cowlick a min yoongi one-shot
pairing: idol!min yoongi x wife!f!reader
genre: pwp
rating: explicit content MDNI!!!
summary: you're the reason why your husband’s hair is a mess for the 'hooligan' mv.
warnings/tags: yoongi pov, quickie in a trailer, riding, unprotected sex, they're married and reader wants to get pregnant, his boys make fun of him lol
wc: 1.7k
notes: i say im burnt out from writing smut and then i go and write this. it's just bc yoongi makes me so insane 😩 this was inspired by a convo between myself and aqua (contents of which may or may not be based on real life events) so im dedicating this to her 🫶💜 thank u for betaing last minute!!
Yoongi’s supposed to be on set. But instead he’s sweating under his leather outfit with you spread out on his lap, bouncing on his cock.
It starts off with him just going to his trailer because he forgot his lucky bracelet (the one you gave him on his birthday the first year you celebrated together). The door almost hits him on the ass by the time you jump him, and he barely has time to be surprised before you grab his face and pull him down.
“How’d you sneak in here?” he chuckles between breathless kisses, hands going to your waist like clockwork.
“I’m your wife. Duh,” you snap, fingers ensnaring the heavy chains around his neck.
“I start filming in five minutes.”
“I’ll be quick.” He never argues with you. He lets you push him down on the couch, straddle him, kiss and lick at the base of his neck, knowing you don’t need the reminder not to make marks unless you want a hit put on you by his stylist, and you’re always careful not to touch his face for that same reason. It takes him a second to realize you’re wearing a skirt. He opens his mouth to scold you for coming to see him in clothes like that since it’s so cold out but then you reach under to dip into your bare, sopping pussy. Ah. Easy access. You came with a plan.
In all the years you’ve been together, it’s never taken much for you to get him hard. You walk into a room and bam - he has to adjust himself. And when you touch him - there goes his thoughts for a few minutes. It’s always been like this, and he knows it’ll never change. So when you figure out how to get into his boxers without pushing down too much leather, he’s already stiff and leaking at the tip.
You smear down his precum and he bites his lip when you grab his cock with the fingers you had between your legs, glistening with your slick, making him nice and wet for you.
“Damn, baby. Were you playing with yourself while you waited for me?”
“Mhmm,” you nod, whimpering as you finally let him penetrate your walls. You’re so wet and warm and tight when you sink down on him that he has to hold in a breath to keep himself together. But then he reminds himself that this is a quickie. He knows you could stay here and ride him until his balls are empty, but, unfortunately, he doesn’t have that kind of time. His phone - that he shouldn’t even have on him in the first place (he does though, just for you) - has been vibrating in his pocket for the past few minutes, but the more he’s distracted, the longer it’ll take him to make you both come, so he ignores it.
Your hands grip his shoulders as you wiggle your hips to adjust to his girth that he finds so fucking cute every single time, but he can hardly feel your touch through the thick leather of his jacket. He curses, because his fingerless gloves are preventing him from fully touching the skin on your hip, so he grips you hard enough to bruise. Usually, he’d let you bounce and ride him until you came on him and got too tired to carry on, but to speed things up, he bucks up into you, watching your parted lips spill out moans as he grinds against your spot, grunting as it makes you squeeze him and suck him deeper in. He kisses you, swallowing your sweet sounds, and his balls tighten when your fingers dig into the side of his head, tightly fisting his hair. Telltale sign that you’re close. You must've really worked yourself up while you were waiting for him.
“Come for me,” he whispers against your lips, fingers dropping and finding your clit to press and rub you over the edge. You loudly cry out his name, pulling at his hair so his head tips to the side as he continues fucking up into you and kissing the underside of your jaw. “That’s it, baby. Fuck, you’re squeezing me so good.”
“Come inside," you warble, cheek lolling against his temple, fingers still entangled in his hair, cunt clenching him through your aftershocks.
“Mm.” Eyebrows pinched, his fingers return to flex on your hip, cock twitching at the mere thought of getting to fill you up. “Remember to take your pill.”
You whine, indignant. He sighs, shakes his head. You make that sound when he doesn’t give you what you want.
“I’ll give you a baby when we come back from tour, ‘kay?”
You whine again, louder and borderline disobedient, slamming down on him like it tells him something. Sucking in a hiss because damn that felt good, he slaps your ass and massages out the sting, a silent warning to stop being a brat. This is one thing he’s not going to let you win an argument about.
“Hey, that was the deal, right? I’m not leaving you at home alone and pregnant while I fly around the world for eight months.”
“Yeah, but by the time you’d get back, you’d have a baby. You wouldn’t have to deal with all my pregnancy bullshit,” you try to reason, hips still rolling, eyes glassy and pout pathetic. He frowns. You’ve both had this conversation multiple times before, but that’s the first time you’ve made this point. He doesn’t fucking like it.
Yoongi tugs down on your waist to get you to stop, pelvises pressed together, cock deep inside you. But you know better than to move.
“Look at me.” You refuse, and the leather of his fingerless gloves rubs your cheeks as he grabs them. “I want to deal with all your pregnancy bullshit. I married you, remember? I signed up to put up with all your bullshit for the rest of my life and I don’t plan on missing out on any of it.”
His eyes dart between both of yours, making sure what he said is sticking with you, and when you lean in to sloppily kiss him, he knows the message got through.
“Now, c’mon. You said you were gonna be quick.”
You sit up straighter, and you’re clearly weakened from your orgasm but you put in effort that he’ll worship you for later to bring him to his own peak. Slick sounds of your pussy and slams of your hips fill the trailer, and within seconds of you squeezing him, sucking on his earlobe, and toying with his chains, he’s muttering an incoherent string of curses and spilling deep inside you. His balls just keep pulsing and holyyy shit, he really could get you pregnant right now. (He would love nothing more, but later he’ll text you another reminder to take your pill).
“I love you so fucking much,” he pants into your neck, wishing he had the time to leave his mark. “Even though you’re gonna get me in so much fucking trouble.”
“Love you, too. Don’t forget you married trouble,” You grin, waggling his ring on your finger in his facr, and his hips jerk as you lift off of him. He tips his chin up when you start to lean in for another kiss but your mouth drops and your eyes go wide.
“Oh, fuck, your hair-“ You reach out to try and fix it, but just as you do, a loud pounding on the trailer door startles the both of you.
“Shit, gotta go,” Yoongi mutters, quickly stuffing himself back in this godforsaken leather as his manager starts yelling for him to come out. You try your best to smooth down his hair, but when you keep muttering curses under your breath, he knows it’s not working.
“It’s fine. I’ll see you later.” He kisses you, lingers a second longer than he has time for, and leaves you sitting on the couch, skirt halfway up your waist, fingers playing with his cum dripping out. Fuck, you’re gonna be the death of him. He needs to shoot this music video first.
Yoongi’s manager chews him all the way out onto the set, and his stylist gives him the evilest eye when she catches sight of his hair. He just scurries towards his band because his manager already said there’s no time to fix it.
“Where were you?” Namjoon exclaims as Yoongi walks towards the center of the platform. He shrugs, like he’s not still perspiring and his dick isn’t still hard. Luckily, his leather pants are bulky enough to hide it.
“I had to grab something.”
“Look at his hair! That means his honey came to visit,” Hobi says, waggling his brows. Yoongi shoots him daggers.
“Shut up.”
The maknaes burst into raucous laughter and Taehyung and Jimin mime grabbing at each other, making overexaggerated kissing noises and mimicking the way you cry out Yoongi’s name. Yoongi turns his back on them to go to his spot, just missing Jeongguk thrusting in the air like he’s mid-Baepsae.
“You brought this on yourself,” Namjoon mutters, stepping up next to him, fixing his gloves. Yoongi pretends not to hear. “It’s been, what, four years? And y’all still act like newlyweds.”
“We’re making up for the time we missed while I was in the military.”
Namjoon’s face pulls back, disgusted. “Okay, well, can you not do that on our schedule?”
“Sorry, leader-nim,” Yoongi fake apologizes, pressing his hands together, smirk lopsided and shit-eating. “Maybe if you let her come on tour, she wouldn’t find any downtime I have now to, yknow, make up.”
Namjoon sighs, long and distressed. Yoongi only feels a little bad. You’re his wife. He needs you by his side, and not just to have little quickies whenever there’s minutes to spare. He was enough of a wreck being away from you during his service. He doesn’t want that to happen because of work.
“Fine. I’ll see what I can do.”
Yoongi smiles, lighting up inside and out. “Thanks, bro. You’re the best.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Namjoon waves him off, just in time for the director to call for action.
He doesn’t know how crazy his hair looks until they play the footage back to check for mistakes and potential position adjustments. His band members tease him, but it makes him smile that it’s there because you need to grab onto his hair when he makes you come. No one outside of this set will ever know his cowlick is thanks to his wife, and that makes him like it even more.
He still left his damn bracelet.
.
.
.
thank you for reading!!! ahhhh i cant believe this happened lmao pls let me know what you think with comments and reblogs!! 💜
| in where It started off a normal Friday night out became the most important accident of a lifetime. it started off when your best friend Mina had dragged you to a rooftop bar in itaewon, the last thing you expected was to spend 3 hours talking to a stranger for the rest of the night. And that man just so happened to be the JEON JUNGKOOK.
Pairings - idol!jk x non!idol reader
Chapter warnings - fluff, a little angst, suggestive, kissing, smut, Jk being a absolute SIMP for his girl, oh and did I tell you fluff because there is ALOT of it, them just being couple goals.
(do not own any of these characters and this is purely just fanfic)
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The thing about living in Seoul for 5 years is that you stop being impressed by things. The Han river at sunset? Sure, pretty. Gyeongbokgung lit up at night? Sure it was nice. A rooftop bar in itaewon packed with overly pretty people on a Friday? Just another Friday.
That’s what you told yourself anyway.
As the night grew on Mina dragged you through the crowd by the wrist her other hand clutching her phone like it was a weapon which was typical of Mina. “I told you we needed to leave by eight” she shouted over the loud music “I told you”. You look at her and speak “you told me nine” she looks back “eight thirty” I respond back “that’s not eight”
She gave up with the arguing , she wouldn’t have won it with you anyway. Instead she pulled your wrist harder and you stumbled past a group of guys in some questionable bucket hats and tight skinny jeans, walked past a table of women celebrating something maybe a birthday? No maybe a breakup, or just the fact it was finally a Friday which meant looking forward to the weekend with no work — and finally out onto the terrace, where the air was cooler and the music was just a pulse beneath your feet.
“Okay” Mina dropped your wrist and smoothed her dress “we’re here. We’re fabulous. Drinks” I look at her “you didn’t tell me we were celebrating” she smirks at me that mischievous smirk like she was gonna do something stupid tonight “we’re celebrating the fact my boss approved my leave request and I don’t have to see his face for two weeks” she flagged down a sever. That’s worth at least three drinks tonight or more, definitely more” she winks. She was right because her boss was definitely a more than a dickhead he was one of those old creepy men that thought he was better than everyone else so yes it did call for celebratory drinks.
You laughed and Leaned against the terrace railing, looking out over the city. Seoul at night always did ignite something in you — all those city lights stacked up against the dark like someone had spilled a jar of fireflies across the hills. you’d come out from Busan to Seoul for a job opportunity and stayed because of moments like this. That was the truth even if you didn’t say it out loud to others.
“Stop thinking and and help me choose” Mina said, shoving the drinks menu at you. You had ordered something with a lot of alcohol something like a Long Island ice tea with far too much ice and turned back to the railing and that’s when you noticed him.
He was standing at the far end of the terrace, slightly apart from the group he was with, looking out at the same view. Dark jacket, hood half up, hands in his pockets. Not trying to be seen. There was something deliberate about the way he stood — like he’d found the one spot on the terrace where the light didn’t quite reach.
You looked away. Seoul was full of handsome men. Everyone knew that, it was a fact.
But then Mina pressed your drink into your hand and said “don’t look now” and of course you looked I mean that was the rule when someone says don’t look you have to anyway right? But of course, she meant him.
“Who is he?” You asked like a stupid person because right she would know a stranger looking at me but instead she just says “I said don’t look” I look at her again “you knew I’d look”. She laughed into her glass “I don’t know but I’ve been watching him for the last ten minutes and he keeps looking over here”
“At you?”
“No at you” she says sipping her drink. He was looking at me? I didn’t believe her. You sipped your drink and talked about her boss and the trip she was planning to jeju and whether or not you needed a new apartment. The normal things girls would speak about in their late 20s. Friday things. But every now and then you felt something, something like a pull like a thread being tugged from across the room and when you finally glanced over he was looking at the city again, or maybe he’d never been looking at you at all.
It was Mina who had moved first, because it was always Mina. She had said she needed the bathroom and disappeared, leaving you alone with your Long Island ice tea and the city lights and the distinct feeling of being watched. “You look like you’re trying to solve something” said a voice behind you.
You turned around. He’d moved without you noticing — or maybe you’d just stopped paying attention. Up close he was almost unfairly good looking. Strong jaw, dark eyes, lip piercing that just made him 10x more attractive. He was watching you with an expression that was hard to read. Curios, maybe. A little careful.
“Just looking at the view” you said
“Sure” he leaned on the railing next to you, not to close. “You’ve been staring at the same spot for twenty minutes, though”
I look at him “you’ve been watching me for twenty minutes?” The corner of his mouth moved. “Caught”. You didint say anything and neither did he. Below you Seoul kept doing its thing — taxis, neon lights and the distant sounds of someone’s music drifting up from the street.
“Do you come here a lot?” You asked, and then immediately wanted to die, because that was the worst sentence in the english language. But he just smiled— a real one this time, a little surprised, like he hadn’t expected you to be funny. “No not really, my friend picked it” he glanced back at his group “he has questionable taste”
“in bars?”
“In everything”
You laughed. He looked at you when you laughed, and something about the way he did it made you feel like you were the only person on the terrace.
His name, he told you was Jungkook.
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You had talked for two hours.
That wasn’t supposed to happen. You’d planned on two drinks, maybe three, a plate of something fried and home by midnight. Instead you ended up at a corner table with a man you’d met 2 hours ago and Mina had texted you a string of emojis that you chose to interpret as I’m fine, don’t worry about me and enjoy your evening.
Jungkook was easy to talk to. That was the disarming thing. He didint perform — didn’t lean forward too much or laugh too loudly or ask questions he clearly didn’t care about the answers to. He just listened. Actually listened. When you talked about your job — graphic design mostly for international clients, which meant weird hours and too much coffee — he asked follow up questions that made it clear he had heard every word.
“Do you like it?” He asked. I look at him “work? Yeah most of the time”
“There’s always a client who wants everything in comic sans” you watched him laugh. “What do you do?” A small pause echoed through the room before he spoke up “music” he said.
“Like producing? Or performing?”
“Both, Kind of”
“Are you good at it?”
He looked at you like that was the last question he'd expected. "I think so. I hope so." He turned his glass on the table. "It's hard to know. You get too close to it." "Yeah." You knew exactly what he had meant. "I have that with my personal work. The stuff I do for myself, not clients. I can't tell if it's good or if I just love it too much to see it clearly."
"Exactly." He said it quietly like you'd confirmed something. "Exactly that." His friends had mostly drifted inside. Mina had reappeared at some point, caught your eye from across the bar, given you a look that contained approximately six different emotions and disappeared again. You made a mental note to buy her dinner.
"Can I see your work?" Jungkook asked.
"Right now?"
"If you want." You pulled up your portfolio on your phone — not the client stuff but the personal pieces I had created, the ones you almost never showed people. He scrolled slowly, not rushing. He stopped on one a digital piece you made last winter, all blues and grays.A figure in a window looking out at a city that might have been Seoul or might have been nowhere.
"This one," he said.
"What about it?" I say
"It feels lonely but not in a sad way." He tilted his head slightly. "Like the person chose it."You stared at him. "That's yeah that's exactly what I was going for." He handed your phone back your fingers brushed and neither of you made a thing of it which somehow made it worse.
The bar was thinning out, the music had shifted to something slower, you were on your fourth drink, which was one more than you'd planned, and you were very aware of how close he was sitting — not inappropriately close, just close enough that you could have moved an inch and your shoulder would have touched his.
"I should probably find my friend," you said, not moving.
"Probably," he agreed, not moving either.
"She's going to have a lot of opinions." I say
"About what?" He says
"About this” you gestured vaguely at the table, at him, at the general situation. He smiled "What is this?"
"I don't know yet." He looked at you for a moment really looked, the kind of look that makes you feel slightly transparent — and then he said
"Do you want to get out of here?"
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Okay guys this is the first chapter of 8 letters!! Let me know what you think, there is gonna be a lot of chapters for this series some longer than others so updates will vary depending on how long the chapters will take me to write but so far I’m loving writing this! I have so many things I want to write about but I hope you liked this!
But when he realised he liked you way more than what he prepared himself for
Oh then he was in trouble
So it took him a few eternities to gather up the courage to cross the "just friends" line
That's other thing I believe in
The friends to lovers trope is strong with this one alright
So the bad thing is that this is why it took him so damn long to accept his feelings and do something about it
Because he didn't wanna lose you and your friendship in case you didn't reciprocate
But it's also good
There's nothing better than dating your best friend after all
But moving forward to the actual dating stage
(because him gathering up the courage to shoot his shot was a whole odyssey)
Dating him isn't really about passion
Of course there's that
But the focus isn't on the fast heart beats and warmth spreading all over your being
It's about being safe, comfortable and understood
He's your rock and you are his safe place
So the relationship is very cozy and domestic
One of the things that didn't allow him to get close to you at first was his career
He didn't want to put all the spotlight and pressure on you
But now that he got you? He is not letting go
"but the fans won't like it-" too bad ig
"but the company didn't allow it" since when does he need to ask anything
"oh but-" no.
You can say whatever you'd like. He doesn't care, he didn't ask
You got crazy privileges tho
First to hear the music (and have some dedicated to you), free tickets, any merch you'd like
Just say the word and what you want shall be yours
But when it comes to him as a person, you are even more privileged
You're the only one he answers the phone to
You get to see the side of him that doesn't shut up and is full of jokes
Domesticity like folding laundry together, you drying his hair after he gets out of the shower and him making you breakfast when you just woke up tho it's almost lunch time
SO many inner jokes
Sometimes you both just look at each other and are already trying not to laugh
Will never admit it but he still gets a little nervous every time you see him perform
Even after so much time, he still wants to impress you
One thing he loves is how you seem to just fit in into his life
You and the boys act like siblings
His parents seem at ease with you
His dog acts like he can't live without you
You just look like you belong
Late night talks also go crazy with this one
I swear, he always has the most ?? things to talk about
In the end, this is all about silent yet firm love, always there when you need it and everlasting
Masterlist | you'll probably like: pick me!BTS
Daily click
Reminder this is just fiction!! I'm not trying to portray real life and you shouldn't believe that this is how the members actually are. This is just for the vibe and the delulu!
summary • 𓂃𝜗𝜚 In the quiet of Yoongi’s birthday evening, sharing a secret bottle of whiskey leads to a late-night kiss that changes everything between you…
pairing • 𓂃𝜗𝜚 yoongixf!reader
word count • 𓂃𝜗𝜚 5.6k
elements • 𓂃𝜗𝜚 attraction; humour; birthday; friends to lovers; first kiss
author's note • 𓂃𝜗𝜚 Thank you to Anon for this request. I tried to get it done as soon as possible, but time constraints, life etc prevented that from happening. Anyway, I’ve finally managed to get it finished - sorry it's a bit late but I hope it is close to what you had in mind? 🥹 It's my first for Yoongi, so I was a little nervous to write this one but the idea was so cute I had to try! As ever, please excuse any errors I may have overlooked.
bts masterlist • 𓂃𝜗𝜚
Finally, the apartment is reaching a sort of quiet.
Music still drifts in low tones from the speaker in the corner, some mellow playlist Yoongi must have put on hours ago and forgotten about −but the loud laughter and overlapping conversations from earlier are gone and only now do you feel the air around you loosen and you can begin to breathe.
You lean back into the couch, nudging aside a few empty bottles and crumpled napkins as you stretch your legs across the coffee table.
“Your friends are messy,” you state.
From the kitchen, Min Yoongi snorts. “You were one of them.”
“I was the neatest one here.”
“That’s not impressive,” he replies, voice dry.
You watch him from the couch while he methodically rinses two glasses at the sink. His sleeves are rolled up, exposing his wrists, and the soft glow of the light above the counter makes the silver rings on his fingers glint when he moves.
You’ve known him long enough to recognize the way he’s relaxed now that everyone else is gone. His shoulders are lower, his movements slower and less guarded. When other people are around, Yoongi always carries a thin layer of alertness, discreetly monitoring the room, but when it’s just you, and the world has narrowed to just the two of you, he lets that drop.
Yoongi brings the glasses over and sets one down in front of you. “Last drink,” he says.
You glance at it. “Is that a rule?”
“It’s midnight.”
“That’s not how alcohol works.”
“It is in my apartment.”
You smile and pick the glass up anyway to take a small sip of the whiskey. It’s smooth and definitely not cheap.
You wrinkle your nose slightly. “You only bring this out on special occasions.”
“It’s my birthday,” he says flatly, settling into the armchair across from you. “I thought we could share the good stuff.”
You smile. “You do realise it’s officially not your birthday now, we’ve passed twelve.”
Yoongi leans back and for a moment you just look at him. You’ve seen him a thousand times at late-night studio sessions, lazy movie nights and grocery runs where he complains the entire time −the two of you sitting on opposite ends of the couch like this, talking about nothing for hours.
But tonight something feels ever so slightly different. Perhaps it’s the drinks, or the leftover warmth of the party −or maybe it’s just that birthdays have a way of making people pause and re-examine things they might usually ignore.
Yoongi catches you staring. “What.”
“You’re old now,” you tease.
He exhales through his nose. “You’ve told me that already.”
“Just making sure it sinks in.”
“Thanks, I appreciate the emotional support.”
You grin. “For someone who claims to hate birthdays, you seemed to be enjoying yourself earlier.”
“That’s because everyone was drinking my expensive alcohol.”
“So generous.”
“They’ll never see it again.”
You laugh, swirling the whiskey in your glass so the ice clinks the sides. “Your friends really love you, you know.”
Yoongi makes a noncommittal noise. “They love free food.”
“That too.”
A warmth descends on you, almost too warm, and you pull your sweater sleeves up slightly.
“Thanks for staying,” Yoongi says suddenly.
Your eyes flick back to him. “You say that like I had somewhere better to be.”
“You could’ve left with the others.”
“Why would I do that?”
He shrugs one shoulder. “I don’t know. People usually leave eventually.”
You tilt your head slightly. “Do you want me to leave?”
“No.”
The answer comes almost too abruptly, and Yoongi seems to realize that a second later. He clears his throat, glancing away toward the kitchen. “I mean−,” he starts, then stops.
You watch him struggle with the sentence for a moment before deciding to rescue him. “You like having me around,” you say.
“Don’t make it weird.”
“I’m not making it weird. I’m stating facts.”
He gives you a long look. “You’re very confident tonight.”
“I had two drinks.”
“The whole evening?” he asks incredulously.
You nod in confirmation.
Yoongi shakes his head in disbelief. “All this expensive stuff flowing and you’ve only had two drinks?”
“Careful,” you say, pointing your glass at him. “I might start recalling some of your embarrassing stories next.”
His eyes narrow slightly. “You wouldn’t.”
“Oh, I would.”
“Y/N.”
“Remember the time you fell asleep on the studio floor and Jungkook drew a moustache on your face−.”
“That never happened.”
“You still had the marker on your cheek when you woke up.”
“You’re lying.”
You grin wider. “You panicked when you saw yourself in the mirror.”
“I did not panic.”
“You absolutely did.”
Yoongi leans forward, looking at you with a mix of denial and resignation. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”
“Your suffering brings me joy.”
“That explains our friendship.”
You giggle, and for a moment, neither of you says anything. Yoongi studies you across the table, his expression thoughtful, almost distant.
“What?” you ask.
“Nothing.”
“You’re staring,” he observes.
“I’m thinking.”
“That’s worse.”
He huffs quietly. “You talk a lot.”
“You like that about me.”
“I tolerate it.”
“You’d miss it.”
“I’d enjoy the silence.”
You raise an eyebrow. “Then why do you keep inviting me over?”
Yoongi doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he reaches for his glass and takes a slow sip, eyes still on you over the rim. The look lingers just a second longer than usual before he sets the glass down.
“You’re easy,” he says.
Your eyes widen. “That sounds insulting.”
“I don’t mean it like that.”
“How do you mean it?”
He leans back again, head tilting slightly as he searches for the words. “You don’t expect things,” he says finally.
“Like what?”
“I don’t know.” He gestures vaguely. “−Energy, attention, constant conversation.”
You stare at him. “You literally just complained that I talk too much.”
“That’s different.”
“How.”
“You talk,” he says, “but you’re not… demanding.”
He says it carefully, as if trying not to offend.
You think about that for a moment. “So I’m low maintenance.”
“Yes.”
“That’s your birthday compliment to me?”
“It’s a good thing.”
You smirk. “Wow. I feel cherished.”
He rolls his eyes slightly, but there’s the faintest hint of a smile pulling at his mouth. “You know what I mean.”
You do, because you’ve always understood Yoongi in ways most people don’t. The quiet parts, the pauses, and the things he doesn’t say.
Your gaze drifts to the small cake box sitting forgotten on the counter. “Did you even get to try your birthday cake?”
He follows your gaze. “Oh.”
“That’s a no then.”
“I forgot.”
“How do you forget your own cake?”
“There were like twelve people here.”
“You’re unbelievable.”
You set your glass down and push yourself off the couch, walking to the kitchen. The floor is cool under your feet as you grab two forks from the drawer and bring the small cake box back to the coffee table.
Yoongi watches you the whole time. “You’re very bossy tonight,” he says.
“You’re welcome.”
You open the box. Inside is a slightly lopsided chocolate cake with a crooked candle still stuck into the centre.
You glance at him. “You didn’t even blow it out.”
“Everyone started singing and I got distracted.”
“You got embarrassed.”
“I didn’t.”
“You did.”
He rubs the back of his neck. “It was loud.”
You laugh softly and push the cake box toward him. “Fine, birthday boy −do it properly.”
“It’s already melted.”
“The wax isn’t in it.”
“You checked?”
“Just blow out the candle, Yoongi.”
He sighs like this is the most exhausting task anyone has ever given him, but he leans forward anyway. The small flame flickers when he exhales and darkness swallows it instantly. For a second the two of you just sit there as the faint smell of smoke curls upward.
You hand him a fork. “Well,” you say. “Happy birthday.”
He looks at the cake, then at you, then back at the cake. “You’re not going to sing again, are you.”
You bite your lip and smile slowly. “Don’t tempt me.”
He points the fork at you. “If you start singing, I’m kicking you out.”
“You’d miss me.”
He huffs quietly. “Probably.”
It’s so quiet you almost miss it, but you hear it and something comforting spreads in your chest. You take a bite of the cake before he can protest.
“Hey!” he says with mock offence.
“You were taking too long.”
“You just stole my first birthday bite.”
“You hesitated.”
“You’re impossible.”
You hold the fork out toward him. “Fine, here.”
Amusement flickers across his face, along with something you haven’t seen before. It’s soft and precious.
He moves his head forward and takes the bite. Your hand stays there a moment longer than it needs to, but neither one of you comments on it −but when Yoongi leans back again, his gaze lingers on you just a little too long, and the atmosphere in the room has changed somehow.
The cake is better than you expected.
It isn’t fancy, more like something someone grabbed from a bakery on the way over, yet it tastes rich enough that the chocolate sticks to the roof of your mouth. You take another bite while Yoongi watches with mild suspicion, as if he’s not entirely convinced you won’t eat the entire thing.
You take a third bite before passing him the fork, and he cuts a piece for himself this time. The vibe has settled into that comfortable late-night quiet where everything seems softer at the edges like a vignette.
The remains of the party linger everywhere in the dim lighting; empty glasses, a jacket someone forgot draped over a chair, and even a stray gold balloon sagging against the wall.
Your leg grazes against Yoongi’s under the coffee table, reminding you how close he is to you. It’s happened multiple times before, except this time a strange feeling seeps into you at the contact.
Yoongi takes another bite of cake, resting into the cushions of the armchair with a sigh. His hair has fallen into his eyes, slightly mussed from where he’s run his hand through it throughout the evening. He looks tired but content, and you’ve always liked this version of him best.
“You survived your birthday,” you say eventually.
He glances up. “Barely.”
“Everyone seemed happy to see you.”
“That’s because they only see me occasionally.”
“Don’t pretend you weren’t smiling earlier.”
“I smile sometimes.”
“You smiled at Jimin’s story about the couch.”
“That was because he exaggerated it.”
“You did fall off the couch.”
“I slid off.”
“You fell.”
Yoongi sighs quietly, like he’s already losing the argument and knows it. “You remember everything.”
“Someone has to.”
He studies you for a moment thoughtfully. You’ve noticed that about him over the years, how observant he is when he thinks no one’s paying attention. Small things rarely escape him, and sometimes you wonder what he notices about you.
You reach for your glass again, the ice long since melted into the whiskey. “You’re quiet,” you say.
“So are you.”
“That’s suspicious.”
He shrugs slightly, gaze drifting around the apartment as if seeing it for the first time tonight. “I was thinking.”
“About?”
“How lively it was earlier.”
“That’s pretty normal for a birthday.”
“I don’t usually have people over like that.”
That part is true. Yoongi’s not antisocial exactly, but he guards his space carefully. The fact that he opened his apartment to a room full of friends tonight probably took more effort than he let on.
Your eyes wander toward the kitchen counter again. “You got a lot of gifts.”
“Mm.”
“You didn’t even open most of them.”
“I will later.”
“You say that every year.”
“And I always open them eventually.”
You smile faintly. There’s something endearing about the way he treats birthdays, as if he were slightly baffled by the whole ritual of it.
You watch as he turns his empty glass slowly between his hands, the movement drawing your attention to his fingers. Long, precise fingers with small silver rings that catch the light when he moves.
“You’re staring at me again,” Yoongi says without looking up.
“Am not.”
“You are.”
“I was thinking.”
He finally looks up. “About my hands?”
You immediately feel heat rise to your face. “You’re insufferable.”
He huffs softly, something close to a laugh, and the sound changes the atmosphere in the room, loosening something between you. You reach forward and slide the cake box slightly closer to him.
“Finish it,” you say.
“I’m not eating that whole thing.”
“You’re the birthday boy.”
“That doesn’t mean I want a stomach ache.”
“Coward.”
“You eat it then.”
“I might.”
The music in the background shifts to a slow song that melts into the air. Suddenly your senses feel heightened, aware of how Yoongi’s eyes linger when you move, and the way your foot is still touching his.
You pull your leg back slightly, and the loss of contact is immediate. You don’t look at him when you do it, but you notice the faint way his ankle shifts afterward as if he had noticed too.
Your throat feels suddenly dry −it was probably the whiskey.
“You’re thirty now,” you say.
He groans softly. “Don’t start.”
“I’m just acknowledging reality.”
“You’ve been acknowledging it all night.”
“It’s a milestone.”
“It’s a number.”
“You’re reflective now,” you tease.
“I was reflective before.”
“Were you?”
He glances at you again, and something about the look makes your stomach tighten slightly. “I think about things,” he says quietly.
“I know.”
Yoongi lives in his head more than most people realize. The songs, the late nights, the way he sometimes disappears into silence mid-conversation because a thought has pulled him somewhere else.
Right now though, his attention seems very firmly on you, and it’s strange how noticeable that feels.
You sit up slightly, the question slipping out before you can stop it. “What are you thinking about right now?”
“Us,” he says eventually.
Your stomach flips unexpectedly. “Us?”
“Our friendship.”
You relax slightly, though something still hums under your ribs. “What about it?”
He shrugs. “We’ve known each other a long time.”
“Seven years.”
“Seven,” he repeats quietly.
The number sits between you. You remember the first time you met him, how quiet he was, how difficult it was to tell if he liked you at all. Over time that distance had melted into something steady and reliable. Yoongi has always been one of the most consistent people in your life.
You smile faintly. “You didn’t like me at first.”
“That’s not true.”
“You ignored me for three hours.”
“I was observing.”
“You were avoiding conversation.”
“I was tired.”
“You were rude.”
“I warmed up eventually.”
“You tolerated me.”
“That’s basically affection.”
You laugh quietly, the tension easing a little −but Yoongi doesn’t look away this time. His eyes stay on you, and there’s something in them you can’t quite figure out. Something quieter than flirting, deeper than casual.
The heat of the whiskey spreads slowly through your chest, and you realise just how late it is. Yoongi’s fingers stop moving on the glass, and for a second his gaze drops to the floor before lifting back to you. Your pulse feels louder in your ears.
“I’m glad you’re here,” he says. “You always−.”
You frown faintly. “I always what?”
“Stay.”
The way he says it makes something in your chest tighten because the moment doesn’t feel casual anymore. It feels like the edge of something, and for the first time tonight, you’re not entirely sure which direction the night is going to tip.
Yoongi focuses on you intently, fingers laced together, the empty glass dangling forgotten from one hand.
Your heartbeat feels louder than it should and you reach for the cake box again, mostly so your hands have something to do. The fork presses into the soft chocolate, leaving a clean line through the frosting. The motion feels strangely loud in the silence.
“You should put this in the fridge,” you murmur eventually.
“Later.”
Everything with him is later. Emails later, sleep later, cleaning later −the man could delay the end of the world if it inconvenienced his schedule.
You set the fork down again and the music shifts to another slow track, heavier on piano. The bass hums softly through the floorboards and Yoongi’s foot taps once in quiet rhythm.
You shift slightly on the couch. “You must be exhausted.”
His head tilts. “Not really.”
“You’ve been awake since early this morning.”
“Birthdays are chaotic.”
“That’s a diplomatic way of saying people invaded your apartment.”
A faint smirk touches his mouth. “They meant well.”
“You sound unconvinced.”
He shrugs a little, stretching one leg out further and his foot touches the side of your foot accidentally again. The contact is brief, but it sends a strange little spark up your leg anyway.
“Do you ever think about how weird it is we’re still friends?” you say after a while.
Yoongi’s eyebrow lifts. “That’s an odd question.”
“Seven years is a long time.”
“It happens.”
“With you?” You glance at him. “You’re not exactly easy to befriend.”
“That’s slander.”
“It’s accuracy.”
He exhales quietly through his nose, clearly amused despite himself.
Your eyes drift over him again. The loose hoodie, relaxed posture and the softness in his expression that only shows up when he’s completely comfortable. You realize that you don’t see this side of him as often anymore. Fame and schedules and constant noise have taken more of his time in recent years.
But tonight feels like earlier days again, more personal.
“What are you analysing now?” Yoongi asks, catching your eye.
You hesitate. “Just thinking.”
“That could be trouble.”
You ignore the comment. “You’ve changed,” you say slowly.
His expression doesn’t shift much, but you see the subtle alertness return. “How.”
“You’re more patient.”
“That’s because I’m older.”
“You’re less guarded.”
He studies you carefully at that. “That’s debatable.”
“Not with me.”
“You’re still observant,” he says, his thumb absently rubs the edge of one silver ring, a habit he has when he’s thinking.
“You trust me, don’t you?”
“I do.”
The simplicity of the answer makes your chest tighten slightly. “I trust you too.”
Yoongi suddenly stands, stretching his arms above his head, hoodie lifting just enough to reveal a glimpse of pale skin at his waist before falling back into place. You try not to notice, but your brain fails immediately.
He walks toward the kitchen. “Water,” he says over his shoulder, as if explaining his sudden movement.
You nod even though he isn’t looking. The sound of the tap running fills the apartment briefly. When he returns he carries two glasses, setting one in front of you. He sits down beside you on the couch instead of returning to the armchair.
That’s new. You sip the water to give yourself something to do.
“You remember the first time you came over here?” Yoongi asks.
Your eyebrows lift. “This apartment?”
“Yeah.”
You think for a moment. “You had just moved in.”
“And you criticized the furniture.”
“It was ugly.”
“It was practical.”
“You had a single chair.”
“I still have it.”
“You’re sitting in it earlier.”
He glances sideways at you. “You stayed late that night too.”
You smile faintly. “I remember you falling asleep mid-conversation.”
“That was intentional.”
You glance at him, and he’s already looking at you. Your pulse kicks unexpectedly as something unspoken flickers between you −something that has existed quietly for a long time finally being acknowledged.
“Now you’re staring,” you whisper.
His lips twitch slightly. “You started it earlier.”
You concede graciously with a nod as Yoongi studies your expression. “You’re nervous,” he states.
“I’m not.”
“You just took three sips of water in ten seconds.”
You glance at the glass and realise he’s right. You set it down quickly. “That proves nothing.”
“It proves everything.”
Your eyes narrow at him, but the challenge in his gaze is unmistakable now. Your heart thuds harder.
“Yoongi,” you say quietly.
He doesn’t look away and the electricity in the air around you crackles with a sudden anticipation. You suddenly realize that you are very aware of his breathing, he hasn’t looked away since you said his name.
There’s something thoughtful in his expression, but there’s also a faint hesitation that you rarely see from him. Yoongi is normally someone who decides things quickly once his mind is made up, but when he pauses like this, it means he is weighing something carefully.
“What?” you ask quietly after a moment.
Yoongi’s arm settles along the backrest behind you, not quite touching your shoulder, changing the space between you immediately.
“You’ve been overthinking something all night,” he says.
“I could say the same about you.”
“That’s normal for me.”
“That’s fair.”
“You asked earlier why I was thinking about our friendship,” he continues.
“Yes,” you say carefully.
“I didn’t answer properly.”
A quiet tension gathers in your chest. “You said we’ve known each other a long time.”
“That was the safe answer.”
You let out a soft breath. “And the real one?”
Yoongi’s gaze drops briefly to your hands where they rest loosely in your lap. His fingers move slightly against the back of the couch, brushing the fabric once before becoming still again. When he speaks again, his voice is calm, but there’s a noticeable seriousness underneath it.
“I was thinking about the fact that you’re the person who always stays,” he explains.
You feel your stomach tighten slightly. “You already said that.”
“I know.” He pauses, choosing his words more carefully now. “But I didn’t explain what I meant.”
You don’t interrupt him. Something tells you that if you do, he might abandon the thought entirely.
Yoongi shifts slightly so he’s turned toward you more fully now. The movement is small, but it places you closer together, the side of his knee almost touching yours. “People come and go a lot in my life,” he says. “Schedules change, work gets intense and sometimes friendships fade without anyone meaning for them to.”
His tone is matter-of-fact, but you can hear the truth behind it. You’ve seen it happen around him for years.
“But you don’t disappear,” he continues. “You show up even when I’m busy. You sit around while I’m working. You complain about my furniture and steal my food.”
You smile faintly. “That last one is your fault for leaving it unattended.”
“My point is that most people don’t do that for seven years.”
The quiet sincerity in his voice makes it difficult to joke this time. “You make it sound like a loyalty contract.”
“It isn’t.”
“Then what is it?”
Yoongi exhales slowly. When you glance back up, his eyes are on you again. “Important,” he says simply.
You’ve always known that you and Yoongi were close, it’s never been something either of you needed to define out loud −but hearing him say it like this has you feeling something stir deep inside you.
“You’re important to me too.”
“I know.”
“You do?”
He nods once. “You wouldn’t still be here if I wasn’t.”
“That’s a confident assumption.”
“You could have left hours ago.”
“But I didn’t.”
“Exactly.”
Your pulse begins to pick up slightly, and you try to focus on the calm rhythm of the music behind you instead of the warmth spreading slowly up your leg where it touches his.
“You’re overthinking again,” he says.
You huff softly. “You’re the one who started a serious conversation at midnight −and now you’re judging my reaction.”
“I’m observing it.”
You roll your eyes, but the tension between you doesn’t disappear. If anything, the light teasing only makes the awareness sharper. Yoongi’s hand shifts along the back of the couch, his fingers grazing your shoulder.
Your breath catches slightly and Yoongi’s voice lowers just a little when he speaks again. “You’re definitely nervous.”
“I’m not nervous.”
“You’re avoiding eye contact.”
You force yourself to look directly at him. “Happy?”
“Not yet.”
“Why not?”
He tilts his head slightly, studying you again with that calm intensity that has always made it difficult to hide anything from him. “Because you’re pretending this feels normal.”
Your stomach flips. “Maybe it is normal.”
“You’re a terrible liar.”
You open your mouth to argue, but nothing comes out −because he’s right. Yoongi watches the realization settle across your face and leans a little closer.
Your heart stumbles.
Yoongi’s expression changes slightly as if he’s remembered something. “Wait here,” he says.
You raise an eyebrow. “Where exactly do you think I’m going?”
He doesn’t answer, disappearing instead toward the kitchen. You hear the low creak of a cabinet opening, followed by the soft clink of glass. Curiosity pulls you halfway up from the couch so you can glance toward the kitchen. Yoongi is standing with his back to you, one arm reaching into the highest shelf above the counter, the one he rarely uses.
When he turns around again, he’s holding a dark glass bottle you’ve never seen before. The label is minimal and elegant, the kind of bottle people keep for years before opening.
Yoongi returns to the couch and sets the bottle on the coffee table with a careful kind of respect, then reaches for two clean glasses from the shelf underneath.
“You’ve been hiding this,” you accuse.
“Saving it,” he corrects calmly.
“For what?”
He twists the cap slowly, the quiet crack of the seal breaking sounding oddly loud in the quiet apartment.
“A good night.”
The amber liquid catches the light as he pours a small amount into each glass. The smell alone is richer than the whiskey you had earlier; deeper, almost smoky.
You watch him with narrowed eyes. “You didn’t bring this out for everyone else.”
“No.”
Your suspicion grows. “That feels suspiciously intentional.”
Yoongi hands you one of the glasses and you take it. “It is,” he admits.
You stare at him for a moment, trying to figure out if he’s joking, but his expression remains calm in that quiet way he gets when he’s made up his mind about something.
You glance down at the glass. “This must be expensive.”
“It was a gift.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
“You’re not paying for it, so stop worrying.”
You bring the glass closer, letting the scent rise for a moment before taking a careful sip. The flavour is smooth enough that the warmth spreads slowly instead of burning, settling comfortably in your chest.
You look at him again. “Okay, yeah. That’s good.”
Yoongi nods once, clearly pleased with your reaction. He lifts his glass slightly in your direction. “Happy birthday to me,” he says dryly.
You smile and tap your glass lightly against his. “And to questionable decision-making.”
His eyebrow lifts. “Oh?”
“Opening your secret whiskey stash with me.”
Yoongi considers that for a moment before taking a slow sip. “That might actually be the best decision I’ve made all night.”
Yoongi sets his glass down after another sip, his gaze lingering on you a little longer this time.
“Can I ask you something?” he says. You nod slowly. “Have you ever thought about us differently?”
The question hangs in the air between you and for a second your brain refuses to process it. “Differently how?”
His gaze doesn’t waver. “You know what I mean.”
You do. That’s the problem.
You swallow slowly, your mind racing through years of small moments that suddenly feel more significant than they did before. Late nights like this, the comfortable silences, the way he always seems to notice when you’re upset before anyone else does, and the quiet ways he makes space for you in his life. You hadn’t labelled any of it before because you were afraid of what that label might mean.
Your voice is barely above a whisper when you answer. “Sometimes.”
“That’s honest.”
“You asked for honesty.”
He nods once, his hand moving again now. This time it doesn’t stop at your shoulder, his fingers sliding lightly along your sleeve until they reach your wrist. The warmth of his hand wraps gently around you and a smile appears at the corner of his mouth.
“Definitely nervous,” he murmurs.
You give him a look. “This is your fault.”
“I’m okay with that.”
Yoongi’s thumb shifts slightly against your wrist. He leans closer, slow enough that you see it coming. You don’t stop him. Your breath mixes with his in the small space between you. Up close you notice things you’ve somehow ignored for years, like the faint scent of whiskey still lingering and the softness in his eyes when he’s looking at you this carefully.
“I’ve wanted to do this for a while.”
Your heart stutters. “You chose your birthday to confess that?”
“It seemed memorable.”
You laugh softly, the sound barely escaping before his other hand lifts gently to your jaw, his touch warm on your skin.
And then he kisses you.
Yoongi kisses the way he does most things. Carefully at first, testing the moment, making sure it’s real before committing to it. His lips move slowly against yours, warm and deliberate, and the tension that has been building all night finally releases in a rush that makes your head spin.
Your hand instinctively finds the front of his hoodie, gripping the fabric lightly, and that seems to be all the confirmation he needs as the kiss deepens, still unhurried but more certain now. His hand slides from your wrist to your waist, drawing you a little closer against him.
For a while after the kiss, neither of you says anything, both of you slightly breathless. Yoongi hasn’t moved very far away from you, and your hand still rests against the front of his hoodie where you grabbed it earlier. Only when you notice do you slowly release the fabric.
“Well,” he says quietly after a moment, his voice slightly rougher than before. “That happened.”
You let out a short breath that turns into a nervous laugh. “That’s one way to acknowledge it.”
He tilts his head slightly, studying your face as if making sure you’re okay. “Too much?” he asks.
The question surprises you. Yoongi rarely asks for reassurance out loud; he usually just observes until he’s certain.
You shake your head quickly. “No. I just−” You trail off, searching for the right way to say it. “I didn’t expect that tonight.”
His mouth curves faintly. “Neither did I. Not exactly like that.”
You raise an eyebrow. “So you were expecting something?”
“I was thinking about it,” he admits.
That doesn’t shock you nearly as much as it probably should. If anything, it explains the quiet intensity in his behaviour all evening, and the way his attention seemed to stay fixed on you even when the apartment had been full of people.
The quiet stretches again before Yoongi leans in again, taking your face in his hands. “Can I do that again?” he asks.
You nod before your brain can overthink it, and he kisses you again. The hesitation is gone now. Yoongi’s hand slides more confidently to your waist as he pulls you closer, and the warmth of him settles around you in a way that feels strangely familiar despite the newness of the moment.
Your fingers slip into the fabric of his hoodie again, anchoring yourself there as you pull back. Yoongi exhales quietly.
“Well,” he murmurs. “That answers that question.”
“What question?” you ask, looking up at him.
He nods towards the half-empty whiskey glasses on the table. “Whether opening that bottle tonight was a good idea.”
You laugh softly. “And?”
He studies your face for a moment before answering. “Best birthday I’ve had in a long time.”
And judging by the way his hand stays warm against your waist, neither of you seems in any hurry for the night to end. You study his face, noticing the faint flush in his cheeks that probably isn’t just from the whiskey.
“Your standards might be dropping with age.”
He exhales a quiet laugh, the sound rumbling softly in his chest. “Or maybe my priorities are improving.”
“That sounds suspiciously sentimental.”
“Don’t get used to it.”
You smile, but you don’t move away either. Instead you lean into him, liking the way his arm slides more comfortably around your shoulders.
Yoongi glances down at you after a moment. “You realize,” he says thoughtfully, “−That this is going to complicate things.”
“Complicate how?”
He considers the question, his thumb absently tracing a slow circle against your arm. “I’m probably going to want to kiss you again.”
“That sounds like a manageable problem.”
Yoongi hums softly, clearly agreeing.
Somewhere between the expensive whiskey, the quiet conversation, and the first kiss you’ve shared in seven years, Yoongi’s birthday has turned into the beginning of something neither of you had planned, and neither of you seem interested in stopping.
yoongi is the most acts of service man to ever live, but he's subtle about it. he doesn't like to make a big show, he's not trying to get praise for his selfless acts. he prefers to be helpful unnoticed.
it's not like you're a lazy person, some tasks just seem daunting or get pushed back in place of more urgent things, and yoongi takes note of everything.
any chores you've been procrastinating get magically completed just before you muster the energy to attempt them. whenever you get up from your desk, having been working for a while, just to come back to a plate with snacks, a bottle of water and a little note reminding you to look after yourself in that oh so familiar handwriting.
he moves so quietly it almost feels like you have a helpful ghost in the house. you always find him exactly where you left him, in his home studio working on whatever project has been calling to him recently. when he notices you come in he gives you a quick soft smile before turning back to his work, looking like he hasn't moved for hours.
you would've thought it was some supernatural occurrence had you not finally caught him in the act. most tasks he can do quickly, lifting your burdens before you even have chance to notice. this time though, it was something he was unfamiliar with.
you'd mentioned in passing once how you desperately needed to wash your make-up brushes but its just one of those jobs that isn't important enough to take priority in your seemingly endless list of tasks. time passes, they remain unwashed at your dresser, and yoongi notices. he remembers what you said, a new opportunity to show his love for you has arisen.
you're confused when you arrive home to find him at the table, frowning at his phone screen with a variety of supplies around him. it takes a moment for you to realise your makeup brushes are neatly aligned on a towel in front of him, a bowl of soapy water next to them. you finally notice the what he's watching on his phone, the sound of instructions from a youtube beauty guru explaining how to safely clean make up supplies.
he does everything in his power to make your life easier, lifting even the smallest of burdens that you hadn't even realised were bothering you. you never understood what it must be like to be loved so thoughtfully, so carefully, until you felt what it was like to be loved by min yoongi.
Because after everything, his favorite place in the entire world is wherever you are waiting for him
🎹 He spent two long years waking up to harsh digital alarms and a rigid, unforgiving schedule. now? his absolute favorite luxury is waking up with nowhere to be, except tangled up in the sheets with you.
🎹 If he wakes up first, he doesn't get out of bed. instead, he props himself up on one elbow, free hand tracing the line of your jaw or lazily winding a piece of your hair around his finger, just watching the way the morning light hits your face until you finally blink your eyes open with a sleepy smile.
🎹 Returning to the studio was a homecoming, but it also taught him the hard way about burnout. he refuses to sacrifice his peace anymore. He takes you with him every session, sitting in his lap or in his couch.
🎹 Right around dinner time, you'll hear the familiar jingle of keys at the front door. he drops his heavy leather bag by the entrance, kicks off his shoes, and immediately tracks you down—wrapping his arms tightly around your waist from behind, burying his face in the crook of your neck, and letting out a long, shuddering sigh as all the tension of the day melts away against your skin.
🎹 Weekend grocery runs are a quiet ritual, like everything is with him. he stays low-key under a black bucket hat and an oversized vintage hoodie, keeping close by your side through every aisle.
🎹 The second you reach for a heavy carton of milk, a large bag of rice, or anything remotely bulky, his hand intercepts yours effortlessly. a little smirk plays on his lips as he takes it from you, murmuring, “i didn't spend all those months doing physical work just to watch you lift heavy things, baby. move.”
🎹 Sometimes the insomnia still creeps in, or his brain is simply too full of unreleased melodies and lyrics to sleep. but he doesn't pace the studio floor alone anymore.
Instead, he rolls over in the dark, gently nudging your shoulder. “get up. put a hoodie on.”
ten minutes later, you’re parked at a quiet overlook staring out at the city skyline. he has the heater on low, a lukewarm canned coffee in his cup holder, and his hand resting comfortably on your knee, humming a brand new, unpublished melody just for you while you lean your head on his shoulder.
🎹 He was never a man of grand, theatrical gestures, but post-military yoongi is deeply, fiercely tactile. he needs to know you're there.
If you're sitting on the living room rug grading papers or scrolling through your phone, don't be surprised when he quietly wanders over, drops down right behind you, and pulls your back flush against his chest, looping his arms securely around you like you're the only thing keeping him anchored to reality.
can’t stop thinking about husband!yoongi who also happens to be a ceo, the very reason why he has the ability to spoil you rotten whenever he wants to.
“yoongi, come on!” you call out to your husband, seeing him still sitting on a chair while you’ve been here in the pool for a considerably long time now, expecting that he was going to join you shortly after like he said earlier.
however, it’s been roughly ten minutes now and he’s stuck there on his patio chair, scrolling through his phone and enjoying the bottle of wine he opened before you dipped yourself in the water.
“i change my mind,” he says, a bit sheepish. “the water looks cold, babe. i don’t think i want to.”
you roll your eyes, swimming closer to him. “then why did you even book us a suite with a private pool?”
“because i know you’d love it.” he smiles. “and also because i was expecting we’d swim in the daytime.”
“what’s the fun in that?”
“uh, perhaps, feeling fresh and cool and—”
“babe,” you cut him off, leaning now on the edge of the pool, “just join me.”
“yes, ma’am.”
you laugh as you see him hesitantly standing up and taking his shirt off, soon going to the steps of the pool where it leads him deeper and where you’re already waiting for him as well.
yoongi childishly holds out his hand to you, which you take with a laugh, helping him to fully sink himself in the water.
“fuck, it’s cold,” he says with a grimace and a shiver, something that makes you grin, immediately putting your arms on his neck and wrapping your legs around his waist once he goes closer.
“you’re so dramatic.”
“it is, though. look, i have goosebumps.” he raises his arm and you glance at it, snorting.
“okay, point proven, big baby.”
yoongi looks at you and breaks off into a big smile, chuckling and encircling his arms on your waist, giving your lips a quick kiss.
“enjoying this trip so far?”
“yup.” you nod.
“good.”
the both of you kiss again, this time much longer now, with yoongi angling his face to the side so he can do it better, one hand resting on your cheek, his thumb lightly rubbing against it.
you can feel your heartbeat escalating at just the feel of him this near, your skin touching and bringing a little warmth in the cold water. it makes yoongi think that he should have just done this much earlier rather than prolonging it from happening because of his laziness at the thought of taking a shower after this.
“thanks for bringing me here,” you murmur against his mouth, your own curving up in a smile. “i never thought we’d actually go overseas for our anniversary.”
“it’s not like we haven’t done it before.” his hold on you tightens as you place little kisses on his jaw down to his neck, eventually settling on leaning your head on his shoulder. “besides, i think i need to make up for the fact i forgot last year’s anniversary.”
you laugh at the memory. “it’s okay. you already told me that you forgot it because our wedding date and the day we started dating confused you. plus, you took me to that restaurant i love.”
“still though… the first year is supposed to be memorable.”
“no, it isn’t. the first year’s supposed to be the hardest.” you pull back to smile at him. “so, you get a pass.”
“thank god,” he jokes and chuckles, you doing the same.
“but seriously, yoon,” you play with the hair on the back of his head, gazing at his eyes, “thank you. you always go ahead of yourself just to do things for me—to make me happy, you know?”
“why are you thanking me? it’s what i’m supposed to do.”
“no. you could have been a shitty boyfriend, and then a shitty husband but... you’re just the best. you’ve given me everything i could possibly want and been the man i needed. i’m so lucky to have you.”
yoongi gazes at you in absolute awe, that amazing feeling again spreading in his chest and making him feel all giddy and happy.
he wasn’t lying when he said that thanking him wasn’t needed, but the acknowledgement and the appreciation you’re showing surely makes him pleased, heart getting bigger because of it.
“you’re drunk, aren’t you?” he nevertheless asks though, teasing and taking the opportunity of you being lovey-dovey, that you hit his bare chest without hesitation.
“i’m serious,” you whine.
“i know, baby, which makes me glad. but it’s only what you deserve, okay? the reason why i’m doing this, i mean. you’ve been there for me too—when i was in the worst place, when the company almost went bankrupt… you were the one who picked me up to my feet, loved me unconditionally. so… let’s be real. i’m the real lucky one here.”
you smirk, fondly staring at every feature he has on his face, smiling wide. “are we just going to start saying our vows again?”
he snorts. “says the woman who started being sappy.”
“do you want me to apologize for letting my husband know i love him?”
“no,” he shakes his head, not helping himself as he leans closer to you so that he can place his lips over yours again, “i love it when you say that you love me.”
“and i really do, you know. i’ll never get tired saying how much i love you so much,” you agree almost immediately, melting into the kiss again.
he hums contently, caressing your sides. “i love you too, baby. you’re the reason why i thank the heavens for being alive every single day.”
under the stars and the moon that night, until the moment the two of you decide to take that intimate moment right there inside, it feels like a second honeymoon with yoongi.
you know he’s a busy man, a workaholic—and yet the fact that he can spare this much time for you to make you feel loved on the very same day you got married, makes you think all over again how fortunate you are to be with someone like him who works hard for you both but never forgets to cherish you.
SUMMARY: After the world learns BTS can actually have soulmates, shy interpreter Ellie Parker joins the U.S. leg of BTS’s Arirang tour unaware that Min Yoongi recognizes her instantly as his soulmate. As growing public attention and a dangerous fan obsession threaten Ellie’s fragile sense of safety, Yoongi becomes the quiet place she keeps finding herself drawn back to. This is a slow-burn story about learning that love can be gentle, protective, and safe enough to finally stop surviving.
WARNINGS: soulmate au, idol!yoongi, Fem!OC, past emotional abuse, anxiety, panic responses, stalking, invasion of privacy, obsessive fan behavior, toxic family dynamics, emotional manipulation, Contains heavy angst, hurt/comfort, and discussions of trauma and healing throughout.
A/N: this story is gonna contain a lot of angst, but the overall theme is healing! LMK if I left any warnings out.
Masterlist
——————————————
LOS ANGELES — THREE DAYS BEFORE THE FIRST U.S. SHOW
Ellie Parker checked her reflection in the dark elevator mirror three separate times before deciding she looked normal enough to survive the next hour…Not good. Normal. She had to be normal because ‘good’ implied confidence. ‘Good’ implied someone who belonged in places like this. Ellie had spent most of her life feeling like she’d accidentally wandered into rooms meant for other people.
The elevator continued upward smoothly beneath her feet….Twenty-two….Twenty-three… Breathe in. Breathe out
A production manager beside her scrolled through emails while speaking quickly, “So for the U.S. dates, we’ll mostly need you during press blocks, livestream translations, backstage coordination, and any emergency media situations.”—Emergency media situations.
Ellie still couldn’t believe that was a real phrase people used professionally. She nodded anyway, “Okay.”
“You’ll be working closely with management and members directly.”
Okay.
“You comfortable with live translation?”
“Yes.” That answer came easier.
Live translation didn’t scare her. Translation was safe because the words weren’t hers. People couldn’t judge you if you were only carrying someone else’s meaning from one language into another.
“You’ll mostly rotate between interviews, backstage communications, and live translation support,” he said. “The previous arrangement worked city to city, but after everything that happened…” He trailed off awkwardly.
Ellie knew exactly what he meant: after the livestream; after the soulmate reveal; after the entire internet collectively imploded. She still remembered sitting cross-legged on her apartment floor at two in the morning watching headlines refresh in real time while millions of people argued online about destiny and love and whether soulmates should even exist publicly. Meanwhile she had just been trying to finish translating a research paper.
The elevator dinged softly…..Twenty-five. The doors slid open. Noise immediately crashed into her: Footsteps, voices, music bleeding faintly through walls, walkie-talkies crackling constantly. The entire hotel floor looked transformed into a moving ecosystem of staff and controlled chaos. Ellie instinctively stepped aside as two stylists rushed past carrying garment bags. Out of the way.
The production manager motioned toward the large conference suite at the end of the hallway, “This way.”
Ellie adjusted the strap of her laptop bag and followed.
Behind her, another figure stepped out of the elevator quietly. She only glanced back once. Black hoodie, Beanie pulled low, Phone in hand—Min Yoongi.
Her stomach dropped instantly. Not because he looked intimidating. Honestly he looked tired. But suddenly the situation became real in a way it hadn’t during contracts or emails or Zoom onboarding meetings.
She was about to work beside BTS. Actually beside them. Not through a screen. Not from another room. And for some strange reason, the second Yoongi walked behind her down the hallway, something inside her chest loosened slightly. Like her body relaxed before her brain could question it. Weird. Very weird.
—————————————-
The conference suite looked less like a hotel room and more like mission control. Laptops covered the main table while tour schedules lined the walls. Coffee cups sat abandoned beside translation packets and stage layouts.
And spread throughout the room were the members of BTS: RM sat near the center of the table reading paperwork with terrifying concentration. Jimin leaned against the catering counter stealing strawberries from a fruit tray. V somehow occupied an entire couch horizontally.
And near the window, Jungkook stood beside Avery Monroe while she aggressively poked at his phone screen. “You posted this on purpose.”
Jungkook looked deeply unbothered, “I don’t know what you mean.”
“You zoomed in.”
“You looked pretty.”
“You’re annoying.”
“You love me.”
“That unfortunately appears to be true.”
The room erupted into easy laughter. Warm, loud, comfortable….loud
Ellie froze near the entrance for half a second because suddenly she felt like she’d accidentally walked into someone else’s family gathering.
The production manager cleared his throat. “Everyone, this is Ellie Parker. She’ll be joining the team as the primary English-Korean interpreter for the U.S. leg.”
Every eye turned toward her immediately….Too many.
Ellie smiled automatically and bowed slightly. “Hello,” she said carefully in Korean. “Please take care of me.”
The reaction happened instantly. Taehyung sat upright dramatically. “Oh your accent is good.”
Ellie blinked, “Oh. Thank you.”
Jimin looked delighted already. “You learned in America?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
Ellie tucked blonde hair behind her ear automatically. “I started taking Korean classes in high school.”
“Why?” Namjoon asked with genuine curiosity.
Ellie hesitated, “…For fun.”
Silence. Then Avery burst out laughing, “That is the nerdiest thing I’ve ever heard.”
Ellie startled before realizing Avery sounded affectionate rather than cruel. “Oh.”
Avery softened immediately. “No, no—I’m sorry, I mean that lovingly.”
Jungkook grinned beside her, “She sounds mean when she likes people.”
“I’m from New York,” Avery defended.
“That explains nothing.”
“It explains everything.”
Ellie laughed quietly before she could stop herself.
The room paused briefly. Taehyung pointed immediately, “There it is.”
Ellie blinked. “What?”
“The real laugh.”
Heat rushed into her cheeks instantly.
“You got shy again,” Jungkook observed.
“I wasn’t—”
“You were.”
“I just—” The words tangled embarrassingly fast. Ellie lowered her gaze instead.
And directly across the room, Yoongi watched the entire interaction silently.
——————————————-
He knew. He knew immediately. The second the elevator doors opened. The soulmate bond settled into place inside him with terrifying certainty. No confusion. No delay. Just recognition.
Yoongi had spent years watching Jungkook and Avery navigate soulmate bonds.
He knew what the connection felt like. What instinct felt like.
And now his soulmate stood awkwardly near the conference room doorway apologizing for laughing too loudly. Ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous.
He leaned back slightly in his chair and studied her carefully.
Ellie Parker. American. Interpreter. Nervous.
Every time attention shifted toward her, she physically made herself smaller. Every single time. Interesting….and concerning.
————————
The meeting started quickly after introductions: Schedules, Press coordination, Transportation adjustments, Security changes after recent media escalation. Ellie transformed the second translation began.
The nervousness disappeared beneath focus. Her posture straightened. Her voice steadied. Words flowed smoothly between English and Korean without hesitation.
She was professional, confident, beautiful.
That thought annoyed Yoongi immediately. Because it wasn’t even appearance. It was the way she relaxed while helping other people communicate. Like usefulness made her feel safe enough to exist fully.
The soulmate bond warmed faintly every time she spoke. And every time she stopped, anxiety returned underneath it almost immediately. Like silence left her alone with herself again. Yoongi hated that instinctively.
“Tomorrow’s media turnout will probably double after the livestream discussions,” one American coordinator explained rapidly.
Ellie translated immediately into Korean. Natural. Quick. Precise.
Namjoon looked impressed and relaxed now that he wasn’t the one having to relay all the information to the others. Jimin mouthed wow toward Taehyung. Taehyung nodded dramatically like Ellie had personally solved world peace.
Meanwhile Ellie kept her attention fixed carefully on her notes instead of the room itself. Avoid eye contact. Avoid taking up space. Avoid becoming noticeable. The habits were so practiced Yoongi doubted she even realized she was doing them anymore.
————————-
The meeting lasted nearly two hours. By the end, most of the room looked exhausted. Managers filtered out first followed by stylists. Eventually only the members, Avery, Ellie, and a few remaining production staff stayed behind while lunch arrived.
Taehyung stretched dramatically across the couch. “I’m starving.”
“You ate during the meeting,” Jimin pointed out.
“That was meeting food. Different category.”
“There are not categories.”
“There absolutely are.”
Jungkook grabbed a grape from the fruit tray. “You just eat constantly.”
Ellie laughed again before she could stop herself.
Immediately, everyone looked at her.
Her smile faltered slightly. Too visible. She instinctively stepped backward closer toward the wall. Yoongi noticed.
———————-
Then chaos happened. Because apparently BTS could not exist peacefully for longer than six consecutive minutes. Taehyung grabbed a balled-up napkin and threw it at Jungkook.
Jungkook caught it instantly. “Really?”
“You looked too comfortable.”
“You’re annoying.”
“You adore me.”
Jungkook launched the napkin back.
Taehyung dodged dramatically before grabbing an actual decorative pillow from the couch. “Fight me.”
“Please don’t destroy another hotel,” Namjoon sighed without looking up from his laptop…Too late.
Jungkook immediately grabbed another pillow and launched it across the room.
Jimin yelled.
Avery cackled.
Taehyung nearly fell over laughing.
The room exploded into movement and overlapping noise.
And then, someone near Ellie suddenly lifted an arm quickly to catch the flying pillow. Ellie flinched hard. Not startled. Terrified.
Her entire body recoiled instinctively before she could stop herself. Silence slammed across the room immediately. The pillow dropped onto the carpet uselessly. Nobody moved.
Ellie realized what she’d done exactly one second too late. Humiliation crashed through her instantly.
“I’m sorry,” she blurted automatically. Too fast. Too practiced.
“I’m sorry, I just—”
No one spoke.Because every member of BTS was staring at her now with the exact same expression. Understanding.
Avery’s face fell first.
Jimin looked quietly horrified.
Yoongi felt something inside himself go dangerously cold. Because that was not surprise. That was fear. Learned fear. The kind that lived inside muscle memory.
Ellie’s face burned hotter. “Oh my god,” she whispered miserably. “I’m so sorry.”
Why was she apologizing? Why was she apologizing for being scared?
Avery moved first….Slowly….Carefully.
“Avoided sports growing up?” she asked softly. An escape route.
A lie handed gently enough to become mercy.
Ellie looked at her with immediate grateful panic.“Yes.”
Everyone knew it wasn’t true. But nobody challenged it.
“Honestly same,” Avery said lightly. “I got hit in the face with a volleyball once and never emotionally recovered.”
The tension loosened slightly. Conversation slowly resumed afterward, but Ellie stayed near the edge of the room for the rest of the afternoon like she wanted to disappear completely.
And across the room, Yoongi watched her quietly while one horrible realization settled heavier and heavier inside his chest. Someone had taught his soulmate to fear raised hands.
——————————————————
LOS ANGELES — TWO DAYS BEFORE THE FIRST SHOW
Ellie woke up before her alarm because her body apparently no longer believed in restful sleep. Dark hotel ceiling. Cold air conditioning. 5:12 A.M. glowing softly across the bedside clock.
For one disorienting second she forgot where she was. Then reality settled back in slowly. Tour. Los Angeles. BTS…and unfortunately, the memory of flinching in front of everyone yesterday.
Ellie groaned softly into the hotel pillow. Fantastic. First official day and she’d already embarrassed herself in front of internationally famous people. She should’ve reacted normally. Laughed it off. Acted casual.
Instead she’d looked like a terrified idiot because someone raised an arm too fast beside her. Humiliating.
Ellie rolled onto her back and stared at the ceiling. ‘You’re fine. Everything was fine.’
No one had actually said anything afterward. Nobody had pushed. Nobody had looked at her cruelly. If anything, they’d been gentler afterward…Which honestly almost made it worse…because pity was unbearable.
——————————
By 7:30, she was fully dressed and walking toward the production floor carrying an iced coffee she barely wanted. The hallway buzzed with early-morning movement already. Staff members hurried past carrying equipment. Stylists rolled racks of clothing between rooms. Someone shouted about lighting cues further down the corridor.
Ellie stepped automatically closer to the wall to avoid blocking traffic. A habit so ingrained she barely noticed herself doing it anymore.
“You know nobody’s going to hit you if you take up space in the hallway.”
Ellie startled violently.
Yoongi stood several feet away leaning against the wall outside the conference suite, coffee in hand. Black hoodie again. Dark hair slightly messy. Voice low with sleep.
Ellie’s heartbeat immediately stumbled into chaos. “Oh my god.”
His mouth twitched slightly. “You scare easily.”
“You appear out of nowhere.”
“That sounds more like a you problem.”
The corner of her mouth lifted before she could stop it. And instantly, that strange calm feeling returned. Like her nervous system settled the second he looked at her directly.
It happened so quickly Ellie almost missed it….Weird.
Yoongi studied her quietly over the rim of his coffee cup. Ellie looked away first….Dangerous. Not him specifically. Just—feelings around famous people in general. Especially famous people who somehow made her feel safer by existing nearby. That was concerning.
—————————-
The conference room slowly filled over the next twenty minutes.
Jimin arrived first carrying two coffees and entirely too much energy for the morning, “Ellie!”
She blinked as he held one cup toward her, “Oh—I already have coffee.”
“That one looks sad.”
Ellie looked down at her plain iced coffee, “It’s just coffee.”
“Exactly.” He handed her the second cup proudly, “This one has cinnamon.”
Ellie stared at him, “…You bought me coffee?”
Jimin looked confused by the question, “Yes?”
Something about his tone made her chest ache unexpectedly. Like kindness still surprised her too much.
Ellie accepted the drink carefully, “Thank you.”
His smile widened immediately, “No problem.”
Then he tilted his head slightly while studying her face, “You seem tired.”
Ellie immediately answered automatically. “I’m fine.” The response came too fast. Too rehearsed.
Jimin’s expression softened slightly in a way that made Ellie instantly regret speaking. Because suddenly she knew he noticed it too. That reflexive fine.
Thankfully Taehyung burst into the room dramatically before the conversation could continue. “Good morning emotionally unavailable people!”
Yoongi quietly watched Ellie laugh from across the room. The soulmate bond warmed instantly. Soft. Steady…Dangerous.
————————————
Rehearsals started an hour later at SoFi Stadium. Ellie had never seen anything on this scale before. The arena floor looked like organized chaos: backup dancers running formations; lighting rigs adjusting overhead; stage managers shouting timing corrections; cameras moving constantly; music echoing through the empty stadium.
The members shifted into performance mode almost instantly. Focused. Sharp. Professional. Even exhausted, they moved with terrifying precision.
Ellie spent most of the morning translating rapidly between American production staff and Korean crew members while trying not to get flattened by moving equipment. Which almost happened twice.
“Behind you.” A warm hand caught her elbow gently before she stepped backward directly into a rolling camera rig. Ellie startled hard enough to nearly drop the tablet in her hands.
Yoongi steadied her automatically. Warm fingers against her sleeve. Gentle grip. Gone too quickly afterward.
“You okay?” His voice stayed low enough that only she could hear.
Ellie nodded immediately. “Yes.” Then automatically, “Sorry.”
Yoongi’s expression shifted almost imperceptibly. Tiny, but unmistakable.
“Why are you apologizing?”
Ellie looked down instantly. “I almost caused a problem.”
“You almost got hit by equipment.”
“…Right.” There was no judgment in his voice. No frustration. That somehow made her more nervous.
Yoongi stepped aside slightly so another crew member could pass before speaking again. “Still not your fault.”
The words landed strangely hard in her chest. He sounded like he meant them.
————————————-
Yoongi spent the next several hours trying not to look at Ellie constantly. He failed…..Completely.
But in his defense, Ellie Parker was impossible not to notice once you started paying attention. Not because she demanded attention. The opposite.
She moved through rooms like she was trying not to disturb the air itself. Always apologizing. Always stepping aside. Always carrying too much herself instead of asking for help. And every single time someone thanked her, she looked surprised. Like kindness still caught her off guard. Yoongi hated that feeling more every time he saw it.
“Hyung.”
Yoongi glanced sideways.
Jungkook stood beside him near the edge of the stage holding a water bottle. “You’re staring.”
“I’m literally not.”
“You’ve looked at her nineteen times.”
“That’s an insane thing to count.”
“I had rehearsal breaks.”
Yoongi took a slow sip of iced coffee. “Mind your business.”
Unfortunately, Jungkook now looked interested which was dangerous. His eyes shifted toward Ellie translating near the lighting crew below, then slowly widened—Oh shit. Absolutely not.
“You—”
“No.”
“Hyung—”
“No.”
Jungkook looked personally offended. “You have the soulmate face.”
“There’s no soulmate face.”
“There absolutely is.”
Across the arena Avery looked over at exactly the wrong moment. Saw Jungkook’s expression. Then followed his line of sight directly toward Ellie. Avery froze. Then immediately snapped her gaze toward Yoongi.—Traitor.
Yoongi closed his eyes briefly….Fucking fantastic.
———————————————
By lunch, four people knew. Technically five if Namjoon counted, which he unfortunately did because he noticed everything.
The only members still oblivious were: Taehyung, Jimin, and apparently Ellie herself. Though Taehyung was mostly distracted trying to convince Ellie to rank American fast food restaurants “for cultural research.”
“This is important,” he insisted seriously.
Ellie laughed quietly. “I don’t think Taco Bell counts as culture.”
Taehyung looked scandalized. “Blasphemy.”
Across catering tables, Yoongi watched Ellie smile for the third time that day. The soulmate bond warmed instantly. Contentment.
God, This was bad….Because Yoongi couldn’t remember the last time simply seeing another person happy affected him this much.
The problem was: Ellie affected him even from across rooms. He could feel: her easing anxiety; her exhaustion; tiny flickers of happiness; moments of calm—Like emotions brushed softly against his ribs through the bond.
He’d understood soulmate bonds academically before. Living inside one was something entirely different. More intimate. More invasive. More dangerous.
“Okay.”
Yoongi looked up. Avery stood beside him holding iced tea and the expression of someone about to become deeply annoying.
“No,” Yoongi answered immediately.
“You literally haven’t heard the question.”
“I know the question.”
Avery grinned, “Soulmate?”
Yoongi stayed silent. Which unfortunately answered everything. Avery’s expression softened almost instantly afterward.
“Oh,” she said quietly.
That single syllable somehow contained sympathy, understanding, and emotional devastation simultaneously. Yoongi hated it immediately.
“She knows?” Avery asked.
“No.”
“You didn’t tell her?”
“She’d panic.”
Avery looked toward Ellie across the stadium floor. Watching the way she kept herself carefully at the edge of every group conversation. Watching how quickly she apologized whenever anyone moved around her.
Then Avery nodded slowly. “Yeah,” she admitted quietly. “She would.”
—————————————-
Hello! Spin off to Echos is here! Bc yoongi is my wrecker I had to write one with him.
I think you can read this as a stand alone story pretty easily. The little side interactions with Avery might be sorta confusing but the overall plot should not be compromised if you haven’t read Echos!
