at me?”

“Never was.”

Masterlist

A/N: Thank you so much for reading :] Please consider reblogging or commenting if you enjoyed, or if you're shy, feel free to send us an anonymous ask! <3

[imsadstuff]

An Experiment | Idol Min Yoongi x OC Fic

Synopsis: Mrs Min is persistent, she wants her son to get serious about dating and takes the matchmaking process in our own hands. Min Yoongi doesn't think he has the time or the space for a relationship, but it all changes after a few annoying texts from his mother and an elevator ride.

Genre: Idol Yoongi AU, FLUFF, a lot of FLUFF, boyfriend Yoongi, some smut, two people trying to figure out their feelings for each other. Art curator OC, it's just a lot of fluff with some smut because I am terribly single.

Word Count: 25K+

AOC Link: here

Link to Epilogue: here

"Mom, I don't want you intervening in my dating life anymore!" Yoongi's voice carries down the hallway the moment his phone buzzes with yet another contact saved under a name like Park Soomin - nice girl, works in finance, very pretty ♥. He stares at it for a long second before tossing the phone onto his bed. "I don't want you to help me find a girlfriend. I don't have time for a girlfriend."

He yanks open his closet and pulls out the last of the clothes he needs to pack, draping them over his arm with the practiced efficiency of someone who has lived out of suitcases for the better part of a decade. New York. Weeks of back-to-back schedules, press runs, radio slots, and performances and his mother was out here playing matchmaker like he was a man of leisure.

"I'm sure they're all great," he continues, softer now, more tired than annoyed. He means it, genuinely. It's never about the girls. "I just don't have the time." He pads out of the bedroom, heading toward the living room where he'd heard her shuffling around not twenty minutes ago, the familiar sound of her rearranging things that didn't need rearranging.

But the room is empty. Yoongi stops in the doorway, a dress shirt still folded over his forearm, and looks around. The television is off. Her reading glasses are sitting on the arm of the sofa. A half-drunk cup of tea steams quietly on the coffee table.

He blinks. "…Mom?"

He walks further in, checking the kitchen, empty, then their bedroom. Nothing. He stands very still for a moment and replays the last several minutes in his head. The bedroom, the closet, the hallway rant. Had she even been home? Had he just been pouring his heart out to an apartment?

He drags a hand through his hair and exhales slowly through his nose. His phone buzzes again on the bed, distant but audible. Probably another one.

Her phone rings for a while before she picks up, “Where are you?” Yoongi speaks to the phone as he continues packing.  "I'm at the Lee's place." Her voice is bright, unbothered, the voice of a woman who has done nothing wrong in her entire life. "Their daughter is visiting. You should come over." A brief pause, then, as though it's a perfectly reasonable addendum: "Now."

Yoongi stops folding. "Their daughter," he repeats. "She's very sweet. She works in the arts world too, works as-" "Mom." He sets the shirt down. "I leave for the airport in twenty minutes"

"It won't take long, just come and say hello, what is twenty minutes-" "Why are you even there?" He pinches the bridge of his nose. "You went to the Lee's just… did you plan this? Did you leave so I couldn't argue with you in person?"

The pause that follows is a fraction too long. "Their daughter got some amazing desserts from Spain" she says finally, with great dignity. He laughs before he can stop himself, a short, disbelieving exhale and sits down on the edge of the bed amidst the half-packed chaos. "I'm not coming over."

"Just to say hello -" "I'm not coming over, I'm going to New York, and when I come back we are having a real conversation about this." He stands again, reaching for the shirt. "Enjoy the desserts"

"She has a very nice smile, so beautiful, perfect height for you" "Bye, Mom, I’ll see you in two weeks" He hangs up. Stares at the open closet for exactly three seconds, then gets back to packing. His phone buzzes again, information for the Lee’s daughter, like he’s really convinced by the hard sell his mother gave.

The elevator dings and slides open, and Yoongi steps in without looking up, wheeling his carry-on in front of him. He adjusts his mask, tugs his beanie down a little further, and stares at the floor numbers like they owe him something. He does not notice, at first, that he is not alone.

She's standing in the corner with her coat half-buttoned and her bag hiked up on one shoulder, the posture of someone who had also left a situation slightly faster than was polite.  She'd walked into her parents' living room an hour ago expecting a quiet visit and had instead been subjected to an unsolicited slideshow. Her mother and Mrs. Min, two women who clearly missed their calling as matchmakers, had walked her through approximately twenty photographs. Career highlights, candid shots, one that looked suspiciously like a press photo with the watermark cropped out.

So she recognizes him from a maternal ambush conducted over barley tea and the good plates. She says nothing at first. The doors slide shut. 

"Congratulations on the album," she says, pleasantly, the way you'd say it to a colleague in a lift. "My mother played me three songs from it this morning. Without warning."

That gets him, his head turns. Not just the sideways glance he'd given her when she shifted her bag a proper turn, eyes finding her face with something between confusion and alertness. The look of a man trying to locate the context.

"She what?" "The one with the soft intro," ___ continues, thinking back. "She said it proved you were sensitive. I think that was meant to sell me on you."

There’s complete silence from Yoongi’s side, he just stares at her. She can only see his eyes above the mask but it's enough she watches the exact moment the pieces assemble themselves. 

"The daughter," he says slowly. "You're ___ Lee?" he recalls from the last contact information his mother sent. "And you're the son" She tilts her head. "Twenty pictures, by the way. I counted."

He makes a sound that isn't quite a word, more of a groan. His hand moves to the back of his neck. "I'm so sorry," he says, and he means it with his whole chest.

"It's fine." She smiles, and there's no edge in it, just genuine amusement. "Honestly the album part was good. I'd have preferred to find it on my own terms but-" she lifts one shoulder, "-here we are."

"Well, great to meet you." She steps out of the elevator first, one hand coming up absently to tuck a piece of her bob behind her ear before it falls back against her jaw anyway. Her coat is oversized, something vintage-feeling in a warm camel tone.

"I saw you guys in concert in 2019 and now we're being set up." She glances back at him with a grin that's more amused than anything else, fingers brushing through her bob again, a quick, unconscious sweep. "Funny how life works."

Yoongi follows her out into the basement, and for a moment he just looks at her. The way she says it, not starstruck, not awkward, just stating a fact, like it's a mildly interesting observation about the weather, catches him somewhere off guard.

He's used to two kinds of reactions. The overwhelmed kind, and the overcorrected kind, people who perform so hard at being normal around him that it becomes its own thing. She is neither. She's just standing there in her excellent coat, bag slouched on one shoulder, apparently entirely comfortable with the absurdity of the situation in a way that he, who has been mentally managing this airport run since Tuesday, is decidedly not.

"I'm sorry about my mother," he says again, because it warrants repeating. "You've said that already." "It deserves two apologies."

She laughs at that a real one, quick and unguarded, her hand going up to push her hair back from her face. It falls forward again immediately. She doesn't seem to mind. "She means well. They both do."

"I didn't know any of this was happening," he says, and he needs that on the record somehow. "I found out when she sent me your contact details. I was in the middle of packing."

"My mother sent me a voice memo," ___ offers. "Forty seconds. Very thorough." He closes his eyes briefly. "What did she-" he starts, then stops. "Actually, I don't want to know."

"She called you a great catch." ___ says it with complete neutrality, like she's reading from a grocery list. "Said you're the perfect husband material." A small pause. She tilts her head. "She mentioned the cooking specifically. Twice."

Yoongi stares at the concrete floor of the basement parking lot and says nothing for a moment. "The cooking," he repeats. "She seemed very proud of it."

"I made her one birthday dinner-" "Apparently it was very good." ___ is visibly enjoying this now, just slightly, the corner of her mouth giving her away.

He looks up at the ceiling. "I have to go to New York," he says in the tone of a man who has never wanted to board a flight more in his life. ___ laughs, warm and bright in the dim parking lot. "Go," she says, waving a hand. "Your perfect husband reputation is safe with me."

"Please forget everything she told you." "Absolutely not." She hoists her bag up and turns toward the exit, one hand ruffling to find her car keys "Have a good flight, Yoongi-si."

She disappears around the corner, still smiling.

His manager is at his elbow. "The car's ready." "Yeah." Yoongi watches her go for just a beat longer than necessary, the camel coat disappearing around the corner. "Yeah, okay."

The private lounge is quiet in the way airports never quite manage to be anywhere else — insulated, dim, the chaos of Incheon existing somewhere beyond the frosted glass. Their bags are lined up near the door. Someone has already claimed the couch. There's coffee on the table that Yoongi is already on his second cup of.

He sits down, sets his phone face down out of habit, and looks around at the others.

"Are your mothers also aggressively trying to set you up with someone," he says, with the careful delivery of a man who has been sitting on this all morning, "or is something wrong with mine?"

Namjoon looks up from his phone slowly, the way you look up when you want to assess the energy of a room before committing to a response. Jimin, who has been reorganizing his carry-on for the past ten minutes, stops and looks up. "What happened?"

"She left the apartment," Yoongi says. "While I was in my room packing, I thought she was in the living room… I was talking, going on and on-" he gestures vaguely, "-and she was already gone. At the neighbor's place."

"Doing what?" Hoseok asks. "Setting me up." He says it flatly. "Their daughter was there too. She sent me her contact details before I even knew any of it was happening. Then called me and told me to come over." He pauses. 

"What did she do to sell you?" Seokjin asks, because he knows how mothers operate and he wants the full picture. "Apparently she played her our music." Yoongi stares into his coffee. "To prove I was sensitive. And she told her I could cook."

"She said I was the perfect husband," Yoongi continues, with the energy of a man reading from a police report. "To a stranger. That she had never met before."

"To be fair," Hoseok starts. Yoongi looks at him, Hoseok closes his mouth knowing when to not fan the flames. 

"And then," Yoongi says, "I ran into her. The girl. In the elevator on the way down."

The lounge goes very still. "The girl your mother set you up with?" Namjoon says slowly.

"In your elevator." "Yes." "She was just, there?" "Apparently she left early too." He wraps both hands around his cup. "She must have been flustered by the set up too."

Then Taehyung, who has been sitting in the armchair with his chin in his hand and the expression of someone watching a very satisfying drama, asks the only question that matters.

"Was she cute?" Yoongi opens his mouth, closes it, looks down at his coffee, sets it down, picks it back up, like he doesn’t know what to say or what to do with his hands.

"We're boarding soon," a manager says. “Let’s get going” but none of the members move, waiting for Yoongi’s answer

“Hyung!!" Jimin says, slowly, the way you speak to someone who has already given themselves away. “We should go, board" Yoongi offers as he stands up.

"Was she cute?" Taehyung repeats. "She was- " Yoongi stops to clear his throat, "It was a thirty second elevator ride."

"That's not a no," Hoseok observes. "That's not what I-" He picks up his coffee again even though he's not drinking it, just to have something to do with his hands. "She was normal. She was a normal person. Can we drop it."

"He's flustered," Jimin says to Namjoon, delighted. "I'm not flustered, I'm tired, there's a difference-" "Hyung." Taehyung is grinning now, fully, without shame. "Just say she was pretty."

Yoongi stands up, reaches for his carry-on, and says nothing. Which is, somehow, the loudest answer in the room.

Every month’s second Friday dinners with Sunhee and Wonik are non-negotiable. They have been, for years, the kind of standing plan that survives busy seasons, travel schedules, and the general chaos of three people who probably have no business being as close as they are given how differently their lives run. 

They're halfway through the meal when ___ sets down her chopsticks. "I want to tell you guys something," she says, "but you need to swear on your life and mine that you won't overreact."

Wonik looks up. "That is the single most alarming way to begin a sentence." "Swear first." "I'm not swearing on anything until I know the category of information I'm dealing with," Wonik says reasonably. "Is this a work thing, a family thing, or a-"

"Swear." Sunhee is already sitting up straighter. She has the posture of someone whose instincts are firing. "I swear," she says immediately. "Wonik, swear."

"Fine, I swear, I swear." "Okay." ___ picks up her glass, takes a sip, sets it down. "My mother set me up this morning. With the son of her friend Mrs. Min."

Sunhee's chopsticks hit her bowl, the sound is very loud in the small restaurant. "Say the full name," Sunhee says, in a voice that is very carefully controlled. "Say his full name out loud right now."

"Sunhee-" "___." Her eyes are very wide. "Say. The name."

___ looks at her. "Min Yoongi." Sunhee puts both hands flat on the table.

"I met him in the elevator," ___ continues, talking over whatever is happening on Sunhee's face, "for about thirty seconds. It was fine, he was normal, we were equally mortified because his mother had already sent him my contact details-"

"What about you?" Wonik asks. "Did you get his number?" "No." ___ shakes her head. "I mean…he's. You know how famous he is. That's not really something you just-" she gestures vaguely. "I have his mother's number. That's it."

"You have his mother's number," Wonik repeats. "She put it in my phone herself. Before I could leave." "Resourceful woman," Wonik says, almost admiringly.

"You were in an elevator," Sunhee says slowly, still processing, "with Min Yoongi." "For thirty seconds, yes-" "Of BTS."

"Sunhee-" "SUGA!" "I need you to not do that-" "How are you this calm right now? How are you sitting there like that?"

"Because it was thirty seconds in a basement parking lot and then he left for the airport," "Did he seem interested?" Wonik asks, cutting straight through it.

___ opens her mouth and closes it, well she couldn’t see much of his face other than the eyes, and his eyes were more irritated at his mother than interested, "He apologized twice for his mother."

"That's not what I asked," Wonik says. The table is quiet for a second. "He watched me walk away," ___ says finally, very casually, into her drink.

Sunhee makes a sound that is not words, close to a manic laugh. "You said you wouldn't overreact," ___ reminds her.

"I SWORE I WOULDN'T OVERREACT, I DIDN'T SAY I WOULDN'T HAVE FEELINGS-" "Same thing" ___ says with an incredulous laugh as she downs her shot of soju.

"It is absolutely not the same thing!" Sunhee shouts as she downs her drink. Wonik refills everyone's glass quietly, the expression of someone who knew from the word swear that it was going to be a long dinner.

Yoongi thinks about ___ the way he thinks about songs that aren't ready yet, circling it, not touching it, waiting to see if it still feels like something after enough time has passed.

It does. The contact has been sitting in his phone since the morning he left for the airport. ___ Lee. His mother had sent it with a string of hearts he had not acknowledged. He'd told himself he saved it by accident. He'd told himself a lot of things.

He's in the back of a car heading to some schedule. His life is mostly cars heading to schedules, he's come to understand, when he opens the contact and stares at it for long enough that the city outside the window blurs entirely. It's the jacket that does it in the end, or that's what he tells himself.

He picks up his phone, puts it down and picks it back up.

Yoongi: Where did you get the jacket you were wearing?

___ is in Hong Kong, sitting cross legged on her hotel bed with client notes open on her laptop, when her phone buzzes. Unknown number, she frowns at it slightly.

No hello. No name. No context whatsoever. Just that, from a number she doesn't recognize, as if the conversation had already been happening somewhere she wasn't aware of.

___: Who is this?

His response comes quickly, even if it’s pretty late in New York, mostly because he had been on his phone watching something when he couldn’t sleep. Yoongi immediately sits up, realizing what he’s done, just asked about a jacket without introducing himself, of course she’s skeptical.

Yoongi: from the elevator

She stares at that for a second. Then it lands, all of it at once, the basement parking lot, the beanie, the mask, the carry-on, their mother’s voice doing their best to convince her.

She puts her laptop to the side, the client notes can be taken care of later in the day. 

___: It's vintage. There's no link I can send you 

She has a ghost of a smile as she helpfully types. 

___: I can lend it to you

___: No you’re rich rich, buy it from me

In New York, Yoongi reads that last message and something in his face does a thing he's glad nobody is around to see. He is not good at whatever this is, that’s what he’s realizing.

Yoongi: How much

___ reads that and laughs, a real one, sudden enough that it surprises her. She pushes her hair back and looks at the ceiling for a second.

___: I'll think about it

In New York, Yoongi chuckles as he turns around in bed, a real laugh, like he’s amused, like he wants to talk more, like he’s fascinated.

Yoongi: Take your time

He puts the phone on his chest and stares at the ceiling of his hotel room, the city humming its endless New York hum somewhere beyond the glass, and he thinks that this is perhaps the most words he has willingly initiated with someone new in a very long time.

He also thinks that I'll think about it is not a no. He falls asleep twenty minutes later with the phone still in his hand, which has not happened in recent memory either.

___ thinks about that for a moment. The hour it must have been in New York. The fact that he had her number this whole time, sitting there, and this is what finally made him use it. A jacket. An excuse so thin it was practically transparent and he'd sent it anyway.

She wasn't even looking, she rarely is when she finds the best things. She'd ducked into the thrift shop on a whim, killing twenty minutes between a gallery visit and a lunch she was already slightly late for, and there it was. Black leather, clean lines, interesting hardware on the collar. The kind of jacket that looks like it has a history without looking tired.

___ takes the mirror selfie without thinking much about it. One hand holding the phone up, the other shoved in the jacket pocket, her hair slightly disheveled from pulling it on. She looks at it for approximately one second to confirm it's not blurry.

___: Tan will wash you out a bit

___: How about something like this? 

She sends the message with the image as she’s already buying the jacket, something in her telling her that she just needs to get this today.

Yoongi is somewhere over the Pacific, when the flight's wifi finally decides to cooperate. His phone loads a backlog of messages and he's scrolling through them automatically, half asleep, when he sees her name.

He sits up as the picture loads.  The jacket is perfect. He knows it immediately, the same way he knows when a song is working, something just settles.He stares at the photo for longer than necessary.

In the seat beside him Namjoon is reading, headphones on, entirely in his own world. Across the aisle Jimin is asleep, nobody is watching as he smiles at his phone like an idiot. He makes no effort to mask the smile as he types back.

Yoongi: I like it

Yoongi: Where are you?

Her reply doesn’t come instantly, it comes as he’s being driven home from a long flight, trying to stay up to fight the jet lag.

___: Hongkong for the Art Basel event

___: I was there, now I am at the airport, waiting for my cab to pick me up

___: Do you like it?

Yoongi doesn’t stop to contemplate as he types, Jimin looking at him suspiciously as he does so with a faint smile.

Yoongi: Yes

___: Good, then you can pick it up from my studio when you’re free

He reads that once and then again.

A studio. She has a gallery. She was at Art Basel. He turns that over quietly, this small new piece of her that just landed without ceremony in the middle of his exhausted morning, offered the same way she offers everything, casually, like it costs her nothing, like she isn't handing him a reason to see her again wrapped in a sentence about a jacket.

He's smiling again as he mutters, "I think I've done something stupid," he mutters, to nobody in particular, to the window, to the general concept of his own decision making.

"Yes," Jimin says from approximately four centimeters away, "flirting via jacket is stupid." A beat. "It's also very you." Yoongi turns to look at him. Jimin is gazing out the window with the serene expression of someone who has absolutely been reading every message off the bright screen this entire time and feels no guilt about it whatsoever.

Yoongi: I can come by monday morning if that works for you

Yoongi: Send me the address

He locks his phone for a brief second before it buzzes again.

___: Perfect, but don’t come in too early, I’m useless before 10

Yoongi: I’ll be there by 11 then

Yoongi puts his phone in his jacket pocket and closes his eyes, the city still moving outside, home getting closer. He doesn't sleep. He doesn't particularly try to.

___ spends a bit longer getting dressed that morning, which is not the case on a monday morning when she doesn’t have any clients to meet, she doesn’t even go into work on a monday most weeks. She straightens the pale white dress one last time when she drops her handbag and goes around switching on the studio lights.

“Where are you off too? I thought you didn’t have any schedule” his mother asks as he continues to fix his hair, “Just some work came up, I’ll be back by dinner” he announces as he tries on three different pairs of glasses, landing on the same dainty one’s he’s been wearing for weeks now.

Yoongi is there quicker than imagined, parking the Mercedes quietly as he puts on a mask on, he doesn’t know who all are going to be there, and he’d much rather not have this visit becoming a bigger deal than it needs to be. The studio is located in a quaint neighbourhood, plants all around the glass door entrance as he walks up, coffees hand, he didn’t want to show up empty handed. 

The door announces him,  not a bell exactly, just the particular sound of glass and marble connecting, his footsteps suddenly loud and deliberate in the quiet of the space. He slows instinctively. His sunglasses are on his head, pushed up to get a proper look, and his eyes move around the room the way they do when he enters somewhere new, taking inventory, settling, trying to understand a space before the space understands him.

"You're early." He turns.

She's coming from the back of the gallery, and he stops. Not visibly, not in any way she'd necessarily catch, but something in him just pauses for a moment and takes inventory of her the same way he did with the room.

The dress is pale linen, short, simple in the way that only works when someone has a very good eye for what suits them. Her hair is pinned away from her face today. She looks entirely at ease in the space, the way people look at ease in places they've built for themselves.

And then he notices the tattoos. He doesn't stare. He notices, the way he notices the jacket, the coat, the glasses she isn't wearing today and darts his eyes away

"Traffic was light," he says. She glances at the carrier in his hand and one brow lifts slightly. "That's more than one coffee."

“Uh yeah, I didn’t know how you take your coffee, there’s an iced americano, hot latte and an iced latte” he explains and ___ smiles, picking up the hot latte for herself. “Thank you” she murmurs and he hums to himself, picking up the americano for himself.

“So, this is my uncle’s gallery, I’ve been working with him for god, ten years now” ___ explains as she walks a few steps ahead of him, showing him around, he hums every once in a while, he’s not very talkative, as she’s noticed.

He does the mental math quietly. She would have been young when she started, almost 20.

"We work with private collectors mostly. Finding them legacy pieces, introducing them to new artists, hosting shows sometimes." She pauses in front of a series of smaller works along the eastern wall, studying them for a second like she's seeing them for the first time. "It's quite fun, actually. Every collection is different. Every collector is different." A small smile. "Some of them are insane, but in the best way."

He looks at the series she's stopped at. Three pieces, related but not matching, a conversation between them rather than a repetition. "How do you find the artists," he says.

She turns, slightly surprised, not that he spoke, but at the specificity of it. Most people ask about the collectors. "Everywhere." She leans against the wall beside the series, arms crossing loosely, the tattoos catching the track lighting. "Art fairs. Studio visits. Sometimes someone sends me something and I can't stop thinking about it." She tilts her head. "Sometimes I find them in thrift shops in Hong Kong."

He looks at her then, and there it is again, that sideways almost-eye-contact, landing just adjacent to direct. The corner of his mouth does something small.

She pushes off the wall and keeps moving. He follows, hands in pockets, in no hurry,  taking everything in. 

"Your uncle started it?" he asks, after a moment. "Mmhm. Thirty years ago, almost." She stops at a large photograph mounted simply, no frame. "He took me to my first auction when I was nine. I didn't understand any of it." She pauses. "But it did flame the fascination inside me”

He looks at the photograph. Then at her, briefly, the way he does, quick, considered, like he's filing something away.

Yoongi’s phone is vibrating in his pocket, he knows that it’s his manager checking if he’s on the way to practice. They’re currently in the beautiful backyard, what Yoongi’s leart is that this used to be ___’s grandparents home before it was turned into a gallery. She’s on the other end of the bench as she places her empty coffee cup down.

“Anything that caught your eye in there?” ___ asks and he briefly looks at her before he looks away, his eyes falling on her red heels, quite high for a monday. 

“A few things” he confesses with a faint smile as he looks around, at anything but her. “I’m not cultured enough to understand art so haven’t bought much as of late” he offers more, he knows that she’s been the one leading the conversation, he doesn’t want her to think that he’s not listening. 

"I don't think people need to be cultured to understand art," she says. "There's art in almost everything." She says it without any weight to it, not a lecture, just a thing she actually believes.  

He looks back down. At the floor, at the middle distance, briefly at her hands where they rest against her knee,  the tattoos more visible from here, something intricate in the design, leaves or maybe something older than that, he can't quite tell without looking properly and he's not going to look properly.

She's in the middle of saying something about the artist, a story beginning to take shape, her hands moving slightly the way they do when she's getting to the good part of something when his phone rings.

Loud with no respect for the moment whatsoever. He pulls it out and silences it immediately, the name on the screen requires no explanation. He closes his eyes for approximately one second.

“You need to leave don’t you?” ___ asks as she stands up, “I do, we have a tour starting in two weeks” Yoongi offers as she leads them back in, her heel slipping in some mud before he catches her briefly. 

“Thank you” she murmurs, steading herself as she fixes her posture, all he does is softly smile as he drops his hand from her arm.

“So, the jacket, it’s a vintage Ralph Lauren jacket” ___ speaks as she appears from her office, a bag in her hands. “Thank you, I don’t think I own any vintage pieces” Yoongi shares as she hands him the bag, their fingers brushing just for a second.

“Um, how much-” “Please, no, consider it a gift” ___ says with a soft smile, the smile that is making Yoongi late for practice. He holds the bag and looks at it and then looks at her. She can see him trying to find another angle on this and coming up short.

“We have a few concerts in Goyang, you should come,” Yoongi suggests and she presses her lips together like she’s thinking long and hard about it. “You got me a jacket, let me get you concert tickets, our come by rarely” he brags a bit, trying to sell her on this.

“Sure, but can I get a plus one on that?” ___ asks knowing full well Sunhee would quit on the friendship if she doesn’t get him a ticket. The plus one confuses him, like there’s someone already in the picture and she catches that confusion almost immediately. 

“My friend, she’s a huge fan, she wasn’t able to get tickets” she says and he huffs, not quite a laugh but adjacent to one and looks away, and she watches him do it with the ghost of a smile that she doesn't bother hiding because he isn't looking at her anyway.

“Of course, I’ll text you the details?” he asks as he mentally prepares himself to leave. "Thank you," she says. "I really enjoyed the 2019 concert." She turns one of her rings, slowly, around her finger. Then another. He glances at her hands briefly. "And Sunhee fainted, which in this situation I think counts as a good sign."

He looks up at that. "She fainted?" "Briefly. She was fine." ___ pause, looking up at him "Mostly fine." The almost-laugh again, slightly more this time. He looks away before it becomes anything. "Okay." He takes a small step toward the door. "I'll see you. I really, really need to go."

He still doesn't turn around, she notices. "Yes, please." There's warmth in it, no edge. "You're a busy man, Yoongi-si." He turns then, just slightly, and there's something in his expression that she hasn't seen yet, something a little looser than his usual careful composure.

"Let's just -" he starts, stops and tries again. "We should talk informally. I'm not that strict, and not that much older than you"

She looks at him. He looks somewhere adjacent to her, the way he does, the tips of his ears faintly pink in the studio light, and she realizes with some delight that this small thing, dropping the formality, asking for it plainly, has cost him something, not much. 

She tilts her head. "Okay," she says simply, no teasing. She gives him that much.

He nods once, like something has been settled. "I'll text you," he says.

"Go," she says. He is almost jogging out of the gallery. The glass door swings shut behind him and she stays exactly where she is for a moment, rings still warm from where she'd been turning them, the studio quiet around her.

Yoongi’s mother has made something good, as promised. The table is full and warm and she is asking about his week with the particular casualness of someone who has decided not to ask about anything specific, which means she is asking about everything specific indirectly.

He answers in the usual way. Fine, busy, yes he ate properly in New York. No he doesn't need her to call his manager about the schedule. His phone is face down beside his bowl.

He picks it up, checks it once, puts it back down. His mother says something about his aunt. He nods. She says something about the weather this weekend. He nods again.

His phone buzzes twice in quick succession. Then once more when he finally turns it over.

___: So I see you sunday?

___: I have to meet this client in Dubai and I fly in late afternoon on saturday, can I come to the stadium with a suitcase?

___: Can’t do saturday because Sunhee has a scheduled c-section for a patient

He reads them once, then again. He's smiling at his phone before he's decided to, the particular involuntary kind, and he catches it and schools his expression back to neutral approximately one second too late.

His mother is looking at him. "What," he says. "Nothing," she says, in exactly the tone she used that morning about the glasses. She turns back to her food with the serenity of a woman who has already won something and knows it.

They've been texting for two weeks now. Properly, not just the jacket, not just small talk, but the kind of texts that start about one thing and end up somewhere else entirely an hour later. She's funny over text in the same way she is in person, dry and quick, and she asks him questions that are more specific than people usually bother with.

He'd much rather call her. He knows that about himself already, that he'd rather hear her voice than read the words, that a call would be easier and faster and better in almost every practical sense. He's not ready to call her yet. He's not entirely sure what that means but he knows it's true.

Yoongi: I’ll have someone from the team meet you, they’ll take care of everything

Yoongi: Your friend is an OB-GYN?

___: Yes, she’s also my doctor, and will be for free for the rest of my life so I gotta treat her right. Also because I love her

He reads that and something about it lands warmly, the easy way she says it without any performance in it. He's about to type back when , "Have you reached out to any of the girls I sent you?"

He looks up, his mother is across the table, expression pleasant, chopsticks down, in the posture of someone who has been waiting for a natural opening and has decided this is it.

"No," he says. "None of them?" "None of them." She considers this with the gravity of a woman receiving disappointing quarterly results. "There was a very nice one, works in finance, you said you wanted someone independent"

"Mom." "And the architect, you didn't even look at her profile-"

"I looked." "For how long?" He doesn't answer that. She sighs with her entire body. "The concerts are this week?"

"Thursday, Saturday, Sunday." "Which day can we come? Me, your dad and your aunt-" "Saturday," he says immediately with no hesitation whatsoever.

She blinks. "Saturday? Not Sunday?" "All the parents will be there on Saturday" Yoongi says this like it’s a sure think which he knows isn’t, but he’s going to have to plan it so that it is.

"Your aunt was hoping for Sunday" He picks up his chopsticks with great authority. "I’ll have to check, but I already have your tickets for Saturday”

“Okay, but what about the Lee’s daughter? Mrs. Lee said she's very busy with work, always travelling, very independent, the hair cut was a disappointment to the parents but she’s still such a pretty woman, and she’s short enough for you” “I’m not that short mom” “It’s my fault, I should have married a taller man” His mother says with complete sincerity and Yoongi stares at her.

"That's" he stops. "What does that have to do with " "Your father is a good man." She picks her chopsticks back up serenely. "But the height. I should have thought more carefully."

"Dad is right there." From the other end of the table, his father, who has been eating in peaceful silence through this entire conversation with the practised serenity of a man who checked out of these discussions some years ago, looks up briefly.

"She's not wrong," his father says. "Dad." "I'm just agreeing with your mother." "You're agreeing that you're too short"

"I'm agreeing that she should have thought more carefully." He goes back to his food. "Very different thing." Yoongi looks between them. His mother is eating with great satisfaction. His father has returned to his bowl.

___ hasn’t changed in a bar’s bathroom before, so this is a first as she slips herself in a black dress right from the airport. Her hair is not the best, but that’s the good part about having a bob, it doesn’t need a lot of styling. What does need help is her face.

“How do you have no makeup?” ___ asks with disappointment as she slides back onto the bar stool, she’s swapped the beer for hard liquor because the dress she packed doesn’t allow for a beer belly.

“I have chapstick, but it’s not hygienic to-” “I have like five lip products but nothing for my face, I need to start carrying around a cushion foundation or a tinted sunscreen or something” ___ says as she she downs her drink, third drink of the night and with the little amount of rest she’s had all week, she knows she’s going to be hitting a wall soon.

“___ are you nervous?” Sunhee finally asks as the food comes, it would be normal for Sunhee to be nervous, but ___ is never nervous. “I don’t know, I am mostly tired” ___ offers as she stuffs her face with the fries, food should help her. She’s about to speak up again when her phone buzzes loudly against the table.

Yoongi: I’ve forwarded your contact to my manager, he’ll find you and get you guys to your seats

Yoongi: I’ll see you after the concert

___: All the best for the concert, I’m sure it’s going to be great

She types as Sunhee pays the bill, ___ might be nervous but Sunhee is anxious to leave this pub and be at the venue as soon as she can

Yoongi: Thank you, I’ll see you soon

___ doesn’t have a change to respond back before her phone is already ringing. It’s all too quick from there, they barely find a cab to the event, which Sunhee spends meditating like she does before operating, this is as she says, a spiritual experience for her.

“Why am I the only one that drank?” ___ asks as they sit down in their seats, the massive crowd all around her leaves her awestruck for a second. “I am on call” Sunhee answers, her eyes wandering, her short answers give her away.

“Come on, chill out, we’re going to be having a lot of fun” ___’s just the right kind of drunk now, the four drinks when everything is amazing and all you can think about is a drunk cigarette. The crowd around her is the kind of happy that's collective and contagious and she can feel it getting into her bloodstream alongside the liquor.

"Sunhee, your hand is shaking." Sunhee looks down at her hand. Places it flat on her knee with great effort. “That's adrenaline," she says. "It's a physiological response, it doesn't mean-"

The lights drop all the sudden, Sunhee grips her arm so hard ___ loses circulation for a moment. The crowd becomes something else entirely, a single enormous sound, and ___ feels it before she hears it, in her chest, behind her eyes, somewhere wordless and immediate. She stops thinking about the cigarette immediately as the music starts playing.

Between the singing and dancing that ___ and Sunhee have been doing, they almost miss Sunhee’s phone going off. She reads the message and is immediately a different person, “My patient just went into labour” she announces to ___ as she’s picking up her bag.

“How’ll you get back?” ___ yells over the music, "I'll call a cab-" "Are you sure-"

"___." Sunhee stops for a second and looks at her properly for one second, the exit forgotten. Her expression does something warm and knowing and slightly unbearable. "Stay."

"I was going to stay-" "I mean after." She squeezes her hand once. "Stay after."

___ opens her mouth and closes it, not able to form any words at the moment. The crowd surges around them as the last few songs begin to play, enormous and bright, and Sunhee is already moving toward the exit, bag on her shoulder, phone to her ear, slipping through the crowd with the quiet efficiency of someone who has somewhere more important to be.

___ sees him, her eyes almost involuntarily finding him every now and then, smiles to herself seeing him so happy on stage, his cute mannerism that she’s finding too endearing. How the crowds cheer for them, the heart that they sing and dance with, this kind of passion could move anyone.

The final note ends, the roar that comes after is physical, a wall of sound, and the boys walk back out for their bow, all of them, together, the stage lights warm on them, and the crowd sends everything it has left toward the stage in one long unbroken wave.

___ stays seated as the people around her continue to gather their stuff and move around, ready to leave. She's not sure where to go or what the protocol is or whether there even is a protocol, the text that said see you after suddenly very present in her mind now that after is here.

She's still sitting when someone appears at the end of her row. Yoongi's Manager, the same one who met her outside the venue, was efficient and unhurried, with the quiet competence of someone who has done this exact thing many times.

"Ms. Lee." He nods once. "If you'll follow me."

She picks up her clutch and stands too quickly, smoothing her dress in one swift motion, she walks as she reapplies her lipstick, hoping this can mask the lack of makeup.

She follows him through the emptying stadium toward the back, the crowd thinning around her, the stage growing closer, the noise of the night shifting into something quieter and more specific the further in they go.

The hallway outside the green room is not what she expected, though she's not sure what she expected exactly. It's busy in the contained way of post-show logistics, staff moving with purpose, and people. Guests, she realizes, a few of them, recognizable faces standing in the particular way that recognizable people stand when they're in a space that isn't quite public, relaxed but not fully, aware but performing unawareness. 

Jimin notices her first as they emerge from the resting room, having caught their breaths after the concerts and now ready to greet their guests. His eyes land on her and then move to Yoongi in the same second, quick and unnoticeable to anyone not watching for it. She catches it.

The group collectively greets a few people as ___ stands on the side, not wanting to be in people’s way when Yoongi stops right in front of her.

Still slightly out of breath, towel around his neck, water bottle in hand, his eyes find her sneakers first. They make her considerably shorter than him and she watches him register this, his gaze traveling up slowly before it finds her face.

"Hi," he says softly, a small smile spreading on his face, she’s about to say something when he pulls her by the arm, away, in another quiet room, away from the people. 

"Oh my god, you guys were incredible. I think my throat actually hurts from how much I was cheering, which has never happened to me before in my life-" Yoongi sets his water bottle down and disappears behind a curtain at the far end of the room, changing, and she can see his silhouette moving and hear the quiet sounds of someone pulling off a jacket, a shirt, the efficient undressing of someone who just wants to be in normal clothes as quickly as possible.

"-the production, the stage is so massive, and the crowd, every one having the best times of their life, my hearts still beating like crazy, I can’t even imagine what yours is doing” she talks naturally, like a person who had a life altering experience and needs to share it. There’s a faint laughter from his end as he continues behind the curtain. 

“Seriously, the scale of this is crazy, you guys were amazing” He says nothing for a moment. She can hear him pulling on something. 

He's tired, she can hear it underneath the silence, the particular quality of exhaustion that has gone past the point of showing itself and become something quieter. He performed for three hours, he's been doing this for days and he's here, behind a curtain, listening to her talk about the lighting.

She stops talking suddenly, very aware of how much she’s rambled on, "Sorry," she says. "You're exhausted." “I want to hear everything you have to say ___” he speaks softly as he emerges from behind the curtain. 

“I always have a lot to say Yoongi,” she stops, copying the same emphasis he just placed on her name, “You might get tired of how much I have to say” she continues as he stops by a table, dropping all the clothes he was just wearing now that he’s in a simple jeans and black shirt. 

Yoongi isn’t just tired, he’s exhausted, exhausted enough to do what he’s done each night after a show, and rush home. But he simply takes a seat on the sofa opposite to hers, he wants to continue listening to her voice. 

“Seriously, it was amazing, congratulations, I would have brought flowers or something if I didn’t directly come from the air-” “You have freckles around your nose, they’re um” Yoongi interrupts. It comes out before he's made a decision about it. The exhaustion, probably. The way tiredness removes the small delay between thinking and saying, the buffer he usually relies on.

The briefest pause where his senses catch up with his mouth and he considers his options and decides on honesty anyway. "Very pretty." 

The silence between them is the particular kind that has too much in it to be comfortable and too much in it to break carelessly. “Your friend? I didn’t see her-” “Oh her patient went into labour so she had to rush out, but she caught most of the concert and is now probably prepping to deliver a baby” 

“Oh” that’s all Yoongi can muster now that the buffer of a friend is gone, when Yoongi was imagining seeing her after the concert, he kept imagining the friend. “Yeah, but I should get going too, you must be tired” 

“I am tired, but I can still drop you home?” Yoongi asks, knowing full well that he should have probably asked her for dinner, given the thin smile on her lips. “Please, I can find my way-” “There’s going to be a lot of traffic ___” Yoongi offers and she smiles briefly as he says her name again, the particular softness that he uses. 

"It's late," she says. "Which is why there'll be traffic."

"Yoongi-" "My car is already outside." He says it simply. "It's not out of the way." She looks at him for a moment. He looks her straight in the eyes for a second, like he really means this and isn’t offering this out of some formality. 

“You don’t know where I live” she says with a teasing tone as they both stay seated, not quite ready to move onto what comes next. “Today I learn your address then”

The car is quiet, not the uncomfortable kind, but the kind where neither of them knows what to say. None of them imagined the string of events that led to this, it almost makes Yoongi chuckle to himself as he thinks about how vehemently against this he was, his mother can’t know any of this yet. Not until he knows why he keeps reaching for his phone for her text back, why he saved her address without thinking about it, why he's sitting in a car at midnight when he should be in bed.

He doesn't know yet. He'd like to figure it out quietly, without his mother's involvement, which is the only way anything survives in its early stages.

“So, the tour, you guys must leave soon” ___ speaks up as they stop at a red light, the traffic is indeed awful. “Yes, Japan, then the US, Mexico, back to US and then back in Korea around mid June” Yoongi hears himself say it. All of it, laid out in sequence, the shape of the next several months suddenly made concrete in the quiet of the car. 

Somewhere in the middle of the list he understands, clearly and exactly why he told his mother he didn't have time for a girlfriend. Why he'd meant it. Why it was true then and remains true now regardless of freckles or the jackets or the way she says his name.

He can't do this to someone. The disappearing, the timezone math, the months of existing primarily as a name on a phone screen. He knows what that looks like from the inside and he knows what it asks of the person on the other end and it's a lot. It's always been a lot.

"Mid June," she says quietly, doing the math the same way he just did. "Mid June," he confirms with a long exhale.

"Do you get used to it?" she asks. "The schedule."

He thinks about it for a few seconds, deciding on how honest he should be, "You get used to moving," he says. "You don't really get used to leaving."

The car stops at another light. Somewhere outside a group of people are spilling out of a restaurant, loud and warm on a Sunday night, and she watches them through the glass.

She’s almost thirty two, a gallery she loves, clients she's spent years building relationships with. A life that moves exactly the way she designed it to move. She doesn't need to complicate that. ___ knows this.

She can't quite bring herself to be realistic about this, even if she has been realistic about way less complications in the past.

"What are you thinking about," he says, he needs to know just what she’s thinking because he knows it can’t be good.

She glances at him, he's looking ahead at the road, not at her, but his attention is entirely on her answer. "The tour," she says. Which is true but not all of it.

He nods, something in his jaw shifts slightly, the way it does when he's decided not to say something.

"Yoongi." "Mm."

"It's a long time to be away." "It is," he says, simply with no argument, he knows there isn’t one.

The light turns green. "Do you…" she starts and stops to try again "Is there ever a point where it gets easier? The coming back. Picking things back up."

He's quiet for a moment. "Depends what you're picking back up," he says.

She looks at him. He's still looking at his hand now and the city lights are moving across his face in slow intervals and she thinks distantly that this is an unreasonable amount of person to have discovered in an elevator.

She looks back out her window. "I'm not twenty anymore," she says, mostly to herself.

"Neither am I." "I mean-" she turns her rings once. "I used to be better at not thinking ahead."

"What do you see?" he asks. "When you think ahead." She's quiet for a long moment, outside Seoul continues, indifferent and bright.

"A very long tour schedule," she says finally. He exhales through his nose. Not quite a laugh, almost a laugh like he’s had this discussion before, "Yeah, that’s just the first leg" he says quietly.

The car moves through the city and neither of them solves anything and somehow that's alright, the silence settling back around them like something they've agreed to for now, the kind of quiet that isn't an ending, just a pause.

The car stops outside her building and they both get out, the night air cool after the warmth of the car. She tilts her head back slightly to take in the street, familiar and quiet, and he falls into step beside her naturally, walking her to the entrance the way he'd stood up to walk her out of the green room.

They stop at the entrance. The streetlight catches everything, her hair, her rings, the white sneakers. He's still in his cap and mask pulled down, hands in his pockets, adjusting his cap without meaning to, forward, back, forward again.

Neither of them starts the conversation. She looks up at him and he looks somewhere just past her, and the comfortable quiet of the car has followed them out onto the pavement.

"I think we should go on a date," she says. He goes very still as his eyes find her.

"A real one." Even, practical, like she's proposing something with a clear agenda. "Before Japan. Before our rational sides catch up with us and decide this is a terrible idea." A beat. "An experiment. To find out if there's actually anything here before we decide there isn't."

He knows what he should say. He's been doing the math since the car, since she said mid June in the quiet way she said it. He knows what this looks like, the beginning of something, the successful experiment she's predicting, and he knows what comes after that too, what he'd be asking her to sign up for.

___ deserves someone who comes home on a regular basis. Yoongi knows this.

"You know it won't stop there," he says quietly. "If the experiment works."

"I know," she says. "The tour is-" "I know, Yoongi."

"I'm just saying you might-" "I know." She says it gently, firmly, the way she says things when she's already thought them through and doesn't need him to think them through on her behalf. "I'm aware of what I'm suggesting."

He looks at her for a long moment, the way she’s fidgeting with her rings, "Okay," he says.

"Okay?" "One dinner." He holds her gaze. "Before Japan."

She nods once, that's when he looks down.

The height difference from here, standing on the pavement, is… notable. He does the mental calculation of exactly what his mother said and feels the smile coming.

"What," she says immediately. "Nothing." He presses his lips together and fails entirely. "My mother said you were short enough for me."

She stares at him. "She said that."

"Among other things." "Short enough for you," she repeats.

"Her words, not mine" "And what do you think?" He looks down at her from the full, considerable distance of his height, cap crooked, mask around his chin, and says with complete straightness,

"I think she was right."  She laughs brightly and he lets himself smile properly this time, all the way, and for a moment they're just two people standing outside a building at midnight laughing about height and mothers and the specific absurdity of how they got here.

She steps back and looks up at him one last time. "Goodnight, Yoongi." "Goodnight, ___."

She turns and goes inside, the door closing quietly behind her, he stands there a moment longer than he needs to. Reaches up and adjusts his cap.

Gets back in the car and looks at the ceiling for a long moment, the city moving quietly around him.

He knows how this goes. He knows himself well enough to know that one dinner won't be one dinner, that the experiment is going to tell them both exactly what she predicted it would, and that she said I'm aware of what I'm suggesting with the confidence of someone who has never actually done this before. Not with someone like him. Not with a schedule like his.

She'll be realistic about it eventually. Everyone is, eventually. He just hopes she is the anomaly in the experiment that his dating history has been.

"-so you just decided, so young, that music was your calling?" "I didn't decide anything." He turns his glass slightly on the table, a small rotation, thinking about how to explain it to someone who hasn't lived it. "It was more like…the decision had already been made somewhere and I was just catching up to it."

She rests her chin in her hand, elbow on the table, the way she settles in when she's properly interested in something. She's been doing it on and off all evening and he's stopped pretending not to notice. "That's how it feels with the work I love too," she says. "Like you didn't choose it so much as recognize it."

He looks at her. "Exactly that." The restaurant is quiet around them, the kind of quiet that Tuesday buys you, a handful of other tables, low light, no one paying attention to anyone else. 

"Okay," she says, picking up her glass. "Worst part of the job. Honestly." He thinks about it and she waits, turning the stem of her glass between her fingers, patient.

"The losing yourself of it," he says. "Not in a dramatic way. Just…" he pauses. "You're performing a version of yourself for long enough and you start to lose track of where that version ends."

She's quiet for a moment. "Does it come back?" she asks. "The original version."

"I'm still figuring that out." She nods slowly, like she's filing that somewhere careful. Not with pity. He'd noticed pity immediately and she seems to know that. 

"Your turn," he says. "People assume I do this because I come from money," she says, the same even tone she uses for everything. "That it's a hobby dressed up as a career. Something for a well bred woman" She pauses to take a sip of her wine. "I would have done this regardless of the money. The money just meant no one could stop me from starting early."

He nods. That he understands, the specificity of a thing choosing you rather than the other way around. She looks at him for a moment. Something shifts slightly in her expression, a decision being made.

"Can I ask you something personal?" she says. "We’ve been doing that for some time now" Yoongi notes with a light chuckle.

"More personal." He leans back slightly, arms loose. "Okay."

"Do you actually want this? Not the date, not…" she gestures between them. "In general. A person. Do you want one or do you like the idea of wanting one?"

The table goes quiet. He looks at her steadily and she looks back, unhurried, leaving the question exactly where she put it.

"That's a good question," he says. "I know."

He takes a sip of his wine as he prepares to talk, "I miss it," he says simply, like something admitted for the first time in a while, to someone actually listening. "Having a girlfriend. Having someone who… knows your schedule well enough to know when you're tired before you say it. Someone to call when something happens. Good or bad." He pauses. "Someone to just, be there."

She's quiet as she leans in, like she wants him to know she’s listening. "I've told myself that life makes it impossible," he continues. "And it's not untrue. It's hard, it's always been hard." He glances up at her. "But I think I've been using it as a reason not to try. Which is different from it actually being impossible."

"That's honest," she says. "You asked."

"I did." ___ says with a small smile. "Your turn. Same question."

She exhales softly, "Yes," she says, without hesitation, which means she's known it for a while. "I'm not complicated about it. I just want someone, I've always wanted someone." She turns her ring once. "I've just been spectacularly unlucky."

He looks at her., and then her glass, and then the residual of her lipstick on the glass, "Unlucky how?"

She laughs, short and genuine, the kind that comes from a story that has lost its sting and kept its absurdity. "The last person I was serious about decided to move to London for work and forgot to mention it until two weeks before he left." She picks up her fork. "Before that there was someone lovely in every way except that he was still in love with his ex. Which he also didn't mention."

"I have good instincts about art," she continues, "and terrible instincts about men. Which is a very specific combination of traits to be living with” He presses his lips together, like he’s trying to suppress a smile.

"You can laugh," she says. "I'm not laughing."

"You're doing the thing where you're not laughing." He looks away briefly and then back at her, the wine really helping him look at her, "I'm not laughing at you."

"I know." She sets her fork down. "It's tiring, mostly. Being caught off guard by people when you're not someone who gets caught off guard easily."

The table settles into a quiet with something real in it now. The lightness still underneath but something more honest sitting on top as their plates get cleared, signaling a clear end to their date, or at least their time at the restaurant. 

"How's the experiment going," he says, after a moment as he quietly places his card in the bill book.

She looks at him, steady and warm. "Terribly," she says with a pleasant smile.

He smiles into his glass. "Yeah," he says. "Same." Yoongi reaches into his pocket for his mask as they step outside, pulling it up with the practiced ease of someone who has done it ten thousand times, adjusting it once.

The street is empty and still. Tuesday midnight belongs to no one in particular. "I'll walk you home," he says, naturally, already falling into step beside her. “It’s a long walk” ___ retorts as they walk, hands brushing every now and then.

“It’s a two minute walk ___” Yoongi offers plainly as he doesn’t move away. They fall into step together and talk as they walk, nothing important, nothing that needs to be, she says something about a show she's been meaning to see, he says something about a track he's been sitting on for weeks, small things, the kind of conversation that exists just to keep the evening going a little longer.

It’s all light and breezy till they reach a crossing, he reaches out and takes her hand. His hand just finds hers as they step off the curb, the way you do something you've been doing for years. Fingers wrapping around hers, already looking both ways, already moving.

She looks straight ahead, hoping her hair masks some of her blush. They cross, but he doesn't let go.

She doesn't say anything. Neither does he. They just keep walking, her hand in his, and she looks at the street ahead with the expression of someone being very deliberate about not smiling and not quite managing it.

He looks at the building and looks back at her. Her hand still in his, the evening sitting between them with nowhere left to go, he leaves for Japan tomorrow, the night air cool and still around them.

She tilts her head up at him. "Do you want to come up?" she says. "I have dessert. Ice cream" she says as she tries to tug her hand to gesture with her hand, which he doesn’t let go.

He's looking at her with the particular expression she's learning, the one that isn't quite a smile but is adjacent to one, the one that lives mostly in his eyes, quiet and certain and slightly devastating at close range.

"Ice cream," he repeats. "Yes."

"What kind?" "Does it matter?"

He considers this with complete seriousness. "Somewhat."

"Yoongi." "I'm asking a reasonable question-"

"Come upstairs and find out," she says, and turns toward the entrance, and this time he lets her hand go, only to hold the door open for her, which she walks through without looking back at him because her face is still doing the thing and she needs another three seconds before she can be a normal person again.

Her apartment is exactly what he would have guessed and nothing he was fully prepared for.

Organized chaos, the particular kind that has a system even if the system isn't immediately visible. Paintings leaning against the walls in clusters, some framed, some not, some wrapped in brown paper with labels in her handwriting. Books on every surface, some closed, some splayed open face down. Magazines stacked in a way that suggests they're referenced rather than decorative.

It's lived in. Genuinely, thoroughly lived in, and it suits her so precisely. They end up on the sofa without deciding to, the way they keep ending up places without deciding to. Her legs tucked under her, turned slightly toward him. Him at the other end, bowl in hand, looking at the painting propped against the wall directly across from them.

They talk. The ice cream disappears somewhere in the middle of a conversation that moves from her uncle to his producing to a collector in Geneva who cried when she found him a specific work he'd been searching for for eleven years. He tells her about what it feels like when a track finally becomes what it was supposed to be. She listens the way she always listens, fully, without waiting for her turn.

It's past one when his phone lights up on the cushion between them. Mom.

She sees it the same moment he does. He reaches for it. "Pick up her phone," she says sternly, the tone of teasing right there.

"I'm not -" "Do not cut your poor mother’s phone, she might be sick and worried" ___ adds dramatically and he huffs and picks up the call anyway.

"Mom." "Where are you?" She’s wide awake, unbothered by the hour. "You're never out this late, are you sick-" "I'm not sick-"

"Have you eaten?" "I had dinner" "With who-"

___ opens her mouth with that same teasing smile and his hand moves before he's decided to move it, swift, certain, palm covering her mouth completely, cutting off whatever she was about to contribute to this situation as he closes the distance between them.

She goes still as he keeps his eyes forward, continuing the phone call, entirely composed. "With a friend, Mom, I'll be home soon"

___ looks up at him over his hand. She very aware, in the specific silence of having nothing to say because there is a hand preventing her from saying it, of his hands. The size of them. The warmth. The way it covers most of her lower face with a kind of easy certainty that she is finding deeply inconvenient given the current context of a first date and his mother on the phone and her own heartbeat which has made a unilateral decision she hasn't approved.

"You sound strange," his mother says. "I'm fine." 

"Which friend?" "Mom -" ___ raises her eyebrows at him. He finally looks at her, briefly, and whatever he sees makes him look immediately back at the painting on the wall across the room.

His hand stays and she stays still beneath it.

"Come home soon," his mother says. "Soon," he confirms. "Go to sleep"

He hangs up with a huff and neither of them moves. His hand is still there, warm against her face, and the apartment is very quiet around them, the painting on the wall offering no commentary whatsoever.

Slowly, with the careful deliberateness of someone making a considered decision, he lowers it. She looks up at him. He looks back at her, right beside her.

"You were going to say something," he says shyly as his hand comes to rub his neck.

"I was going to be helpful," she says. "You were going to be a problem." "Same thing," she says with a smile, and her hands come up without much deliberation and fix his hair which the sudden movement moved out of place.

He goes very still, not uncomfortable. Just, very still. The way he goes still when something catches him off guard in a way he wasn't prepared to be caught. Her hand drops back down, briefly touching his thigh when she leaves them.

He's looking at her now, properly, the full direct version he allows himself in small increments, and from this close it's a lot. “I didn't expect to have this much fun," he confesses, his voice quieterl, like he's admitting something he hadn't planned to. "Not that I doubted you, I just-" he pauses, choosing the words carefully the way he does, "I haven't been on a first date this good in a while."

He looks at her when he says it, waiting for her reaction with the particular stillness of someone who has said a true thing and is now at the mercy of what happens next.

"I know," she says, and there's warmth in it, no teasing yet, just the honest version first. "I was kind of rooting for you to be this brooding, nonchalant musician, actually. Would have made it all much easier."

"Easier," he repeats. "To not like you," she says simply, reaching for her glass of wine. "I had a whole plan. You'd be aloof and a little difficult and I'd think, well, lovely person, interesting work, not for me." She takes a sip. "Very clean. Very uncomplicated."

"I almost cancelled," he says, after a moment. She raises an eyebrow. "Not because-" he stops, tries again. "I almost talked myself out of it. On the way over." He turns his glass slightly on the table, the small rotation she's noticed he does when he's thinking. "I do that. Find the practical reason not to."

"What changed your mind?" she asks. He's quiet for a moment, looks at the table, at his glass, briefly at her hands where they rest near her wine. “I really liked the feeling of seeing you after the concert," he says. Simply, without dressing it up, the way he says true things when he's decided to say them. He pauses. "I kept thinking about it on the drive over and I couldn't find a practical reason that was bigger than that."

She looks at him for a moment, this careful, deliberate man who thinks before he speaks and means everything he says and had apparently spent an entire car ride arguing with himself about her and lost. "The feeling of seeing me," she repeats, softly.

"Yes," he says. He's looking at her now, noticing how she looks in these dim lights.

They talk for a while, about something and nothing in particular, the night settling into the easy rhythm that has become theirs without either of them formally deciding. She tells him about an artist she'd found earlier in the year, eccentric beyond what that word usually covers, a man who'd moved deep into the woods over concerns about wifi radiation and could only be reached by a forty minute hike up an unmarked trail. "I showed up in the wrong shoes," she says, gesturing at her feet like the memory is still personal. "He didn't apologize. Just handed me a cup of something that tasted like tea and started showing me the work." She pauses. "It was extraordinary. The work, not the tea, the tea made me sick."

He's smiling properly now, elbow on the sofa back, chin in his hand, watching her the way he watches things he finds genuinely interesting. "Did you sign him?" 

"I'm working on it," she says. "He doesn't have a phone so it's mostly letters." A beat. "Actual letters. With stamps." He laughs, low and warm, and she tucks her feet further under her, satisfied.

He talks about tour, stories that surface easily now in the comfortable quiet of her living room, the way they don't always in interviews or in rooms full of people waiting for something quotable. A night in São Paulo where the rain came down so hard they could hear it over the speakers and the crowd stayed anyway, every single person, standing in it. The particular feeling, he says, quieter now, of standing in the wings before a show when everyone is there together, all seven of them, and the noise of the crowd coming through the walls like something alive.

"You miss them," she says, not a question. "It's different performing without all of them," he says simply. "It'll be good to be back."

She looks at him for a moment, the lamp throwing everything soft and warm, his profile against the dark of the window, the city quiet beyond the glass. She's been thinking about something, something which is a lot to ask on a first date, but asks anyway.

"How does it work?" she says. "A relationship. With you on tour." She says it evenly, no weight of accusation in it, just the genuine question, the one that has been sitting underneath the whole evening. "Practically. What does it actually look like?"

He's quiet for a moment, turning his glass slowly.  "A lot of texts," he says. "Voice notes when there's time. Video calls that get cut short because of schedules." He pauses. "Having them fly out for tour dates, as often as I can, as much as they can" He looks at the glass, talking in hypotheticals. 

“The hardest part isn't the being away," he continues. "It's not being there for the small things. The ordinary ones." He glances up at her briefly. "Someone has a bad day and you're in a different timezone and a text isn't the same as being there."

She's quiet for a moment, turning her ring. "No," she agrees. "It isn't."

"I'm not going to pretend it's easy," he says, and she can hear the care in it, the way he's choosing honesty over reassurance because he thinks she deserves the honest version. "It asks a lot of the other person."

"It asks a lot of both people," she says. He looks at her then. "You'd be the one leaving," she continues. "That's not nothing either." He holds her gaze for a moment, something shifting slightly in his expression, like she's said something he hadn't expected to be said. "No," he says quietly. "It's not."

It’s about three am when Yoongi yawns for the first time, ___ chuckles as she stands up, they’ve talked for a while, they could keep going, but he also leaves for the tour tomorrow.

“What time do you leave tomorrow?” ___ asks as she walks over to the kitchen and refills her glass, “Around 7 pm” Yoongi says as he checks his watch, very aware of the time. He stands up, swiftly putting on his jacket.

“I should go, we both have stuff in the morning” He says as he stands awkwardly, he isn’t sure how to say goodbye, or if he even wants to.

“Yeah…yeah we do” The silence that follows is different from the ones before. He shifts slightly, hands sliding into his pockets, then out again, like he can’t quite decide what to do with them.

He’s not usually like this, but there’s something about this, about her, that’s throwing off his usual rhythm.

“Tonight was…” he starts, then stops, he exhales lightly, glancing away for a second before meeting her eyes again. “A successful experiment” ___ adds as she walks over, stopping just a few steps away from him.

“___,” he starts again, quicker this time, like if he hesitates he won’t say it at all. “I’d like to see you again.”

The words land between them, steady but unpolished, so painfully honest. “My life is complicated,” he continues, glancing at her briefly before looking back, like he’s choosing not to hide behind anything. “But I feel like we’ve got something good.”

He pauses there, watching her, trying to read her before he goes any further. He continues quietly, “something real”

For a second, she just looks at him, and then her smile grows. “I was hoping you’d say that,” she admits, closing the small distance between them.

Now they’re close, closer than before, close enough that she can see the growing blush on his face, “Because I was about to say the same thing.”

That catches him off guard, just slightly, his expression shifting to relief and something more warm. “Good,” he says, softer now.

“You know,” she adds lightly, her voice dropping just a little, “for an experiment, this went pretty well.”

“Mm.” “Almost like we should repeat it.”

That earns the faintest hint of a smile from him. “I was planning on it.”

Her eyes flick briefly to his lips before returning to his eyes, the movement subtle and quick, but not quick enough to escape him, and in that fleeting moment something in him settles, something quiet but certain, like a decision finally catching up to a feeling he’s been circling all night.

His hand lifts again, more deliberate this time, coming to rest at her waist, fingers curling slightly as if he’s grounding himself, or maybe holding onto the moment just a little longer, like he’s aware of how easily it could slip past them if he rushes it.

He doesn’t rush, and he doesn’t overthink it either, which for him is saying something, because there’s usually a pause, a calculation, a reason to hold back, but not now.

He stops just short of her, close enough that the space between them feels intentional rather than hesitant, close enough to feel the warmth of her breath, to give her the chance to pull away if she wants to, to change her mind, to set the boundary before he crosses it.

But she doesn’t, instead, she closes that last bit of distance herself, leaning in just slightly, just enough to meet him halfway, and that’s all the confirmation he needs.

When he kisses her, it’s softer than expected, not because he’s unsure, but because he’s choosing to be careful with it, choosing to let it build rather than take, and there’s something in that restraint that makes it feel more intentional, more real.

Her hand comes up almost immediately, pressing lightly against his chest, not to stop him but to steady herself, or maybe to feel something tangible in the middle of everything that suddenly feels a little too charged, a little too new.

And that’s what shifts it, that simple contact. It deepens the kiss, not dramatically, not all at once, but enough to change it from something tentative into something that lingers, something that holds, something that neither of them seems in a hurry to end.

___ didn’t know how to feel when Yoongi sent her the flight tickets. She isn’t even sure if they’re in a relationship, how does one qualify this as a relationship when it went from a phenomenal first date to flying across continents for the second one.

They’ve been constantly in touch with each other, texting, calling, even video calling a few rare times, each sending pictures from their day, and usually ___ would have classified this as something too difficult for 31 and moved on, but he’s just charmed her. His soft laughter, sending her flowers to the gallery, song samples that he genuinely wants her thoughts on. 

She's found herself laughing into her phone more than she has in recent memory. While she drives to work and he's somewhere between cities, still half asleep, voice low and unhurried. While he eats dinner and she scrapes together a lunch at her desk, their schedules overlapping in whatever small window the timezones allow. The video call where he talked her through using a power drill for twenty minutes with the focused patience of someone who genuinely could not rest until she could hang the paintings in her living room.

___ pushes all the doubts aside as she moves through the airport, it’s still early morning and a significant amount at the San Francisco airport. ___ spots Mr Shin right away, Yoongi’s manager standing there with a warm smile as he waves his hands to greet her. 

"Morning, Ms. Lee." He's quick, stepping forward to take her bag before she's even fully registered the intention. "How was the flight? Did you eat?" "I'm fine, really-" but the bag is already gone, and he's already moving, and she has learned enough about the people in Yoongi's orbit to know that efficiency is a personality trait they share collectively. She falls into step beside him.

The car is black, tinted, parked just beyond the terminal in the kind of spot that suggests someone made a phone call. Mr. Shin rounds the front of it and she follows, and that's when she sees him.

Yoongi is standing on the far side of the car, away from the flow of arrivals, away from the small clusters of people watching the arrivals gate. He's in a cap and a mask, hands in the front pocket of his hoodie, she isn’t sure if he’s smiling, but his eyes light up for sure. 

She stops for just a second. Then she keeps walking and he straightens slightly, the way he does when he's trying to look like he wasn't just waiting, and she would tease him about it if her own face wasn't currently doing something she'd prefer it didn't.

"Hi," she says, stopping in front of him. "Hi." His eyes move over her briefly, the way they do, quick and considered. “Long flight?" Yoongi asks, almost instinctively taking the massive handbag from her hand, their fingers brush, the simple touch is enough to wake him up.

“Yeah, there was so much turbulence, I didn’t get a minute's sleep” ___ shares as they stand a few steps away from each other, none of them ready to be bold this morning. “How do you look this beautiful after fourteen hours of no sleep?” Yoongi comments, a compliment filled with genuine curiosity.

___ blinks once. Then she breaks into that familiar laughter, the real one, sudden and unguarded, her hand coming up to hit his arm softly. "That's not-" she starts, still laughing, shaking her head. "You can't just say things like that."

"I'm just asking," he says, and he's smiling now too, the full version, the one that takes over his whole face when he's not paying attention to stopping it. "You're not just asking, you're-" she gestures vaguely at him, at the general situation, at whatever this is, and he watches her do it with quiet satisfaction. 

“Mr Min, we’re ready to leave” Mr Shin speaks before he gets into the driver seat, they’re in the car quickly, ___ is the first to yawn then Yoongi when she laughs again, there isn’t much being said, both of them just glad to be in each other’s presence.

“Is there anything specific you want to do before you fly to LA?” Yoongi asks after three complete minutes of silence, he has five days before their dates in Stanford, but ___ has combined this trip with some work trip.

“Golden gate bridge for sure, lots of coffee” ___ talks as she looks ahead at the GPS, it’s going to be thirty minutes till they reach the hotel, “and eat all the food we can in Chinatown” she turns to face him, Yoongi is currently taking very serious mental notes, hoping he remembers this all. 

"Everything," she adds, because she means it. "Dim sum, noodles, everything." "Everything," he repeats, solemnly, like he's committing it to memory.

The city slides past in the early grey light, the fog sitting low over everything, soft and unhurried. ___'s exhausted in the particular way that crosses the point of feeling like exhaustion and becomes something closer to weightlessness, the fourteen hours and the turbulence and the airport and the adrenaline all catching up at once now that she's finally still.

He's warm beside her, warm and solid and here, actually here, not a voice through a speaker or a name on a screen, and she is tired enough and brave enough that when her head tips sideways and finds his shoulder. 

“Is this the shoulder with the surgery?” ___ snaps out of it, lifting her head slightly just to confirm things. Yoongi is still for a second, "No," he murmurs. His arm comes around her, slow and easy, like it's the most natural thing, settling at her back with a gentleness that she feels all the way through the exhaustion. 

“I’m glad you’re here,” Yoongi shares a few moments later, knowing she’s fully awake. “Even more glad that you can stay a month” he murmurs softly into her hair as his hand gently rubs her shoulder. Her hand finds the fabric of his hoodie, fingers curling lightly against it, too tired to talk. Yoongi rests his cheek gently against the top of her head and looks at the road ahead with the expression of a man who is trying very hard not to think about how much he already doesn't want this month to end. 

___ feels like a zombie dragging herself, barely awake yet fully awake, full of food, desserts and coffee that they kept stuffing each other with. Yoongi walks back to the park bench, water in hand and he too feels like he’s ready to call quits on the day even if it’s only 6 pm yet. 

“You don’t look too well, do you have a fever?” Yoongi asks as he hands her the bottle, wiping his hand against his jeans before checking her temperature. ___ almost immediately falls into his touch, her eyes closing, her whole body leaning slightly into his hand like she's been needing to rest against something for a while now and this is close enough. 

"I am just-" she starts, then stops, organizing her words with some effort. "I can see how much you've planned, I know you looked things up and I know you had the whole route figured out and I genuinely loved today, all of it, the food and all of it-" she opens her eyes and looks at him, earnest despite the exhaustion, "-but can we just go back to the hotel and sleep." A pause. "You should stay out," she adds, because she means it, "get some air, do something, I just really really need to crash."

He looks at her for a long moment. His hand has moved from her forehead to the back of her neck, resting there lightly, and she hasn't moved away from it. “Let me call a car, we can go to that restaurant some other time” he whispers mostly to himself as ___ sighs with relief, going back to resting against the bench back. 

“I promise I’ll be a lot more fun tomorrow morning, I just need to sleep” ___ mumbles and Yoongi can’t help but be fascinated by this new side to her, the extremely exhausted that makes her whiny. "Why didn't you say anything sooner?" he asks, looking at her sideways, and his arm comes around her naturally, his hand finding her far shoulder and drawing her back toward him, her head settling against him with the ease of something practiced.

"I hadn't seen you in so long," she says finally, her voice quiet and honest, the filter that exhaustion removes making everything simpler. "I didn't want to waste time sleeping."

He goes still, not visibly, not in any way she'd catch in the state she's in, but something in him just stops for a moment and sits with that. “Please just tell me the next time you’re too tired” Yoongi pleads as a car rolls in, hoping it’s theirs.

"Come on," he says gently, standing and bringing her with him, his hand steady at her back. She goes without complaint, leaning into his side, and he keeps his arm around her as they walk toward the car, her steps slow and his matching them without thinking about it. 

“Are you sure you don’t want to eat anything? Room service? Have food picked up?” Yoongi talks as he swipes the key card, “I can’t, I feel nauseous already” ___ answers with great delay as she picks up the pace, walking up to it but struggling to open it.

“Need any help?” Yoongi asks and ___ simply nods walking to the washroom, she is optimizing the time, going straight to washing up while Yoongi finds her pyjamas. He helps her out, wiping her face that she left damp, helping her remove her rings and watch, and is almost fascinated by the speed in which she gets into bed. 

Yoongi slips into bed approximately twenty minutes later, hoping she’s already asleep and it seems to be true until she stirs towards him. “I am so sorry” ___ mumbles and Yoongi’s eyebrows knit as she moves even closer, or he does, Yoongi’s not sure.

“___ you flew across continents for me, you’re allowed to be tired” Yoongi speaks softly, pushing some of her hair behind her ear. “I know, it’s just that I thought we’d be having sex and instead we’re falling asleep at 6 pm” she speaks against his arm and something in his chest does a complicated thing and he presses his lips together and looks at the ceiling for a moment, and the laugh that comes out of him is low and quiet and completely helpless, the kind that sneaks up on him. 

“We have an entire month” Yoongi reassures her, he isn’t sure what the move is, this is technically their second date, but he also wants to cuddle her, maybe even kiss her if he could be just a bit braver. “I counted, and with your work and mine, we only have 17 days together”

He pulls her in, properly, his arm coming around her, and she goes without stirring, fitting against him with the ease of something that has been doing this for years instead of days.

"Seventeen days is a lot," he says softly, into her hair. She makes a small sound, almost agreement, almost already dreaming. “We can still have a lot of fun, just tell me the next time you’re tired like this" he says, quieter now, his head leaning down but ___ seems to be fast asleep against his chest. 

Yoongi has rules about this sort of thing. No sleeping in the same bed before the fifth date. No inviting someone on tour before you're actually together. No cuddling before, he looks down at her, well.

He looks back at the ceiling. The rules were built for a specific kind of situation. A careful, sensible situation where feelings arrived in an orderly fashion. The rules had not accounted for ___ specifically, which in retrospect was a significant oversight in the design.

He exhales slowly, a bit scared of how much he’s already feeling but also very excited but it all, no one has been like her, she’s truly the anomaly to the experiment. 

“Come here, we should take pictures together as well” ___ gestures towards Yoongi who turns towards his security personnel with her phone. She’s banned pictures on his samsung, something about them just not looking right. Yoongi jogs beside her, the sun peaking through the golden gate bridge, the soft morning glow on her face, he can’t help but smile.

“You look very pretty in the morning” Yoongi compliments her, posing awkwardly beside each other. “You think I look pretty after a 14 hour flight, I don’t trust you” ___ teases as she shifts closer, the security guard continuing to take pictures.

“Well you’re always pretty to me,” Yoongi continues nonchalantly, like this is the most natural thing in the world, ___’s blush growing deeper. “Am I just that, arm candy Yoongi-si?” ___ teases as she looks up at him.

“Well that, also you're so terrifyingly confident and smart, so kind,” Yoongi says, his fingers intertwining with hers. “Wow, I’m arm candy for BTS’s Suga, I’ve finally made it in life” ___ jokes, mostly because she doesn’t want to process the other compliments he gave her.

"Okay," the security guard calls out, "I think I got some good ones." "Thank you," ___ calls back, and her voice only wavers slightly. Yoongi squeezes her hand once, still not looking at her, and starts back down the path, pulling her gently with him, away from the rocky terrain, his grip sure and unhurried.

“So, you fly to LA tomorrow morning?” Yoongi confirms as he drys his hair, he finds ___ staring at her phone intently, like she’s overanalysing something. “___?” he calls her again, walking closer. Yoongi sees her shuffling through the pictures from the golden gate bridge, stuck at one particular one where he’s looking at her instead of facing forward.

He sits down on the edge of the bed beside her. She looks up at him, then at the photo, then back at him. "What are we?" she asks. Not confrontational, not loaded, just genuinely asking, the way she asks things she actually wants answered.

He looks at her with the expression of someone who finds the question slightly puzzling. "What do you mean?" "I mean-" she gestures between them, "us. This. What is this."

"I'm your boyfriend," he says, simply, with complete confidence, the way he'd say something obvious, like the name of a street or the time of a flight. Then he tilts his head slightly, reading her face. "Was that not clear?"

She stares at him, “___ I begged you to join me for the tour, why would I do that? I didn't think we were dating?” Yoongi speaks, the towel coming up to her hair to dry it instead. “So, you’ve not brought girls around when they were just a fling?” ___ deflects again, teasing now that she’s gotten the answer she’s wanted.

“No” he says, flatly, no elaboration, the kind of no that closes a door completely. He keeps drying her hair, unbothered, and she lets him, looking up at him from where she's sitting, close enough now to see everything his face is doing in the quiet of the room. 

“Did you really think we were a fling or something, what’s it called now?” Yoongi stops to think for a second, “A situationship?” his amused tone is not helping the laughter escaping ___, her falling flat on the bed. 

“You grandpa, how do you know what that even is?” “Jungkook’s love live is complicated” Yoongi answers, pulling her up, but ___ just pulls him with her. She reaches up and pushes his damp hair back from his forehead, slow and deliberate, and he stays completely still beneath it, watching her, and when she doesn't move her hand away he turns his head slightly into it, just barely, just enough.

The kiss starts soft and then doesn't stay that way, his hand finding her waist, pulling her closer with the quiet certainty of someone who has wanted to do this all day and has run out of reasons not to. She goes willingly, her fingers curling into his shirt, unbuttoning his shirt almost immediately as his hands wander, his fingers running the length of her thighs, stopping just to pull her back up.

“Hey, you can’t do that” ___ complaints as Yoongi successfully makes her stand up, they have dinner reservations with the members in less than thirty minutes. “What? I didn’t do anything?” Yoongi answers with great restraint, knowing exactly what he just pulled.

“You know exactly what you just did Mr Min” ___ whines, going back to getting ready, very slowly putting on each piece of jewellery. “I kinda like being called Mr Min” Yoongi confesses as he watches her though the mirror, and the devious smile that immediately graces her lips scares him a bit. 

“Oh, do you Mr. Min?” ___ teases turning around, her blouse coming off in one swift motion. She's looking at him with the expression of a woman who has just evened a score and knows it, perfectly composed, completely unbothered. 

He looks at her, at the blouse on the floor, at her as she snaps off her bra in one swift motion, just standing there in a mini-skirt. "That's not fair," Yoongi mutters weakly, his eyes trailing all over her, clearly losing this as ___ pushes him back onto the bed. 

"Isn't it?" she says pleasantly, her hands moving quickly to unbutton his trousers. “How about, for the little move you pulled earlier, I just do this for a second and get dressed again?” ___’s voice is low as her hands rub against his bulge. 

“That’s just mean” Yoongi whines, propping himself against his arm, completely helpless to her whims as her soft hands wander, pulling his briefs low, “No what’s meaner is you pulling away after making me think you’re going to finger me” ___ complaints as Yoongi lets out a soft moan, her hand rubbing down his length.

“I am so sorry okay, but please keep going” Yoongi barely gets the words out as ___ gently kisses his tip. “Now what should we do, should I suck your dick or should we get dressed for dinner?” ___ knows they’re not making dinner when Yoongi moans a quiet please. 

Yoongi’s phone is going off on the nightstand, as Yoongi pulls ___ back to the bed, she’s spent far too much time on her knees and he needs to be inside her. “Darling you are so wet already” Yoongi murmurs in her ears as his nimble fingers rub in a circle. “Stop fucking teasing me” ___ whines, pushing his fingers inside her.

___’s breathless, so close to climax as Yoongi’s fingers keep going in a steady motion, no matter how much she wants, he refuses to pick up the pace, taking his sweet time. His phone rings just as ___ is shaking in his arms, the waves of orgasm sending shockwaves through her but Yoongi just keeps going.

Yoongi sighs with frustration as his phone rings once again, “Stay quiet, just for a minute” Yoongi mumbles, his fingers still going as ___ kisses his neck just to keep quiet. “Jimin-ah, we can’t make it, ___’s sick” Yoongi talks with a devious smile on his lips as ___ takes a sharp breath.

“Hyung be better with the excuses at least,” Jimin teases and Yoongi chuckles, “I swear, she’s not well, she’s been in bed all evening” Yoongi talks and ___ lightly bites his neck, so close once again. 

“Alright, if she’s sick, I hope she feels better” Jimin talks and all Yoongi does is hum as he ends the call. “You’re going to leave a hickey” Yoongi complains but ___ just cradles in his lap, facing him now, quickly putting on a condom.

“Maybe you shouldn’t have stopped to pick up a call” ___ continues biting where she was as Yoongi thrusts inside her, the motion sending her in a frenzy as he just keeps going, slow and soft. “Maybe you shouldn’t have taken off your top” Yoongi teases, steadying her in his arms, the glow on her face, how her hair keeps sticking everywhere, he could get used to this view.

“Maybe you shouldn’t have teased-” ___ stops talking as Yoongi picks up the pace, arching back with pleasure, Yoongi’s takes a sharp breath, “Are you close, I am so-” Yoongi nods, biting her lower lip, kissing her rapidly as they orgasm. ___’s limbs give out, both of them falling back into bed. 

She reaches up and traces the line of his jaw lightly, just because she can, just because she's allowed to now, and he closes his eyes briefly beneath it.  “I don’t think I can walk Mr Min” ___ teases, pulling the sheets over herself. “You are beautiful” Yoongi notes as he turns to face her, her cheeks still flush as they both continue to catch their breaths.

“So are you” ___’s voice is uncharacteristically shy as he pulls the sheet even higher, “I am beautiful?” Yoongi teases, his breath finally even. “Yes, you’re also so buff, where did those arms come from?” ___ talks, running a hand over her heart, trying to calm herself down. 

“Are you okay? Just give me a few seconds and I’ll get you some water” Yoongi mumbles, tucking her hair away, it’s gotten significantly longer since the first time he saw her, reaching her shoulders now. “I am fine, but you were great, really” ___ talks, shuffling closer till she’s firmly resting against his chest. 

“And you are so evil, but also so amazing, taking off your top and we just derail our evening like this” Yoongi talks and he can feel her laughing before he hears it. He pauses and looks down at the top of her head. "I had a plan for this evening," he continues..

She tilts her chin up to look at him, her eyes still warm with laughter, her cheek pressed against his chest. "Was this better than the plan?"

He meets her eyes. Looks away and looks back. "Don't," he says. "Was it?" "You're so smug," he tells her.

"Yoongi-si" "Significantly better than the plan," he admits, quietly, which is the most she's going to get and she knows it and takes it anyway, her smile pressing into his chest as she settles back down. His hand keeps moving at her back, slow and easy.

___ goes around the apartment, picking up after herself. She really needs a cleaning lady or move because the mess around her apartment has only grown over the last six months. Her job’s always involved some travel, with a boyfriend on tour she’s been away even more and she doesn’t even remember the last time she was in the guest room.

___’s also cleaning because Yoongi is finally going to be back at home for a month, and the last time he was here he spent half the time helping her clean. She dials his number as she moves through laundry, but when the call doesn’t go through she just assumes he’s flying home, the last concert before the break was yesterday morning.

Yoongi: I’ve sent a few desserts your home as consolation for not being there to celebrate your birthday tonight, he should be there in 20ish minutes

Yoongi: Are you even home?

___: I am home, I’m not feeling the best and my apartment needed some TLC

___: You didn’t have to send anything, you’ll be here tomorrow anyway

Yoongi: Not feeling well? Oh, the first week of the month… you absolutely need desserts

___: Are you tracking my period?

___: It’s kinda cute but I don’t think I ever told you that explicitly?

Yoongi: We started fighting around the same day each month and I connected the dots

___: Are you saying that I pick pointless fights around my birthday? Because that’s rude

Yoongi: Darling, last month we fought about if a window should be opened or not and then you cried when I very gently explained why it needs to be opened for airflow

___: This feels like we’re fighting about a fight, am I that irrational on my period?

Yoongi: I don’t care, all those hormonal changes and pain would make anyone irrational

Yoongi: Just rest till the desserts arrive, I kinda like organizing your mess

___: It’s not my mess, it’s organized chaos

Yoongi: An organized mess where I can’t find the salt in the kitchen

___: okay, it’s a mess

___ goes back to cleaning when her phone doesn’t buzz for a while, Yoongi must have gotten busy with something, so does she as he hauls her laundry over the sofa. She’s mid-folding when the bell rings, for a woman living alone she should have checked through the peephole before swinging the door open.

But she’s kinda glad she didn’t, because the sheer surprise she feels at the view of her boyfriend standing outside with flowers and his carry-on dropped to his feet. “Surprise!” he musters up all his energy for that, engulfing her in a tight hug as he finally takes a deep breath.

“Oh my god, I thought you were flying tomorrow?” ___ talks into his jacket, momentarily lifting her face, only to be hugged tighter. “I didn’t want to arrive tomorrow and be groggy and tired on your birthday” Yoongi talks into her hair, taking a long whiff of her hair. 

“So you flew directly after the concert?” “Who cares about the logistics, the important thing is that I am here” Yoongi talks as he finally detaches, taking a long look at her as he smiles widely. ___ intertwines their hands, leading him in and giving him approximately two seconds to drop all his stuff before she holds his face, it’s been too long since they’ve kissed. 

"I missed you so-" she says between kisses, soft and unhurried, her thumbs against his jaw, "-so much, and I love you so so much and you're like the best boyfriend ever-"

He makes a sound against her mouth that is warm and amused and tired all at once, his hands finding her waist, pulling her closer with the ease of something practiced, and she can feel him smiling into the kiss which makes her smile too, which makes kissing considerably more difficult and neither of them minds.

"Best boyfriend ever," he repeats, pulling back just enough to look at her, his eyes barely open from exhaustion, red rimmed from the flight and the concert and the night in between. "I also did a bunch of shopping for you at duty free. Does that get me any brownie points?” Yoongi asks his eyes trailing down the white dress she always wears just at home.

His eyes trail down the white dress she always wears at home, the one he's come to associate with her off days, her genuinely-at-rest days, the version of her that exists only in her own apartment with no clients to see and nowhere to be.

"Honey, baby, sugar plum buttercup-" she takes his face in her hands again, very seriously, "-that gets you so many brownie points, but you have got to stop spending so much money on me." She pushes her hair out of her face with one hand, still not used to the new cut, the layers falling everywhere, doing whatever they want.

"Why?" Yoongi says. He pouts, she's too busy dealing with the direct effect of it. "I have too much money to spend in a lifetime. I should spoil my girlfriend after being away for so long."

"Yoongi-" "Six weeks," he says. "Six weeks, one day, and-" he checks some internal calculation, "-about fourteen hours."

She stares at him. "You counted." "I'm just saying the math supports the duty free shopping." He reaches up and pushes the layered hair from her face himself, tucking it behind her ear the way he always does, watching it fall forward again immediately. His hand stays at her jaw. "I like the haircut."

"It does whatever it wants," she says, slightly mournfully. "I know." He tucks it back again, pointlessly. "I like it." She looks at him, at the exhaustion and the pout and the hand at her jaw and the duty free bags presumably somewhere in the carry-on she hasn't let him unpack yet, and she thinks that she has been thoroughly swooned by a man who is barely conscious.

"You're impossible," she says. "I love you” Yoongi states simply, the same way he did earlier this year in Paris. He just blurted it out one morning while leaving for rehearsal, never making a big deal out of it, like it was the most natural thing for him to say.

“Are you sure that you want to go on a trip before the last leg of the tour? You’ll be exhausted from travelling by then?” ___ talks through her airpod, her phone still somewhere in her purse as she continues to get the gallery ready for an event. 

“We haven’t just gone on a vacation just for us, it’s always been us trying to piece together a few days between the tour, that’s not a real vacation” Yoongi retorts as he sits down to get ready for the first Bangkok show. “There must be somewhere you want to go?” He continues already having shortlisted a few options.

“Oh this client last week was telling me about this amazing Maldives resort he went to, it’s so beautiful and private” ___ talks, fixing a few frames that still need to be put up. “He? Are you sure he was telling or was he offering?” Yoongi teases and ___ sighs. “I work in art, Yoongi,” ___ says. “Do you know how many men have tried to flirt with me by explaining private islands?”

He huffs out a laugh, the one that always sounds slightly disbelieving, like amusement caught him off guard. She can picture it immediately despite not being able to see him, head tipped back slightly in the makeup chair, phone balanced in one hand while someone fixes his hair.

“And?” he asks. “And what?” “Did the resort at least look nice?”

“Oh, unbelievable.” She bends to pick up a stack of exhibition cards from the floor. “White sand. Crystal water. Villas with pools bigger than my apartment.”

“See?” he says immediately. “You want to go.” She smiles despite how much they shouldn’t do this.  “I want to sleep,” she corrects. “You’ll be exhausted, I’ll probably have three openings back to back by then, and we’ll spend the entire trip unconscious.”

“You know,” he says after a moment, quieter now as the backstage noise fades slightly, “I think I miss you best when I’m tired.” Her hands still briefly over the stack of cards.

It’s such a Yoongi sentence, not dramatic or casual. Just honest in that careful devastating way he has. “What does that even mean,” she asks softly.

“I don’t know.” She hears movement, fabric shifting, maybe him leaning back in the chair. “When I’m busy I can ignore it because everything’s moving all the time. Schedules, rehearsals, flights. But when I get tired enough that my brain finally shuts up a little…” A pause. “You’re kind of the first thing I look for.”

“Honey you can’t just say stuff like that when I miss you like crazy” ___ speaks softly, all she wants is to see him, feel him, she’s just been missing him. Something in his chest pulls tight in that quiet painful way longing sometimes does when it lands at the wrong time of day. 

“Yesterday I was walking back home and all these couples were out,” she continues, absentmindedly straightening a stack of gallery brochures as she talks. “Getting dinner, holding hands, arguing about where to go, normal boring couple things.” A small laugh escapes her. “And I just kept wishing you were there.”

He looks down at the floor for a second. There’s always a specific kind of helplessness that comes with tour. He’s learned to live with it, mostly. The missing, the leaving, the constant temporary nature of things. 

“What would we have been doing?” he asks quietly. She smiles immediately at the question, hearing what it really is beneath it. 

“Probably arguing.” “About?”

“You refusing to let me smoke.” “You shouldn’t smoke.”

“You sound eighty years old.” “You cough for three business days afterward.”

“That’s not the point.” She walks toward the back office, lowering her voice instinctively once she’s away from the staff. “Maybe we’d stop for tteokbokki.”

“You always want tteokbokki at night.” “Because it tastes better at night.”

“That’s scientifically untrue.” She laughs softly, and he feels some invisible tension in himself ease at the sound. “And then,” she continues, settling into the fantasy now, “you’d insist on walking me home even though your place is in the opposite direction.”

“I would.” “I know.” Her voice gentles around the words. “That’s the problem.”

The thing about Yoongi is that he loves in practical ways first. Walking someone home. Buying three coffees because he doesn’t know which one they like. Remembering flight times. Sending weather screenshots. Calling managers to make impossible schedules work. But distance makes practical love difficult. 

Distance leaves him with words instead, and he’s still learning what to do with those. “I miss you too,” he says finally, the sentence low and steady and entirely unprotected. “More than I thought I would.” 

___ leans back against the desk behind her, eyes closing briefly. “Come home soon,” she murmurs.

There’s a long pause on his end, “I’m trying,” he says quietly, and she can hear the exhaustion underneath it now, the real one he saves mostly for her. “I think if I stay away from you much longer I’m going to start doing irrational things.”

She smiles immediately. “Like?” Another pause, she can practically hear him debating whether to say it.

“Looking at apartments closer to your gallery.” Her breath catches before she can stop it. Yoongi rubs his arm, not knowing if he’s said something utterly stupid, “Something for us maybe, I’ve just made one search” he continues honestly and ___ can’t help the tears welling in her eyes. 

On the other end Yoongi immediately notices the quiet stretching too long. “Hey,” he says softly, sitting up properly now. “I didn’t mean it like-” He rubs at the back of his neck, suddenly uncertain. “I’m not trying to pressure you or anything, I thought it’d be easier if I was closer to your gallery and then-”

He stops himself, he’s rambling. Which she’s realizing is rare enough from him that it almost makes her cry harder. “It was stupid,” he says quickly, already retreating from the admission. “Forget I said anything.”

___ lets out a wet laugh despite herself, shaking her head immediately even though he can’t see it.

“No,” she says quietly. “No, don’t do that.” He goes still. There’s noise around him again now, staff moving in and out, someone asking about wardrobe changes, but he’s listening to her so fully it’s almost tangible through the phone.

“I just…” She exhales shakily, pressing the heel of her hand briefly against her eyes. “You caught me off guard.”

“With the apartment thing?” “Yes, Yoongi, with the apartment thing,” she says with a laugh threaded through the emotion now. “You can’t casually mention moving in together while I’m actively suffering from how much I miss you”

He thinks about all the versions of them that exist lately only in transition. Her half asleep face on facetime at two in the morning while he’s eating room service in another timezone. Her voice breaking apart through bad hotel wifi. Him landing in Seoul already calculating how many hours they get before one of them leaves again.

This, exactly, was why he didn’t want a girlfriend. Not because he didn’t want love. Because he knew what happened when love had to survive logistics. Because somewhere deep down he understood that eventually another person would have to start structuring their loneliness around his schedule.

He drags a hand slowly over his mouth. “I used to think,” he talks carefully, “that if I never let myself really build something serious then maybe I could avoid doing this to someone.” A small humorless laugh escapes him. “Very logical solution. Very emotionally healthy.”

“Yoongi…” “No, it’s true.” He rubs at his arm absently now, exhaustion making him honest in that dangerous way it always does. “I know what this life feels like from the inside. I know how disappointing it can be sometimes.” His jaw shifts slightly. “Missing birthdays. Leaving dinners early. Watching someone you love get used to being alone.”

The gallery office suddenly feels too small around her. Because she can hear it now beneath everything he’s saying. Not fear of commitment, but the fear of becoming absent.

“I remember telling my mother I didn’t have time for a girlfriend,” he says quietly, a faint disbelieving smile touching his voice now. “And I meant it. I really did.” He pauses. “I think I thought wanting someone badly enough would just make the impossible parts hurt more.”

“And does it?” she asks softly. The room goes quiet on his end for a moment. “Yes,” he says honestly. Then, after a beat, “But not having you hurts more.”

The tears come properly then, silent and immediate. ___ presses her hand harder against her eyes, breathing out a shaky laugh because of course this is happening on a Thursday afternoon between exhibition setups. 

“I have to do math before I can even talk to you.” A wet laugh escapes ___. “Do you know how romantic it is calculating if your boyfriend is conscious?” That finally pulls a real laugh out of him, tired and warm and aching around the edges.

But she hears it fade quickly, because they’re both thinking the same thing now. How much work this is. How much wanting each other has become an active sustained effort. “That’s the part I didn’t expect,” Yoongi says after a while, quieter now. “How easy it would be to keep choosing you anyway.” 

___’s hand almost absentmindedly plays with the pendant Yoongi got her for her birthday, “Yoongi,” she says softly. “Mm?” “I love you.” The words leave her gently.

On the other end of the line he goes completely still. ___ keeps turning the pendant slowly between her fingers, eyes fixed on nothing now. “I love you when I’m exhausted and irritated and calculating timezones,” she admits quietly. “I love you when I’m angry at tour for taking you away from me.” A shaky breath leaves her. “I love you even when this feels impossible sometimes.”

His chest aches so sharply it almost feels like fear, not of her loving him. Of how badly he loves her back. Because Yoongi has spent most of his adult life believing love had to fit around ambition carefully or it would break beneath it. That eventually someone would ask him to choose. 

“I think,” she says softly, almost smiling through the tears now, “that’s how I know it’s real.”

He lowers his head briefly, eyes shut, he wishes she were here so badly it physically hurts. Wishes he could pull her into his lap and bury his face into her neck and stay there until this terrible restless homesick feeling finally settled. 

“You can’t say that right before I go on stage,” he says finally, voice rougher now. A soft laugh escapes her immediately. “I love you too, I love you in hotel rooms,” he murmurs. “In airports. Half asleep. Fully stressed. I love you enough that I catch myself looking for things to bring back for you in every country now.” A faint breath of a laugh. “Which is deeply embarrassing.”

Her eyes close tightly. “And I think…” He pauses, searching for the words carefully now because he wants to get this right. “I think loving you stopped feeling temporary a long time ago.” That one nearly undoes her completely.

“Hyung? Are you okay?” Jimin asks as they are once again leaving the airport, Yoongi quietly mumbles a no as they shuffle inside the car. “It’s been an exhausting tour, ___ and I had this big fight last week about something so stupid and god am I tired” Yoongi confesses as the car moves around the highway.

“What happened?” Jimin asks quietly. Yoongi lets out a humorless breath through his nose. “She fell asleep waiting for my call.” Jimin winces immediately. “Ouch.” “Yeah.”

“I know this life is hard,” he says after a while. “I knew it before we started dating. I just…” He laughs once bitterly under his breath. “I think I underestimated what it feels like when the person waiting for you is someone you actually can’t stand disappointing.”

Jimin watches him carefully for a moment. Yoongi has always carried guilt strangely. Quietly. Internally. Like he believes if he absorbs enough of it himself nobody else will have to. “I hate this part,” Yoongi murmurs eventually. “The feeling that no matter how hard I try, eventually my schedule still wins.” 

“Hyung,” he says softly, “you know what’s different though?” Yoongi glances at him tiredly. “You’re talking like someone who’s trying to keep her.” Jimin shrugs lightly. “Not someone looking for a way out.”

They’re quiet for the rest of the ride, Yoongi contemplating how he’s going to make it up to her, what he’s going to say. He almost dozes off till he’s being gently shrugged by Jimin, something about them being there. 

Yoongi steadies his bag as Jimin nudges his rib cage, hard. “___?” Yoongi can make her out of just her shadow as she leans against a car, they had discussed this a few weeks ago, he just didn’t expect her to be here after whatever yesterday was.

“What are you doing here?” She shrugs one shoulder lightly, though her eyes are already glassy in the parking lot lights.

“I wasn't going to show up just because we fought?” Something inside him breaks instantly at how simple she makes it sound. Yoongi looks down briefly, jaw tightening hard enough that she realizes suddenly he’s trying very seriously not to cry. 

“You shouldn’t have driven this late,” he murmurs instead because it’s safer than saying what he actually wants to say right now. “You shouldn’t have fought with me from another continent,” she replies softly.

That finally pulls a real breathless laugh out of him and then neither of them can really hold the distance anymore. Yoongi drops his bag carelessly onto the pavement just as she reaches him, and the second his arms wrap around her he exhales so deeply it almost sounds painful. Like his body’s been waiting to do that for days.

“I don’t want to say sorry because stuff like that might happen again and I can’t lie to you” Yoongi speaks truthfully. “I know,” she says quietly.

Yoongi’s expression shifts faintly at that, like he wasn’t entirely expecting this. “I just…” He exhales shakily, forehead dropping briefly against hers now. “I need you to know I’m never not trying.” His voice lowers. “Even when I get it wrong.”

“You know what the worst part is?” she murmurs softly. “What?” “I wasn’t even angry because of the phone call.” His hands tighten around her waist slightly. “I was angry because I missed you so much already.” A weak laugh escapes her. “And then I had to miss you disappointed too.”

Because that’s exactly what yesterday felt like, not conflict, longing with nowhere to go. Yoongi presses his forehead harder against hers, eyes closing briefly. “I hate that you cry because of me.” “You also make me very happy because of you,” she whispers immediately.

“That grammar was terrible.” “I’m emotional.” A tired laugh slips out of him then, quieter now, warmer. God, he missed this too. The way she can pull him back toward something lighter before he disappears too far into guilt.

“Now kiss and make up,” Jimin calls as he walks backwards toward his building entrance, duffel bag hanging off one shoulder. “I can’t take brooding Yoongi hyung anymore. He’s been unbearable all week.”

Yoongi sighs deeply without even looking at him. “Please go inside.” “I’m serious,” Jimin says, grinning now. “He kept staring out the van window like a divorced father.” ___ laughs against Yoongi’s shoulder immediately, the sound finally pulling a reluctant smile onto his face too.

“And he snapped at me because I asked if he wanted ramyeon.” “You asked me three times.”

“Because you looked emotionally unwell.” Yoongi shakes his head tiredly as Jimin snickers to himself. “Anyway,” Jimin says, swiping the card to the building gate, “fix him please”

Then a softer, fond voice follows, “You look better already, hyung.” And with that he disappears inside, leaving the two of them alone again beneath the parking lot lights. The silence settles differently now.

___ brushes her thumb lightly beneath his eye before speaking quietly. “Your parents are still on vacation, right?” He nods once slowly. “They left for Jeju yesterday, come home with me,” he says quietly. Yoongi’s hand slides up slowly into her hair, fingers curling gently at the base of her neck before he pulls her toward him and kisses her like he’s been hungry for her. 

His mouth soft against hers as he exhales shakily into the kiss, shoulders finally loosening beneath her hands for what feels like the first time since he landed. “You know,” he murmurs softly, voice rough with exhaustion and affection both, “I think this is the longest week of my life.”

She smiles faintly, brushing her nose against his. “Good thing you’re home now.” His eyes close briefly at that. Home, not Seoul, not the apartment, her.

And maybe that’s the thing that feels different tonight. Not just relief. Not just surviving another stretch of distance. The tour is over. For the first time in months there isn’t another flight looming somewhere ahead of them. No countdown ticking quietly in the background. No rehearsals stealing entire weeks before they can properly settle into each other again. Their first anniversary is in two weeks.

“You’ve been living like this all this time, what do you need a walk in closet for?” ___ complains as she walks around the dimly lit closet, admiring his watch collection. “Come on, lets go to bed” Yoongi whines from behind her, his arms loosely wrapped around her, he’s been clingy like this since they got inside the apartment.

“I have a meeting set with a realtor next week, you sure you still want to live with me, I never put away my laundry” ___ speaks as they finally slip into bed. Yoongi turns toward her immediately.

There’s barely a second of hesitation before he moves closer automatically, arm sliding around her waist underneath the blankets until she’s tucked against his chest like that’s where she’s been sleeping forever. “I’ve seen your apartment,” he murmurs sleepily into her hair. “It’s a mess”

She gasps softly. “That is unbelievably rude.” “You own a chair entirely dedicated to clothes.”

“It’s an organizational system.” “It’s a fabric mountain.” ___ laughs under her breath as he presses a lazy kiss against her shoulder.

“Are you sure about moving in together? We might not tour this year but there might be times when I’m still away?” Yoongi asks as he trails kisses downward. “Yes I am sure” ___ replies confidently as Yoongi bites her boob, knowing exactly where this is going. 

“Aren’t you tired?” ___ investigates as Yoongi mumbles a no, removing her slip dress in one go. She doesn’t get an answer. What she does get is Yoongi softly biting her nipple as she arches back. “Another perk of living together, we can have sex any time we want, anywhere we want” Yoongi says as his hand fondles her soft breast, the other hand trailing south.

“We can do it against the glass like we did in Maldives,” she murmurs. That finally pulls a real reaction out of him.

Yoongi groans softly into her skin, forehead dropping briefly against her chest like the memory alone exhausted him all over again. “You almost killed me that night.”

“You were very enthusiastic.” “You wore that bikini on purpose.” A faint smug smile appears on her face. “Maybe.” He looks up at her then, hair messy, eyes dark and sleepy and impossibly affectionate all at once.

Yoongi shuffles around the kitchen looking for a snack, all the fridge has is leftovers and fruit. He settles on an apple as he continues to wash it for a little too long, too lazy to do the whole peeling and cutting thing.

___: Why’d you leave this morning in such a hurry? Waking up all by myself is no fun

His phone pings and he stops mid-way, typing a response immediately, a ghost of a smile appearing the second her name appears. He exhales softly through his nose, drying his hand absently against his shirt as he types back. 

Yoongi: I told you, my dad had a doctors appointment, he won’t tell but he wanted me there

Yoongi: I am sorry, I can make up by coming over tonight and not leaving in the morning

___: I have a thing, might not come home

Yoongi: What thing?

___: Work thing

Yoongi: That’s very vague, but okay, I’ll see you on Saturday then? Can we go shopping?

“Who are you talking to smiling like that?” his mother shouts from the other end of the living room, startling him, almost into dropping his phone. It’s been a year and he’s successfully kept a lid on this relationship, the less she knows the better.

“No one, the guys are being funny in the group chat? Where are you off too?” he asks as his mother continues putting on her earrings.

“It’s the Lee’s 40th wedding anniversary and I thought I might bring them something, and ___ is going to be there” he stills not very noticeably, “I just love her,” his mother continues, completely unaware, stepping back into the kitchen to grab the baked goods she ordered earlier. “Too bad you never went out with her.”

He almost chokes on his own breath, covering it with a cough. “…Yeah,” he mutters, because what else is he supposed to say to that?

But his mind is already moving. So, ___ is in the same building as him and didn’t even tell him, is this why she won’t be coming home tonight? The wheels in his brain are going, a smirk almost appearing, “Maybe I also come with you, I was pretty rude last time when I didn’t visit them?”

“When?” she asks almost absentmindedly, forgetting that afternoon completely. “The time you tried to, you know what, I am going to change, wait for me”

Yoongi scrambles around, picking out a soft blue shirt and tucking it in almost instinctively. He fixes his hair next, more carefully than he’ll admit, adjusting it once, then again, like he’s trying to make it look like he didn’t try at all. 

“Why do you even want to come, you’re usually not interested in my friends at all?” his mother questions from outside his room, watching him contemplate between two belts. 

“That’s not true, you remember when I sent flowers for your friend Mrs Song?” “You didn’t send them, I did” she retorts almost immediately, “Well, I paid for them” he shoots back, not missing a beat. 

He tightens the belt, exhaling softly through his nose before grabbing his watch, fastening it around his wrist with a little more care than usual. “I’m just being polite,” he adds, tone deliberately casual, like this is nothing out of the ordinary. “You said it yourself, I was rude last time.”

His mother leans against the doorframe now, watching him more closely. “You didn’t care about being rude last time.” “Well, as I grow older, I am trying to be a better person, come on” he walks right past her, she nods her head in confusion but decides to go along with it anyway.

Yoongi wouldn’t admit it, but he’s nervous. Things have been going well, too well. They move in together in a month, all their free time is being spent decorating their new home. The next natural steps would be to meet the parents, something he’s never done. “Stop fidgeting” his dad comments as he continues to fiddle around with his collar, the shirt suddenly suffocating him.

Yoongi spends the entire elevator ride thinking of what he’s going to say, which isn’t a long time to prepare for something this monumental. What exactly is he supposed to say? Hello, surprise, I’ve secretly been dating your daughter for over a year and we accidentally bought an apartment together?

His mother rings the bell before he can spiral further. The door swings open almost immediately, to his relief it’s ___.  For one beautiful second her face lights up instinctively at the sight of him. Then she notices his parents standing there and immediately freezes.

“Oh! Hi, um” ___ stammers, fixing her hair the best she can as she tugs the sweater, well his sweater to be accurate that she stole just last week. “Hi, how are you ___, we just wanted to stop by with some treats before your parents leave for Europe” Mrs Min adds and ___ nods quickly, recovering with impressive speed considering she is currently trying to piece together why he’s here.

“Right, yes, come in,” she says, stepping aside quickly. “Mom and dad are inside.” Yoongi walks past her carefully, close enough to catch the tiny glare she shoots him under her breath.

“Ah, you made it!” Mrs. Lee says cheerfully as she appears from the kitchen carrying coffee cups.

Mr. Lee follows behind her with Yoongi’s father, already mid-conversation about travel routes and airport timing.

For a few blessed minutes, things settle.

Coffee is poured. Pastries are unpacked. The parents fall naturally into conversation around the dining table while Yoongi hovers awkwardly near the kitchen island pretending he isn’t hyperaware of every movement ___ makes.

“I’ve also made some sandwiches, let me just bring those out” ___ adds as she stands up, wanting a few minutes just to herself. “Oh, I’ll help” Yoongi adds and all the heads turn to him, none of them expecting this.

“It’s not much Yoongi-si, I’ll just be a few moments” ___ argues with a tight smile, hoping no one in this room catches onto this tension. “Oh I’m sure my mother’s told you what a great cook I am, I can help” Yoongi can’t help but tease, knowing this is going to cost him later.

“What is with these two?” Mrs Min murmurs to Mrs Lee as the two walk into kitchen, “Maybe he’s interested now, too bad she already has a boyfriend” Mrs Lee comments as they continue to sip on their coffee.

“She has a boyfriend?” Mrs Min asks with shock, she has secretly been hoping for her son to come to his senses all this time. “Well, she hasn’t told me explicitly, but she went to a vacation to Maldives and that’s such a couples destination” Mrs Lee adds and the wheels in Mrs Min’s head are finally going. 

“When was she in Maldives?” “Early January I think, she didn’t even send us any pictures-” “Yoongi was in Maldives early January” Mrs. Lee blinks.

Mrs. Min blinks back, silence.

“Oh my god.” “OH MY GOD SHE’S WEARING HIS SWEATER THAT I GOT HIM FOR CHRISTMAS” Mrs Min yells as she rapidly walks towards the kitchen.  The closer they get, the quieter they become. Because suddenly they’re not entering casually anymore.

They’re investigating and then they stop dead in the doorway. ___ is standing close enough to Yoongi that their bodies almost touch, fingers gently smoothing down the collar of his shirt while Yoongi looks at her with an expression his mother has never seen him wear before.

Soft and completely gone for her. Like the entire world narrowed down to the woman fixing his clothes in the kitchen.

“Oh.” The word slips out of Mrs. Lee before she can stop it. The couple freeze instantly. ___’s hand is still resting lightly against Yoongi’s chest.

Yoongi turns first and unfortunately, instead of looking guilty, he looks caught in the exact way a man does when he’s deeply in love and interrupted mid-moment. Which is somehow more incriminating.

“How long has this been going on?” Mrs Min asks softly, not entirely believing what she’s seeing. ___ immediately drops her hand from Yoongi’s collar like she’s been burned.  

Yoongi exhales slowly, knowing he needs to take the lead in this situation, “A year and a half” he answers, his hand coming up to ___’s waist like he’s trying to tell it all with a show but ___ swats his hands immediately, like she can still talk her way out of this. 

There’s silence and immediately there are questions, lots of them. “A YEAR AND A HALF” “Why didn’t you tell us” “Is this why you’ve been working late” “Is this why we couldn’t come to the Paris show?”

Mrs. Min’s eyes widened further somehow. “Oh my god, you traveled to see him during the tour?”

“No..well sometimes-” “How many times?” Mrs. Lee gasps. ___ looks ready to faint.

Yoongi, meanwhile, has reached the point of surrender where he almost finds this funny. “Enough that she has airline status now,” he says honestly.

“Min Yoongi!” ___ hisses in horror. “What? We’re already caught.” “That does not mean volunteer information!”

From the dining room, both fathers have fully abandoned pretending not to listen and are now standing in the doorway too. Mr. Min crosses his arms slowly. “I knew something was going on when he wanted me to check documents to buy an apartment”

The interrogation moves from the kitchen hallway to the dining room because ___ can’t keep standing without feeling like she’s about to faint and Yoongi wanted everyone to eat the sandwiches she made. 

“When were you going to tell us that you’re moving in together, after you had children?” Mrs Min asks her son incredulously, she’s still in shock from this all, happy nonetheless. “What you aren’t engaged are you?” Mrs Lee asks as she rapidly reaches for ___’s hand.

“I wouldn’t ask ___ to marry me without speaking to her parents first,” Yoongi says immediately. The room quiets slightly at the seriousness in his tone. Because despite the chaos, despite the interrogation and the absolute catastrophe of this reveal, he means that sincerely.

Across the table, Mr. Lee watches him carefully now and for maybe the first time all afternoon, Yoongi feels genuinely nervous. “I’m not irresponsible,” he says quieter now, gaze flicking briefly toward ___ before returning to her parents. “I know how serious this is.”

___ looks at him softly for a second. Because beneath all the teasing and disaster and accidental exposure, that’s the thing about Yoongi, once he loves someone, he becomes frighteningly earnest about protecting the future around them.

Mrs. Min’s eyes narrow suddenly, too suddenly. “Wait.” Every person at the table goes still. “You said you wouldn’t ask without speaking to the parents first.” She points at him slowly. “Not that you haven’t thought about it.”

Yoongi makes the catastrophic mistake of glancing at ___ for half a second. And unfortunately that alone is enough.

Mrs. Lee gasps loudly. “Oh my god.” ___ blinks between them in confusion. “What?” Mrs. Min sits forward immediately. “You’ve thought about marriage.”

“We’re in a happy long term relationship, of course we have” “Do you have a ring?” his mother throws that question like a  grenade in the middle of the dining room. ___ turns toward him so fast she nearly knocks over her water glass.

Yoongi suddenly regrets every decision that led him here. Because the thing is, he does have a ring. Hidden badly, according to Namjoon. Carefully and thoughtfully selected over weeks because once the idea entered his head, it never really left again.

“No,” he says too quickly. Mrs. Min narrows her eyes instantly. “That was suspicious.” “I don’t have it with me.” The second the words leave his mouth, he knows he’s doomed.

“YOU HAVE A RING?” both mothers shriek simultaneously.

___ just stares at him, like her brain genuinely stopped functioning for a second. Yoongi rubs a hand down his face slowly. “Well,” Mr. Min says calmly, sounding deeply entertained now, “this escalated quickly.”

“You bought a ring?” ___ asks finally, voice small in a way that completely destroys him. And suddenly all the teasing leaves the room a little. “We talked about it, we were on the same page about marriage?” Yoongi turns, like he needs to talk about it urgently. 

“We did, I just didn’t expect you to actually buy a ring” The vulnerability in her voice hits him square in the chest. Because he understands what she means, not disbelief in them. Disbelief in how real this all suddenly sounds out loud.

Yoongi shifts slightly closer to her instinctively. “I wasn’t trying to pressure you,” he says lower now, like he’s forgotten there are four other people listening. “I just saw it and…” He exhales softly. “It felt right.”

___ looks at him for a long second. “They bought an apartment,” Mr. Lee mutters. “The married couple part was already implied.” “That’s true,” Mr. Min agrees.

“Is there a date on your mind?” Mrs Min asks quietly and that earns another dramatic gasp from Mrs Lee. “Okay,” ___ says finally, standing abruptly before this spirals into someone discussing grandchildren. “I think this is enough for today. Mom, dad, you both need to leave for the airport soon.” Then toward Yoongi’s parents, polite despite the emotional destruction currently occurring in the dining room, “Mrs. and Mr. Min, the desserts were delicious, and I do love your son, so I hope today won’t leave the wrong impression on your minds.” 

“Yoongi and I are leaving because apparently we need to have a conversation.” That finally gets his attention fully. Yoongi blinks up at her once. “Do we?”

“Yes.” “Am I in trouble?” “You will be if you don’t get moving” ___ speaks with a smile but Yoongi knows better by now and stands up immediately. She’s quiet as they close the door behind them and it’s right at that moment when Yoongi’s phone rings. 

He declines it and ___ sighs as she presses the elevator button with no clear plan on where they’re actually going to talk. Yoongi groans softly this time before answering. “Hi.”

There’s a pause, then his entire expression changes. “Oh.” ___ looks over immediately. “Our mattress is going to be there in a few minutes, they need someone to let them in” Yoongi continues and ___ simply hands him her car keys, knowing where they’re going. 

“Oh, hi… that room,” ___ says quickly, pointing them toward the bedroom. They nod and disappear down the hallway carrying it carefully while Yoongi steps aside to answer yet another phone call.

Apparently every single thing related to this apartment needs attention today. “Yes, Tuesday is fine,” he says distractedly into the phone while pacing slowly near the windows. “Yes please early in the day, I’m busy post afternoon”

___ watches him for a second. It still catches her off guard sometimes, this version of him. Not a massively successful musician. Not the exhausted version surviving airports and tour schedules. Just… her boyfriend trying to do everything right with their apartment.

The mattress gets assembled surprisingly quickly considering it took them nearly three weeks to choose one. “So, the sofa will be here on the tuesday so we’ll have enough of a ready home to move in, rest we can tackle once we’re here” Yoongi adds as ___ gets them some water from the fridge, they might not be living here, but they still have a fully stacked kitchen already.

“And I’ve booked a moving company for your place for Sunday, I’ll be there too-” Yoongi continues and ___ shuts him up with a soft kiss. All the tension from today just melts as he helplessly kisses her, his hands all over her till they settle under the sweater. 

“You stupid idiot” ___ pulls back just to say that but Yoongi only smiles as he pulls her even closer. “Did you really buy a ring?” she continues and Yoongi sighs, resting his forehead against hers. “I swear my mother, can we not make a big deal out of this, it’s not happening that soon, I want us to live together first and you weren’t supposed to find out like this” he explains which only makes ___ laugh more. 

“Is it beautiful? It’s not too flashy is it? I know you have money but big diamonds don’t suit me” ___ teases and he groans gripping her waist even tighter. “Darling I know what you like, can we just please drop this?” Yoongi pleads and ___ nods knowing when to give up.

“I didn’t think I’d be doing this with you after our first date, I really wanted to see you again but I wasn’t sure it would work” ___ confesses as she moves around, finally getting the water she wanted. “I really wanted to see you again,” she admits. “But I honestly wasn’t sure it would work.”

Yoongi’s brows lift slightly. “Really?”  He watches her carefully now as she hands him a glass of water before continuing.

“And then you kissed me like that,” she says, pointing at him accusingly now, “and just left.” Yoongi looks entirely unapologetic. “I had an early flight.” “You kissed me after the best first date and just left and it felt like a romcom for a few hours till you didn’t text me for 12 hours”

“I was trying to seem calm.” That actually makes her laugh. Because if there’s one thing she knows now, it’s that Yoongi has never once been calm about her. “I was still dazed from the date and the kiss and I was all confused and and I um, was so surprised and I hated that I had to leave even if I really wanted to tour” Yoongi confesses and ___ smiles from the other side of the counter. 

“I for a very long time believed that this all, a girlfriend, living together, the eventual stuff, planning a life with someone wasn’t in my books and for the longest time I was okay with it” The apartment falls quiet around them. Suddenly he looks younger somehow. Not physically, emotionally, like she’s catching a glimpse of the version of him that spent years convincing himself wanting less from life was safer.

“You just thought loving someone would mean losing parts of yourself.” That catches him off guard.

Because unfortunately she’s right. Yoongi looks down briefly, jaw tightening faintly like he’s still a little uncomfortable being understood this clearly. “Yes,” he admits quietly. “And honestly…” A tiny breath leaves him, almost amused at himself now. “I didn’t expect you to be this stubborn.”

___ smiles faintly. “Excuse me?” “We fought,” he continues, stepping closer again like he physically can’t stay far from her for long anymore. “A lot sometimes. Especially in the beginning.” His hands slide back around her waist naturally. “But you always treated the problems like they were against us.” He pauses, gaze steady on hers now. “Not us against each other.”

Something soft flickers across her expression immediately, because that mattered more to him than she probably realized.

“So, shall we break in the new mattress, take a nap?” ___ jokes and Yoongi chuckles holds her from the behind. “Is this us now, napping? So painfully domestic” he says, his warm hands back under the sweater. 

“What’s more tragic is that I really want to nap” Yoongi confesses nuzzling his head into her shoulder. “Honey, we can do whatever we want, nap, look at vacuums, argue if we really want a piano in the living room” ___ teases and Yoongi laughs thinking back to the major vacuum selection fight.

[soverdant]

kindalove | myg

pairing: producer!yoongi x producer!reader

genre: fluff; angst; established relationship, idol au; workaholic reader gets pampered by workaholic yoongi

warnings: cursing, banter, slight angst, and a shit ton of fluff ?

word count: 2.2k

author's note i am loving this producer reader au and i will be keeping at it until i throw up from being sick of it :) i hate writing dialogue just for the record, ugh (in any situation, not just fic related stuff) but i'm doing my best! lowkey burnt out and don't have any ideas at the moment so, send away!

summary: wherein yoongi doesn’t want to see you overexert yourself in work, so he takes care of you (or min yoongi's love language)

it was way past midnight.

you were in your studio, spending the fourth night in a row there. the low hum of the air conditioning and the looping track playing from your earphones as your only company.

you were ardently standing there, having a staring contest with the microphone. a side of your huge headphones covering one ear while the other one pulled just slightly above it, not fully concealing the other just in case somebody called out. 

[2:24 am] myg: you up?

the text interrupts the quietude of your studio that had been marinating for quite some time now followed by a few notifications after.

[2:24 am] myg: i sent you something. let me know when you get it and let me know [2:25 am] myg: what you think about it

you sigh. you weren't particularly aware of the time until he texted. only then had you realized how late it was; accounting for the dead building that crept past your studio. but the nature of your job had you getting used to adapting a temporary nocturnal lifestyle that involved sleeping at 9:00 am in the morning and staying up until 4:00 am the next day. you knew it wasn't healthy; you weren't doing the right thing. but honestly, who's ever done the right thing especially when they were so immersed in their work?

you pick up your fingers to type in a reply.

[2:27 am] you: heyy [2:27 am] you: can’t right now. quite busy ):

[2:28 am] myg: hey pretty

his immediate reply planted a smile on your face.

[2:29 am] myg: you at the studio?

[2:30 am] you: yeo [2:30 am] you: yep

[2:32 am] myg: ok i'll drop by [2:32 am] myg: just need to wrap up

you gather your things and exit the recording booth, stumbling on a few things scattered on the floor. you take a look around your studio and discover how filthy your living situation had become for the past few weeks. filthy was probably an overstatement; you liked to keep things clean, get unnecessary things out of the way. but this was quite grimy compared to what you were used to. should probably clean up before he arrives, you thought.

but you were tired. still not quite in the right mood to do all the tidying—picking up the plastic bottles, rearranging some of the wires that were left tangled on the floor as well as the pieces of clothing left on the couch. he was probably busy, and probably wouldn’t come around for another few hours was, your rough guess.

and so you let it be. grabbing your laptop and sit on the couch, pushing away some of the clutter, deciding to do the rest of your work there instead. but that turned out to be a bad idea because just a few minutes in, your eyes started to get heavy and you started to lean on the couch more often.  a week's worth of sleep was chasing you and decided that now was the time to pay your debt.

you should have also know better that whatever yoongi says, yoongi does; because you hear somebody input the password to your door and it opens a few seconds later to reveal a yoongi.

 "hey," he peeks into the door, voice quiet. you could hear the slight strain it had. he was probably working as much as you were before he came.

 "hey." your eyes follow him as he switches his outside shoes for inside ones, not anticipating a visitor, at least not for a couple more hours. yet you still forced a flat, evidently tired, smile out of your face.

 you tear a piece of your earphones out of your ear, legs crossed, laptop open, and hair a mess, as if it had been ruffled around or pulled, before in desperation of extracting an idea from your brain.

he carefully settles in. the familiar natural scent he had mixing with his perfume creeps into the room. a bag in one hand, the other on the door frame, guiding him as he goes inside.

 "you ate yet?"

 "i think," you answer without looking at him and you scoot over to the side, gathering the scarves, jacket, and other clothes to make room for him to sit down.

 "i'm asking if you ate." he chuckles, amused at your attempt to dodge the question, twist it in a way that makes sense but also doesn't.

 he sits next to you, clothed arm brushing against your shoulders. the bag he was holding with his left hand settles down onto the table, right next to her notebook and a pile of paper, discarded lyrics you couldn't quite let go of just yet.

"heard from hobi that you might still be in here."

"hmm," a mindless reply. you were tired.

he gradually leans forward, looking at what you had on your screen for a few seconds before quickly batting his eyes to look at you instead. you could feel his breathing: slow, deliberate, exhausted. you pursed your lips, trying to think of something, anything else other than the presence next to you.

how you wished something as simple as a look from him wouldn't throw you off so much, but it does, and he knows it.

you give up, sighing. you lean back, resting your head against the wall. he takes this chance and gently removes your hand from the mouse, taking it into his, cautiously moving the track back to the beginning. he takes just a quick glance at you to which you nod at for consent, and plays it.

the sound fills the small space, clearly unfinished—evidently spent. it sounded like what you had envisioned, but just not in a way that satisfied you, still missing something.

 "not bad. good enough for you to take a break." he comments hoping to sway you, peering at your reaction.

 you grimace.

 you turn to him and see that he had a look on his face. it was quick, but it was there. one that you knew all too well. just confirming something that you had been trying to put off for so long now: you were burnt out, and you desperately needed a break.

 "god, this is fucking with me, really." you murmur, taking your hands to your face, pushing some stray hair away and taking a large inhale, exhausted.

this was one thing that you had in common. both similarly enamoured in creating, making sure every second in a piece had its purpose. something that was worth talking about. sewing beats and melodies into precise proportions that felt comfortable and snug but ones that also suffocated and strangled when it needed to.

however, you also periodically became too absorbed that in return you just shut everything off—especially him. not knowing when to return; only ever stopping when he has nothing left to give, pushing past the limit. you had always been so conscious about it, pointing it out whenever you see the him spiral.

but sometimes it's just too much.

and he doesn't always have the right words to say that he was descending again. dubious on how he should tell you that it was getting bad again. so bad that whenever he sinks, he unknowingly brings you with him.

it happens frequently than he would have wanted and starts with a few nights spent overtime in the studio that turn into weeks, bad days that come one after the other.

it occasionally brings out the worst in him. But no matter how difficult he can get, how critical—especially to himself, you just kept on understanding; bringing your light, sharing it for the both of you. never asking nor wanting anything in return.

and it had become yoongi's silent oath to not let you wander the same path. not wanting to see you in situations he has experienced before. loving you in quiet, covert ways—the way he knows how.

 "you should eat." he suggests, yawning as he stretches his arms.

 "what's this?" you pry open the bag and immediately got blown away by the savory smell you've always had during nights like these but was too tired to make it yourself: mandu-guk.

you sigh dramatically, exaggeratedly, and turn to face yoongi who was radiating nervous energy; he knew what was coming.

all of a sudden, you take his face and cup it in your hands, looking at him like how you would encourage a child who took their first steps. you tell him how grateful you are in a melodramatic way and immediately pepper his face with kisses, leaving him squirming underneath. 'yah, yah, stop!' he scolds with the biggest smile on his face.

he absolutely loathes receiving physical affection—or any kind of affection, really. and would prefer to show it through small gestures, the complete opposite of how you were. and so, it became your mission that whenever you do, you would crank it up ten times more to sway him, purposefully annoying him, despite finding it quite cringe as well.

but seeing the big smile on this man tells you he's right exactly where he wants to be. he smiles, proudly. deep inside this is what he came here for.

you eventually settle after wrestling him down with your hugs and appreciation as he questions his life choices beside you, while you enthusiastically open up your food.

you pick up utensils he's included inside the bag and take a bite, and then a few more.

"good?"

you just nod and give him a thumbs up, savoring the well-curated taste in your mouth.

it's your pout and the puppy eyes that come with it that does him. you try to trigger any kind of reaction in him just for fun. jutting down your lower lip and bat your eyelashes the best you can, as you await his reaction: scrunching his face in horror. you complete it with the most ridiculous aegyo voice as well.

"aww, thank you ba-"

"don't" he interjects, but his whole face was completely red. his horror quickly drowned by his laughs, covering his eyes with calloused hands—proof of his hard work. and you try your best to gulp down a giggle but ridiculously fail.

you thought of how lucky he was to have a girl that could make him cackle his heart out ;)

you eagerly consume the meal he made just for you while he watches, like a mother who says 'i'm full just watching you eat' when you invite him to eat with you—that line, he actually says.

in the meantime, he silently starts to clear out the table bombarded with paper scraps and plastic bottles that should have been discarded a long time ago. his arms reach out past you and cautiously clears them out, making sure to not disrupt you.

when you tried to dismiss him, saying he doesn't need to and that you will be the one that'll do it later, his brows furrow and insists.

"you're overworking yourself. take a break, hmm?" he says, and asks you which things are still of use to not mistakenly throw them away.

you eventually join him after finishing the majority of your meal, clearing out the clutter and finally tending to your precious cables left tangled on the floor now that you had the motivation and energy to do so.

moments later, you two were back on the couch, peacefully enjoying each other's company. your studio was already looking good. not spotless clean, but better than what it was a few minutes ago.

crossing your arms, resting a leg on top of yoongi's, and leaning your head on top of his shoulders, the temporary tranquility gave you a chance to rest your eyes.

he planted a kiss on your forehead, resting his head atop yours. slowly, you could feel the built-up stress and exhaustion evaporate as you finally had the chance to bask in comfort and surround yourself in a familiar scent.

it was a challenge to try and not fall asleep under such conditions. you were so close to just ignoring the work demanding your attention and drifting off to sleep, but your mind remained locked into the laptop just right in front of you, remembering the deadline pdogg had suggested when tracks should be submitted.

he somehow sensed this and started tracing shapes on your arm to comfort you.

"can't sleep."

"i know. should i turn the lights off?"

you groan.

"no, that's- i have so much to work on, still." you reply, gently freeing yourself from his embrace, although you didn't want to, and directed your attention back to chords and melodies.

yoongi sighs. he learned a long time ago that it's no use trying to convince you to try and rest because you would always decline. stubbornness and persistence being some of the things you also had common.

he does what be can do instead and asks what it was that he could get for you, to which you answered coffee. that was the only thing keeping you from passing out asleep and crashing on your couch. the majority of your bloodstream was probably pure caffeine at this point.

he happily obliges. sitting there, observing, and giving suggestions whenever you asked for it.

you take a look at him every now and then to see him battling his own demons as well: the urge to doze off. you chuckle to yourself, seeing his determination to stay up and be with you, despite your protests.

later on, as other people—normal, sane people anyway—start to get ready for work, you were still wrapping up to go back home, finally. you let out one last sigh in defeat, and crash on top of yoongi, quietly squeezing in, not even wanting to go back home just yet.

and as the building slowly comes back alive, you gradually drift off to slumber.

[yoonsescence]

Yoongi Fic Recs

In honor of this account’s name, the first recommendation list will be dedicated to the love of my life, aka Min Yoongi. I read many of these fics a long time ago, but I could NEVER forget them, and honestly, I think that’s enough promotion on its own. P.S. Besides the summary, I usually add a little review after each fic because duh, authors always deserve extra love and appreciation.

One-shots:

PRETTY GIRLS LIE PRETTY by @kikiskook Summary: What if your girlfriend’s pissy friend didn’t want to steal you away? What if he just wanted to fuck the goodness out of you? And what if you let him? Review: This one is kind of my guilty pleasure. Why? Because the main plot revolves around cheating. I KNOW, I KNOW IT’S BAD, BUT I CAN’T HELP IT, IT’S JUST TOO WELL WRITTEN. Blame Kiki for being such a good writer tbh. There isn’t a huge amount of plot here—it’s mostly smut with a bit of storyline—but it feels super well balanced, and the chemistry between the protagonists is insanely good. Like, I’m not even that big of a smut reader, and this story still had me completely hooked.

CALLING... PRODUCER MIN YOONGI by @bangtan-dreamland Summary: The first time you call him, it's two in the morning. Review: Guys, when I tell you this has been my favorite read of the year, I’m not exaggerating. It’s the sweetest thing I’ve read in MONTHS (at least when it comes to Yoongi lol). It’s honestly hard to find fics that don’t revolve entirely around smut, so finding this one-shot that’s just pure fluff, love, and the softest Yoongi ever was SO exciting. The story doesn’t really have a summary, but it’s basically about Reader calling a random number (cough cough Yoongi cough cough), and they end up building a relationship entirely through texts and phone calls—no pictures, no meeting each other, just their voices and messages and UGHH IT’S SO ROMANTIC GUYS AHHHH— Genuinely one of the best things you could read if you just want something sweet and romantic.

CAT-ASTROPHE by @dumpywrites Summary: Your pet cat keeps going to your neighbor’s apartment and it’s a problem.  Review: This is actually a two-shot, but since it’s only two parts, I decided to include it here sjddjajd. Just like the previous one, it’s SOOO cute—like, I remember literally giggling and kicking my feet while reading it. The first part doesn’t have smut, BUT! The second one does. I totally recommend reading both, their relationship is incredibly sweet, and there’s also a cat involved (which is funny considering Yoongi has a cat just like the one described in the story lol). Cat + Yoongi = happiness.

Series:

THE 25TH HOUR by @jungkoode Summary: "Everything freezes at 1:59 AM. You're not supposed to be awake, yet here you are—and so is Min Yoongi, looking at you with years of something you can't remember in his eyes. Your body knows him. Your mind doesn't. And you have exactly 60 minutes to figure out why." Review: I know most people here already know Kiki, I know, I know, BUT! No one gives this series enough recognition. Like, it genuinely deserves so much more visibility and love than it gets (I’m a loyal defender of any fic involving mint Yoongi and sci-fi). Kiki is one of the best fanfic writers I’ve ever come across, reading her fics genuinely feels like an experience of its own, and this series proves it perfectly. I don’t want to say too much about the story because I feel like almost anything could count as a spoiler in this case, but I promise it’s absolutely worth it!

LOVE IS... ON TOUR by @httpknjoon Summary:  Tell everyone you know, Love Is… On Tour! Popstar!YN is set to start her sophomore world tour with her new hit songs, sparkly outfits, and talented live band. There are 352 days of this tour, which means 352 days of YN and her new bassist, Yoongi getting on each other’s skin in every way possible. Review: When I tell you I was obsessed with this series, I mean it VERY seriously. I LOVE bassist/guitarist Yoongi, it genuinely makes me lose my mind with excitement. Band Yoongi? I’m completely sold every single time. So finding this fic, with a protagonist whose whole vibe revolves around Sabrina’s discography? Pure gold. This series is so fun to read, it has sweet moments, angst moments (dude, during the last episodes I was literally biting my nails and praying for an update to save the situation lol), and tension too (OBVIOUSLY). They’re one of my favorite couples ever, and I’m sure that if you give them a chance, they’ll become yours too <3

HOT AND BOTHERED by @ktownshizzle Summary: You’re horny af one night so you login to your fave hook-up app for a quick fix. You match with Min Yoongi, expecting a cocky rapper with a filthy mouth, but instead, you get a soft-spoken man in a designer shirt and a gummy smile. He keeps asking you out, but there’s no kiss, no sex, nothing. Each date winds you up tighter than the last, your patience (and your lingerie) hanging by a thread, and now you can’t tell what’ll snap first: his restraint or your self-control. Review: The things I felt for this Yoongi should genuinely not be considered normal, and I mean that very seriously. In general, I absolutely love the Yoongis K writes because UGHH I LOVE THEM, THEY’RE PERFECT, but this one? This one completely got me. Like, I’m genuinely not someone who goes back to reread fics more than once, but with this one I’ve reread at least three chapters just because of Yoongi. What can I say? Gentlemanly men who don’t kiss their date on the first date have a chokehold on me.

LOUD & CLEAR by @/ktownshizzle Summary: Worst thing just happened to you, actually. You accidentally play a sexy audiobook out loud in the office. Thankfully, everyone assumes you just put someone on speaker. But things get complicated when you discover that the voice everyone heard might belong to the aloof IT guy at work… who happens to live a double life as Agust D, your favorite erotica narrator. Review: If the previous one had me on my knees because of how sweet it was, this one has me on my knees because of how absolutely hot it is. First of all, the plot is incredible. The moment I read it, I immediately ran to catch up on all the published chapters because, duh, Yoongi reading books with that voice??? I’d pay for that too, you know? Anyway, I’m completely hooked on this story and I seriously can’t wait to read more of this couple (because yes, I'm here for reader too, she's an absolute sweetheart, she’s perfect, I adore her).

[youknowsoobin]

title: for me, for us pairing: kim taehyung x fem!reader x min yoongi genre: smut (mdni!!), pwp, threesome word count: 8.7k

summary: a post-breakup hangout with your two best friends turns into something more after you complain about men and their inability to make you orgasm.

author's note: i'm going to hell for this, i think. ao3 link here.

tags/warnings: porn with very minor plot, mean dom taehyung, top taehyung, soft dom yoongi, service bottom yoongi, threesome, gay sex, dom/sub behavior, cunnilingus, orgasm denial (only once), dirty talk, vaginal sex, hand jobs, aftercare but the aftercare is just more sex, everyone has sex with each other

.⋆ 𖥔 ݁ ˖₊‧. masterlist .‧₊˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ .

Movie night. An age-old tradition between the three of you, dating back to your early college years, when more mistakes were made at a much greater frequency. When someone showing up with a 24-pack of cheap ass beer and an array of movie options was fucking necessity. When you lived in the dorms, when you lived in shitty apartments after that, and even now—apparently.

Except this time, it’s you who shows up to their apartment with a 24-pack of moderately more expensive beer. They live together now, shared rent makes the nice place they occupy all the more affordable, and your apartment, well—it’s kind of infested with boxes and a man who’s been on his way out for several days.

You broke the news over text. He broke up with me never feels good to say, and you’re starting to think it might be something wrong with you. Wasn’t this one supposed to be the one? You let him move in. You loved him. Maybe not in the past tense. The feelings are too fresh to understand.

So, yeah. You show up at your best friends’ apartment with a pack of beer and an extremely forced smile.

“I don’t want to talk about it” are the first words off your lips. Taehyung nods, takes the case of beer out of your hands, and disappears into the kitchen, while Yoongi studies you with a more investigative look. He wants to talk about it, wants to push your buttons on the matter. “Seriously, Yoongi,” you say. “Not tonight.”

Yoongi holds up two hands in defense. “Okay,” he says, and you know he’s just giving in for now. That later, hours or days, he’ll be back with more questions.

Taehyung returns with three cans of beer as you make your way toward the couch. He extends one to you and even manages to keep the pitiful smile from reaching the corners of his lips, turning it somewhat genuine instead.

The tension of you breaks the moment you’re seated on the couch. Taehyung takes the edge of the sectional so he can spread out, legs outstretched in front of him, and you plop down next to him out of habit. Yoongi sits a foot or so away, but leans in with his beer extended outward in a wordless cheers.

Aluminum cans knock against one another before silence returns. You attempt to chug your beer inconspicuously, but Taehyung watches you out of the corner of his eye while he scrolls through movie options.

“What are you feeling?” Taehyung asks, forcing you to stop drinking momentarily.

Maybe it’s on purpose. You can’t help but think that it is. This moment of I know what you’re doing broken up by the casual nature of years of friendship, of I’m watching you, and you can’t fool me.

“Maybe horror,” you say, with a shrug of your shoulders. Your eyes bore into Taehyung’s, and you can’t look away. You know he sees right through you, past the facade you’re putting up to will some strength into every bit of you—your words, the way you hold yourself—and you can see the words form on his lips, the way he wants to stop this conversation for one more important.

They both care about you so much that it makes your chest ache.

“Something slasher. Really bloody. Really gross,” you say. “No romance.”

Taehyung’s eyes shift to Yoongi’s behind you, and you know they’re assessing you, trying to figure out how to handle the situation.

“Stop doing that,” you say, eyes meeting Taehyung’s first before your body swivels so you can look at Yoongi. “Whatever secret conversation the two of you are having—stop having it,” you say. “I’m fine.”

Yoongi tilts his head to the side. “You don’t seem fine.” His words are so soft, so kind.

A knot develops in the center of your throat. You swallow it, let it burn the lining of your stomach instead. If they keep looking at you like this, like some half-broken doll, you’re going to burst into tears.

“I—” you start. I’m not, you want to say. It would be so easy to let yourself fall apart in front of them. It wouldn’t be anything they haven’t seen before. But you’re sick of crying. “I’m going to get another beer. Does anyone want one?”

You stand up, only turning to look back at them once you’ve reached the kitchen. They’re looking at each other again, and you let out a long sigh. You grab a second beer from the fridge and stand there, door open, for a beat too long, tapping on the silver can with your nail, trying to decide if you want to fall apart or not.

Eventually, you do turn around, a smile on your face, pressed right to the corners. “This is what’s going to happen tonight,” you say. “You guys are going to stop looking at me like I could fall apart at any moment, and we’re going to watch this movie and get messy drunk. We’re going to have fun. Do you understand?”

Taehyung laughs, and you feel the tension in your chest unwind half an inch. “Yes, ma’am,” he says, saluting you. “Didn’t know this friendship had such strict rules.”

Yoongi’s still looking at you, however, lips in a straight line, head tilted to the side. Like your negative feelings are a bug he’s caught and can’t shake.

“Okay, fine,” you say, throwing your arms out to the side, because you give in to Yoongi that easily. “If I promise to tell you all about my feelings tomorrow, can we move on?”

“Mm,” Yoongi hums, thinking over this proposition. “Promise?”

Taehyung finishes his beer while Yoongi thinks it over, then joins you in the kitchen. You grab him another can from the fridge and clink yours against it.

You don’t want to promise. Yoongi keeps promises, and you’re not exactly sure you’ll feel like crying tomorrow, either. But you say it anyway, because it’s him and he won’t let it go, later. “Yeah, I promise.”

Yoongi’s demeanor changes then, and he smiles, standing up. He chugs the rest of his beer, and your eyes fall to his throat as his Adam’s apple bobs up and down.

Taehyung loops an arm low around your waist and pulls you against him, setting his chin on top of your head. You push against his chest. “Don’t be gross,” you say.

“Damn, really strict rules,” he comments. “Can’t even be affectionate with my best friend anymore?”

You roll your eyes, and even though you do step away from him to grab Yoongi a beer, you don’t argue when he drops his forearm onto your shoulder to use you as an armrest.

There’s something Yoongi wants to say. You can see the words curl around the tip of his tongue. He’s never been good at holding them back, anyway. But you know, too, that they’re not in the spirit of the night, so you don’t push him to say them, either. Instead, you pretend not to notice.

“Aw, Yoongi feels left out,” you say as you hand him the beer.

It makes him smile, makes his eyes roll.

The truth of the matter is that you’ve missed this. You haven’t had a night like this in a long time. Your relationship kept you plenty busy, and your now ex-boyfriend didn’t exactly love you spending time with either of them, so you didn’t.

The three of you migrate back to the couch. Taehyung picks a movie that’s equal parts horrifying and gory. You catch Yoongi lifting his hands to cover his eyes. At some point, your head falls onto Yoongi’s shoulder. Another beer in, and when you crawl back to them, it’s with your head in his lap and your legs stretched across Taehyung’s.

Taehyung is laser-focused on the blood bath, but Yoongi’s looking down at you. You notice out of the corner of your eye, but keep your face turned toward the screen.

His fingers trail through your hair, twisting pieces between thumb and forefinger.

“Missed you, you know,” Yoongi says, voice low under the screaming of blood murder erupting from the television.

“I know,” you say, still keeping your eyes forward.

“Missed this,” he says.

“Me too,” you say, and that knot bobs up from the base of your throat. It gets stuck halfway.

Taehyung doesn’t even register the conversation.

“He didn’t deserve you,” Yoongi says, like it's as easy as breathing. Like he’s thought about it before. Like he came to the conclusion months ago, years ago, and he’s just been waiting to say it.

Tears sting in the corners of your eyes, the feeling that’s been haunting you for the past several days. It’s not about deserved or undeserved. You don’t care whether or not you were too good for him. You just miss him.

Yoongi shifts forward and grabs your beer off the coffee table, then presses it into your hands before retrieving his own, too. You lift your head off his lap an inch to take a sip. Discarded empties litter the table in front of you. Your face feels warm, but your head still swims with thoughts you wish could be shoved down much deeper.

Drinking staves off the tears.

When Taehyung’s eyes drift over to you, it’s easy for him to tell that you’re hanging on for dear life. “Yoongi’s right,” Taehyung says, letting you know he’s been listening to your soft words the entire time. “He kinda sucked.”

“He didn’t—” You start to defend him, but can’t bring yourself to follow through. Yoongi’s still peering down at you, and Taehyung’s leveling you with a gaze that says be so for real right now. Because they both know you, and they knew him, too.

“Honestly, you should have broken up with him months ago,” Taehyung says.

“You guys never liked him,” you say, like it’s some kind of defense.

“Right,” Yoongi says. “Because he sucked.”

You take a long drink of beer.

“Say something bad about him,” Taehyung says. “Right now.”

“Why?” you ask.

Yoongi says, “Come on, it’ll be good for you.”

You roll your eyes and grumble a bit under your breath, sorting through thoughts to find something negative to say. The truth is, there are a lot of things you could say. And honestly, if you weren’t halfway drunk, that may have raised some kind of flag that said—it was good that he was out of your life—but it didn’t.

You purse your lips. If you were sober, you would have said something else. But you’re not, and you don’t. Instead, you say, “You know, in three years, he never once made me cum.”

A blood-curdling scream, and then the room goes silent.

It’s Yoongi who says, “You’re kidding.”

Your cheeks flush red and hot, and you’re certain it’s the most embarrassing thing you’ve ever said aloud—even if it does make you feel better.

“Never?” Taehyung says, a lilt in his voice.

“God, men suck,” you say, feeling better now that it’s off your chest.

Taehyung and Yoongi exchange a glance you don’t catch while your eyes are closed. Taehyung’s hand drops onto your shin, then travels around to hook just below the crook of your knee. You think nothing of it, the touch. These are your best friends. You hardly keep your hands to yourself.

“Whatever,” you say. “All men are bad at sex.”

Yoongi laughs under his breath, and Taehyung says—unprompted. “I bet I could do it.”

“Do what?” you ask, drawing your eyebrows together.

“Make you cum,” Taehyung says. His eyes bore into yours. There’s a lazy smile on his lips, a smirk that turns upward at the corner, but his words are serious. “I bet Yoongi would help me—wouldn’t you, Yoongi?”

“Mhm,” Yoongi hums, looking down at you as he twists a piece of your hair around his fingers.

“This isn’t funny,” you say.

“It’s not a joke,” Taehyung says, his hand skates higher up your leg, and your heart rate skyrockets.

“What are you saying right now?” you ask, propping yourself up on your elbows to look him in the eye.

He leans forward slightly to make sure you’re really getting the message. “I want to make you cum. Actually, I want to make you cum so hard you see stars.”

“I bet you can’t,” you say, tilting your head to the side in a teasing kind of manner.

“That’s okay, I like a challenge,” he says.

You twist to look at Yoongi. His lips part like he’s going to say something, but the words get caught somewhere.

“It’s okay, Yoongi,” Taehyung says. “You can tell her. I think she likes it.”

You punch Taehyung in the arm, and his brows lift just so, and you can see the amusement light up his eyes. Heat curls downward toward your core while confusion raises flag after flag in your brain. This isn’t a good idea, but you can’t seem to tell that to the rest of your body.

“Yeah, Yoongi,” you say. “Tell me.”

You watch his cheeks flush pink. You wonder if he’s ever thought about you like this. Drunken kisses have been shared—but only with Taehyung. Never Yoongi. He’s better at keeping his hands to himself.

“I like a challenge, too,” Yoongi says, looking down at you, one brow quirked upward in obvious interest. A barely-there smirk appears at the corner of his lips. “But I don’t think it will be that hard.”

“Oh, really?” you tease, sitting up. You move to swing your legs off Taehyung’s lap so you can fully turn toward Yoongi, but Taehyung holds you in place by the thigh.

Yoongi moves in closer, half turned toward Taehyung, his chest pressing against your back. His arm drops around your waist, and your head spins again.

Yoongi lowers his lips to your ear. “Too fast?” he asks.

You shake your head.

“You want this?” Taehyung asks, shifting on the couch so he’s between your legs, spreading them open with the back of his hand. Your eyes drop from his face to his hands on your jean-clad thighs.

The tips of your ears are burning pink, and your lips part to say something that never comes out. Your eyes find Taehyung’s face again as Yoongi’s fingers dip under the hem of your shirt.

“This is—” you start, but you’re easily distracted by Yoongi’s other hand brushing the hair away from your neck, from the first kiss he presses to the top of your shoulder, and the subsequent ones that trail upward toward your neck. You let out a long, shaky breath. “Crazy,” you say. “This is crazy.”

“Yeah, but do you want it?” Taehyung asks. His hands grip the tops of your thighs, putting pressure on them as he leans forward, his nose is just a few inches away from yours.

Your mind is full of static electricity, but you can remember the last time you kissed. Some nonsense party years ago, drunk and falling all over one another. It hadn’t meant anything then—it didn’t need to mean anything now, either.

“Stop kissing her, she can’t think straight,” Taehyung says, and Yoongi lifts his lips off your neck.

“Yes,” you say, on another shaky exhale.

“Yes, what?” Taehyung asks, tilting his head to the side, that charming smirk appearing on his lips once more. You’ve seen it before, when he’s flirting with girls he wants to pick up in bars. It’s never been turned like this, on you. “Tell me you want me to make you cum,” he says, like you haven’t been friends for nearly a decade. Like it’s a normal and totally casual thing to say to your best friend.

“Taehyung,” you say, sharply, accusatorily—in shock, mostly.

It only makes his grin stretch further.

“Be nice to her, Tae,” Yoongi says, his breath tickling your ear.

Taehyung’s eyes roll in a show of dramatics, but he doesn’t relent on his desire to hear the words off your lips. “Say it,” he presses again.

You glare at him because it’s all you can do. Because you’re not certain you can actually bring yourself to say those words to him.

“What?” he asks, voice low and breathy. “I bet your boyfriend played nice with you, that’s why you never came.”

You narrow your eyes at him, grinding your teeth. You’re lying to yourself simply by keeping the words in. The words come out angry, annoyed. “I want you to try to make me cum. It’s cute that you think you can actually do it.”

His eyes darken at your words, and you know you’ve pissed him off. It’s easy—easier than rage-baiting him during a normal conversation. And you think, absent-mindedly, that this is going to be fun.

“What about him?” Taehyung asks, nodding toward Yoongi, who drops his lips to your neck again, who drags his teeth along your skin. “You want him to make you cum, too?”

“Yes,” you say, letting your head loll back onto Yoongi’s chest. He bites down hard, with no warning, then sucks on the sensitive skin between his teeth. You gasp, and your hips roll forward without permission.

“God, you’re fucking starved for it, aren’t you?” Taehyung asks. One hand slips off the top of your thigh and presses between them, giving you something to grind against. “There you go,” he says. “That’s it.”

Yoongi’s lips move higher before he bites down again, leaving behind a new mark. His fingers dip under your shirt and slide upward, slow and agonizing along the plane of your stomach. You roll your hips against Taehyung’s hand again, and he smiles. “Thought you would take more convincing,” he says. “But no, you’ve thought about this before—haven’t you?”

Yoongi smiles against your neck, then presses soft kisses onto the bruises he’s left behind, fingers still sliding up higher.

It’s the alcohol, or maybe it’s the dizzying feeling of the two of them pushing you slowly forward. “Yes,” you say. You feel the need to quantify it. “A few times. Maybe.”

Yoongi’s fingers lift the edge of your bra, and he hesitates for only a moment before slipping his hand under it completely to palm your breast.

“Maybe?” Yoongi asks, his breath warm against your neck.

“Have you thought about it, Yoongi?” you ask.

“Tried not to,” he says. “Made me jealous to think about you and him—and he didn’t even get you there? You should have been here with us the whole time.” Taehyung’s playful attitude is no match for the genuine anger behind Yoongi’s tone—the jealousy, the vitriol he feels toward your ex—it’s palpable.

Your cheeks flush again, and you’re certain they’ve been pink since the moment they started touching you.

Taehyung chuckles under his breath. “Can’t believe you haven’t had an orgasm in three years.”

Your lids flutter closed as Yoongi rolls your nipple between two fingers. “That’s not—what I said.”

Taehyung’s brows draw together, and he presses his fingers harder against your center through your jeans. “Fuck, he made you do all the work, huh? He didn’t even take care of you?”

You shake your head.

Taehyung’s free hand moves to the button of your jeans, making quick work of it and your zipper. He tugs them down your thighs and runs his tongue along his lower lip. You watch him through hooded lids, your head tipped back against Yoongi’s chest. Yoongi uses his free hand, too, placing it across your throat just under your jaw, keeping your head rolled back. Your eyes flick to his, and he smiles down at you.

You think momentarily—what a fucking situation you have gotten yourself into—but the thought washes over you, there and gone. Both sets of eyes watch you, one careful and one hungry.

Taehyung tosses your jeans to the floor and kneels between your legs. He chuckles under his breath, dry and devoid of warmth, akin to that same hunger blowing out his pupils. The back of his hand drags up your inner thigh, and you shiver. Yoongi’s fingers twist your nipple, and a soft moan leaves your lips. The corner of his lips twitches up at your reaction to him, and you know he’s enjoying himself, too, even if he’s being quieter about it. Taehyung presses two fingers to the apex of your thighs, over lacy panties.

You pull your eyes from Yoongi’s, finding Taehyung’s instead—looking up at you already. Neither of you speaks. He makes no salacious comment. He just looks at you, mouth parted a fraction, eyes locked onto yours, and you can’t look away, either, even as Yoongi attempts to distract you, attempts to win back your gaze by tightening his grasp on your neck, by pinching your nipple harder. It doesn’t work.

Soft whimpers leave your lips, but you can’t not look at him, this person you’ve known for so long, settled between your legs. So familiar, and yet new at the same time.

And time seems to stand still. Yoongi’s breath rises and falls, his chest moving against your back, but it’s quiet, momentarily, as if the three of you all come to the same conclusion at the same time, that you’re doing this, with each other. No one voices a complaint against this realization.

Taehyung moves first, deft fingers pushing your underwear to the side. His fingers slide through your slick, and you flinch, a gasp escaping your lips.

He breaks the silence, the tension, with a few easy words that send shivers up your spine. “You’re so fucking wet,” Taehyung says. His thumb moves slowly over your clit, and you shudder.

“What do you think, Yoongi?” Taehyung asks. “How should I make her cum?”

Yoongi’s lips ghost the curve of your ear. “What do you want, baby?” he asks.

Your breath catches in your throat as Taehyung just barely touches your clit again, just enough to make you gasp, then settle. Over and over.

“I didn’t ask her, I asked you,” Taehyung says.

“You should go down on her,” Yoongi replies, but he’s saying it to you, whispering it in your ear loud enough to be heard. “I think she’d like that,” he says. Then, “Wouldn’t you?”

Yoongi’s fingers clench your neck a little tighter, not cutting anything off, exactly, but just holding you, making sure you don’t go anywhere. You nod, sucking your bottom lip into your mouth so you can bite it.

Yoongi scoots backward on the couch, pulling you with him, giving Taehyung the space to move backward, to lean down and press messy kisses up the side of your inner thigh. He hooks his fingers into the band of your underwear and pulls them down slowly, keeping his eyes on yours.

You want to whine, complain that he’s going too slow—but you know that it’ll only provoke him, only make him go even slower, and you’re impatient.

And you think, too, maybe this was what you were missing with your ex, the push and pull, the tension, the anticipation.

Taehyung slides a finger down your slit and nips at the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, causing you to suck in a sharp breath.

“I bet he never made you this wet, hm?” Taehyung asks, eyes finding yours as he waits for a response. When your mouth opens, he slips the finger inside of you, and you choke on the words.

With his other fingers, he finds your clit, then lowers his mouth onto it without losing the proud smirk. He sucks it into his mouth, and your hips buck against him.

“God,” you moan, tipping your head back even further, trying to catch Yoongi’s eyes.

“Don’t look at him,” Taehyung says sharply, the moment he catches you, raising his mouth off you to say it. “Look at me.” He slips a second finger inside of you and curls them both.

Yoongi’s eyes don’t waver from yours, and you can’t manage to look away from him, despite Taehyung’s commands from between your legs.

You squirm underneath his touch, hips rolling to meet the thrusts of his fingers, still watching Yoongi watch you.

“Yoongi,” Taehyung says, lifting his mouth from you again, allowing you a momentary reprieve. “Leave, you’re distracting her.”

Your brows furrow, but Yoongi’s hands drop away from you, and he stands up. “Wait in the bedroom, we’ll be right there,” Taehyung says.

Your hand shoots out to grab Yoongi’s, eyes watching him from below.

Taehyung bites your inner thigh hard, and you yelp, dropping Yoongi’s hand, eyes shooting to Taehyung, who looks up at you with a grin.

“Your whole mean guy thing doesn’t work on me,” you say, voice wavering.

Taehyung laughs under his breath, twisting his fingers inside of you. He pulls them out fast, running both through your slick and holding them up between you. “Could have fooled me,” he says, looking at his fingers with a sense of pride in himself. He brings them to his lips, then runs his tongue along them slowly, knuckle to tip.

You throw your head back with a groan, because you can’t take just how fucking sexy he is—and how did you never see it before? You saw it. Obviously. In an appreciative kind of way. But never in a holy fuck you want him kind of way.

He shoves his fingers back inside of you, both at the same time, without warning, then lowers his mouth to your clit again. “Now, look at me,” he says.

You lift your head to make eye contact with him, brows furrowed.

“Play mad all you want, I can feel how badly you want me,” he says, before closing his lips around your clit again.

“I’m not—” you start, your words broken up by moans as he runs his tongue in circles around your clit. “pretending,” you force out. “You piss me off.”

Taehyung hums in laughter against you, making you moan. He keeps going, moving his fingers fast inside of you, and licking and sucking at your swollen clit as moans fall off your lips at a much higher frequency. You wonder if Yoongi is listening from the bedroom.

Your nails dig into the couch, and your hips lift as your back arches.

“Fuck, Tae,” you say.

Hot tension seizes your muscles, and your thighs start to quiver. Taehyung lifts his mouth from your clit and watches you crumble underneath him. “You gonna cum?” he asks.

You nod, and the corner of his mouth turns up in a smirk just before he pulls his fingers out of you. You gasp, and he moves forward, hovering over you with that same proud smile on his face. He snakes one arm under your body and pulls you upward, against him.

“Remember that later,” he whispers. “That the only reason you didn’t cum—is because I didn’t let you.”

He drops you back onto the couch and stands up.

You swallow the lump in your throat. It takes a moment for you to register what just happened. Your arms go around your stomach.

“Oh, she’s shy now?” Taehyung asks, eyes trailing your body. “Come on,” he says. “Stand up.” Then he walks away, disappearing into the bedroom.

You follow on shaky legs. Yoongi’s lounging on the bed, back against the headboard, in just his boxers. Taehyung stands at the foot of the bed. Both of their eyes are on you, naked from the waist down, fingers playing in the hem of your shirt.

“Still want this?” Yoongi asks, tilting his head to the side. You walk toward him.

You can feel Taehyung’s eyes on the side of your head, like he’s trying to get you to look at him, instead.

“Yes,” you say.

A small smile appears on Yoongi’s face. He beckons you closer until you’re standing in front of him, at the side of his bed. He leans closer, takes the hem of your shirt in both hands, and lifts it over your head. He pops the clasp of your bra open and pulls the straps off, letting that fall to the floor, too.

“You wanna help Tae out of his clothes? He’s pouting over there,” Yoongi says.

You pout, too. “Not really.”

Yoongi trails a few fingers down your side, then withdraws. You roll your eyes and step away, moving to the foot of the bed. Taehyung turns to face you as you approach. His eyes fall down your body.

All of a sudden, he’s your friend again, and your cheeks flush that bright pink color. “Don’t look at me like that,” you say.

“Like what?” Taehyung asks, fully aware of what he’s doing. “I just made you cum like, two minutes ago, I think I can look at you—”

“You did not,” you say, shaking your head.

“I might as well have,” he says.

“But you didn’t. It doesn’t count. Not for this,” you say.

He raises a brow. “But you still want me to, don’t you?”

You chew on your bottom lip. “Shut up,” you say.

He tries not to smile.

“Take your clothes off,” you say. It’s answer enough. He whips his shirt off over his head, then unbuttons his pants, pushing those to the ground too. He takes you by the wrist—not the hand, that would be much too romantic—and tugs you toward the bed. You crawl into it next to Yoongi, who gives you another one of those soft, reassuring smiles he’s been tossing in your direction all night.

Taehyung climbs into bed after you and pulls you away from Yoongi before you can so much as touch each other. One hand holds your hip, the other snakes around to lay flat against your stomach, pulling you backward against his chest.

“What are you doing?” Taehyung asks, his breath warm against your ear.

“Just wanted Yoongi to feel included,” you say with a pout. Taehyung’s cock presses against your ass through his boxers. You roll your hips, grinding backward into him.

He sucks in a breath. “Yoongi’s patient,” Taehyung says. “I’m not. Turn around.”

He moves his hands, and you turn around. He slides one of his hands down your side and grabs your inner thigh, pulling it across his legs. “Come here,” he says. You straddle him, and he places a hand on each of your hips, pulling you against him as he sits up, leaning against the headboard. You grind against him, humming at the sensation of his hard length underneath you.

“Take these off,” you say, trying to keep the absolute neediness from your voice, but failing.

Taehyung just laughs, then says. “You do it.”

You don’t waste any time thinking about why he’s decided to take the passive route all of a sudden. You lift your hips and move backward off of him, then slide down his boxers.

He’s big. Bigger than you would have ever guessed—not that you spend time thinking about what your best friend’s cock looks like.

You move forward again and look at him. He reaches into the drawer next to the bed for a condom, then presses it into your hand. You open it with your teeth, then roll it onto him. You hesitate with your hand on the base of his dick.

Then, you align him with your entrance and slowly lower yourself down, taking him inch by inch.

“Fuck,” Taehyung hisses. “That’s it.”

Your head rolls back. Yoongi shifts, and his hand slips down his body.

You move your hips slowly, adjusting to the feeling of him inside of you. Every movement sends pleasure straight up your spine. Taehyung doesn’t touch you, but you press your hands against his bare chest, then slip them upward to hold onto his shoulders as you take more and more of him.

“God—oh my god,” you mutter as your head falls backward. You can feel Yoongi’s eyes on you as he touches himself.

Taehyung moves, then, his hands come up to grab your back, pressing you against his chest as he pulls almost all the way out, then snaps his hips forward, forcing you to take all of him, at once.

You gasp a sob into his shoulder.

He stills again, then drops his hands away from you. He pushes you away from his chest. “Keep going,” he says.

Your breathing is heavy and ragged, but you do what he says. With each roll of your hips, you moan, even at such little movement.

“Faster,” Taehyung says.

“We’ve known each other so long, Tae, why can’t you just be nice to me?” you ask, brows furrowed together, hands on his chest.

“Thought the mean guy act didn’t work on you.” He raises a brow, but you don’t have a response. His lips part, and he fucking scoffs at you. The scoff turns into a laugh, and then he’s gathering you in his arms again, thrusting upward hard. “You want me to be nice?” he asks, voice rough and ragged in your ear as he presses deep into you.

“Yes,” you beg.

He flips you over in one fast movement. Your head hits the pillow. His hips snap forward harshly, no build-up, and another cry falls off your lips.

“You want nice, you can fuck Yoongi,” Taehyung says. “You do wanna fuck Yoongi, don’t you?”

You turn your head to the side, desperate to meet Yoongi’s eyes. He’s there. He finds yours immediately. He moves down so his head is resting on the pillow next to yours. “Y-yes,” you say, as Taehyung rolls his hips slowly, his cock dragging in and out so slow you feel like you might lose your mind.

Taehyung smiles. “Be good for me, then, and maybe I’ll let you.” He grabs the tops of your thighs and pulls you down on him, holding you against him as he establishes a feverish rhythm that has you dragging your eyes away from Yoongi to watch Taehyung, instead.

Taehyung leans over you, gripping the top of the headboard with one hand. You can’t stop yourself from touching him as he rocks forward into you. You touch his chest, his shoulders. You wrap your hands around the back of his neck and let your fingers thread into his hair.

“Tae, oh my god,” you moan as he thrusts forward harder and harder, making the bed shake. You lift your hips to meet each one. He raises his other hand to wrap around your throat, squeezing just enough to give you the sensation. You squirm underneath him, little whimpers escaping your lips.

His eyes meet yours, darkened and wild. His hand drops from the headboard. He swipes his thumb across your lower lip, and for a second, you think he might kiss you. Your lips part, and your head lifts just a fraction off the pillow. He pushes two fingers into your mouth, muffling your groan.

“That’s better,” Taehyung grins, never relenting on his pace. He removes his hand from your throat to lift up one of your legs, propping it against his chest and holding it in place as he drives into you.

You mumble around his fingers, incoherent sobs as pleasure peaks higher and higher.

“Bet he never fucked you like this, did he?” Taehyung asks.

You shake your head.

“God, you should have come to me—us, first. Should have never dated that fucking idiot in the first place,” Taehyung says. His eyes dart to the side, to Yoongi.

Your legs start to shake, and he presses his fingers deeper into your mouth, so they’re nearly choking you. The corners of your eyes sting.

“Come on,” Taehyung says. “Don’t fucking cry.” He slows his pace a fraction, but the long, languid strokes give you no reprieve, either. “Be useful,” he says, meeting your eyes, then tilting his head toward Yoongi. “Help him with that.”

You drop a hand from Taehyung’s shoulder. Yoongi guides it to his hard length. You try to look at him, but Taehyung keeps your head still, facing him. Yoongi wraps your hand around him and moves it slowly, up and down.

Taehyung picks up the pace again, and you’re grateful for Yoongi’s hand, keeping the pace for you, because you can’t focus well enough to do fucking anything. Taehyung presses his fingers even deeper, and tears well in your eyes as you moan against them—everything tightening and tightening, until you can’t take it anymore. Taehyung still doesn’t stop. He keeps fucking you hard and fast, even as you squirm and shake beneath him.

And when you cum, it’s with his fingers in your mouth and him fucking you through it. Taehyung pulls out his fingers as your walls clench hard around him. He wipes your drool off on your cheek, making a mess of you. He holds your jaw with his hand as his hips snap forward, giving you no moment of recovery while he chases his own orgasm.

When he slows, your hand falls away from Yoongi, too. Then, he’s pulling out and standing up, walking away. He stops at the foot of the bed, looking at you—wrecked and breathing heavily, and he smirks. His eyes drag away from you, toward Yoongi. “Your turn,” he says, then he disappears into the bathroom.

Your head falls to the side. Yoongi reaches up and wipes away one of the tears, then some of the drool. “You okay?” he asks.

Your lids flutter closed, and you nod. “Mhm.”

You lay there in silence for a few moments, catching your breath. When you open your eyes, he’s still there, fingers tracing idle circles on your arm.

“Hi,” you say, somewhat awkwardly, somewhat breathless.

“Hi, beautiful,” he says. “You need a minute?”

You turn toward him, and something in the resolve you had with Taehyung breaks when it comes to Yoongi. You shake your head. “No.” You inch closer, slipping one of your legs between his, pressing your chest against his. Your eyes meet for a moment before they both drop to the other’s lips.

The dam breaks, and you both move in at the same time, lips crashing together. Your hands delve into his hair, and his wrap around your back, pulling you closer. You never realized how much you wanted to kiss him—not until you’re actually doing it.

He pauses the bruising kisses just long enough to catch his breath and mumble, “You’re so sexy,” against your lips. He settles one hand on the side of your face and presses his lips against yours again, slower this time. Softer. You part your lips for him, and he slips a tongue into your mouth.

You stay like that—pressed against each other, kissing—until Taehyung clears his throat from the foot of the bed.

Yoongi pulls away an inch to look at Taehyung, watching both of you.

“You still want me?” Yoongi asks, dragging the tip of his nose along the side of yours.

“She does,” Taehyung says. “All she’s been fucking talking about.”

“I do,” you say.

A soft smile appears on Yoongi’s lips. His hand drags down your body, from your lower back, over your ass, and around to the top of your thigh. You lean back, propping yourself up on your elbows. You look past Yoongi, making eye contact with Taehyung, who watches your every move. You roll your eyes at him, then let them flutter closed entirely.

Yoongi’s touch is softer, more careful. His fingertips slide through your slick, and you suck in a breath when they touch your clit, still sensitive. He dips one finger inside of you, nudging it forward ever so slowly.

He teases you, refuses to establish a steady rhythm. When he adds a second finger, you’re moving your hips against him, needy.

“She doesn’t need all that,” Taehyung says. “She’s so fucking desperate for it.”

You grab a pillow from beneath your head and chuck it in Taehyung’s direction. Yoongi laughs, even as it misses.

“Yeah, but she likes it,” Yoongi says, nipping at the skin where your neck meets your shoulder. “Don’t you, baby?”

“Mhm,” you murmur, head thrown back on the pillow. His thumb finds your clit, and you gasp.

Taehyung folds his arms over his chest. You try to keep your eyes closed, or on Yoongi, but he’s just standing there, all imposing, like he’s in charge of the whole situation. He probably thinks he is.

Yoongi twists his fingers inside of you, then curls them, keeping a harsh pressure on your swollen clit all the while.

You hold his bicep with one hand, nails digging into his skin. “Yoongi,” you whine, writhing under his touch. It’s so different than the way Taehyung handled you. Slow, but intentional. More teasing than full-blown torture.

“Hm?” Yoongi asks, eyes flicking up to yours. He’s got one brow raised, genuinely curious. Willing to do whatever it is you want.

You open your mouth—and it happens again. That moment. You remember that he’s Yoongi. Your Yoongi. Your best friend, Yoongi. Sure, he’s fucking hot, but he’s just your friend. Your cheeks go red, and he lifts a finger to touch the warmth.

You don’t use words. You reach down and push his boxers away as best you can. He takes the hint and kicks them the rest of the way off. He positions himself between your legs, removes his fingers from you, and slides his hand along his cock. You bite your bottom lip, watching him—watching Taehyung, just behind him.

Yoongi drags the tip of his dick through your folds, and your hips twitch.

“Please, Yoongi,” you whine.

“I don’t have a—” he starts.

“I don’t care,” you say, and he nudges the tip into you. He’s thicker than Taehyung, and the feeling of him with no barrier short-circuits your brain.

He moves so fucking slow, inch by inch, until he’s fully seated, hovering over you, a hand on either side of your chest. Then, he draws back just as slowly. “Fuck, Yoongi,” you say. “Oh, my god.”

When he snaps his hips forward to fill you up again, he’s not nearly as rough as Taehyung. But it feels too good, dangerously good. You’re slick with sweat and pleasure, and your hands roam over his body until they settle on his shoulders again, until you’re pulling him down for another kiss, and he’s complying as he moves a little bit faster. He puts most of his weight on you, and your hips roll to meet each of his thrusts, and it feels goddamn perfect.

Your lips move just as hungrily, teeth knocking into each other.

“You’re so good, baby, fuck,” Yoongi whispers against your lips.

You can see, just out of the corner of your eye, Taehyung’s hand moving as he watches the two of you.

Yoongi pulls out quickly, his dick twitching. He drops his forehead against yours. “Need,” he says, as he catches his breath. “A condom.”

He moves away from you to reach into the drawer next to his bed. Taehyung crawls into bed next to you, pushing some of your hair out of the way. “Having fun?” he asks, eyes dark, pupils blown.

“Yes,” you say.

Taehyung trails his fingers down the center of your chest, between your breasts. “You’re so good for him.”

“You’re so annoying,” you say, words breathy.

Yoongi gets back into bed, between your legs. Taehyung takes the condom out of his hand and tears it open with his teeth. He puts one hand on Yoongi’s length and rolls it on with the other. Then, he gets out of bed, circles to the other side, grabs a small bottle out of the same drawer, and gets back into bed, kneeling at Yoongi’s side.

“Yeah?” Taehyung asks, belatedly. “Am I?”

You roll your eyes, if only to prevent yourself from looking at him with the same curious hunger.

Yoongi pulls you closer by the thighs, then presses into you again. You can’t help the gasp that falls off your lips as he bottoms out.

Taehyung opens the bottle and squeezes some lube onto his fingers. Then, he places his other hand at the top of Yoongi’s back and bends him over you. He presses one finger into Yoongi, slow, giving him enough time to adjust.

You hold Yoongi’s gaze and his arms, nails digging into his skin as his slow strokes make your walls clench around him.

Taehyung slips another finger inside, starting slow as he scissors them, making room. With his other hand, he strokes his dick, eyes drifting between what he’s doing and you. You look at him, too, eyes curious, but he only responds with a wicked smirk. He removes his fingers, and Yoongi hisses.

“God, you’re being so gentle with her,” Taehyung says, as Yoongi rolls his hips at a steady rhythm. It’s not the breakneck speed with which Taehyung destroyed you earlier, but it does just as much to bring you higher and higher, the tension in your core tightening with every slow stroke. “You don’t have to be.”

Taehyung grabs another condom from the drawer and smirks at you while he rolls it on. He lowers his lips to Yoongi’s ear and says, “Ready for me?”

Yoongi nods as Taehyung swipes lube over his dick. He lays one hand flat against Yoongi’s back, then uses the other to guide his length, pressing slowly into Yoongi’s ass.

“Fuck,” Yoongi whispers as he takes Taehyung and keeps fucking you at the same time. You feel Yoongi’s hips stutter, can feel him lose rhythm as he adjusts to Taehyung.

Taehyung grabs Yoongi’s shoulder and pulls him backward against his chest, then wraps one arm around his abdomen to keep him there. He says your name, and your eyes meet over Yoongi’s shoulder. “Hands and knees,” he says.

Your lips part in shock at how hot it is to see the two of them together. Your eyes trace Yoongi’s expression, the redness in his cheeks, and the way his fingers twitch to touch something. You. Taehyung. You aren’t sure.

“I said hands and knees,” Taehyung repeats, and you comply, moving off of Yoongi so you can flip over. You press your ass backward against him, and Yoongi guides his length to your entrance again. He moves forward an inch, then Taehyung rocks his hips forward, fully seating Yoongi inside of you in one harsh motion. The sound that falls off your lips is half gasp, half yelp.

Taehyung’s momentum changes everything. Yoongi’s hips move faster. His hands grip your hips tight, almost forcefully, as he fights to maintain his own composure.

You’re all moaning and breathing heavily, profanities on the tips of your tongues—sweating and sticky.

“Take her hands,” Taehyung whispers to Yoongi.

“Don’t you think we’ve tortured her enough?” Yoongi asks.

Taehyung laces a hand up through Yoongi’s hair, tugging it from the base. “Take her hands for me, Yoongi,” he says.

Yoongi leans forward and takes one hand, then the other, dropping you forward onto your shoulders, your face pressed into the mattress.

Taehyung picks up the pace, snapping forward into Yoongi, and sending him deeper and deeper into you. You bite your bottom lip to keep from screaming. You say his name, then Taehyung’s, over and over like a plea, begging for what they promised they could give you.

You clench tight around Yoongi, making each drag more intoxicating than the last. You can feel him start to twitch, can feel him trying to hold back from his own release so he can get you to yours. He reaches a hand around you, finding your clit and pinching it between two fingers.

“Fuck,” Yoongi hisses. “Can’t—”

He drills into you, hard and fast and dizzying, rolling your clit at the same time. His cock twitches inside of you, and your walls clamp down even harder. Taehyung pulls out and lets Yoongi fall forward on top of you. He drops your hands and winds his arms around your stomach, holding you, fucking deep into you while he cums. It’s enough to send you over the same edge.

You collapse flat onto the bed, and Yoongi moves to your side. Taehyung disappears for a moment, then returns and crawls into bed next to you.

Yoongi presses soft kisses to the bruises along your neck, then to your cheeks. He looks at Taehyung with the same lazy smile he’s been admiring you with all night, then says. “I’m gonna start the shower.”

You move to follow him, but Taehyung loops his arms around your waist and pulls you backward. He nuzzles your neck, and you wince.

“Sorry,” he whispers.

“It’s okay,” you say.

He holds you for a long time, like that.

“Hey,” he says, voice soft.

Yoongi’s waiting for you both in the shower, you know, but you can’t help but stay there, with him.

He reaches up to cup your face, turning it so he can look at you. So you can look at him. He studies you for a long time, like he’s trying to think of what to say—about what can be said, after all that.

It’s the first time he’s been gentle with you. But not the last.

He doesn’t figure out what to say. Maybe those words don’t exist. Instead, he lowers his lips to yours and kisses you. It’s not rushed or harsh, but slow, like he’s trying to figure something out.

It’s molten, and everything else disappears for a while. You can hardly hear the sound of the shower, of Yoongi in the next room. He traces the outline of your body with his other hand, fingers dragging along the curve of your breast, then down your stomach.

“Tae…” you say, breaking away from his lips for only a second.

He closes the gap again, kisses you again, then stops. “I can be nice,” he says. “Let me be nice.” You roll your hips back to find his hard length there, pressing against you. “I want to be nice.”

You don’t say anything, but you spread your legs just enough for him to guide his cock to your entrance from behind. “Just need to feel you,” he mumbles. “Like Yoongi did.”

He pushes into you, slow and unhurried, relishing the feeling of it.

“Careful,” you say, forming the word around broken gasps. “You sound jealous.”

“Maybe I am,” he says, voice low in your ear. He rocks forward until you’re full, then pauses, holding you against him. “God,” he whispers. “You feel so good.” He draws back, then creeps forward again, everything languid.

“Mm, Tae,” you moan, and he captures your lips again—just as soft as before.

He breaks away to keep whispering in your ear. “You’re so pretty, baby, you know that? You know how fucking pretty you are? God, it drives me crazy.”

He kisses you again, on the lips, along your jaw, just under your ear. He moans little sounds with every stroke, and you’re fairly certain this nice version of him is just as intoxicating as the last.

“Don’t stop,” you say, breathless, wanting more of his praise, more of his touch, more of his everything.

He doens’t. He keeps the same slow pace, the same delicious, intoxicating drag.

“Whatever you want, pretty. Anything you want,” he says, voice honey compared to the harshness from before.

Whimpers escape your mouth as he rolls into you. He wraps his arms around your waist and holds you against him. “You’re so good for me, baby. Fuck, I could have you like this all the time.”

The two of you hardly notice when Yoongi appears in the doorway. “Was wondering what was taking so long,” he says.

Taehyung keeps the pace, and your eyelids fall closed.

“Just,” Taehyung starts, breaths ragged in your ear. “Give us—a minute.”

You pull Taehyung back down for another kiss before moving off of him. He looks at you with a pout, like you’ve done something completely betraying.

“Come on,” you say, finding his hand and tugging on it. “Let’s shower.”

And you know, as the three of you stumble into the shower together, that it won’t be the last night you spend like this, with them. And you have to hand it to them. Really, you do. Because, despite the purpose of the evening, they never even brag about being able to make you cum. Multiple times.

[yoonmetogether]

vip - a min yoongi oneshot pairing: yoongi/agust d x fem!reader - hook, line & stinker couple genre: est. relationship summary: your boyfriend is on tour, and you surprise him after one of his concerts in the vip room. No phones are allowed, so you're free to show everyone he's yours. warnings/tags: drinking, jealousy, dirty talk, use of 'slutty', these two are just horny for each other lol wc: 5.1k notes: another repost but i have a lot of new things coming up, so stay tuned!!

Pride thrums in your chest as you stare at a single figure in the crowded room, full of VIPs and big-name underground artists, this man stands out the most.

Granted, you are a little biased as he happens to be your boyfriend, but still you aren’t the only one who thinks so. He’s shining, in his element, schmoozing with people congratulating him on his performance and you are so, so proud. He doesn’t know you’re here, which explains why your heart is pounding as you wait for him to notice you but he is still so caught up in networking that he doesn’t feel your eyes not leave his face. To be fair, you’re hidden pretty well in the dimly lit room filled with chatter and low-beat music, but you want him to find you here. Phones aren’t allowed in the VIP room for security reasons, so you wait patiently for your boyfriend to notice you. 

“Oh shit, what are you doing here?” a familiar voice exclaims, and you look up to see Namjoon smiling down at you.

“Hey!” you spring up to greet him and he wraps you in a hug. “You were so amazing on stage!” 

“Wow, you saw? How did you-”

“I wanted it to be a surprise so I asked Marco to keep it on the down low because you and your band are little gossip queens,” you joke, playfully poking his sternum and he laughs, then watches as you start looking around for Yoongi. 

“You want me to go get him for you?”

“Aw, that’s so sweet, Joon. Would you mind? I just, the crowd…”

“I know. I don’t mind,” he says, patting your head.

You thank him and sit back down as you watch him disappear into the crowd, growing giddy. 

Namjoon uses his height to his advantage and is able to spot Yoongi easily, thanks to his orange hair. He excuses himself to the people around him and nudges Yoongi’s elbow, sitting at the bar with Hoseok.

“Yo, hyung. Guess who’s here.”

Yoongi turns to him with a drink in hand. “Huh?”

Namjoon ducks closer to his friend. “Someone who wears a chain with your initials is on a couch over there, waiting for you” He points to the opposite side of the room and Yoongi’s face pinches.

“Don’t play with me like that, Joon,” he grumbles, only because he knows you’ve been busy with work so how do you possibly have time to come all the way out here. 

The leader rolls his eyes. “I’m dead serious.”

Yoongi takes two seconds to believe him before his face lights up and he drops his drink on the bar, pushing off the stool. 

“We’re gonna head to the booth next to the balcony. Meet us there,” Namjoon says before Yoongi disappears. 

Namjoon glances at Hoseok and the two men share a laugh of amusement at the quick way Yoongi moves. 

“Fifty bucks they fuck before the show,” Hoseok bets as Namjoon slides into the seat next to him with a laugh.

“You’re on.”

*******

Yoongi has never moved so fast through a crowd, head moving this way and that, trying to find you. Your heart bursts when you suddenly spot him appear among the sea of people and you raise your arm to help him find you. 

When he catches your wave, your heart skips a beat at the way he weaves in and out of the crowd to get to you. You stand once he’s only a few steps away and you smile at the way he tries to contain his excitement upon seeing you. He’s changed out of his stage outfit, dressed down to a black jersey with a low cut black tee underneath, silver chains twinkling in the low lights, and long basketball shorts. Casual, but so, so hot.

“Holy fuck, baby,” he breathes, wrapping you in his arms and squeezing tight.

“Hiiiii, Yoon,” you giggle when he hides his face in your neck.

“What are you doing here?” He asks, pulling back to hold your face and look down at you with the softest of smiles. You decide to tease him and look over his shoulder at the crowd.

“Oh, I was hoping to meet Jackson, do you think you could introduce-“

He clicks his tongue and pulls your face back down to level with him and you grin at the playful tick in his jaw, reaching up to grab his ribs.

“I came to see you, dummy!” He smiles and looks around for a quick escape, grabbing your hand to pull you in the direction of a quiet hallway.

Once out of sight from the majority of the crowd, he pulls you back into a hug, tighter this time, shoving his face again in your neck to deeply inhale your scent. Your eyes roll back as he noses and mouths at your pulse point, fingers tightening in his shirt.

“Fuck, I missed you,” he rasps before lifting his head to lean in and kiss you and you melt like wax. You wrap your arms around his waist to eliminate any space between you and he deepens the kiss to tell you quietly just how much he’s missed you. He stumbles forward and puts out his hands to catch on the wall before your body hits and you moan when he wedges his hips against yours. 

He kisses you several times before ducking his head to press his lips along your throat, softly moaning when you scratch his back over his shirt and he purrs his thanks into your neck.

“You did so good up there, Yoon,” you sigh in content as he drags his teeth over your shoulder and you feel his lips spread in a smile. He lifts his head and god, you love the way he looks proud of himself.

“You saw me?” You return his smile with a nod as your fingers drag around to his front and you look down at his outfit that does things to you.

“I did and I’m so proud. Looked good up there too. Even better up close,” you say with a sultry voice and his eyes hood over as his tongue pokes between his teeth.

He kisses you again, giving you a little taste of the drinks that people have bought him. Your fingers dip back around to his spine and dare to go lower, coming across some cool, damp skin that makes you damp between your legs. You wipe his sweat with your palms and have the dirtiest desire to lick them. Instead your fingers travel to dip into the waistband of his shorts, making him grumble into your mouth.

“Don’t start, doll. I gotta go back out there,” he says although he wants nothing more than for you to do whatever you want. You pout against his lips and he gives you a consoling kiss before pulling back to really look at you. His eyes pour into yours before they slowly slide down your body, bottom lip ensnared by his teeth as he drinks in the sight of you in a tight dress, one he hasn’t seen before. He steps back and takes your hand, lifting it in the air until you lean off from the wall.

“Give me a spin, baby.” You blush as you let his wrist guide your turn and you feel his hot stare rake up and down your body as you show off for him.

“Damn, you look so good. My pretty girl,” he murmurs in content as you complete your 360 and fall with a giggle against his chest, popping your heel like the princess you are. He slides his large, bedazzled hands over your waist as he looks at you in content, especially when he catches sight of the chain around your neck that dangles a pendant of his initials. A low, carnal heat threatens to take over his common sense.

“You get all dressed up for me?” You nod, tipping up to kiss him and he hums against you, hands sliding down to your ass to make you press into him. As his hands fall lower, a wicked smile rises on your lips, and you pop off to drag them to his ear. 

“Got you a present,” you purr, and he hums, pressing you into the wall as you kiss his earrings and blindly reach into your purse. 

“I thought you were my present,” he murmurs, sucking a bruise behind your ear and cupping your ass. You flush at his words and if you were in a more private area, you would drop to your knees. You have no idea what to say as that makes you shy so you pull out what’s in your bag, curling it in your hand before sliding into the front pocket of his loose, ripped jeans. His smile quirks over your skin as he lifts his head while his hand moves to see what you left for him. 

His eyes darken when his fingers curl around lacy fabric and he glances down to the hem of your dress, grip tightening around your panties when he imagines you without them. Heat floods south while he removes his fistful of lace, and you thrum with heat when removes when he brings it to his face to take a deep inhale. You shudder and curse under your breath at the way his eyes roll back. On an exhale, he drops his hand and fixes you with a dark glare.

“You’re mean,” he grumbles, unfolding his grip on your panties and his teeth dig into his bottom lip at the color and he wants to rub his face in them. You grin at his pout before kissing it. Sorry not sorry.

“Think of it as your good luck charm.” 

He blows a raspberry and drops his head to your shoulder. “You’re my good luck charm.”

You fill with warmth and glee, so you wrap your arms around his waist to hug him tightly and he pockets your panties.

“You’re being gushy tonight, Min Yoongi,” you tease, smirking when he makes a disgruntled noise.

“Shut up.” You laugh and he mumbles something incoherent under his breath. Then he clicks his tongue and lets go of you to shove his hands through his sweaty hair, knowing he has to get you two out of here before he takes you right up against the wall. He cups your cheek to kiss you once, twice more before taking your hand to tangle your fingers together.

“You eat yet?” You shake your head and he kisses your temple before leading you back into the crowd. 

Once you both reappear he realizes just how many eyes are on him and now you, so he lifts his arm to cross over your shoulder, making it known that you are his and his only. He lifts his fingers dangling over your chest in casual greetings to new people who spot him as he walks you towards the bar. As you both slide up to the counter, he lets his hand drop to the small of your back, displaying his fingers and rings just above your ass. 

“What do you want?” He asks, leaning into your ear so he doesn’t have to yell over the crowd.

You shrug. “Whatever you superstars eat.” He playfully rolls his eyes but beckons a server over because he already knows what you’d order.

You tap on the edge of the counter, looking around at all the people who are here for this performance of up-and-coming rappers and singers, along with agents and manager and a few lucky groupies. You are so proud that your boyfriend is among them. He feels you staring and glances over at you with a grin, kissing your temple again as his hand rubs up and down your back. He sits on the edge of the stool and pulls you into his lap, propping his foot on the railing that runs beneath the bar a few inches above the floor so he can stretch out his leg behind you to hold you up. You wiggle your ass to get comfortable as his hand slides around your waist to your thigh, pulling down the hem of your dress before holding it in place. While you both wait for the food, you do so in silence as neither of you feel like attempting a conversation over all the noise but you connect with him by fiddling with his rings and playing with his fingers on the counter while he watches you with a lazy smile, letting you do what you want. 

He isn’t really a fan of PDA but it has been a month since he’s been on the road and he fucking misses you. That, and there are way too many people, most of them men, and he feels a little protective, if not possessive so he allows himself to be more affectionate with you in this setting. And, he isn’t too proud of this as it is mildly superficial, but you look fucking good and he wants everyone to know you belong to him so they won’t let gazes linger. 

A few minutes pass before the busy bartender slides Yoongi his whiskey over rocks which he immediately hands over to you as he figures you haven’t had anything at all yet. You eye him curiously and he only nods, watching you take a sip and letting out a laugh when you fail to hold back a shutter from the bitter taste. You smack your tongue in distaste and slide the glass back to him and he takes a sip with an amused smile. 

“You ordered me a Long Island right?” He huffs into his glass as he knocks back a sip.

“Yup. Even though it’s basic.”

“Oh, what, Agust D’s girl has to be a whiskey connoisseur too?” He chuckles, a thrill running through him as you use his stage name to call yourself ‘his girl.’

He shrugs playfully. “Gotta keep up an image."

You roll your eyes and lift your arms to wrap around his neck, resting your head against his while his hand presses over your middle.

“I’m not cool like you, I don’t drink for the taste. I just want to get knocked on my ass as fast as possible, we’ve been over this!”

“My bad, my bad,” He laughs and you grin before kissing his cheek.

“Did you fly here?”

“No, I walked,” you say cheekily and he pinches your hip, smiling when you squeal.

“How much was the flight?” 

“A lot of money.” He pinches you again.

“I'm paying you back for it,” he grumbles, biting your ear lobe, forgetting about the people around as you lean into his teeth.

You snort. “No, you’re not.”

“Yes I am.”

“Nuh uh!”

“Yuh huh!” He imitates your bratty face and you roll your eyes.

“I can afford my own plane ticket, thank you very much,” you assert, flicking invisible lint off your arm.

“I never said you couldn’t but come on, just let me pay for it.” You continue picking at your sleeve like you don’t hear him. He flicks your arm, and you pretend that it really hurts but he ignores you.

“Y’know, it’ll look bad if people find out a headlining rapper didn’t pay for his girlfriend’s flight and hotel.” You roll your eyes and cross your arms after flicking his forehead. He doesn’t flinch, used to your antics.

“Are you not planning on letting me stay in your hotel room?”

“Only brats who let me pay for their plane tickets get to stay in my room.”

He grins at your salty expression before a bratty smile replaces it.

“Well, I hope you can find one.”

He grabs your chin, cocking a brow. “You sure about that, babe?” He challenges, smirking when your face falls.

You look away from him and huff. “No.”

“That’s what I thought.” He brings your face closer to kiss your cheek. “Silly girl.”

You bat him away but he just catches your hand and kisses your knuckles instead.

When your drink comes you happily swallow it down after offering him a sip, but he’s good with his whiskey. While you wait for your drinks a man appears behind you and you startle, Yoongi immediately pulling you closer to him before realizing it’s Marco.

“Good, I’m glad you found her,” he says, slapping a hand on Yoongi’s back while he gives you a warm smile and you respond with a wave.

“The show was fantastic,” he says to Yoongi with a proud smile, who returns it with a smug grin. “You’re getting something to eat?” Your boyfriend hums an affirmation and Marco nods before pointing at his whiskey.

“Drink some water, too.” Then he points to you. “Get on his ass for that. He doesn’t like to listen to me.”

You nod, giggling when Yoongi scowls. Marco smiles and starts to turn away but pauses, looking sternly and pointing between the two of you.

“And be on your best behavior. No funny business.” You realize what he means and blush, looking away while Yoongi snorts as he brings his glass to his lips.

Once the food arrives, along with refills of your drinks, you both gather everything, and he begins to lead you to where Namjoon and Hoseok said they will be. 

“Stay close to me, yeah?” he says, glancing over his shoulder to make sure you’re close behind. You nod and try your best to stay right behind him.

The booths come into view and Namjoon and Hoseok are sitting on the same side, knowing the two of you will want to sit next to each other. 

“Hey, guys!” you exclaim as Yoongi makes you slide onto the bench first before he follows, setting down your food and drinks. 

“Hey!” Hoseok greets you with a wide smile. He starts reaching for some of your appetizer but Yoongi lightly slaps his hand away.

“Don’t eat her food,” he warns. A part of you warms at this but you take notice of the resigned look on Hoseok’s face and feel bad.

“Cool off, mama bird,” you click your tongue at your boyfriend, sliding the basket towards Hoseok who smiles at you gratefully and sticks his tongue out at the older man as he grabs the food and pops it in his mouth. You snicker when Yoongi scowls. Namjoon looks on in amusement and gets in on it, ignoring Yoongi’s mild glare. 

You and the band fall into easy conversation as they question how Marco got you into VIP and ask your feedback on their show, Yoongi watching you talk in adoration. Later when your bellies are full and your drinks are almost done, you settle into your boyfriend’s side who puts a hand on your thigh and kisses the top of your head while you listen to Hoseok critique some of the other performers’ choreography. Feeling a little tipsy, you tell Yoongi you have to go to the bathroom.

He turns to whisper in your ear. “Need me to come with you?”

At first you think he’s being courteous, but when you see his grin in your periphery, you blush, putting a hand on his chest to push him away. Across the table, Hoseok and Namjoon share a look.

“No.” You giggle when he pouts at you and then scoots off of the bench while offering a hand to help you out. As you start to walk away, he tugs on your hand to pull you back, leaning forward to kiss you chastely enough to make you a little dizzy when he parts with a smirk, tapping the side of your face before he leans away. You let out a shaky breath as you let go of his hand, eyes flicking to the two men who have been watching, and pick up the pace to make your escape. You can feel Yoongi’s eyes on you as you disappear into the crowd without even having to look back.

Indeed, he is watching you, eyes mostly trained in deep concentration on your ass that sways with the help of your high heels before he slips back into the booth, scooting all the way to the wall so he can settle in the corner, folding his knee on the cushion, arm resting on the back of the booth while his other elbow props on the table to hold his glass. 

“You’re so fucking whipped, it’s almost disgusting,” Hoseok mutters with a shake of his head. Yoongi slides his attention over to his friend, smirking in amusement as he lazily grabs his glass and knocks back brown liquor.

“How can I not be when she comes all the way out here to surprise me. That and she looks fucking fantastic,” he says. Hoseok nods, he has a point although he has to hide his bitter frown behind his glass, especially when he hears Yoongi mumble to himself something about your ass in the dress you have on. 

The three men engage in light conversation as Yoongi keeps his eye out for you on the floor when suddenly three women dressed in stilettos and club attire appear at their table, effectively standing in front of the booth so the rappers are trapped. Yoongi sighs as the women gush and praise them giddily. He and his bandmates regard them politely and gratefully, but Yoongi observes that the girls have their sight set on each one of them, as if they decided beforehand who they’re going to focus on getting their attention. He knows by the woman with long legs standing directly in front of his side of the booth, blocking his view of the crowd with her arms crossed underneath her breasts to accentuate her cleavage and she might’ve had him if this was a few years ago but he feels nothing for this woman, despite her being attractive, because she is nothing compared to you. Recognizing that she’s looking for a way to hang out, he casually swivels to press his back against the wall and stretch his legs out on the bench, hooking his ankles at the opposite end. 

“I really enjoyed your performance, Agust,” she says, flipping her hair with a cock of her hip and he tries not to be bothered by her casual use of his stage name. 

“Thank you,” he responds courteously. “Always appreciate our fans.” 

She smiles, a little too widely, and looks down at the long cushion, frowning at his white air forces blocking any kind of seat. She gives him a tight smile and proceeds to gas him up as if compliments and a show of interest in his music will allow her a seat next to him. He tips a hat to her game, but it isn’t going to work. He doesn’t want to be rude as he has to uphold an image, but he also doesn’t want to give her any idea that she has a shot. He figures he’ll just wait for you to come back and get rid of her for him. 

When you emerge from the crowd, your eyes narrow as you spot three girls surrounding your table. You feel a twinge of possessiveness, so you kick your confidence up a notch and swiftly approach the table, looking over the shoulder of one girl who stands in front of the side where Yoongi is sitting, unbothered, although when he catches your eye, his face lifts in amusement. 

“Um, excuse me,” you say, mildly annoyed, to the girl in your way and she shoots you a surprised look that quickly turns to a glare as she steps to the side.

“Thanks,” you say with a hint of sarcasm while Yoongi lets his leg closest to the table fall to give you room to glide onto the cushion and over in front of him. The girl's eyes flicker back and forth between him and you while you reach for his glass that he holds with his fingers around the rim. He easily lets go and glances over at the way you bring it to your lips to take a sip and press your back into his chest, essentially marking your territory. You stare challengingly at the girl who grows more pissed when he lowers his arm to slide around your waist and into your lap. She huffs and crosses her arms, turning her attention to the two men who appear to be bachelors. But little do they know only one of them is truly available. 

Your chest calms down from the flames of jealousy and you place his glass back in his fingers, settling back against him with your ankles crossed next to his foot and fold your arms as well.

“You didn’t tell them you’re taken?” You ask semi-bitterly as you pretend to be interested in your cuticles. 

He smirks and turns his head to kiss your temple. 

“Don’t have to when you’re here to show them, baby girl,” he says, trailing his lips down the side of your face to the shell of your ear, making your eyes flutter shut when he mouths it, so you tilt your head to give him more access. He holds your chin to keep you from going slack and slides his arm further over the front of your waist. You feel eyes on you and dart your attention to the girl who glares at you so you make a show of settling further against him and give him more access to your throat while landing a possessive hand on his arm around your stomach. He glances over and smirks when she quickly looks away. He tilts his head back into you and kisses behind your ear, making you sigh in content. 

“And if I wasn’t here?” He can only grin and dart his tongue out to lick beneath your jaw and your breath stutters in response.

“There's nothing you have to worry about. I wouldn’t entertain them because you’re the only girl on my mind. You know that.”

You hum noncommittally, sighing when he ducks his head down to trail his teeth down your neck. 

“Don’t believe me, pretty girl?” 

You shrug and gasp when he moves your hips to further press your back into his crotch and your eyes roll at his undeniably hard length. 

“Feel that?” You quickly nod, biting your lip while trying to control your breathing. 

“That’s all you, doll,” he grumbles, making you shiver and squirm. “But if you still doubt me, then let me take you somewhere to prove it.”

Your eyes fly wide open as flames ignite in your lower belly, breath picking up when you feel him shift the slightest grind into your back. He grins when you arch and brushes his lips over your ear and whispers.

“Marco put us up in this sweet limousine.”

You bite your lip with a smirk. “Mm, fucking in a long ass car. So romantic.”

He chuckles softly, playfully biting the shell of your ear, hand dropping to your bare thigh pressed against his leg, fingers trailing beneath the hem. You shiver. He moves his head to the other side of your face to hide his next words from the rest of the table.

“You know I’d fuck you anywhere,” he mumbles deeply, sending chills through you. “Right here if I could.”

Your eyes flutter shut as he slides his fingers in between your thighs and you put your hands in your lap to hide them. 

“Yeah? You sit on my lap and I shove into your sweet little cunt and we see if you can come from just warming my cock?” With each word you feel the fabric beneath you grow damp. He noses behind your ear and your breath hitches as his fingers trickle further up your thighs but you have to play it cool.

“Hm, maybe not,” he purrs, tugging on your skirt. 

“This tight dress of yours would make it too hard to hide your pussy being split open, won’t it?” You hold your breath to suppress a moan. 

“And no one but me can see your pretty cunt, ain’t that right, baby?” You nod, eyes glossing over as his words fire up the desire in your gut.

“So why’d you have to go and wear something so slutty, huh? Ruin all my fun.”

Before you can say anything, Namjoon’s voice jolts you out of your daze.

“Everything all right over there?” You snap your attention to the youngest man while Yoongi lazily lifts his head to the other side of your face to glance at his leader. The women are gone, hence why his bandmates’ attention fell back on the two of you.

“All good, Joon,” he says, knocking his head back against the wall as you try to act like you aren’t out of breath. 

“Anything you’d like to share with the class?” Hoseok teases, knowing something is up.

Yoongi smirks. “No, Mr. Jung. Wouldn’t be anything… class appropriate.”

Your cheeks heat and you look away from the opposite side of the table, squeezing Yoongi’s knee. He immediately dips his head into your neck and asks what’s wrong.

“Hey,” you say, cheeks heating with mild embarrassment, and he mumbles an apology, rubbing his thumb along the side of your thigh.

You spend the next few minutes trying to curb the spinning in your head but the way his large palm is pressing against your lower stomach while his thumb smooths side-to-side over your dress makes you realize you don’t care if you’re in a car or a plane, you just want him to rail you.

“Yoon,” you say, and he hums in your ear.

“Can we check out the limo?”

He grips the inside of your thigh and you can just imagine the grin lighting up his face.

“Gladly.” 

He presses a kiss to your neck while you finish off his drink before scooting out of the booth. When you stand, he grabs your hips and straightens right behind you, crotch pressing into your ass to hide the presentation of his arousal you created. 

“Where are you two going?” Hoseok asks, although a flash of regret appears on his face when Yoongi shoots him a smirk. You stay facing forward to avoid embarrassment.

“Uh, I’m just gonna show her around,” Yoongi lazily lies, swirling his finger in the air. Namjoon frowns and swallows a grimace while Hoseok clicks his tongue and shakes his head as Yoongi begins to walk you forward. You reach back and grab his hand to lead him away.

“Wrap it up! Think about your career!” Namjoon calls out and you flush. 

Holding your hand, Yoongi turns to face his friends, not caring if people are paying attention, and smugly pats his pants pocket, implying that he has protection on deck. Hoseok cringes and Namjoon hastily shakes his head. You tug on your boyfriend's hand and he whips around to follow you even though you have no idea where you’re going. 

Once you both disappear, Hoseok casually holds out his palm to the leader who rolls his eyes as he reaches into his back pocket for his wallet. Hoseok grins when Namjoon dejectedly slaps ten dollars into his hand and they both resume their drinks.

“Fuckin’ heteros,” Namjoon mutters bitterly into his glass and Hoseok cackles.

.

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thanks so much for reading! Please drop a like and comment if you enjoyed this and follow for more!! 💕💕💕

[bambiyoonz]

Rules for falling in love

✮ Pairing: Min Yoongi x f!reader

✮ Summary: You try your absolute hardest to survive an economics project with your obnoxiously hot and cocky partner, only to realize that he has completely calculated his way into your heart.

✮ Genre: Enemies to lovers

✮ Tags: college!au, cocky!yoongi, fluff, yoongi is such a flirt

✮ wc: 6k

Rule #1: Don’t sit next to someone you’ve insulted in public.

You broke that rule entirely on purpose. Mostly because the only open seat in Economics 101 happened to be right next to the guy you had called “a walking overconfidence issue” two days ago at the campus café.

He looked up the second you pulled out the chair, his gaze drifting over you with a slow, deliberate sort of curiosity. To your absolute horror, a heavy flutter of butterflies erupted in your stomach at the sight of him. Those sharp, feline eyes had already captivated you way more than you cared to admit.

“It’s you,” he said.

You forced a sweet, innocent smile. “It’s me.”

Before he could say anything else, you hurriedly dropped your bag and started pulling out your laptop and pens, desperately trying to look busy. You were silently praying he wouldn't bring up the café incident. This was going to be your seat for the rest of the semester, unless some jerk decided to claim it, which would violate the unspoken rule of college lecture halls.

“You know,” his deep voice rang beside you, almost making you jump up in your seat, “for someone who claims to hate overconfidence, you sure just can’t seem to get away from me. You’re gonna boost my already big ego.”

Damn it. You knew right at that moment that your past words were going to bite you in the ass.

“Well, I hate to burst your bubble, but I’m clearly not here by choice,” you retorted, keeping your eyes glued to your screen as it booted up. To be fair, the lecture hall really was packed to the brim. If there had been a single other option, you wouldn't be sitting within arm's reach of him.

A ghost of a smile tugged at his lips. They were a soft, prominent pink, and without even realizing it, your eyes dropped to them for a split second before you snapped your gaze back up to meet his. You prayed to every god in the universe that he hadn’t caught you looking.

“Fair enough. Let’s just hope you can concentrate on the lecture without thinking too hard about my overconfidence.” He then shifted his attention back to the professor, not giving you another look.

He turned his attention back to the front of the room, leaving you staring at his profile. Great. Now you were stuck next to the most obnoxious guy on campus. Your mind wandered back to two days ago, trying to remember what possessed you to open your mouth in the first place.

Wait, what was his name again? Boongi? Woongi?

Ah, wait, it was Yoongi.

Rule #2: Don’t get into arguments at a cafe.

It had started two days earlier in the campus cafe.

You were just waiting for your regular iced coffee when you overheard him pressuring the barista about “optimal espresso extraction timing.” It sounded like total gibberish. Jesus, you had thought, do people really have nothing better to stress about?

Before you could help yourself, the words came spilling out, “It’s not that serious.” Quickly, you bit down on your bottom lip, mentally cursing yourself for getting involved. He immediately turned around, his blond hair spilling across his forehead. 

“It’s literally my thesis topic.”

Your eyebrows furrowed, crossing your arms over your chest. “So your thesis is about… coffee?”

He scoffed like you said something utterly dumb, and not like you had a genuine question. “My thesis is sensory perception and economic behaviour.”

You nodded slowly, “So… coffee.”

He nodded as well, and a small beat of silence passed before he asked, “You’re in econ?”

“Unfortunately.” You genuinely despised the subject. It was the kind of class that dragged on for centuries and felt devastatingly dry. You would have taken literally anything else, but you had completely missed your registration window, leaving econ 101 as your only option to fill the requirement.

“I’m not sensing a lot of enthusiasm.” 

You rolled your eyes at that, irritation crawling up your skin. He seemed like the type of person who would like that class. “Please, spare me the details about how great economics is.”

Before he could say anything, the barista cleared his throat. “Yoongi, seriously. You’re holding up the line for the fifth time this week. I’m not helping you with your stupid thesis.” Your eyes darted to the barista, then down to his name tag. Jimin, it read.

Clearly, they must be friends if they’re on a first-name basis. You make a quick mental note of the blond in front of you, realizing Jimin called him by his first name, Yoongi.

Yoongi rolls his eyes before stepping aside to let you order. “You’re useless, Park.”

You quickly placed your order, paying the barista before moving over to the pick-up counter, right next to where Yoongi was waiting. The silence between you felt heavy, and the lack of caffeine was making you reckless.

“Maybe, he would help you if you weren’t a walking overconfidence issue,” you muttered under your breath. The second it left your lips, you wanted to swallow the words back down. Has your brain completely short-circuited?

But his reaction wasn't what you expected. There was no argument, no sharp retort. He just paused, looked down at you, and a slow, effortless smirk spread across his face. “I’ll have you know, a lot of people really like my overconfidence.”

Your face heated up, eyes slightly widening, but before you could say anything, he walked off, adjusting his backpack as he did.

You seriously needed to stop attending this cafe.

By the second week of term, that specific seat in the back row had officially become yours. But unfortunately, it had become his, too. You were in the lecture hall, seated side by side like a punishment. The professor droned on about supply curves, and you took notes meticulously. Beside you, Yoongi was doodling graphs that were annoyingly correct.

“You’re doing it wrong,” he whispered.

“I’m writing,” you rebutted.

“You’re interpreting demand elasticity incorrectly.”

“I’m listening to the lecture.”

“So am I,” he said. “And it’s wrong.”

You slowly turned your head over, staring into his dark eyes. “Do you ever exist quietly?”

“No,” he said, without missing a beat. “That would be inefficient.”

You stared at him for a long moment, wondering how you got stuck beside him. Then, you wrote in your notebook: insufferable

He leaned in closer, musky cologne filling up your nose. He reached over, took the pen from your hand, and casually crossed out your word, writing his own beneath it: not insufferable. Just right.

You quickly yanked back your pen, flipping your hair over your shoulder. “Get your hands back to your stupid graphs.” In reality, you wouldn’t mind if he leaned over more. The smell of his cologne had infiltrated you, causing a permanent mark in your brain.

He smirked, his pink muscle coming out to wet his lips. “Anything for you.”

His words made your heart flutter, heat spiking through your body. You wanted to slap yourself for even thinking that he was… hot.

Stupid economics.

Rule #3: Don’t get paired up with him for a project.

The lecture hall was already half asleep. The projector was humming, pens tapping, and someone was aggressively trying to stay awake by pretending to underline everything… (that would be you).

Professor Lee clapped his hands once. “Alright, before I lose all of you to the void, I’m assigning project partners.”

That got attention. Not necessarily good attention, just awake attention. You straightened up in your seat, trying to make yourself seem more productive than you have been. Group projects were the worst. They meant control issues, negotiation, and compromise. All the things you tolerated in theory and hated in practice.

“I’m pairing you based on different strengths,” Professor Lee said, looking at his list. “You’ll work together on a case study about online work platforms and how people make economic decisions.”

You already felt tired. But then, you heard it.

“Min Yoongi.”

“Paired with–”

You could already feel it. Your name rolling off of your professor’s tongue.

“Y/N.”

You sank back into your hard plastic chair, the frame pressing uncomfortably into your shoulder blades. The universe truly had a sick sense of humor. Beside you, Yoongi turned his head to look at you, and you didn't even have to look back to know exactly what kind of smug expression was on his face.

“You will submit a joint proposal by next week. No exceptions.” Professor Lee finished, before sitting back down at his desk.

Finally, you turned to glance at Yoongi, only to realize he was still looking at you.

“What?” You muttered, packing your things in your backpack. The feeling of his eyes on you made your skin rise with goosebumps.

“I’m just excited to start this project with you, partner.” He remarked, tapping his fingers against the wooden desk.

“Whatever. Just give me your number so we can talk about the project details. I’m not chasing you across campus to get this done.”

For once, he does what he’s asked of. Grabbing his phone, he opens it up for you, allowing you to put in your number.

“And please,” you added, fixing him with a firm look. “Do not text me unless it is strictly about the project.”

Yoongi took the phone, his thumb dragging across the screen as he saved the contact. “Don’t worry your pretty head off, sweetheart. I wouldn't dream of it.”

Rule #4: Don’t answer messages from anyone, especially him.

He didn’t even last forty two hours before sending you the dumbest text ever. 

Did you know that the earliest physical evidence of music dates back 40,000 ~ 43,000 years ago?

For a moment, you stare at your phone like it’s a rock. You didn’t even get the chance to put in a name for his contact; that’s how quickly he texted you. How do you even reply to that text? Before you overthink it any longer, your thumbs type up a message and hit send.

You: Wrong number. I don’t talk to history nerds.

Shutting off your phone, you keep it in your hands. It stays dark for exactly eight seconds before lighting up again. Without realizing, you unlock your phone immediately, reading the message.

Him: That’s interesting, considering you're my partner for this project and I have to hear you argue with me every day.

You should stop reading and stop engaging. Honestly, you should be doing the dishes that are piling up in your sink. But your thumb keeps moving anyway.

You: I don’t argue. I just like to correct mistakes.

Three dots appear immediately.

Him: So you’re correcting the mistake of me having your number?

You stare at that, then sit up slightly. This is not what this was supposed to be. You gave him clear rules that texting was only to be for the project. Not… whatever this is turning into.

Your phone buzzes again.

Him: Also, I’m not a history nerd. 

You: You literally sent me a fact about ancient music.

Him: That’s behavioural economics. I was testing your reaction speed.

This man is insane. Or worse, he’s confident about being insane. Slowly, you conjure up a message.

You: You tested my reaction speed.. by texting me about prehistoric music?

Him: Yes. And you passed with flying colours.

You feel something dangerously close to annoyance flare in your chest, and something even worse underneath it. You want to lock your phone and throw it at the nearest piece of furniture.

Him: We should meet for the project.

Thank god, he changed the subject. You didn’t know how much longer you could talk about ancient music and continue with this small talk.

You: Fine by me. Where?

Him: My place. Tomorrow at noon.

You stared at the screen, your thumb hovering over the keyboard. My place? Absolutely not.

You: No. Absolutely not. We are meeting at the library or campus cafe. I am not going to your apartment.

Him: Why? Afraid you won’t be able to handle my overconfidence in a private setting?

You: No, I’m afraid I'll end up throwing a textbook at your head. The library. 12:00 pm.

Him: Fine, but you’re buying the coffee.

You didn’t reply to that last text, firmly locking your phone and tossing it onto your bed. Your heart was doing that stupid fluttering thing again, and you hated it. You really, really hated it.

Rule #5: Don’t let him choose what you drink.

The campus library was packed the next day, full of stressed-out students cramming for midterms. You managed to snag a table in the back corner, spreading your laptop and notebooks out to claim the space. When you checked the time, it was 12:05, and he was late. It made your eyes roll.

“You didn’t get the coffee.”

You jumped slightly, looking up to see Yoongi sliding into the chair across from you. He was wearing a black oversized hoodie, his blond hair slightly messy, and he looked annoyingly good. In his hands, he held two paper cups.

“You’re late,” you pointed out, ignoring the way his scent immediately filled the small space between you. “And I didn’t say anything about buying coffee.”

“Well, good thing I had a feeling you weren’t going to, so I did it myself,” he said, setting one of the cups in front of your laptop. “Consider it a peace offering for my overconfidence.”

You looked down at the cup suspiciously. “What is it?”

“An iced Americano.” He took a sip of his own drink, his feline eyes watching you over the rim. “Drink it. It’ll make you hate economics less.”

“I doubt that,” you muttered, but you picked up the cup anyway and took a sip. It was, unfortunately, the best coffee you had ever tasted in your life. It wasn't overly bitter, and it had a smooth aftertaste. You tried desperately to keep your face completely blank, but Yoongi was already smirking.

“See?” he murmured, leaning forward on his elbows, bringing his face dangerously close to yours. “I know exactly what you like.”

Your throat went dry. “You don’t know anything about me, Min Yoongi.”

“I know you look at my mouth when you’re annoyed,” he said softly, his voice dropping an octave. “And I know you’re trying really hard right now not to smile.” 

Your face flushed a furious shade of crimson. You quickly grabbed your syllabus, holding it up like a shield between your faces. “Let’s just start the project.”

Yoongi chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that vibrated right through your chest. “Whatever you say, partner.” He pulled the syllabus down with one finger, forcing you to look at him again. “First step of the project: data collection. We need to interview students about their gig-economy habits.”

“Right,” you said, clearing your throat and trying to channel your inner academic. “We can make a survey. Send it to the campus group chats.”

“Too passive,” Yoongi countered, leaning back and crossing his arms. “People lie on surveys. They click random answers just to get rid of the notification. We need in-person behaviour. Observation.”

You sighed, tapping your pen against the table. “So what do you suggest, genius?”

“We interview them at the cafe. While they’re buying their coffee.” He smiled, that sharp, cat-like grin that made your stomach do another flip. “I can get Jimin to let us set up at the counter table. High traffic, prime economic decision-making context.”

You stared at him, highly suspicious. “Is this just an excuse for you to spend more time hanging out with your barista friend and argue about espresso?”

“It’s called maximizing resource utility,” he said smoothly. “And if it means I get to watch you get frustrated with strangers instead of just me for a couple of hours, that’s a benefit.”

“You are infuriating,” you muttered, but you wrote In-person interviews - campus cafe in your notebook anyway.

He watched your hand move, his eyes tracking the ink. “We’ll start tomorrow afternoon. Don’t wear anything too distracting, Y/N. I need to focus on the data.”

You paused, your pen hovering over the paper. You looked up, caught his eye, and felt your face heating up all over again. “Distracting?”

“Mhm. I need to make sure all of our participants won’t be distracted by a pretty girl.” He mumbled, acting as if those words hadn’t just come out of his mouth. 

“Shut up, that won’t happen.” You muttered, cheeks warm and pink. He really must be out of his mind to say something like that. And what is up with his pet names? It’s like he knows when your heart is beating out of your chest.

“Whatever you say,” he murmured, his gaze dropping down to your lips for a fraction of a second before locking back onto your eyes. Before you could even process the absolute audacity of that comment, he stood up, slinging his backpack over one shoulder. He hadn't even opened his laptop once.

“See you tomorrow, partner,” he said, tapping his knuckles twice on the table right next to your hand. “Bring your notebook. And try not to dream about supply curves.”

You watched him walk away, his hands shoved deep into his hoodie pockets, completely oblivious to the absolute chaos he was leaving behind in your chest.

Rule #6: Don’t let him see your playlist.

The next day, the campus cafe was sweltering. It was raining outside, meaning half the university had crammed inside to escape the downpour, creating a loud, humid wall of noise. You had arrived early, snagging the small counter table near the pickup station just like Yoongi had suggested. Jimin had given you a sympathetic wave from behind the espresso machine, looking like a man who knew exactly what kind of headache you were dealing with.

When Yoongi finally slid onto the stool next to you, he didn't even say hello. Instead, he reached over, plucked one of the wires of your headphones right out of your ear, and stuck it into his own.

“Hey!” you protested, reaching to snatch it back, but he blocked your hand with his forearm. He listened for three seconds, his eyebrows raising as the upbeat pop song blasted into his ear. A massive, teasing smirk spread across his face.

“What is this?” he asked, looking at you like he had just discovered your deepest, darkest secret.

“It’s music,” you snapped, your face burning. “Give it back.”

“It’s an anomaly,” he corrected, leaning close enough that his shoulder brushed against yours. “You claim to hate overconfidence, and yet your brain is currently being fried by 140 beats per minute of pure, unadulterated pop garbage.”

“It helps me focus!”

“It helps you ignore reality,” he said, though he didn't take the earbud out. Instead, he pulled his phone out and tapped the screen. “Here. Let’s optimize your acoustic environment.”

A second later, your phone buzzed.

Him: [Link: Chihiro’s Waltz]

You blinked at the title, entirely caught off guard. You expected a generic lo-fi playlist or even something instrumental, not a piano piece from a Ghibli film.

“Spirited Away?” You asked, your voice softening despite yourself. “You listen to Ghibli soundtracks?”

Yoongi didn’t look up, but the corner of his mouth twitched into a rare, genuine smile. “It’s structurally perfect. Joe Hisaishi understands melodic efficiency better than most modern composers. Besides, it grounds things when everything else gets too loud.”

You pulled your hand back so fast you nearly knocked over your notebook. Yoongi didn’t even blink; he just picked up his pen and started organizing the interview sheets as if he hadn’t just completely short-circuited your entire nervous system.

“Alright,” you said, your voice a little higher than usual. You cleared your throat forcefully. “Data collection..”

For the next two hours, the project actually kept you distracted. Yoongi, as much as you hated to admit it, was terrifyingly good at interviewing people. While you handled the writing, he leaned against the counter, using that low, effortless voice of his to charm answers out of stressed-out freshmen and tired seniors. By 4:00 PM, the rush had cleared out, leaving the cafe quiet except for the hum of the espresso machine and the soft rain tapping against the windows. 

Jimin walked over, sliding two fresh glasses of iced water onto the table. “You two look like you’re plotting a bank robbery. How’s the data, Yoongi?”

“Promising,” Yoongi said, not looking up from the charts he was tallying. “Turns out 84% of students will sacrifice financial stability for a premium caffeine fix.”

Jimin laughed, wiping his hands on his apron. “And how’s your partner holding up? You look like you're about to pass out from a Yoongi overdose.”

“I’m fine,” you blurted out quickly, your face heating up. “Just… trying to understand his handwriting. It looks like a doctor wrote it while riding a rollercoaster.”

Yoongi finally looked up, a slow, lazy grin spreading across his face. “Hey, my handwriting is not that bad.” He looked at Jimin. “She thinks I’m insufferable.”

“You are insufferable,” Jimin agreed instantly with a bright smile. “Good luck, Y/N. You’re going to need it.” He gave you a supportive nod before heading back behind the counter.

You let out a breath, leaning your chin on your hand as you stared at the messy pages. “Okay, we have enough data for the joint proposal. I can write up the introduction tonight, and you can handle the data analysis section since you’re the math freak.”

“Deal,” Yoongi said. He closed his notebook with a soft thud and looked at you. Truly looked at you. The playful, teasing smirk was gone, replaced by something much softer, his feline eyes scanning your face in the dim cafe lighting. “You worked hard today.”

The sudden compliment caught you completely off guard. “Oh. Thanks. You too.” He kept his gaze locked on yours, leaning an inch closer. 

“See? We make a good team. Even if you did insult me in public.”

“I didn't insult you,” you mumbled, suddenly finding the condensation on your water glass very interesting. “I just stated an observation.”

“Mhm.” Yoongi stood up, slinging his bag over his shoulder. He reached out, his fingers gently catching a stray strand of hair that had fallen across your cheek, tucking it behind your ear. His fingertips brushed against your skin, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. “Go home and get some rest, Y/N. Don’t stay up all night thinking about me.”

Before you could even formulate a comeback, he turned and walked out into the rain, pulling his black hoodie up over his blond hair. You sat there for a solid three minutes, staring at the empty seat next to you, your heart hammering a frantic rhythm against your ribs.

Rule #7: Don’t open up the shared Google Docs at 2:00 AM.

It was exactly 2:14 AM, and instead of sleeping, you were staring at your laptop screen in the dark of your bedroom. The document title, Econ 101 Case Study Proposal, glowed brightly. You had finished your section an hour ago, but you noticed a little pink icon active at the top of the screen.

Anonymous Cat is typing. You always wondered why he chose that as his display name.

You watched the cursor move across the screen as Yoongi formatted the data tables. He was moving things around with chaotic speed. Suddenly, the typing stopped. A comment bubble popped up on the side of your paragraph.

Yoongi: Your explanation of the consumer surplus is beautifully written. Too bad your grammar in paragraph three is a tragedy.

You narrowed your eyes at the screen. You highlighted his comment and typed back.

You: Go to sleep, Yoongi. Why are you even checking my sections right now?

A few seconds passed. The pink cursor blinked furiously. Then, instead of replying to the comment, he started typing directly into the document, right at the very bottom of the page where the bibliography was supposed to go.

Yoongi: Why aren't you sleeping?

You stared at the text appearing in real-time. You clicked below his line and typed back.

You: I asked you first.

Yoongi: Couldn’t sleep. Brain is stuck on a loop.

You: Econ data?

Yoongi: No.

You waited, your breath catching in your throat as the little cursor hovered.

Yoongi: Something else. Something with a bad attitude who listens to 140 bpm pop garbage.

Your heart did a violent flip. You stared at the words on the screen, your fingers trembling slightly over the keyboard.

You: You’re breaking the rules, Min Yoongi. This document is strictly for the project.

Yoongi: I don’t care about the rules, Y/N. I thought we established that on day one.

Yoongi: Besides, you're the one who introduced the rules. I never agreed to them.

You stared at the blinking cursor, your mind racing. You wanted to type a snappy retort, something about efficiency or his massive ego, but your hands froze over the keys. Before you could decide on a response, the pink text began to disappear, deleted backspace by backspace, replaced by a fresh line.

Yoongi: Get some sleep, Y/N. We have to present this proposal to Lee tomorrow, and I need my partner to be fully functional.

Y/N: Fine. Goodnight, Yoongi.

Yoongi: Goodnight.

You shut your laptop with a little more force than necessary, plunging your bedroom back into darkness. You pulled the blanket over your head, but the rhythmic, soothing piano notes of Chihiro’s Waltz were still playing on a loop inside your head, refusing to let you sleep.

Rule #8: Don’t celebrate a good grade with him.

The presentation went smoothly. In fact, it went better than smoothly. Professor Lee had actually smiled, an event so rare it should have been studied by the geology department, and handed your printed proposal back with a bright red A circled at the top.

“Excellent resource utility and field analysis,” Lee had muttered before moving on to the next group. As you walked out of the lecture hall, the adrenaline of surviving the presentation finally began to fade, leaving you floating on a cloud of relief.

“An A,” you breathed, staring down at the paper in your hands as you walked down the bustling hallway. “We actually got an A in Economics.”

“Are you really that surprised?” Yoongi asked, walking in step right beside you, his hands slung casually in his pockets. “I told you my data analysis was flawless.”

“Oh, shut up,” you laughed, the victory making you forget your usual defences. “It was a team effort.”

“It was,” he agreed quietly.

You stopped at the end of the hallway, turning to face him. “Well, since we officially passed the hardest part of the semester, I guess I owe you one. You want to hit the cafe? I’ll actually buy the coffee this time. No strings attached.”

Yoongi looked down at you, his dark eyes glinting with an emotion you couldn't quite read. A slow, lazy smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “The cafe is too crowded. And I don’t want a coffee transaction.”

Your eyebrows furrowed. “Then what do you want?”

He leaned in closer, his shoulder brushing against yours as students rushed past in the corridor. He tilted his head, his voice dropping to that familiar, low murmur that made your stomach completely bottom out.

“Celebrate with me tonight. Real food. My place.” He paused, his gaze dropping to your lips for a fraction of a second before meeting your eyes again. “And this time, you can’t use the project as an excuse.”

You froze, the paper suddenly feeling heavy in your hands. “Your place,” you repeated, your voice a little fainter than you intended. “For real food.”

“Unless you’re attached to the dining hall food,” Yoongi said, his tone returning to that casual, effortless drawl. He stepped back just enough to give you space, though his eyes never left yours. “I actually know how to cook. I have also heard that my cooking isn't mediocre, if that's what you're scared of."

“Of course, you know how to cook,” you muttered, trying desperately to ignore the frantic pounding in your chest. You looked down at your shoes, then back up at his blond hair falling slightly over his forehead. “Fine. But if you try to lecture me about the economic impact of grocery shopping while we eat, I’m leaving.”

Yoongi let out a low, genuine laugh that sent a pleasant shiver straight down your spine. “Deal. I’ll text you my address. Seven o'clock. Don’t be late, sweetheart.”

With a final, lingering look, he turned and melted into the crowd of students heading toward the campus exit. You stood there for a long moment, wondering how a public insult in a coffee shop had somehow spiralled into a dinner date at his apartment.

Rule #9: Don’t look too closely at his apartment.

Min Yoongi’s apartment was exactly like him: annoyingly organized, understated, and smelling faintly of coffee beans and cedar wood.

When you walked in at exactly 7:02 PM, you found him in the kitchen, the sleeves of his black button-down shirt rolled up to his forearms, revealing the sharp veins of his forearms and hands. A vinyl record player in the corner of the living room was spinning softly, filling the apartment with the familiar, calming notes of Chihiro’s Waltz.

You paused in the doorway, your bag clutched tightly in front of you. “You’re actually playing it.”

Yoongi looked up from the stove, a small, knowing smirk gracing his lips. “I told you, it grounds things. Sit down, Y/N. It’s almost ready.”

You sat at the small wooden dining table, your eyes wandering over to the shelves placed near you. There were stacks of books on behavioural economics, a high-end espresso machine that looked like it belonged in a science lab, and a small, framed photo of him and his family.

“Spicy braised chicken with rice,” Yoongi announced, breaking your trance as he set two perfectly plated dishes onto the table. He sat down opposite you, pouring water into two glasses. 

You took a bite of the chicken, and your eyes widened despite yourself. It was incredibly good. “Okay, fine. You win. This is amazing.”

“I know,” he said smoothly, picking up his own utensils. But there was no arrogance in his voice this time, just a quiet, content satisfaction.

For the next hour, the conversation flowed with a strange, easy rhythm. For the first time since you met him, you weren't arguing. You talked about how much you both hated Professor Lee’s grading, your favourite childhood movies, and how you had accidentally missed the timetable sign-up because you slept through five alarms.

“So you’re just naturally chaotic,” Yoongi mused, leaning back in his chair and swirling the water in his glass.

“I am not chaotic,” you defended, your face warming up. “I just operate on my own schedule.”

“Mhm,” he hummed, his feline eyes tracking the way your lips moved. “It’s a miracle you even made it to econ.”

“Well, if I hadn't, you wouldn't have anyone to correct your overconfidence,” you shot back, a comfortable boldness settling into your chest.

Yoongi’s gaze intensified, the playful banter suddenly melting into a thick, heavy silence. The background record had transitioned to a slow, ambient jazz track. He reached across the small table, his large, warm hand settling over yours. His thumb softly brushed against the back of your knuckles, sending an electric jolt straight up your arm.

“I think we’re past the overconfidence defence, Y/N,” he said softly, his deep voice carrying a sudden weight that made it hard to breathe. “You don’t hate me. You haven’t hated me since the day at the cafe.”

Your heart hammered violently against your ribs. You wanted to pull your hand away, to find a rule to protect yourself, but your fingers remained locked beneath his. “Yoongi…”

“I sent you that dumb fact about music just to see if you’d answer,” he confessed, leaning forward, his eyes dropping to your mouth before rising back to your eyes. “I don’t do things inefficiently, Y/N. Except when it comes to you. You make my head spin."

Your breath hitched. You looked at his pink lips and realized you were completely, utterly defenceless.

“You’re breaking all the rules,” you whispered, your voice trembling.

A slow, breathtaking smile spread across his face, his thumb still tracing patterns on your skin. “I already told you, Y/N, I don't care about rules. Especially when it comes to you."

Before you could even formulate a rebuttal, he stood up from his chair, his hand never breaking contact with yours. He moved around the small wooden table, his steps deliberate and unhurried, until he was standing directly over you. The scent of cedar wood and faint espresso enveloped you entirely, making your head spin.

He reached down, his fingers gently cupping your jawline. His thumb brushed over your lower lip, tracing the exact spot you always bit when you were nervous or annoyed with him. The contrast of his cool rings against your heated skin made a quiet gasp escape your throat.

“Still think I have an overconfidence issue?” he whispered, his face inches from yours.

“Of course,” you replied, though your voice lacked any real bite. In fact, it sounded entirely like a surrender.

Yoongi let out a low, breathy chuckle against your lips. “Good.”

And then, he closed the remaining distance.

The kiss wasn't fast, and it wasn't chaotic. It was slow and intoxicatingly warm, his lips moving against yours with a gentle intensity that made your hands fly up to grip the fabric of his black button-down shirt. He pulled you slightly closer, his other hand wrapping securely around your waist. When he finally pulled away, just an inch, his forehead rested against yours. His breath was uneven, his feline eyes dark and completely focused on you. A beautiful smirk slowly returned to his face.

“Joint proposal completed,” he murmured against your skin.

You let out a shaky laugh, burying your face into his shoulder to hide how red your cheeks were. “You are seriously the worst, Yoongi.”

“I’m the best thing that’s ever happened to your GPA,” he corrected, his arms tightening around you, pulling you securely into his chest as the rain outside continued to beat a steady rhythm against the apartment windows.

Rule #10: Forget all the previous rules.

Two weeks later, the lecture hall for Economics 101 was just as cold, loud, and dreadfully boring as it had been on day one. Professor Lee was currently drawing a massive, confusing graph on the whiteboard, his voice droning on about deadweight loss.

Yoongi leaned back in his chair, a black beanie tugged low over his blond hair, his fingers lazily spinning a pen between his knuckles. Underneath the wooden desk, hidden from the rest of the lecture hall, his large hand was firmly intertwined with yours, his thumb mindlessly stroking the back of your wrist.

Your laptop was open, a blank word document on the screen. Suddenly, a notification popped up in the corner.

Min Yoongi shared a document with you: Econ 101 Pretty_Girl

You kept your face completely blank, desperately trying not to smile. The page opened to a single, typed line.

Yoongi: You’re wearing that perfume I like again. It’s really bad for my concentration.

A small smile tugged at your lips. You kept your left hand securely in his grip beneath the table while your right hand flew across the keyboard to reply.

You: Focus on the lecture, idiot. Lee is looking right at us.

You watched the screen. A second later, his cursor moved, deleting your text and replacing it with something else.

Yoongi: Let him look. I already know everything on the board. And I already know what I’m doing at noon.

You looked over at him from the corner of your eye. Yoongi didn't turn his head, but the slow, luscious smirk that spread across his face told you exactly what he was thinking. He squeezed your hand under the desk, a warm, reassuring pressure that made the butterflies in your stomach erupt all over again.

Stupid economics.

A/N: This fic genuinely took me forever because of all the economics research i had to do. Blond Yoongi will never leave my mind, so ofc i had to write about him!

Also, I hope someone caught the Chihiro's Waltz reference. Yoongi mentioned that he listened to that song in a Suga FM clip!

I hope you enjoyed reading <3